Heather Brown - Wife turned on

I was coming home from the PTA meeting alone about ten at night, when the car brake down. The first thing I thought of was finding the nearest pay phone and calling my husband at home.

When the engine had started to sputter I'd managed to turn off the freeway. Now I got out of the car and started walking up the deserted, dark street. The neighborhood was totally unfamiliar.

I must have walked a quarter of a mile without seeing any phone booths. Briefly I considered going up to a house and asking if I could make a cell. However, when I took a closer look at the homes around me, I decided against it.

The neighborhood was at least half abandoned. At first I'd assumed that the absence of lights in so many of the windows meant most of the residents turned in early. Then, upon closer inspection, I realized that nobody was living in many of the houses. This was apparently one of those neighborhoods the newspapers placed under the heading of "urban blight". For some reason the people who'd formerly lived there had been scared or pushed out, and now it was a no-man's land.

Suddenly I felt scared. Crime was reportedly rampant in areas like this. From what I'd read and heard, clearly this was no place for a woman to be walking the street alone after dark.

Then, at last, I saw a phone booth. I ran toward it, somehow thinking that if I could just hear Don's voice on the other end of the line I would be safe.

Clutching a dime in my sweaty palm I anxiously ran for the booth. When I slipped inside the narrow enclosure I could hear my heart loudly thumping from the exertion.

Wiping the perspiration off the dime on my skirt, I dropped it into the slot. My hand was trembling as I dialed our number at home.

I was so agitated that it took me several seconds to realize that I was holding a dead line to my ear. There was nothing but silence coming out of the receiver.

Finally I caught on and took a better look at the phone. The whole center of the box was missing. It had been ripped off by vandals and was a useless piece of junk.

Turning away from the phone to leave the booth, I found myself confronted with the very thing I had feared most for the past several minutes – a man.

He was standing right in front of the booth, blocking my exit. It was dark, but I could see the smile that split his unshaven face.

"My… my car broke down," I nervously volunteered, unable to think of what else to do. "I've been trying to call my husband on the phone, but it's broken."

He said nothing. However, his smile became broader. Apparently he was amused by my plight.

We stood there, looking at each other, for a long, uncomfortable moment. The hair was standing on the back of my neck.

"If… if you'll excuse me," I finally stammered, "I… I have to go find help."

I started to leave the booth, praying he would let me pass. However, he didn't move.

"Please," I pleaded with him. "I've got to go."

His hand shot up from his waist and slammed against my chest. I could feel the fingers gouging into my breasts as he shoved me backward. When I looked down I saw that my blouse was torn.

I was cowering when he spoke for the first time. "You're not going anywhere, bitch, until I'm through with you."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"What do you think?"

"I… I don't know," I lied.

"Yes, you do," he rightfully insisted. "And I want to hear you say it."

I shook my head. I felt that if I said it, I would somehow be sanctioning it.

"Say it!" he insisted again, only this time it was in a much tougher voice. For the first time I noticed how big he was. I didn't stand a chance against him.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to answer him. Impatient with my silence, he slapped me across the face.

The blow sent me to my knees. Hemmed in by the phone booth, I was kneeling before him.

He was very calm about what he said now. Apparently he'd had a lot of experience at this. "I can just kill you and leave you here," he informed me. "The cops don't even come around here after dark. Unless I get what I want, consider yourself dead."

There was no reason to doubt the truth of what he was saying. I knew I was at his mercy.

"You're going to rape me, aren't you?"

He nodded his head and unzipped his fly. "But first," he said, "we're going to have a little foreplay. You're going to suck my cock."

Then I was looking at it. It was thick and long and twitching as it suddenly loomed from his open trousers. It was the first erect penis I'd ever seen other than my husband's.

On this man the male organ seemed like a weapon instead of the instrument of love that I was used to as a respectable married woman. It seemed to me that sucking it would be like putting the barrel of a loaded gun in my mouth.

He was eager to get started. The instant I parted my lips, he bucked his loins forward. Abruptly my mouth was filled with several inches of rock-hard phallus.

"I'm gonna fuck you in the mouth," he said, his voice becoming raspy with excitement now that he was getting what he wanted. "I'm gonna come down your throat, and you can keep on living if you swallow every drop of it."

He began grinding his hips, just as though he were engaging in a normal act of intercourse. His language was repulsive, but it accurately described what was happening – he was truly copulating in my mouth.

Don had always wanted me to have oral sex with him, but I had always resisted. Since he was a considerate husband, he had respected my wishes.

"This is the first prick you've ever tasted, isn't it?"

How could he tell? Was my inexperience really so obvious?

"You don't know how to use your mouth right," he criticized my performance. "You've got to suction with your cheeks like your mouth was a pussy."

Anxious to live, I followed his advice. Having a normal sex life, I was certainly aware of the way in which the woman's vagina stimulated the man's penis. I began to do my best to orally duplicate it.

"Mmmmm, that's better," my attacker passed favorable judgment after a few moments of my improved sucking. "I can feel it all the way in my nuts."

I was sure he could. He was penetrating me to the hilt by now, and I could feel his testicles churning hotly against my chin. It wouldn't be long before he was ejaculating in my mouth.

"Suck… suck… suck," he rhythmically chanted as I worked my lips back and forth along his shaft. "Suck the cum out of my balls."

I had never tasted sperm. But I was going to have to start now if I ever wanted to see my family again.

Desperate to survive, I began working my lips faster and faster along the expanse of his stiff cock. I just wanted to get it over with.

He began to moan. Then he grasped the back of my head and pulled my face into his musty crotch. Down my throat, the head of his cock seemed to suddenly extend another inch.

His orgasm came with a spurting eruption. The semen flooded like hot cream down my throat and into my belly. What I didn't swallow filled my breathing passages until my nose was dripping with it.

By the time he pulled away, my face was a gooey mess. Kneeling in the grubby floor of the derelict phone booth, I must have resembled a cheap prostitute who'd just done a few dollars' work.

I looked up at him through eyes filled with tears of shame. Even through the blur I could see that his erection was still as hard as ever. Obviously we weren't through.

He pulled me out of the phone booth by my hair and swung me across the sidewalk and threw me into the gutter. Then, straddling me, he shook off a last drop of sperm. Only when it splatted against my bare breast did I realize that I was completely open in front. When he'd ripped my blouse, he'd also torn the cups of my bra apart. I was essentially naked from the waist up.