Christmas Eve was a blisteringly frosty day, and it had nothing to do with the winter wonderland raging outside of my windows. A snowstorm was covering the city with a harsh, stark-white blanket, but the frigid temperature between me and Danny made that seem like a pleasant summer day at the beach.
Our chill factor was one born of silence. But not just any silence. This silence was alive and pregnant with tension. Not having anything to say is one thing, but having a multitude of words NOT being said is an entirely different kind of beasty. It's the kind of silence that screams out, begging to be put to death.
We had to talk about what happened between us. The "r" word hung over us like a cloud. The problem was, I didn't want to. On the one hand, I was still unsure exactly WHAT happened. On the other, I hadn't come to grips with how I felt.
On the shallow surface, it was rape. Plain and simple. He penetrated me without my consent and didn't' stop when I told him to. Any textbook describing that event would categorize that without hesitation.
But nothing between me and Danny is ever that simple.
Our "game" was built on the premise of pushing the boundaries of consent. That's what made it so fun and addicting. He'd do something, I'd react (or not react), and a new boundary was set. That's how we got from him peeping on me in the shower to him erupting his copious load of jizz down my gullet.
I enjoyed him pushing my boundaries. I enjoyed not knowing what he was going to try next. I enjoyed that sense of submission I got from giving in to his desires.
However, at the end of the day, sex was the ONE THING I said was off limits. I'd been saying it from the very beginning. It was rule number 1. He willingly agreed to it. He KNEW how I felt about it. But when his cock got hard, he decided my boundaries no longer mattered.
But then again, within the last week we pretty much covered the gambit of sex play two people can do. I sucked his cock. He ate my pussy (and pretty much licked everywhere on my body). I stuck my fingers in his ass. He tied me up. He used ALL my sex toys on me.
Our lines of impropriety had long ago blurred. Sticking his cock inside of my pussy was but a natural progression to the ever-evolving "game". Honestly, with the way we were going, his dick would've probably been wet with my juices by now anyway. I had no self-control when it came to him. I couldn't even explain the power he had over me. It made no sense. I loved my husband deeply. Danny was 2 decades my junior. He wasn't suave. He wasn't tall. He wasn't drop dead gorgeous.
And yet, I wanted nothing more than to please him; to see that confident spark in his eyes. It was such a turn on as he shot his cum all over me.
So, if that's the case, why was I so hurt? So angry with him?
Because for the first time, I felt used. And not the kind of used feeling I get off on with my submissive streak. I felt like a cheap trick, like my only purpose was providing life support for the wet holes he wanted to stick his dick in. After everything I let him do to me, he still felt entitled to my pussy, no matter if I wanted to or not.
I'd given him so much of myself; more than I intended. I risked everything. The game itself was so stupid. Why would a woman in my position even risk her life for a thrill so cheap? But it wasn't a cheap thrill for me. I loved the Danny that was emerging from the shell he was in. The metamorphosis was such a delight to witness. I loved him enough to yearn for that.
That was the Oedipal duality of our relationship. I was both a mother and a lover. That was who "Auntie Ronnie" was.
In essence, Danny's rape wasn't to my body, it was to my heart. That's the part that hurt. Not his cock. The disrespect.
So, for the two days after that night, I walked around my house with two clouds overhead. One was a raging thunderstorm of anger. The other was a meek, grey cloud of hurt. At any moment, either cloud could dominate my mood.
For his part, Danny tried his best to avoid me. He hid in the safety of his room, even more so than he did before. He only emerged to sneak off to work, to the bathroom, or to greet the door dash deliverer to get his food (I'd stopped cooking for him).
The couple of times our paths crossed, he'd look at me with sorrowful, puppy dog eyes, as if inquiring if I were still upset with him. Whenever I caught a glimpse of him in the brief moments before he scurried back into his hole, I felt his cock inside of me. I heard him grunting behind me as he raped me.
So, I'd cut my eyes away from him with a "
harumph",
and he'd simply droop his shoulders and walk away quietly, tail firmly tucked between his legs.
But there was another side of things; a part of the puzzle I didn't want to acknowledge.
Every so often, my mind would flash to the things me and Danny did. His eyes secretly watching me in the shower with my full knowledge. His long cock in my mouth, plastering hot spunk all over my throat, his tongue on my ass...
My body (my pussy mainly) twitched at the memory of his smooth, long cock inside of my wet pussy. I remembered how different it felt to Martin's. Not better, but different in a good way. it didn't stretch me open as wide, but it reached places inside of me that hadn't been touched by my husband's cock. Right before Danny shot his massive load inside of my womb, he pushed himself all the way inside me, bottoming out inside of my cunt. It was both and uncomfortable and pleasurable sensation to have him jab me all the way to the end of my walls.
The orgasm I was on the verge of having, the fact that on some level I was enjoying my rape; that's the worst of it. The betrayal of my body was worse than Danny's betrayal. While my mind was pissed that Danny broke my trust, my body yearned for the forbidden cock that was the polar opposite of my husband's.
My mind and my body were at war with each other. My mind told me that Danny took my pussy without permission. He raped me. But my body told the same story with a different twist. It said he took control of me, took what he wanted, and made me submit to his desire, just like I always wanted him to.
On the one hand,
how dare he?
On the other hand,
oh baby!
My submissive lust was inflamed by the thought. My thighs tingled at the memory of him taking what he wanted from me, despite me telling him my pussy was off limits. It was so.... domineering. So Alpha. So hot.
I'm such a fucking pervert. My kinks are so confusing. This thing with Danny had opened a hidden compartment inside of me that I never knew existed. I've always been a sexual person, losing my virginity at such a young age. But Danny was pushing "Auntie Ronnie" to boundaries that were kind of scary.
And I liked it.
So, while I was angry at Danny for violating my trust, I was turned on by his audacity. My mind sent my imagination to different scenarios of being forced to submit. I imagined myself tied up again, helpless to stop him from invading my pussy, my ass, my mouth. Only this time, he didn't use my toys on me. He chose to do something much more primal to my vulnerable body.
So, on Christmas Eve morning, as I was on the phone with Martin, he addressed the elephant in the room. Of course, he didn't know which elephant he was addressing, only that something was off with me. Right in the middle of our conversation, he abruptly asked, "What's going on with you, Ronnie?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I don't know." He said, concern filling his voice. "You've just been out of sorts since I left for this trip. You're always distracted. You rush me off the phone. You didn't even tell me you got sick and lost your voice. Danny had to tell me."
Trying to insert a light-hearted joke to curb the discomfort at his questioning, I said, "Well, I couldn't very well
tell
you I lost my voice...you know...with
no voice...
"
