u/_Cassie-Wilder_

I should probably start with my clipboard. Everyone who knows anything about me knows about my clipboard.

I'm Meg and I'm thirty-four, married twelve years, and I run things. But not, you know, in a remotely fun way. In an 'organised-to-the-inch-of-your-life' way. For example, when we gutted the master bathroom last summer, I built a renovation binder (with tabs) and stuck up a schedule wall in the garage. I also sent the poor contractor an email about grout lines that ran three pages and had a numbered appendix.

My husband, Jay, is usually happy for me to take charge of those sort of things. He travels four days out of seven and when he's home, he's usually on the phone out in the yard. We still, just about, have sex but it's done automatically and in the dark. I once joked that it was a bit like having a subscription that you don't have to think about whether you'd sign up again at today's prices. He didn't laugh.

I'm not telling you that to excuse anything I did. I'm just saying I was a woman running a very tight ship around an empty cargo hold and, well, shit happens...

The tiler's name was Oz. He was twenty-two and came highly recommended and when I handed him my proposed layout (the one I'd drafted on graph paper with all the cuts planned out) he handed it straight back.

"No. This is totally wrong. You've got your cut tiles landing at eye level and I'm not putting my name to work like that." And then he told me how it should run - not one word of it negotiable - and... I think I liked it.

He was in my house for three weeks and all through that time I hovered. And checked. And brought my clipboard in to inspect at five each day. But he was the only guy in about a decade who didn't let me manage him. Our last contractor had humored me and Jay manages me right back. Oz, though, just worked, and when I got it wrong he said so, and when I got it right he said that too.

It was week two when I realized I'd started dressing up for my five o'clock inspections. Better jeans, for example, that I'd catch him notice (eyes, down and back) before going back to his mud bed, and I'd stand there almost fizzing with my checklist in hand.

The day we need to talk about was a Thursday. And it only happened because of item eleven.

Jay was in Denver. I'd come in at five with the clipboard and I'd saved item eleven, which was a lippage complaint. I thought there was a tile edge sitting a touch prouder near the niche that I'd found by running my hand over the wall. I summoned Oz to come look and run his own hand over. I was half a sentence into my prepared remarks when Oz stood up (he's a full head over me) and took the clipboard out of my hands and set it on the vanity.

"You've been here every day at five with that thing. And I reckon that's because it's the only part of your day anybody looks at you. Somebody should have taken that damn thing off you a long, long time ago."

I squeaked "excuse me," in a voice I hadn't used since junior high.

"You heard me just fine." There was a long pause and then he smiled. "Tell me to get back to work, Meg, and I'll be back on my knees and we never need mention it again. Or you can stay standing there and we'll have an issue. But pick one."

I didn't know what to do! So I simply stood, gawping, for a few moments with my eyes wide. Then he sighed and put his hand around the back of my neck, and kissed me, walking me back into the one finished wall. He forced his tongue into my mouth, tasting me and biting my lip until I was making sounds into his mouth that I've never thought to make for Jay. Then he pulled back and I groaned and actually followed him. Straining for his lips.

I cannot tell you what it did to me to be... handled like that. You see, I'm pretty much the one who plans out everything. Hell, I even planned my own wedding night to the exact second. (And I'm not exaggerating for the story.) I had a document. My garter had to be off at 10:47. We'd be upstairs by 10:52, with consummation scheduled to be between 11:15 and 11:40. Just in case Jay felt more than usually adventurous, I'd packed the lube in the outside pocket of the overnight bag. But the saddest thing, though, was that Jay was so happy to just follow it. He came at 11:24, which was sixteen minutes under budget, but I remember lying thinking, "well, that went smoothly." The lube remained unopened. As did I. I'd been telling myself that smoothness should be the goal. A win.

But now Oz was tearing my clothes off me and spinning me around to pull up my bra and release my breasts. And when I reached up to help him he roughly slapped my hands away. "No! I didn't ask for help!"

My knees went and, if it were possible, I became even wetter. After so long of having to initiate - of even having to put date-night into the schedule - I thought the single hottest thing anyone'd ever said to me was "I didn't ask for help!" Then he got my jeans properly open to force his hand down the front, fingers exploring the matted hair between my legs.

"Every day at five you've walked in here dripping under your little clipboard. You think I couldn't tell?"

Then Oz pinched my clit between two of his fingers and rolled it up and down and I came standing up, screaming. I exploded in under a minute, gripping onto the towel bar he'd installed a few days before. I'm happy to say it held my weight. Oz does quality work. In more than one way.

I was still shaking as he dragged my best jeans off me, lifting me up onto the vanity counter before kneeling to eat me out. I felt my eyes roll back in my head as he pressed two fingers, curled up, inside me then sealed his lips over my clit and sucked.

I presume the neighbors must've assumed I was being butchered from the noises I made at that. "I think you can be louder than this," he said, and then he started to work his little finger up into my ass. My whole body locked around it as he waited, circling. But then all I could think about was, God help me, the unused honeymoon lube. Jay hadn't been interested, and now here was this boy using nothing but my own wetness to explore me, and then when I pushed slightly back against him, he slid it all the way in. My vision went white at the edges.

"There she is," he said. Both holes full of his fingers finding each other through the wall of me.

Then he took the finger out and put it in my mouth. I sucked it, tasting myself, tasting where it had been, filthy beyond anything and moaning around it.

Then he kissed me with my pussy still all over his mouth, and I eagerly licked that off him too as he undid his belt. His cock came out and I reached down for it, but he caught my wrist.

"You know, it's only polite to ask first!"

"Please, Oz!"

But he just waited with his eyebrows raised.

"Please what? Use your words."

"I need your cock in me. Please, Oz! I want it. You can use me however you want. Please!"

"Well done. That's put much better, isn't it? There's a good girl."

But rather than doing what I needed straight away, he instead stood there between my knees and began dragging the head of his cock through the lips of my pussy, up and over my clit, and then repeatedly notching at my entrance, but pulling away again, watching my face with a grin the whole time. I whined and tried to tilt my hips and grind to take him inside, but then he put out a hand to pin me back against the mirror.

"No. I don't think so. I think you've had everything in your life exactly how and when you wanted it. This is going to be different. You can fucking stay there and wait for this like the rest of us have to." And he kept up his teasing for what felt like forever, the tip of his huge cock rubbing in me, catching on the outside and then vanishing, until I was actually shaking, swearing and begging for it.

Then, just when I couldn't possibly have stood it any more, he suddenly dragged me off the counter, spun me around, and then bent me all the way over.

In the mirror I watched myself get thoroughly railed.

I was fucked harder than I'd ever been in my life while my husband's electric toothbrush sat in its charger eighteen inches from my face. Oz even wrapped my ponytail around his fist to pull my head up so I had to watch as he plowed me hard, deep and fast. The vanity was jumping against the wall with each stroke while my bones rattled and my mouth opened wide and helpless. I watched my reflected face go slack, all expression sliding off me slamming stroke by slamming stroke until nothing but want was left.

Then I felt his thumb, wet from my own dripping, screw into my ass all the way, and I just went off. I was wonderfully stuffed full of him and his relentless pace never paused, his thumb and his cock trading pressure.

"Look at how tight these holes are! A woman don't get to your age this tight if anybody's been treating her right. This ass! This pussy! Christ! And your husband leaves it home five days a week?" And, when I clenched around him at that, because I did, involuntarily, he laughed and slapped my ass. "Yeah. You like that don't you! You love it."

"Harder, don't stop, right there, right there!"

But then, as if to teach me a lesson, he pulled everything all the way out of me, leaving me gaping and swearing at the loss of him. But before I had a chance to complain I felt the head of his cock press against my ass.

"I'm guessing no-one's ever treated this ass proper. Am I right? Or am I wrong?"

He wasn't wrong. "Do it! Do it before I get my mind back."

The stretch of it was enormous as he forced his way in. It was a burn that kept converting itself into want faster than I could cope. But then, when the head slipped past and he was seated properly, we both groaned with satisfaction. My pussy was empty and clenched on nothing, as if it were jealous, juices flowing down my thighs while a tiler held himself still in my virgin ass.

"There it is. First man in, right? Say hi!"

"Yes, you're the first! My ass is yours! You're the first. Now fuck me!"

But he pulled out instead. I need to learn to stop giving him orders! He yanked out, mid-word, and then he was down on his knees behind me with both hands spreading me open to press his tongue into my ass. Oh my god! This filthy boy was eating my ass at kneeling height, two fingers hooked into my drooling pussy at the same time. I heard myself begging for it. Actually begging. "Please, please, please!"

"Please what?" he said, into me, and licked me again, slowly, ass to pussy and back, tasting all of it, then he gave my ass one last deep kiss, and stood to slam, with no ceremony, his cock back into my pussy.

I shrieked in pleasure... which is when Jay called.

It was his ringtone, the classical one I'd chosen, strumming away inches from my splayed fingers. DENVER JAY it said on the screen, and I froze. But Oz didn't. He didn't even change his rhythm. He simply leaned down over my back, cock still working into me, and put his mouth on my ear.

"You'd better get that. It could be important..."

I laughed, horrified and impaled. I was so close to coming! I let it ring out, and the sound of the house's silence after the Chopin stopped, with nothing in it but slapping skin and my moans. The voicemail chime went and Oz said, "Good girl."

"Whose bathroom is this?" he asked, hand still pulling my hair to arch my back, and I said "mine," and then he stopped. He was balls deep and completely still, watching me in the mirror while I squirmed on his cock.

"I think you should try that again. Whose bathroom is this?"

"Yours," I panted. "It's yours. It's your tile. It's your job. I'm, oh, I'm yours in it, please fuck me! Please! I'll be so good, please!"

"Well, as you asked so nicely," he said, and plowed me anew.

I came the third time with my palms on the mirror and my fingers spread, but Oz fucked me right through it and into the far side of it until I was oversensitive and wailing. Then, when his rhythm finally broke, he said, "Where?"

"Inside! Please, come inside me! Fill me up. I want to know what that feels like!" and he buried himself and pumped every drop into me. I felt it shoot up inside me, hot and oh-so-deep, his cock pulsing over and over and my pussy fluttering and stretching around him.

We stayed like that while the room came back and he stayed inside me while he softened. He was in no hurry about it, keeping one hand warm on my lower belly like he was holding his own work in place. I stood there bent over with a stranger's come dribbling out of me and with my husband's voicemail blinking six inches away.

And I felt... calm. Of all the available feelings, I was calm. Oz's come was falling down the inside of my thigh when he finally pulled out, and he stood and watched it go. I watched him watch it in the mirror, and neither of us moved to stop it for a while. Then he reached out and tore a piece of clean paper off my clipboard and dried me up with it.

I started laughing and could not stop. I was bent over, fucked stupid and laughing into the vanity stone.

"Item twelve," he said, deadpan.

Jay came home on Sunday. I made him his favorite, and asked about Denver, and sat across our dining table being the good wife. The whole time, though, I could still feel it. The wonderfully used ache between my thighs, and Thursday's ghost of him driving out of me. I looked at my husband cutting his chicken and thought, you called at the exact moment another man was fucking me raw. I let it go to voicemail, and you'll never hear anything in that thirty seconds of nothing.

His voicemail is still on my phone. I don't know what that makes me.

A confession owes you an ending. The bathroom is finished and it's beautiful and I can't shower in it without holding the towel bar for... reasons. We've given Oz another job, the laundry room, which, unexpectedly, developed a sudden need for tile that Jay approved without looking up from his phone.

Yesterday, at five I walked into the laundry room with my clipboard and Oz looked at it, and looked at me, and held out his hand.

I gave it to him.

I should probably start with my clipboard. Everyone who knows anything about me knows about my clipboard.

I'm Meg and I'm thirty-four, married twelve years, and I run things. But not, you know, in a remotely fun way. In an 'organised-to-the-inch-of-your-life' way. For example, when we gutted the master bathroom last summer, I built a renovation binder (with tabs) and stuck up a schedule wall in the garage. I also sent the poor contractor an email about grout lines that ran three pages and had a numbered appendix.

My husband, Jay, is usually happy for me to take charge of those sort of things. He travels four days out of seven and when he's home, he's usually on the phone out in the yard. We still, just about, have sex but it's done automatically and in the dark. I once joked that it was a bit like having a subscription that you don't have to think about whether you'd sign up again at today's prices. He didn't laugh.

I'm not telling you that to excuse anything I did. I'm just saying I was a woman running a very tight ship around an empty cargo hold and, well, shit happens...

The tiler's name was Oz. He was twenty-two and came highly recommended and when I handed him my proposed layout (the one I'd drafted on graph paper with all the cuts planned out) he handed it straight back.

"No. This is totally wrong. You've got your cut tiles landing at eye level and I'm not putting my name to work like that." And then he told me how it should run - not one word of it negotiable - and... I think I liked it.

He was in my house for three weeks and all through that time I hovered. And checked. And brought my clipboard in to inspect at five each day. But he was the only guy in about a decade who didn't let me manage him. Our last contractor had humored me and Jay manages me right back. Oz, though, just worked, and when I got it wrong he said so, and when I got it right he said that too.

It was week two when I realized I'd started dressing up for my five o'clock inspections. Better jeans, for example, that I'd catch him notice (eyes, down and back) before going back to his mud bed, and I'd stand there almost fizzing with my checklist in hand.

The day we need to talk about was a Thursday. And it only happened because of item eleven.

Jay was in Denver. I'd come in at five with the clipboard and I'd saved item eleven, which was a lippage complaint. I thought there was a tile edge sitting a touch prouder near the niche that I'd found by running my hand over the wall. I summoned Oz to come look and run his own hand over. I was half a sentence into my prepared remarks when Oz stood up (he's a full head over me) and took the clipboard out of my hands and set it on the vanity.

"You've been here every day at five with that thing. And I reckon that's because it's the only part of your day anybody looks at you. Somebody should have taken that damn thing off you a long, long time ago."

I squeaked "excuse me," in a voice I hadn't used since junior high.

"You heard me just fine." There was a long pause and then he smiled. "Tell me to get back to work, Meg, and I'll be back on my knees and we never need mention it again. Or you can stay standing there and we'll have an issue. But pick one."

I didn't know what to do! So I simply stood, gawping, for a few moments with my eyes wide. Then he sighed and put his hand around the back of my neck, and kissed me, walking me back into the one finished wall. He forced his tongue into my mouth, tasting me and biting my lip until I was making sounds into his mouth that I've never thought to make for Jay. Then he pulled back and I groaned and actually followed him. Straining for his lips.

I cannot tell you what it did to me to be... handled like that. You see, I'm pretty much the one who plans out everything. Hell, I even planned my own wedding night to the exact second. (And I'm not exaggerating for the story.) I had a document. My garter had to be off at 10:47. We'd be upstairs by 10:52, with consummation scheduled to be between 11:15 and 11:40. Just in case Jay felt more than usually adventurous, I'd packed the lube in the outside pocket of the overnight bag. But the saddest thing, though, was that Jay was so happy to just follow it. He came at 11:24, which was sixteen minutes under budget, but I remember lying thinking, "well, that went smoothly." The lube remained unopened. As did I. I'd been telling myself that smoothness should be the goal. A win.

But now Oz was tearing my clothes off me and spinning me around to pull up my bra and release my breasts. And when I reached up to help him he roughly slapped my hands away. "No! I didn't ask for help!"

My knees went and, if it were possible, I became even wetter. After so long of having to initiate - of even having to put date-night into the schedule - I thought the single hottest thing anyone'd ever said to me was "I didn't ask for help!" Then he got my jeans properly open to force his hand down the front, fingers exploring the matted hair between my legs.

"Every day at five you've walked in here dripping under your little clipboard. You think I couldn't tell?"

Then Oz pinched my clit between two of his fingers and rolled it up and down and I came standing up, screaming. I exploded in under a minute, gripping onto the towel bar he'd installed a few days before. I'm happy to say it held my weight. Oz does quality work. In more than one way.

I was still shaking as he dragged my best jeans off me, lifting me up onto the vanity counter before kneeling to eat me out. I felt my eyes roll back in my head as he pressed two fingers, curled up, inside me then sealed his lips over my clit and sucked.

I presume the neighbors must've assumed I was being butchered from the noises I made at that. "I think you can be louder than this," he said, and then he started to work his little finger up into my ass. My whole body locked around it as he waited, circling. But then all I could think about was, God help me, the unused honeymoon lube. Jay hadn't been interested, and now here was this boy using nothing but my own wetness to explore me, and then when I pushed slightly back against him, he slid it all the way in. My vision went white at the edges.

"There she is," he said. Both holes full of his fingers finding each other through the wall of me.

Then he took the finger out and put it in my mouth. I sucked it, tasting myself, tasting where it had been, filthy beyond anything and moaning around it.

Then he kissed me with my pussy still all over his mouth, and I eagerly licked that off him too as he undid his belt. His cock came out and I reached down for it, but he caught my wrist.

"You know, it's only polite to ask first!"

"Please, Oz!"

But he just waited with his eyebrows raised.

"Please what? Use your words."

"I need your cock in me. Please, Oz! I want it. You can use me however you want. Please!"

"Well done. That's put much better, isn't it? There's a good girl."

But rather than doing what I needed straight away, he instead stood there between my knees and began dragging the head of his cock through the lips of my pussy, up and over my clit, and then repeatedly notching at my entrance, but pulling away again, watching my face with a grin the whole time. I whined and tried to tilt my hips and grind to take him inside, but then he put out a hand to pin me back against the mirror.

"No. I don't think so. I think you've had everything in your life exactly how and when you wanted it. This is going to be different. You can fucking stay there and wait for this like the rest of us have to." And he kept up his teasing for what felt like forever, the tip of his huge cock rubbing in me, catching on the outside and then vanishing, until I was actually shaking, swearing and begging for it.

Then, just when I couldn't possibly have stood it any more, he suddenly dragged me off the counter, spun me around, and then bent me all the way over.

In the mirror I watched myself get thoroughly railed.

I was fucked harder than I'd ever been in my life while my husband's electric toothbrush sat in its charger eighteen inches from my face. Oz even wrapped my ponytail around his fist to pull my head up so I had to watch as he plowed me hard, deep and fast. The vanity was jumping against the wall with each stroke while my bones rattled and my mouth opened wide and helpless. I watched my reflected face go slack, all expression sliding off me slamming stroke by slamming stroke until nothing but want was left.

Then I felt his thumb, wet from my own dripping, screw into my ass all the way, and I just went off. I was wonderfully stuffed full of him and his relentless pace never paused, his thumb and his cock trading pressure.

"Look at how tight these holes are! A woman don't get to your age this tight if anybody's been treating her right. This ass! This pussy! Christ! And your husband leaves it home five days a week?" And, when I clenched around him at that, because I did, involuntarily, he laughed and slapped my ass. "Yeah. You like that don't you! You love it."

"Harder, don't stop, right there, right there!"

But then, as if to teach me a lesson, he pulled everything all the way out of me, leaving me gaping and swearing at the loss of him. But before I had a chance to complain I felt the head of his cock press against my ass.

"I'm guessing no-one's ever treated this ass proper. Am I right? Or am I wrong?"

He wasn't wrong. "Do it! Do it before I get my mind back."

The stretch of it was enormous as he forced his way in. It was a burn that kept converting itself into want faster than I could cope. But then, when the head slipped past and he was seated properly, we both groaned with satisfaction. My pussy was empty and clenched on nothing, as if it were jealous, juices flowing down my thighs while a tiler held himself still in my virgin ass.

"There it is. First man in, right? Say hi!"

"Yes, you're the first! My ass is yours! You're the first. Now fuck me!"

But he pulled out instead. I need to learn to stop giving him orders! He yanked out, mid-word, and then he was down on his knees behind me with both hands spreading me open to press his tongue into my ass. Oh my god! This filthy boy was eating my ass at kneeling height, two fingers hooked into my drooling pussy at the same time. I heard myself begging for it. Actually begging. "Please, please, please!"

"Please what?" he said, into me, and licked me again, slowly, ass to pussy and back, tasting all of it, then he gave my ass one last deep kiss, and stood to slam, with no ceremony, his cock back into my pussy.

I shrieked in pleasure... which is when Jay called.

It was his ringtone, the classical one I'd chosen, strumming away inches from my splayed fingers. DENVER JAY it said on the screen, and I froze. But Oz didn't. He didn't even change his rhythm. He simply leaned down over my back, cock still working into me, and put his mouth on my ear.

"You'd better get that. It could be important..."

I laughed, horrified and impaled. I was so close to coming! I let it ring out, and the sound of the house's silence after the Chopin stopped, with nothing in it but slapping skin and my moans. The voicemail chime went and Oz said, "Good girl."

"Whose bathroom is this?" he asked, hand still pulling my hair to arch my back, and I said "mine," and then he stopped. He was balls deep and completely still, watching me in the mirror while I squirmed on his cock.

"I think you should try that again. Whose bathroom is this?"

"Yours," I panted. "It's yours. It's your tile. It's your job. I'm, oh, I'm yours in it, please fuck me! Please! I'll be so good, please!"

"Well, as you asked so nicely," he said, and plowed me anew.

I came the third time with my palms on the mirror and my fingers spread, but Oz fucked me right through it and into the far side of it until I was oversensitive and wailing. Then, when his rhythm finally broke, he said, "Where?"

"Inside! Please, come inside me! Fill me up. I want to know what that feels like!" and he buried himself and pumped every drop into me. I felt it shoot up inside me, hot and oh-so-deep, his cock pulsing over and over and my pussy fluttering and stretching around him.

We stayed like that while the room came back and he stayed inside me while he softened. He was in no hurry about it, keeping one hand warm on my lower belly like he was holding his own work in place. I stood there bent over with a stranger's come dribbling out of me and with my husband's voicemail blinking six inches away.

And I felt... calm. Of all the available feelings, I was calm. Oz's come was falling down the inside of my thigh when he finally pulled out, and he stood and watched it go. I watched him watch it in the mirror, and neither of us moved to stop it for a while. Then he reached out and tore a piece of clean paper off my clipboard and dried me up with it.

I started laughing and could not stop. I was bent over, fucked stupid and laughing into the vanity stone.

"Item twelve," he said, deadpan.

Jay came home on Sunday. I made him his favorite, and asked about Denver, and sat across our dining table being the good wife. The whole time, though, I could still feel it. The wonderfully used ache between my thighs, and Thursday's ghost of him driving out of me. I looked at my husband cutting his chicken and thought, you called at the exact moment another man was fucking me raw. I let it go to voicemail, and you'll never hear anything in that thirty seconds of nothing.

His voicemail is still on my phone. I don't know what that makes me.

A confession owes you an ending. The bathroom is finished and it's beautiful and I can't shower in it without holding the towel bar for... reasons. We've given Oz another job, the laundry room, which, unexpectedly, developed a sudden need for tile that Jay approved without looking up from his phone.

Yesterday, at five I walked into the laundry room with my clipboard and Oz looked at it, and looked at me, and held out his hand.

I gave it to him.

An unexpectedly freak storm took out the power grid at just gone nine. I'd retired to the sitting room with a glass of the Barolo that Richard keeps for guests he wants to impress. But, as he was 'away on business' and presumably, even now, bending his secretary over the balcony, I wasn't inclined to feel too guilty. But then lightning struck, the house went dark and everything switched off. Our climate system, the wine fridges and even the pool lights. 

Oh, and the staff.

I should explain. We have five domestic units, the DS-9 line, if you're interested. Yes, Richard does like his little home comforts. They are all identically tall and symmetrical and, to be fair, invariably helpful. However, when the power went by-by, I knew they should've folded down into their charging docks like good little appliances.

It took me a good twenty minutes to realise that Aldous hadn't. Aldous is our butler unit, and I'd just finished draining my second glass when I noticed him in the corner, status light amber instead of blue, and with a massive erection tenting his uniform trousers.

"Aldous," I said. "What in the name of all that's holy is that?"

"It would appear that the powercut had enabled my companion protocol, madam," he said. "My battery reserve has engaged and is showing is working at optimum efficeincy. Would Madam like to configure an experience?"

I had no answer to that for a moment. In theory, I knew that the DS-9's came with a 'fun' setting. Richard'd had laughed about it with the salesman. "Something to keep me occupied when the old ball and chain has a headache."

But now Richard was in Zurich. And Paloma, our human maid (all the best households retained at least one non-machine servant) had gone to bed in the annex an hour before. So, the house was in total blackness, the storm was blowing loud, and a machine with a posh voice was offering to fuck my cares away.

I still hadn't said anything when he suddenly held out a slim visor and a haptic band. "The overlay will render Madam's preferred partner if that would be of interest?"

Every woman keeps a list... We don't call it that, obviously, but my particular one has been curated across twenty-two years of marriage and has provided much mental... stimulation during long cold nights. And now Aldous was suggesting this could be a more physical option?

"Okay," I said, slipping  the visor on and snapping the band round my wrist. "I'd be interesting in seeing Danny Okafor for University... he's..."

I didn't need to describe him. The DS-9 tech rendered him across Aldous's frame in about four seconds, while the pitch black lounde became the lamplight of a dorm room. And there was Danny, twenty years old and in possession of the most indecently huge cock I've ever attempted to handle.

"Cee!" Aldous said, in Danny's voice, that lazy delighted drawl. "Long time no see!"

"Shut up, Danny, and get it out."

He laughed and unbuttoned his trousers, and it was exactly as I'd been remembering it during my private 'me' time for years. I dropped to my knees  and licked the tip of it, smiling at the familiar bitter almond taste. Whoever programmed the DS-9 deserved a fucking medal for the quality of their work.

"There's the mouth I remember," Danny said. "Spit on my cock. And use both hands. You always needed both hands, didn't you?"

I spat and worked it with both hands while he talked. Danny always liked to talke. "What happened to you, Cee? Married all that money and still drooling on me like you're twenty-two." I took him to the back of my throat, gagged and came up with my chin dripping. Then I did it again, although much slower this time, and his hand pressed my head downexactly the way the real one used to. Fuck me, I'd had access to this for all these years and I'd never known!

"I want you to fuck me on the couch," I said, when I surfaced once more. "I want your cum all over the baedemister." That gave me a moment's pause. "Can you cum, Danny. I mean Aldous. Is that something..."

"Please be assured, Madam, that everything has been thought of," Aldous said out of Danny's mouth. "Sufficient...erm... cum is prepared."

I dropped my dressing gown on the floor, positioned him on the couch and got my thighs either side of his lap. Danny notched the head of that cock against me and paused. I loved that he was so big he'd learned to do that. To make sure I was wet enough before he tried to split me in two.

"Get your fucking cock into my ancient cunt before I die of marriage."

He carefully pressed in, just moving half an inch at a time, and even wet and desperate as I was, that familiar, burning stretch climbed into me until I was sitting flush in his lap. My cunt was fuller than it’d been in two decades. Oh, I’d been missing this.

"Shall we show Tricky Dicky what he’s been missing?"

Slowly, and then much faster, I rode that massive cock. My knees were burning, my tits were slapping in his face, and the squelching was obscene. It was glorious.
 "Your cunt still grips like a fist," Danny said. "Twenty-two years and you still remember how to work it."  

I came swearing with his thumb on my clit."That's it, baby. Work my cock dry. Milk it. That’s it, greedy girl. And, remember, you can be as loud as you want. Nobody's home."

I was just getting my breath, synthetic cum dripping out of me and onto the couch, when I heard the second set of footsteps. I turned my head and, there in the doorway, stood the groundskeeping unit. It too was amber-lit, with its cock already out, and on the inside of the visor I saw a little pop-up: ADDITIONAL UNIT AVAILABLE. CONNECT TO SESSION?

"Fucking A I want you to connect," I said. "You can be Kofi. My trainer."

Kofi rendered mid-stride towards me, all dark skin and wide shoulders. He stood over us, looking down at where Danny was softening inside me, and grinned the grin he keeps for when he insits I need to add plates.

"Looks like this session's started without me, Mrs Jordan. Knees on the couch, please and press those nice titties into his face." 

I did so, and felt Danny become immediately hard again. There were definitely benefits in the artificial world... 

"Keep that cock tight in you. I'll be working a posterior chain tonight. Get those hips up. Come on! Two more inches. That's good. Hold just there, Mrs Jordan." He swirled his thumb around my mouth, I sucked on it, then pressed it up my ass.

I gasped, then he pulled it out and spat down. "Breathe out for me, Mrs Jordan. You've been squeezing this arse at me through leggings for three years and now you're going to let me train it."

The head of his cock was there instead and then Danny'd hand was on my neck.

"Look at me, Cee. This is happening. Lower down onto his cock."

"That's one ring... good... that's the worst of it, Mrs Jordan... and now the rest. Full depth. Look at that. Good girl." 

I was full in two places. Completely stuffed and neither of the DS-9s were moving. At least, not yet.

"How's that feel?" Danny said.

"I think it might be too much..."

"And?"

"What are you waiting for. Fucking ruin me."

They moved in an alternating pattern, which (again!) struck me as something quite useful about being turned out by robots. One of them would draw back as the other drove in so that no second of me was left unused. And, let me tell you, that the drag of the outstroke in my ass was a sensation twenty-two years of marriage had never prepared me for!  I came again with my cunt and arse clamping down on both of them at once, and all at once

“Fuck, what a champion!” Kofi celebrated. “That's a personal best, that is Mrs Jordan!" and then he slapped my ass so hard it made me cum all over again.

Which is when the third unit, I think this one might well have been the pool cleaner, arrived. I was still in the dewey moment of an aftershock and that’s why I think I ended up saying a name I'd promised myself that I wouldn’t ever think about this way.

"Theo. I want Theo,"

Theo was Richard's younger brother and there’d been years of his hands an inch too low on my back at parties and lingering looks. And one wonderful kiss on the night before our wedding. And now here he was, walking towards me wearing a smirk and literally nothing else at all. He stood behind the couch and slapped my cheek with his cock as he spoke.

“My darling sister-in-Law!" he said. "You've got no idea the nights I've spent imagining this particular scene. Just think of the fun we could’ve had if you’d said yes to me, rather than Richard.”

I nodded, opened up my mouth and began sucking. What more was there to be said?

"Good to see that you're properly airtight! You’ve got a cock in your cunt, a cock up your ass and one down your throat. Nod if that's all that you’ve ever wanted from life." I nodded with my mouth full, and he took the opportunity to force himself to the back of my throat. I gagged, coughed and then begged for more, for harder, even as my eyes streamed.

The three DS-9s fucking me together were not at all gentle. They fucked me like machines because, well,  they were machines, weren't they? Tireless ones, with all their movements perfectly timed, with one thrust driving me onto the next cock. Onto the next explosion of cum.

"Just to note, this will lead to you aching somewhat tomorrow, Madam," Aldous said, even as Danny's fingers frigged my clit raw.

"Sounds like a promise...."

"There's one more face we could fetch," Theo said suddenly, whispering into my ear, even as he slid out of my throat to suggest it.  "Do you want him to watch? We could render brother dearest to watch his wife being fucked? He could eat our cum out of you when we’d finished?"

I thought about it. "No."

"No what?"

"No. I want this to be mine and mine alone." And I took his cock back into my mouth to close the subject, and he groaned and came, and when I gagged this time the overflow of us both ran down his shaft, off his balls and onto the cushion.

The fourth unit entered a little later. "Connect. Marek." This was the builder who'd redone the orangery. He had huge forearms and and called me "miss" in a way that wasn't deferential. Danny came again, drew out put himself in my fist. "Keep that warm for me, Cee. I'm still not finished with you."

Marek didn't say antyhing, he simply drove into my gaping cunt, through the mess Danny has left behind, and I was now so soaking there was nothing to slow him down at all. His sudden arrival punched the air out of me.

"Miss keeps her ring on while she wanks her ex and takes the builder's cock," Marek said. "I like that. I like a dirty girl."

The fifth of our DS-9s arrived, and I already had a name. "Sebastian."

My daughter's boyfriend. Twenty years old, athletic and beautiful.

"I've never had a MILF before," Sebastian's render said. "Finally!"

He knelt where I could see him and watched his girlfriend's mother get fucked at both ends, and commentated. "Look at you. Look at what you actually are under all that hostessing. Steffany barely lets me finger her and look at this! Kofi, slow down, I want to watch it all drip out of her." 

Everything slowed. That was worse, and better, and I begged for more. Sebastian spat into my mouth and I swallowed it down. Then sensation was coming from everywhere while the rhythm rebuilt itself around me and I lost who I was.

"Squeeze that ass on the exhale. Let’s see that gap. Yeah, there’s our best girl."

"These tits have been hiding under cashmere for two years. That’s criminal!"

"Look at my brother's wife. Look at her cunt swallow it all. What a waste he never uses it."

"Fuck her harder. We know she wants it, don’t we? We can all tell.

"She begs for it so beautifully, doesn’t she?" Sebastian said. "She has this frigid tight bitch of a daughter and then she comes out cunt-first whenever a cock is close."

And finally I knew that it was about to happen. I was going to have the biggest, most uncontrolled orgasm I'd ever experienced. It was building up inside me on a deliciously long fuse. The brutal thrusting continued and then my feet cramped up. Then my legs spasmed. And then every orifice with a cock in it was fluttering and I was making a noise I’d never heard myself make before. Marek came and then pulled out, letting Sebastian take his place. I whined and groaned as a fresh cock pressed into me. I was about to tip over, I was so close, I was …

Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Cum on my cock, Stef’s mum. Cum for me. Cum like she never will."

And that was the trigger. I screamed in absolute ecstasy as everything shattered. And I don’t mind admitting that underneath that scream was the knowledge that I'd be hearing those words at Sunday lunch next week. And that the beautiful man would have no idea I’d be soaking wet while he was talking to us about his plans for my daughter in the future.

And then it was all about deciding how they’d finish on me.

"Sebastian, I want you to shoot it in my cunt. It’s a much nicer place for you than Stef’s. Danny, just for old time’s sake, you can come in my mouth, I know how much you used to like that. Theo, on my face, mark me as yours. Kofi, I know you’re all about the ass shots, have at it. And Marek... you should have the most left, so I want you to cover my tits."

With a grunt, Sebastian flooded into me and the look on his face as he did will stick in my mind when he’s kissing my daughter’s cheek next week. Danny came on my tongue in almond-tasting ropes and I swallowed them down on principle and licked him clean. Theo striped his all over my cheek and my open lips, cursing my husband’s name as he did so. Kofi ploughed away a few last times before pulling out and finished across my back even as my gaping ass pulsed open and close for him. And finally, Marek spent about a minute painting my tits and wiping his cock on my nipples.

I lay there, ruined, on the couch, painted and dripping. Synthetic cum slid down, on and inside my body, with my own juices shimmering on my thighs. And then I did the thing I actually can't explain. I took the visor off and looked at the nearest one, Aldous, the one that'd opened the door to all of it. 

"I think I want you now. As you are. I want to watch the thing that did it."

"As I am," Aldous agreed. 

The machine eased its still hard cock into me, forcing its way through two loads of cum and it was the dirtiest entry of my life. I was so full with Sebastian's most recent load that I felt it move ahead of him and squirt out as Aldous pressed in. But then the machine fucked me slowly and wholly completley. And as I came again, one of the others dragged two fingers through the mess beneath me and pressed them into my mouth. I sucked them clean. It would have seemed rude not to.

Which is when the lights came on, with the hum of power returning to the whole house in one go. All five DS-9 units ticked from amber to blue, and in the doorway, in her dressing gown, holding a torch she no longer needed, stood Paloma.

We looked at each other while the storm rumbled off east and then Aldous picked up my dressing gown and folded it away.

"The power is back on, señora."

"So it is," I said.

"I will do the couch covers tomorrow. With the others. It is easier as one load."

Richard lands Friday. There's another storm forecast Thursday night, and I've already located the fuse box.

An unexpectedly freak storm took out the power grid at just gone nine. I'd retired to the sitting room with a glass of the Barolo that Richard keeps for guests he wants to impress. But, as he was 'away on business' and presumably, even now, bending his secretary over the balcony, I wasn't inclined to feel too guilty. But then lightning struck, the house went dark and everything switched off. Our climate system, the wine fridges and even the pool lights. 

Oh, and the staff.

I should explain. We have five domestic units, the DS-9 line, if you're interested. Yes, Richard does like his little home comforts. They are all identically tall and symmetrical and, to be fair, invariably helpful. However, when the power went by-by, I knew they should've folded down into their charging docks like good little appliances.

It took me a good twenty minutes to realise that Aldous hadn't. Aldous is our butler unit, and I'd just finished draining my second glass when I noticed him in the corner, status light amber instead of blue, and with a massive erection tenting his uniform trousers.

"Aldous," I said. "What in the name of all that's holy is that?"

"It would appear that the powercut had enabled my companion protocol, madam," he said. "My battery reserve has engaged and is showing is working at optimum efficeincy. Would Madam like to configure an experience?"

I had no answer to that for a moment. In theory, I knew that the DS-9's came with a 'fun' setting. Richard'd had laughed about it with the salesman. "Something to keep me occupied when the old ball and chain has a headache."

But now Richard was in Zurich. And Paloma, our human maid (all the best households retained at least one non-machine servant) had gone to bed in the annex an hour before. So, the house was in total blackness, the storm was blowing loud, and a machine with a posh voice was offering to fuck my cares away.

I still hadn't said anything when he suddenly held out a slim visor and a haptic band. "The overlay will render Madam's preferred partner if that would be of interest?"

Every woman keeps a list... We don't call it that, obviously, but my particular one has been curated across twenty-two years of marriage and has provided much mental... stimulation during long cold nights. And now Aldous was suggesting this could be a more physical option?

"Okay," I said, slipping  the visor on and snapping the band round my wrist. "I'd be interesting in seeing Danny Okafor for University... he's..."

I didn't need to describe him. The DS-9 tech rendered him across Aldous's frame in about four seconds, while the pitch black lounde became the lamplight of a dorm room. And there was Danny, twenty years old and in possession of the most indecently huge cock I've ever attempted to handle.

"Cee!" Aldous said, in Danny's voice, that lazy delighted drawl. "Long time no see!"

"Shut up, Danny, and get it out."

He laughed and unbuttoned his trousers, and it was exactly as I'd been remembering it during my private 'me' time for years. I dropped to my knees  and licked the tip of it, smiling at the familiar bitter almond taste. Whoever programmed the DS-9 deserved a fucking medal for the quality of their work.

"There's the mouth I remember," Danny said. "Spit on my cock. And use both hands. You always needed both hands, didn't you?"

I spat and worked it with both hands while he talked. Danny always liked to talke. "What happened to you, Cee? Married all that money and still drooling on me like you're twenty-two." I took him to the back of my throat, gagged and came up with my chin dripping. Then I did it again, although much slower this time, and his hand pressed my head downexactly the way the real one used to. Fuck me, I'd had access to this for all these years and I'd never known!

"I want you to fuck me on the couch," I said, when I surfaced once more. "I want your cum all over the baedemister." That gave me a moment's pause. "Can you cum, Danny. I mean Aldous. Is that something..."

"Please be assured, Madam, that everything has been thought of," Aldous said out of Danny's mouth. "Sufficient...erm... cum is prepared."

I dropped my dressing gown on the floor, positioned him on the couch and got my thighs either side of his lap. Danny notched the head of that cock against me and paused. I loved that he was so big he'd learned to do that. To make sure I was wet enough before he tried to split me in two.

"Get your fucking cock into my ancient cunt before I die of marriage."

He carefully pressed in, just moving half an inch at a time, and even wet and desperate as I was, that familiar, burning stretch climbed into me until I was sitting flush in his lap. My cunt was fuller than it’d been in two decades. Oh, I’d been missing this.

"Shall we show Tricky Dicky what he’s been missing?"

Slowly, and then much faster, I rode that massive cock. My knees were burning, my tits were slapping in his face, and the squelching was obscene. It was glorious.
 "Your cunt still grips like a fist," Danny said. "Twenty-two years and you still remember how to work it."  

I came swearing with his thumb on my clit."That's it, baby. Work my cock dry. Milk it. That’s it, greedy girl. And, remember, you can be as loud as you want. Nobody's home."

I was just getting my breath, synthetic cum dripping out of me and onto the couch, when I heard the second set of footsteps. I turned my head and, there in the doorway, stood the groundskeeping unit. It too was amber-lit, with its cock already out, and on the inside of the visor I saw a little pop-up: ADDITIONAL UNIT AVAILABLE. CONNECT TO SESSION?

"Fucking A I want you to connect," I said. "You can be Kofi. My trainer."

Kofi rendered mid-stride towards me, all dark skin and wide shoulders. He stood over us, looking down at where Danny was softening inside me, and grinned the grin he keeps for when he insits I need to add plates.

"Looks like this session's started without me, Mrs Jordan. Knees on the couch, please and press those nice titties into his face." 

I did so, and felt Danny become immediately hard again. There were definitely benefits in the artificial world... 

"Keep that cock tight in you. I'll be working a posterior chain tonight. Get those hips up. Come on! Two more inches. That's good. Hold just there, Mrs Jordan." He swirled his thumb around my mouth, I sucked on it, then pressed it up my ass.

I gasped, then he pulled it out and spat down. "Breathe out for me, Mrs Jordan. You've been squeezing this arse at me through leggings for three years and now you're going to let me train it."

The head of his cock was there instead and then Danny'd hand was on my neck.

"Look at me, Cee. This is happening. Lower down onto his cock."

"That's one ring... good... that's the worst of it, Mrs Jordan... and now the rest. Full depth. Look at that. Good girl." 

I was full in two places. Completely stuffed and neither of the DS-9s were moving. At least, not yet.

"How's that feel?" Danny said.

"I think it might be too much..."

"And?"

"What are you waiting for. Fucking ruin me."

They moved in an alternating pattern, which (again!) struck me as something quite useful about being turned out by robots. One of them would draw back as the other drove in so that no second of me was left unused. And, let me tell you, that the drag of the outstroke in my ass was a sensation twenty-two years of marriage had never prepared me for!  I came again with my cunt and arse clamping down on both of them at once, and all at once

“Fuck, what a champion!” Kofi celebrated. “That's a personal best, that is Mrs Jordan!" and then he slapped my ass so hard it made me cum all over again.

Which is when the third unit, I think this one might well have been the pool cleaner, arrived. I was still in the dewey moment of an aftershock and that’s why I think I ended up saying a name I'd promised myself that I wouldn’t ever think about this way.

"Theo. I want Theo,"

Theo was Richard's younger brother and there’d been years of his hands an inch too low on my back at parties and lingering looks. And one wonderful kiss on the night before our wedding. And now here he was, walking towards me wearing a smirk and literally nothing else at all. He stood behind the couch and slapped my cheek with his cock as he spoke.

“My darling sister-in-Law!" he said. "You've got no idea the nights I've spent imagining this particular scene. Just think of the fun we could’ve had if you’d said yes to me, rather than Richard.”

I nodded, opened up my mouth and began sucking. What more was there to be said?

"Good to see that you're properly airtight! You’ve got a cock in your cunt, a cock up your ass and one down your throat. Nod if that's all that you’ve ever wanted from life." I nodded with my mouth full, and he took the opportunity to force himself to the back of my throat. I gagged, coughed and then begged for more, for harder, even as my eyes streamed.

The three DS-9s fucking me together were not at all gentle. They fucked me like machines because, well,  they were machines, weren't they? Tireless ones, with all their movements perfectly timed, with one thrust driving me onto the next cock. Onto the next explosion of cum.

"Just to note, this will lead to you aching somewhat tomorrow, Madam," Aldous said, even as Danny's fingers frigged my clit raw.

"Sounds like a promise...."

"There's one more face we could fetch," Theo said suddenly, whispering into my ear, even as he slid out of my throat to suggest it.  "Do you want him to watch? We could render brother dearest to watch his wife being fucked? He could eat our cum out of you when we’d finished?"

I thought about it. "No."

"No what?"

"No. I want this to be mine and mine alone." And I took his cock back into my mouth to close the subject, and he groaned and came, and when I gagged this time the overflow of us both ran down his shaft, off his balls and onto the cushion.

The fourth unit entered a little later. "Connect. Marek." This was the builder who'd redone the orangery. He had huge forearms and and called me "miss" in a way that wasn't deferential. Danny came again, drew out put himself in my fist. "Keep that warm for me, Cee. I'm still not finished with you."

Marek didn't say antyhing, he simply drove into my gaping cunt, through the mess Danny has left behind, and I was now so soaking there was nothing to slow him down at all. His sudden arrival punched the air out of me.

"Miss keeps her ring on while she wanks her ex and takes the builder's cock," Marek said. "I like that. I like a dirty girl."

The fifth of our DS-9s arrived, and I already had a name. "Sebastian."

My daughter's boyfriend. Twenty years old, athletic and beautiful.

"I've never had a MILF before," Sebastian's render said. "Finally!"

He knelt where I could see him and watched his girlfriend's mother get fucked at both ends, and commentated. "Look at you. Look at what you actually are under all that hostessing. Steffany barely lets me finger her and look at this! Kofi, slow down, I want to watch it all drip out of her." 

Everything slowed. That was worse, and better, and I begged for more. Sebastian spat into my mouth and I swallowed it down. Then sensation was coming from everywhere while the rhythm rebuilt itself around me and I lost who I was.

"Squeeze that ass on the exhale. Let’s see that gap. Yeah, there’s our best girl."

"These tits have been hiding under cashmere for two years. That’s criminal!"

"Look at my brother's wife. Look at her cunt swallow it all. What a waste he never uses it."

"Fuck her harder. We know she wants it, don’t we? We can all tell.

"She begs for it so beautifully, doesn’t she?" Sebastian said. "She has this frigid tight bitch of a daughter and then she comes out cunt-first whenever a cock is close."

And finally I knew that it was about to happen. I was going to have the biggest, most uncontrolled orgasm I'd ever experienced. It was building up inside me on a deliciously long fuse. The brutal thrusting continued and then my feet cramped up. Then my legs spasmed. And then every orifice with a cock in it was fluttering and I was making a noise I’d never heard myself make before. Marek came and then pulled out, letting Sebastian take his place. I whined and groaned as a fresh cock pressed into me. I was about to tip over, I was so close, I was …

Then he leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Cum on my cock, Stef’s mum. Cum for me. Cum like she never will."

And that was the trigger. I screamed in absolute ecstasy as everything shattered. And I don’t mind admitting that underneath that scream was the knowledge that I'd be hearing those words at Sunday lunch next week. And that the beautiful man would have no idea I’d be soaking wet while he was talking to us about his plans for my daughter in the future.

And then it was all about deciding how they’d finish on me.

"Sebastian, I want you to shoot it in my cunt. It’s a much nicer place for you than Stef’s. Danny, just for old time’s sake, you can come in my mouth, I know how much you used to like that. Theo, on my face, mark me as yours. Kofi, I know you’re all about the ass shots, have at it. And Marek... you should have the most left, so I want you to cover my tits."

With a grunt, Sebastian flooded into me and the look on his face as he did will stick in my mind when he’s kissing my daughter’s cheek next week. Danny came on my tongue in almond-tasting ropes and I swallowed them down on principle and licked him clean. Theo striped his all over my cheek and my open lips, cursing my husband’s name as he did so. Kofi ploughed away a few last times before pulling out and finished across my back even as my gaping ass pulsed open and close for him. And finally, Marek spent about a minute painting my tits and wiping his cock on my nipples.

I lay there, ruined, on the couch, painted and dripping. Synthetic cum slid down, on and inside my body, with my own juices shimmering on my thighs. And then I did the thing I actually can't explain. I took the visor off and looked at the nearest one, Aldous, the one that'd opened the door to all of it. 

"I think I want you now. As you are. I want to watch the thing that did it."

"As I am," Aldous agreed. 

The machine eased its still hard cock into me, forcing its way through two loads of cum and it was the dirtiest entry of my life. I was so full with Sebastian's most recent load that I felt it move ahead of him and squirt out as Aldous pressed in. But then the machine fucked me slowly and wholly completley. And as I came again, one of the others dragged two fingers through the mess beneath me and pressed them into my mouth. I sucked them clean. It would have seemed rude not to.

Which is when the lights came on, with the hum of power returning to the whole house in one go. All five DS-9 units ticked from amber to blue, and in the doorway, in her dressing gown, holding a torch she no longer needed, stood Paloma.

We looked at each other while the storm rumbled off east and then Aldous picked up my dressing gown and folded it away.

"The power is back on, señora."

"So it is," I said.

"I will do the couch covers tomorrow. With the others. It is easier as one load."

Richard lands Friday. There's another storm forecast Thursday night, and I've already located the fuse box.

Room 412's clock radio says that it's 9:41 when my husband first kisses me. And it still says 9:41 when he does it again. But I don't mean that he did it twice...

Let me explain.

This was our nine years' anniversary trip. Nathan had booked us into a nice little downtown hotel and, after dinner, we'd returned to a bottle of something expensively French already open on the minibar. We'd barely made it through half a glass when Nathan pulled me close and kissed me. I'd glanced towards the clock, 9:41, as he'd walked me over to the bed, slipping the strap of my dress down for him. He'd just worked my panties off and his tongue was flicking against my nipple when something strange happened.

First, the clock made an odd clicking sound, and then the lights above us stuttered. And then, in a flash, the two of us were standing at the minibar again.

Andy dress was zipped back up.

And it was 9:41 again.

"Nathan. What the fuck?"

He starts to say something soothing, but then frowns as he obviously realizes something is up too. "You were about to say the light did a thing, weren't you? But... I think you've said that before!"

"I think I have too. What's going on!"

I try to make my way out into the hallway, but it's as if some sort of unyielding force pours me back through the door the second I escape. It feels like I'm trying to wade through a treacle that doesn't want me to escape. Nathan picks up the phone to call up the front desk, but the receptionist has no idea what he's getting at.

The clock resets. Then, as we continue to panic, it does it again. It seems like the room has become our world now. And that world is just twenty minutes long...

"I don't think anybody's remembering this is happening but us," Nathan says.

I take a long sip of the wine, because why not? It's always seeming to be full now. "Then I think we should stop wasting it and make the most of the opportunity, shouldn't we?"

9:41. Nathan has me against the window, my dress at my waist and with three fingers burried deep into my pussy.

"Look down at the rest of the city," he says into my ear as he thrusts and thrusts and thrusts. "All of those people watching you from behind their windows. They're scandalized watching this now. But after I make you cum, none of them are going to remember seeing it."

And I think that's what first makes my knees start to go. It's not the stretch from his fingers that's doing it. It's the sense of utter amnesty to whatever we happen to do in this room. It's that all bets are now off...

"Stop fucking around and make it worth forgetting, then," I tell him, sticking out my tongue. Nathan laughs at that and then suddenly curls his fingers and I cum with my hands slapping against the glass. And we're both laughing in a way I don't think we have for years. Then things reset once more.

9:41. Now it's his turn. I straight away push him to the armchair in the corner of the room and kneel in front of him. I unzip him and take his cock into my mouth ever so slowly, working it back until my nose is pressed to his stomach. My eyes are running and my throat is open, but, for once, no part of me is thinking about anything else. I gag, gasp and then slide up and off him.

"I want to try something. Watch me," I say, and then sink back down, my watering eyes fixed on his. Beside my head, I can already feel Nathan's thighs beginning to shake as he tries to hold onto the last of his control.

"Dee. Be careful. I'm..."

I pull off with a wet pop and quickly finish him with my fist and with my mouth wide open. Then, for the first time ever, I let my husband paint my tongue, my lips and my cheek. We both gasp as the cum shoots out to start to drip down onto my breasts. Is it just me or is he firing out far more than I'd ever knew he had! Holding his eyes I lick my lips and swallow what I'd caught.

"Nine years," he says, almost wonderingly. "Why have we never..."

"How do I look?" I let some of it drool back out of my lips and down my front.

"Like the sluttiest thing I've ever seen in my life!"

Click. Stutter. Minibar. And them I'm clean-faced and dressed at 9:41, but I'm still tasting him at the back of my throat.

"Are you keeping the sense of everything between?" I ask. "The feeling too?"

"The feeling too." His voice is a touch awed, given his body has, I suppose, technically not yet been touched this evening.

We spend the next twenty minutes making plans as to how best to use this. As you might imagine, this gets us both pretty worked up.

9:41. He's lifted me onto the windowsill of the room with fourteen floors of air under my bare legs, and he's eating me out through my panties until I'm the one who drags the silk aside for him. He's groaning and moaning into me, grinding his cock against nothing. He keeps stopping and starting, which I don't understand, but then I realize that the sneaky bastard is checking the clock as he licks and sucks at my clit. He's pacing me! And he tipped me over at exactly 10:00:59 so the next reset cuts straight through the middle of my fucking orgasm!

I'm thrown back to my position at the minibar mid-scream. My glass is full again, but there's nothing about my pussy to show for the convulsion I can still feel the echo of which rolling through it.

"You fucking timed that!"

"Hey! I just wanted to find out if your orgasm would carry on over a reset. Did it?"

Everything below my waist is still detonating and I needed to do something about it. "How about you get over here and find out!"

9:41. But this time it's all about payback. I make Nathan stand facing the bathroom mirror with all of his clothes on and his hands nowhere near me. I strip an arm's length away from him and idly finger myself to orgasm after orgasm while watching his reaction in the reflection.

"You know, if nothing we actually do in here counts, how about you tell me what you'd do to me if I let you do anything. And I do mean anything. How would you fuck me if everything was on the table?"

Nathan, though, is saved from answering by a fresh reset and then, in the next loop, he's quick for taking his revenge. He faces me to the same mirror, bend me over the sink, kicks my feet apart, and with no to-do, pushes into my pussy from behind.

"This time, you're going to watch while I fuck you."

I do. And I watch my face go completely loose as he drives into me. I think all my teasing from the previous loop are coming home to roost...

"Look what you do to me..." His voice cracks on the last word, and his hips stutter, and I cum watching myself being railed, dress bunched at my hips and sucking on the thumb that he's pressed into mouth.

9:41. This time we're back in the armchair, and I'm naked riding him slowly enough for it to have been thought of as almost cruel. This time it's a duel between us. No finishing is to be allowed.

"Tell me what I asked you before."

"What?"

"I want to know the things you want to do that you've never asked for," I say.

"I don't know. I've got nine years of save up material. But some of it's a little..."

"Try me. Now seems the time, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, Dee..."

"Fine. How about I go, then? Because I want you to spank me until I beg. And I want to sit on your face until we both tap out. And I want to be a stranger you pick up in a bar and fuck sensless. And I want..." I realize I'm rolling my hips faster on every new fantasy, and I can feel his cock increasingly spasm inside me as he's about to burst, "... to find out what my husband's like when he stops treating me like I'm a fragile piece of fucking glass."

On that last one, I grind down and his hands close on my hips hard enough to bruise. "Nothing polite about us should survive the night, Nathan. Nothing."

9:41. This time, he doesn't kiss me. He just sits on the edge of the bed and points at the floor in front of him. "Take your dress off. And then lie over my lap."

I'm out of the dress and face-down across my husband's thighs in indecent haste. He lowers his hand slowly to rest on my bare ass.

"You've been a bad girl. So now you need to count for me. But if you lose count, then we have to start again."

I'm about to speak, but then he spanks me once. And it's hard. I almost cry out. But I manage to count. And then he does it again. And again. The cracks of the slaps are shockingly loud in the room and the speed in which heat blooms up and through me, turning liquid, takes me completely by surprise. Somewhere around the eighth my counting voice starts to become more of a pant, and then at eleven I realize I'm grinding against his leg and then I lose my place on purpose.

"That was eleven, or twelve, I don't..."

"You know exactly what you're doing. Back I guess we have to go back to one, don't we? What a shame."

By the second time through I'm soaked and pushing my ass up to meet his hand, and then, unexpectedly, he slides two fingers into my pussy from behind and holds them still, and makes me finish counting to fifteen while I ride them. When I finally sob out "fifteen, FIFTEEN, you bastard!" he curls them and I cum so hard my legs kick, gushing over his knuckles and his trousers are ruined.

"That's new."

"THAT'S," I manage, face-down, wrecked, "going top of the list."

9:41. His trousers are back to being dry, but my thighs remember.

"We're doing that again," he says. "But this time I want to watch it happen."

He lays me back across the desk, hooks my knees wide, and works me with his fingers, pressing into the spot the spanking found, his other hand pressed just above my mound, and he talks the entire time.

He reminds me of every loop of the night thus far. How I looked with his cum drooling off my lips. The anguished sound I made when the reset cut my orgasm in half. What number of being spanked my voice broke over.

Whether it's words, or the thoroughness of his fingering, my orgasm builds like an enormous gathering lift, and then I feel myself flood (actually flood!) out and over his wrist in a hot rush I hear splatter down onto the carpet and I'm screaming something that has his name somewhere in the middle of it.

He works me straight through it saying "again," and then, unexpectedly, gets one more gush, this one smaller and brighter, before my thighs clamp shut and I beg him to stop.

The click takes us with his fingers still in me and both of us swearing.

9:41. I walk in from the doorway like I don't know him.

"Is this seat taken?"

He looks up. No wedding ring. "I guess that depends. You see, my wife's away."

"What would she say to know you'd invited me to sit down?"

"She'd say a woman with an ass like that knows exactly what she came upstairs for."

"And what might that be?"

"To get fucked raw by a married man who won't remember your name in twenty minutes."

The game worked so well I think it frightened us both a little.

In not time, he had me on my knees with my dress still on and his hand fisted in my hair and nothing husbandly about any of it. I sucked a stranger's cock with my wedding ring flashing and told him between vicious strokes that his wife never had to know, and he growled things my Nathan has never once said aloud and then finished on my tits.

The real versions of us surfaced at the reset staring at each other a little shocked.

"Who WERE they?" I said.

"No idea. But can they both come back?"

"Absolutely."

Somewhere around the twelfth or thirteenth 9:41, he catches my face in both hands before I can reach for his belt and points at something. Behind him, the wine glass on the minibar is a finger's width down. It's not full this time. It seems the room is losing its grip on us, as if something we're doing is starting to wear the loop out.

"If we're running out of time, I want to do the biggest thing on my list," I say, and kneel on the bed. "The thing a good, nice wife never asks for, so I never asked. I want your tongue in my ass. Then your fingers. Then... everything."

Nathan doesn't waste a second of time, and his mouth is suddenly where nobody has ever been. Then wet fingers, one, before eventually two, are opening me up while his other hand is pushed into my pussy.

"More. All of it. NOW."

The reset takes us at 10:01 with him halfway inside my ass.

My body is screaming with the carried-over stretch and nothing in it, and I knew that was the single cruelest thing the loop has done to us all night. I look over and the wine glass is a third empty now. We're unmistakably running out of time.

"Do me again," I say. "The same. But faster. Finish what you started!"

So we entered the last loop, though we don't know it at the time. There was no ceremony left and he opens me quickly and greedily, with his mouth and fingers, and then he presses into me, feeling enormous. It's half an inch at a time and the burn keeps tipping over into something far richer than any burn. And when his hips finally rest against me, both of us are properly shaking.

"This is us," I say. "This was always us, wasn't it? We were just keeping it nice and polite."

"Well, we're never doing that again," my husband says, cock buried in my ass, fingers deep in my pussy, heel of his hand on my clit.

And then he fucks my brains out.

I tell him everything as he pounts me. What the total fullness is doing to me, and what we'll be doing on our kitchen table the second we get home. My fists are twisted in the sheets and my voice is bouncing off the windows and when I cum, I cum from everywhere and all at once. My cunt clenching on his fingers, my ass gripping his cock, and me gushing out one last time over his wrist, wailing like a banshee into the mattress, and he follows me, flooding me, before pulling out and finishes the last of it across my ass and the small of my back.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, the clock radio moved past 10:01.

I don't think either of us noticed until, at 10:14, a car horn sounded, fourteen floors below. And I realized I could hear a television murmuring through the wall. And Nathan's cum was drying on my skin and spilling onto the sheets.

This one had kept. This one had been ours.

We both figured that the hotel room hadn't wanted to see the anniversary-dinner version of us. So it had kept resetting until it got the real us unleashed.