She lay naked on the bed, her eyes covered with a silken blindfold. Velvet cords around her wrists and ankles fastened her to the bedposts.

It was time for The Game.

A breeze borne on whispered longings wandered into the room from the open balcony doors. It danced about her nipples, already hard with anticipation; now becoming harder still. Lighted candles released the fragrance of jasmine. Each breath she drew increased the sensual tension in her body, as she fantasized about who he might send in to her tonight.

She and her husband invented The Game because they loved a mystery. They loved the secret glances and the knowing touches. She never knew when to expect the next time it would be played. It was always his pleasant surprise for her. After dinner, he would lead her to the bedroom, opening the drawer to pull the velvet cords from their ornate box. It would mean he had chosen a lover for her, someone he knew and trusted. She would lie alone in the bedroom, waiting, never knowing the identity of the man who would seek to please her.

There were rules, of course. The chosen man must have as much at stake as she. He must never speak of The Game outside the doors of their bedroom. He must never use force or cause her any harm. To do any of these things would bring serious consequences, as her husband was a powerful man.

The mystery lover must never speak to her or reveal anything of himself. Though she was free to moan, to writhe in ecstasy, to scream out in pleasure, her lover must control himself vocally. At any point during The Game she or her lover could call a stop to things. She had never stopped The Game, nor asked that a lover not return. Her husband had always chosen well and she had always approved.

Sometimes in the middle of a boring day she would think of The Game, of a lover who had brought her off to a dramatic finish. In those moments, she would steal away at work to the ladies’ room, to her car, anywhere she could be alone. With legs open, she would slip her fingers into the wetness of her pussy, rocking herself into a shivering orgasm. It became her escape, her freedom.

As the bedroom door opened, then closed, her muscles tensed. Deep breaths brought warmth from the depths of her body to the surface of her skin. Footsteps drew closer to the bed.

“Hello my sweet,” she greeted him. The sound of a buckle, a zipper, and clothes falling to the floor punctuated his arrival.

The mattress gave with his weight as he joined her. With the back of his hand, then his fingertips, he brushed her cheek. Relaxing, she accepted his attentions. He traced a smile across her mouth before she drew his finger into it, flicking it through pursed lips, pulling it in and out between them. He traced the wet kiss onto her chin; then to the hollow in her throat, to her shoulder, to her breast.

In moment of panicked recognition, she flinched. She knew this man! His aroma was familiar and haunting, almost comforting. Unable to place him, she was certain he had never played The Game before.

“Well, well,” she breathed aloud, “this should be interesting.”

He bent toward her for a kiss, parting her lips with his tongue. With hunger and abandon she responded, taking his tongue into her mouth to relish its heat and flavor. The growing wetness between her legs, the slight gyration of her hips hinted at the controlled anticipation of taking him inside her.

*Who was he?* she wondered, not daring to let on he was someone she had met.

He kissed her ears, her neck, her shoulders. His hands caressed her as if he knew her intimately already. With feathery touches, he traced circles around one nipple while his tongue circled the other. In an instant, she knew this would be one she would remember.

He kissed between her breasts, moving onto the bed above her. Traveling downward he licked her navel in soft, moist circles. She inhaled an audible breath as he took pleasure in her body. She loved this touch, this sweetness. No need to call a stop to anything, she decided. He liked her. And she liked him, wanted him.

His tongue snaked its way between her legs, kissing her thighs from the knees up. She arched her back a little, trying not to seem overanxious as she pulled against her bonds. He licked the space between her leg and pussy, lingering on the crease. Tugging at her outer lips, he tasted every inch of silky skin before plunging his tongue into her.

Soft moans escaped her throat as she moved with the rhythm of his mouth. His hands slid underneath her, savoring the sweetness of her juices. With deliberate passion, he moved in circles to her clit. She began to rock herself against his mouth, losing herself in the intensity of the moment. Tightening with his touch, she longed for more, begging him to continue. She wanted this moment to last for hours, but knew she would come soon and wanted to feel his cock between her legs, plunging into her.

“You have to fuck me. You have to do it NOW!” she ordered.

Without a sound, he obliged. Hovering over her, kissing her neck, he took his cock in his hand and slid it into her. The swift action took her breath as he buried himself in her wetness. She gasped. This man was enormous and hard, filling her to the hilt.

*Who was he?* He was tremendous. His cock was the most massive to explore her velvet depths, thick and long and hard. Yet unlike so many well-endowed lovers, there was a gentleness about him. His was not a pounding beat, but a fluid motion that twisted and turned within her as he massaged her. She tried not to show her amazement, tried not to let on that he was the perfect combination of length and rhythm. Breathing as if she could inhale him, her motions coaxed him to caress every nerve and sensitive spot of her tight walls. They contracted against him, hugging him, begging him not to withdraw even an inch.

A gentle hand beneath her drew their bodies together with every pounding stroke. His mouth caressed her lips as she panted, hungry for more. She responded with groans and shivers, his rhythm sending her to the point of climax.

With an explosive shudder, she ground herself into him. Entering her pussy with steady strokes, he allowed her to throb against him until hot come spilled, streaming, into her. Though she was screaming, he only breathed a heavy sigh of contentment. Making sure she was satisfied, with strong arms he enveloped her until her muscles stopped quivering. He kissed her again, nuzzling her neck and breasts, stroking her belly. Bending again toward her pussy, he kissed the throbbing lips, barely touching them. She felt him move toward the edge of the bed.

She wanted to say, *You don’t have to stop! We should make love again. Don’t leave me yet! * She knew better. He stood dressing, still without a word. Footsteps fell in faint echoes as he crossed the floor. She heard the door open, then close. And he was gone.

Her husband performed his After-The-Game ritual. Entering the room, he untied her wrists and ankles, kissing them. He removed her blindfold, stroked her hair, drew her bath. He brought her a warm towel, dried and massaged her, whispering how much he loved her. He stroked her skin, dressed her in her finest silk gown, and put her to bed.

As she lay next to him, she turned and asked, “Who was the man you sent to me tonight?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” he said. And that was his answer.

She fell asleep and dreamed of a huge cock inside her, filling her, bringing her to climax again and again. Her words tumbled out thick and passionate as she begged for another orgasm, another touch. She awoke exhausted but wishing for one more time with the man who had given her such satisfaction.

Sundays she spent at her mother’s with relatives and friends, dinner and drinks, boring conversation. She always went without her husband, fulfilling the obligation. That day her Uncle Gerry cornered her to ask why she hadn’t had children yet. Maneuvering past him, she turned toward the kitchen. In the hallway she passed her sister and brother-in-law and exchanged greetings.

A familiar male aroma caught her attention as her brother-in-law passed. She almost fell to the floor, her knees buckling as she drew in a hot breath.

It was him! Her brother-in-law was the man with the enormous cock. His scent closed in around her as she found a chair and fell into it. No wonder her sister guarded him with her life. In an instant she grew wet and aroused, filled with a longing she had not known since the last night of The Game.

After that, nothing anyone said to her made sense. She was caught up in her dreams, fucking the man with the tender lips and the huge hard cock. She waited for an opportunity. It came as he went to his car to get his camera. She followed. Grabbing his arm as he closed the car door, she spun him around.

“Hey, Maggie, what’s new?” he began before her eyes tore into him. The aroma of his body tortured her.

“Did you fuck me last week?” she half-demanded, half-begged.

“What?” his expression was part amazement, part recognition.

“Did you fuck me?” she asked in a loud whisper, sure the world was listening.

“Maggie, Maggie . . . have you been drinking again?” he said with a nervous chuckle.

She stared into his blue eyes, searching for truth, finding none. Unsure of herself, she backed away, shaking her head.

“Never mind. Forget I asked. I was never here!”

She ran into the house past her sister and uncle, grabbing her coat. Had to leave, a commitment she forgot, she would be back next week no doubt, thanks for asking.

She ran to her car, pussy throbbing, pulse racing. Her keys clanged against themselves like thundering bells in her shaking hands as she found the ignition. She pulled away, attempting to look normal while hoping she could find a private spot.

A park, just a few miles from her mother’s house, offered the seclusion she was looking for. She pulled up her skirt, spread her legs, and looked around to make sure no one was watching.

And with her fingers, found a warm, wet, waiting pussy.

© 2000 by Jill. All rights reserved. No reprints or retransmissions without my permission, please.