They Needed a Sex Surrogate

Notice --one of the sex encounters begins without expressed consent. It is later given. That is too minor a story element to result in my posting this in the Nonconsent hub, but I don't want anyone who might be offended to be surprised.

This began as a commission, a request from a fan to write something specific for him. The characters, their actions, and the resulting consequences are in line with his fantasy. I don't get paid to write on request, and I don't have much spare time for it. When I'm finished I have the least satisfaction, because to some degree I wasn't writing what I wanted.

Trigger warning for Loving Wives Nazis -- somewhere in this story one male human touches another male human. Stop now, close your browser, and cold reboot.

*

"Great party, Don!"

Roger Baxter was swaying on his feet in the upstairs bathroom, having clearly had too much to drink. Don Elliott briefly feared his guest would fall over, but Roger put a hand out on the toilet tank and caught himself in plenty of time. Don was a little drunk as well, but he was nowhere near as shit-faced as Roger.

Roger and Don had crossed paths upstairs, coming and going from the bathroom. Don was on his way in and pushed the unlocked door open, thinking the room was empty. Roger had finished his business but not yet flushed, and was about to begin to tuck himself back into his trousers as his host interrupted him. It may have been because he is uncircumcised, Don thought, but Roger's cock looked much longer and thicker than his.

"Great party, Don," he was saying, and paused the zipping up project. He stood there looking a little lost, holding his penis, and making conversation. Although he was slow to put it away, Don was also slow to stop looking. When Don realized that he was indeed cock-watching, he immediately backed out through the door, mumbling "Sorry, didn't know you were in here."

"No need to scurry, Don. You've seen it enough times before, what?"

Don backed out through the door, now deeply embarrassed, and went further down the hall to the master bedroom in suite. As he held his own slender cock in his hand, he couldn't help giving another thought to the handful Roger owned. Don's own penis began to stiffen as he pictured it next to Roger's much larger member. Horrified at himself, he quickly finished peeing and stuffed his cock back into his pants.

Don's wife had worked for Roger for four years. She didn't like him; neither of them did. Roger was loud and boorish and loved crude jokes. He was the kind of shit who thought it was fun to introduce Tracey not as someone who worked "with" him, or even "for" him. Roger thought it was hilarious to say that Don's wife worked "under" him.

That stung, because she did.

***

Twelve years earlier, when Don met his future wife, he first thought her a really cold fish. She didn't smile often, and never for a stranger. She paid little attention to her appearance or dress. In fact, she was a natural beauty with bright blue-green eyes, a sharp, cunning demeanor, long, strawberry blonde hair, and a body that would drive men crazy if they ever saw it. Tracey would have been cover girl material if she'd been just a little taller and thinner.

But if not quite a cover girl, she could have been a naked centerfold of the month. Her breasts were enormous D-cup beauties that swayed without sagging. She had big nipples and small, tight areolae. Her tits hung so naturally that those bullet-size nipples pointed straight ahead, not at the floor. On the rare occasion she let Don take her dog-style, those great big boobs swayed from side to side and slapped against each other noisily.

It was such a shame, such a waste of beauty, that she didn't much like sex. None of the few partners she'd had brought her to the brink. Even with her vibrator she would only achieve an orgasm about half the time. She usually dressed modestly and was easily offended by bawdy humor and risqué entertainment. Even in the privacy of their home she never "cut loose".

There was, to the best of her knowledge, no reason for it, but she had never enjoyed sex very much. She had given her virginity to a boyfriend in her parents' basement one Saturday night and later wondered what all the fuss was about. It hurt a little, but not terribly, and it certainly wasn't something she looked forward to doing again.

She did do it again, of course, in college, but only a handful of times, and it never felt very pleasant. It was just kind of nothing. A messy nothing. She married for the first time when she was 22, and while they were mostly in love with each other in the early years they soon drifted apart. Mainly because he wanted to have sex, and she usually didn't. After six years they called it off and got a divorce.

Being a single woman in her late 20's sucked, and she decided to marry again if she found someone who could love her the way she was. Fate smiled; she met Don. He was smart, and kind, and was clearly going to be a terrific husband and father. He never pressed her for sex; they developed a tender relationship that had lots of romantic kissing and hugging and only occasional intercourse.

Tracey dutifully offered herself to Don twice a month, but never orgasmed with him. She kept a small six-inch vibrator in her drawer and gave herself orgasms that way. It was wonderful that they could be open about sex with each other, and once in a while Don would manipulate the vibrator for Tracey. They playfully named the vibrator "Little Don", but truth be told, Don's cock was half an incher shorter. He had asked her more than once if she would be interested in "opening" their marriage. Could she get more pleasure in a threesome with another woman, or another man? He told her about cuckolds, men who give their wives pleasure in consensual sex with another man.

She found the suggestions offensive, and told him so.

Don came to get much of his own sexual satisfaction at the computer, late at night. He read erotic fiction and masturbated. He watched sexually explicit videos and masturbated. Sometimes he discussed sexual fantasies with other men on line - and masturbated. Tracey wasn't stupid; she knew what her husband did with the computer late at night. The wastebasket next to his desk, full of sticky tissues, fairly reeked of sperm.

Once in a while, deeply ashamed while doing it, he imagined Tracey with a Magic Man who could give her the orgasms he couldn't. For Don, the most blissful sexual experience he could imagine was watching some other man, a better man, fuck Tracey blind. He was disgusted with himself for these thoughts. He tried so hard not to picture another man between his wife's legs, hips thrusting in and out. He loathed himself for picturing Tracey's wrecked pussy, puffy and swollen, drooling another man's semen. A cream pie. That made him masturbate, too.

***

One Friday a year ago, just before Christmas, their car was in the shop and Roger gave Tracey a ride home. He asked to come in for a moment to use the bathroom and then wouldn't leave. He asked for a glass of water, and then sat down. Tracey really didn't enjoy the man's presence, but she had no good excuse to toss him out - and he was her boss.

Besides being generally uncouth, he had a bad habit of touching the women in the office. It was all innocent of course, pats on shoulders, the occasional innocent hug. Daily remarks about one's dress, or hairstyle. And the looking, the staring. Long, leering stares. Every woman in Roger's presence could just feel him undressing her with his eyes. Strangely, many of the women vamped for him. An inappropriate remark might earn Roger a smile, or a giggle. "Nice blouse, Mary" might get him a flirtatious head-toss. But not from Tracey; she didn't have a flirtatious bone in her body.

So in her house with her lecherous boss, she braced herself for what was surely coming. Tracey saw Roger's plan the moment he said how busy he was these days writing Annual Performance Reviews for all the staff. Good opportunity to be a little extra nice to the boss, right? If she let him touch her up she could get a bonus. Maybe to get a promotion he wanted her to open her legs?

Fat chance of that, but Tracey unwisely though she could manage this encounter. Maybe she could even score a few points. Tracey was smart enough to know that her boss was trying to seduce her and over-confident enough to let him try. She planned to allow him to rub and touch a little, and then she could shut him down later. He was her boss, this would be helpful in their relationship going forward. A little touching might be OK.

She turned on the couch to sit the way a younger woman would, shoes off, legs folded under, an arm on the back of the furniture, and her body turned towards Roger. Friendly but not slutty. Oblivious to the danger. She'd never in her life experienced an uncontrollable sexual impulse, and she didn't properly understand how normal people lost control all the time.

Roger made the first move. As they chatted Roger moved from the chair to the sofa, sitting where Tracey's arm was up on the back. Her move next, and she didn't want to have her arm wrapped around Roger, so she drew it back and, with nowhere to put it, clasped her two hands together I her lap. Roger reached out and gathered her two hands in his much larger ones. With his hands now in her lap, he pushed them so that the back of his hands, still holding her tightly, rubbed against her crotch.

She couldn't move away, so she bent forwards, which brought he breasts within easy reach. Roger began to forcefully lift Tracey's blouse over her head, and her overstuffed brassiere fired Roger further.

All conversation ceased as their encounter turned into an overt wrestling match. Roger attacked one piece of clothing after another, and Tracey just kept repeating the words "no," and "stop".

Her blouse in tatters, one breast hanging out of her bra, and her skirt tearing away, Tracey realized for the first time that this was rape, not "an unwanted sexual advance." Roger was six feet tall and weighed at least twice as much as Tracey. There wasn't the slightest chance he'd fail to get what he wanted if it was a physical contest.

So she yielded. Sex had never meant much to her, and she still seemed shocked that anyone would assault another person and commit criminal acts for a five-minute fuck.

He soon had her mostly naked, on the floor in front of the sofa. He told her to remove her brassiere. When she did, he used it to loosely bind her wrists together behind her back, laid her flat on the floor, and climbed between her knees. He was thrilled that she was giving in to him, not fighting. He would not have wanted to have hurt her.

She was whimpering and asking him to stop. And yet even now, as his rampant cock was about to nest inside her, she was crying mostly about the fact that he had willingly destroyed their relationship and upended her life. They'd been colleagues, partners, almost friends, and that all disappeared in a flash. Who were they now? Were they going to go to the office tomorrow as if none of this was happening?

Roger, of course, was thinking other thoughts. Thoughts most of us can more easily imagine ourselves thinking. Thoughts like "is she wet enough" and "should I cum inside her" and can I hold my load long enough to get her off". He was still pleased with how this adventure was turning out. Years of lust were about to be slaked.

As he first dredged the head of his cock through her labia he knew instantly that she was as dry as a bone. "I'm going to kiss you," he announced, and for a moment she misunderstood. He carefully reached under her knees, lifted her ass off of the floor, and used his strength to bring her cunt to his mouth. She hung from his grip as he slobbered and licked her vulva until he felt it was wet enough. Then he dropped her back into fuck position.

She was still babbling about their office relationship as he ran eight and a half inches of fat dick right up into her small, barely used vagina. Three inches further than her husband had ever been. She was feeling fucked in places she didn't even know she had. So many new feelings were shooting through her brain. Roger's massive hips were pounding her crotch like a punching bag. His penis was not just longer than Don's but much wider, and was stretching her pussy. She'd never felt *that* before, and certainly not with Don.

Roger's fat fingers were now rubbing her clitoris and pinching her nipples. Neither hurt, but both were much more forceful, more insistent, than any previous lover. She felt her cunt getting wetter on its own. Roger's longer penis managed longer strokes than her husband's small cock, and the head of Roger's dick was raking up and down the walls of her channel. The bigger glans was popping her labia open and closed as he removed and then reinserted his manhood.

He snaked his arms under her legs, behind her knees, and then hunched forward to reach and pinch those giant nipples of hers. This lifted her legs almost to her shoulders and allowed his cock to plunge into her vertically down into her vagina. Her breasts seemed to have a direct connection to her cunt, and as Roger fucked and pinched she began to build towards one of her rare orgasms. Tracey Elliott was, for the first time in her life, splayed open.

"Roger, wait. I'm not sure...."

He didn't care what she wanted to say, and bent further forward to smother her lips with his own. Now that Tracey was enjoying the fuck, it was surprisingly the kiss that bothered her. She didn't like this man, she had never liked this man, and the thought of his tongue in her mouth was, astonishingly, much more of a violation than his dick in her pussy. She tried to twist her head away from his disgusting kiss even as her hips were thrusting up and down to get more cock. Tracey was teetering on the brink of an orgasm.

And as it crashed over her, she gave up the last shred of her dignity. She sucked Roger's tongue and used her own to battle back into his mouth. He had conquered the last barrier. As they slowly came to rest, Roger gathered Tracey's sweaty naked body into his embrace. She came willingly, whimpering from previously unknown pleasure, their mouths, lips, and tongues still sucking and nibbling each other's mouths.

***

When Don came home for dinner Friday night Tracey had showered, cleaned up the living room, and changed into yoga pants. Of course she said nothing to Don about the afternoon's sordid drama. She didn't know what she wanted to say, how she felt. She was angry at somebody -- Roger or herself? And at the same time she felt relaxed, comfortable somehow.

Don noticed that she seemed to be wincing when she moved in the chair. She told him she had strained her muscle doing her yoga routine. She was surprised that she felt neither guilt nor anger. In fact, she felt pretty good. She had no trouble going to sleep Friday night, her mind was clear. There was nothing to feel guilty about, her bed felt comfortable, and she slept peacefully.

Saturday morning she was unusually cheerful. She had new problems, but she loved finding solutions. Tracey was always a thoughtful, deliberate woman. Every step was planned; she would have been an excellent chess player. She had two days to figure out what to do with, and say to, Roger in the office Monday morning. She put that out of her mind and concentrated on the more immediate issue: her husband. It briefly occurred to her that he seemed different this morning. Over morning coffee he was distracted by the newspaper, and she gazed at him while her mind churned.

There was no doubt about it, her husband looked smaller. Not just that silly penis thing; of course Don won no prizes there. No, she realized, it was his size and weight and, well, his overall *presence* in the room. He was less *there*. Sipping her drink, it seemed he was less important to her, too. Roger was the problem, and she'd think about that later, but Don was here, and his wife had been raped, and she slowly realized that she didn't care very much how he would feel when he found out.

Should she tell him today or not? He certainly couldn't undo what had happened. He might even do something stupid, like fighting Roger, try to prove he's a man. Or he might notify the authorities.

She would wait a few days. Maybe there was a way to tell him that would not have a terrible. Maybe, what was that word again? The one he'd taught her two years ago? Oh, yeah. Cuckold. He pretty much told her it would be fun for him to share her. Of course, he hadn't planned on his wife getting raped, but still. Maybe Don would finally get to be a cuckold if she played her cards right. Maybe she could have a real penis again, and a real orgasm.

Tracey pondered things all day. Thought about sex all day. She climbed into bed with Don Saturday night feeling a bit adventurous. She rolled onto her side, facing Don, and reached over to touch him. "Honey, are you still awake?"

Of course he was; they'd just turned in. She reached over with her hand and let it rest on his buttocks. Tender, familiar, nothing sexual. Don turned his head towards her and returned the gesture, placing his hand on her waist. But his hand wandered a bit, and cradled her breast. He was surprised when she let him; often she told him to leave her tits alone. She knew a fondle would soon be followed by an unwanted attempt at intercourse unless she clearly signaled a lack of interest. She had been making excuses more often when he wanted sex.

Don moved towards his wife to kiss her, but she pulled away. She looked at her husband.

"I've been thinking," she said.

He knew better than to speak.

"Are you happy, with us?" Then before he could answer she continued, "I mean here, in bed. The sex thing. We're not very good at it, are we? Neither one of us. I know it's not just me that's unhappy; you're not satisfied either, are you?"

Don spoke carefully, unsure where this was going. "I think we try our best, honey. I know you try. It's not your fault that orgasms are hard. I read a lot of women rarely cum. Maybe there's things I should do differently."

Tracey remained silent for a moment, then said, "Tell me about open marriages. You know, that threesome thing you talk about sometimes. How could a husband enjoy watching his wife in bed with another woman? Or a man? How do people do that?"

They were facing each other, close. He could see her face clearly, and she had that "eager beaver" face on. That meant she was really focusing on what he said. "Most men have a lesbian fantasy thing, I've heard. I don't know how to explain it really. Just the thought of two women rolling around naked, licking each other? It drives men mad."

She carefully moved her hand now, and reached for his penis through the flap of his pajamas. She was right; he was hard. She held her hand there, pulling slowly on the end of it. "God, that's nice, Tracey."

"OK, twice as many boobs, two cunts, I get it. But that cuckold thing." She paused, and felt his cock twitching as even more blood tried to engorge it. "Another man? I understand watching two performers fuck in a video. I guess that's hot, watching them have sex. But someone you know? Your wife?"

She was tugging him openly now, no pretense any more that it was just a tender fondle. He stammered slightly as he tried to answer the question. The firm touch of her fingers on his hardening penis had him flustered. Were they going to fuck? Tracey almost never initiated sex.

"You seem to like thinking about this cuckold thing, don't you Don? Does it turn you on? Do you secretly want to share me with another man? Make me a hotwife?"

He was absolutely rigid now, and she released her grip slightly to palm his balls. He almost ejaculated. Pull, palm, pull, palm. What the fuck was happening, he wondered.