Jordan

[Crushing]

Captain Mark Rein. Instructor, Platoon Leaders Course, OCS Quantico.

A name on an otherwise unremarkable directory on a military unit's website. Basic contact information, no photo, no service record.

David had to scroll through dozens of other names to find the one he was looking for. The name was easily buried in the pile of other names: instructors, support staff, both military and civilian, that made up the Marine Corps Officers' Candidates School in Quantico, Virginia.

David wasn't sure what he expected when he finally looked him up. He thought Captain Rein's entry would be more prominent, have his own web page listing his military and athletic accomplishments, or even display his physical measurements. But in this sphere, he was just one instructor among several, serving a quiet yet dignified function as an officer in the Marine Corps. All of the things that made him remarkable were tucked neatly under the stoic ethos of the few and the proud.

The quiet stoicism of his directory entry matched his personality in most ways. He was powerfully soft-spoken almost all of the time. He exuded a calm, confident, and intimidating air without a hint of ego or bombast. In retrospect, David's cuckolding was inevitable. What was really remarkable, however, was the full flowering of Jordan's sexuality under the influence of Captain Rein's--Mark's--appetites.

Jordan and David met in graduate school. He had graduated from Abilene Christian with a degree in accounting, she had graduated from Wheaton wither a degree in psychology. They met in graduate school despite being enrolled in different programs. David was going for a finance MBA, she was pursuing a doctorate in psychology with aspirations of becoming a counselor. David's undergrad experience included required daily chapel attendance, and he continued to go to services several times a week in his new school. Jordan was church-raised: a pastor's daughter who was actively involved in our congregation's outreach. They met at a church service in their first month of their graduate studies.

Jordan noticed David first, her natural tendency for outreach gently overcoming his preference for back corners and out of the way spaces. She could easily see that he was socially awkward, and she knew he needed a friendly face to make him comfortable in his surroundings. He had a dark hair, thin features and glasses. He was stronger than he looked, but his thin-set frame underscored his social anxiety and aversion to conflict. But those who looked deeper quickly found him to be deeply kind and fiercely intelligent, but shy enough to hide those attributes in order to maintain invisibility in a crowd.

But Jordan chatted with David each time he came to services, gradually bringing him out of his shell and into their shared church community. More friendships followed; he began to feel comfortable in his new home. David worked hard to hide the fact that he was dumbstruck by Jordan's beauty: long, brunette hair, pale, smooth skin, and a smile that persisted naturally even when nobody was looking. She had a trim build that betrayed her accomplishments as a college runner and a modest style that complemented her quiet faith. But her most magnetic feature was her eyes. Deep, engaging, gun-barrel blue eyes that would make whoever she spoke to feel deeply connected to her and convinced of her sincerity.

In their first few encounters, David's heart fluttered when she made eye contact. He thought the intensity of her gaze was flirtatious, but he soon realized that each member of the congregation she spoke to enjoyed the same gaze. He had spent a lifetime in the friend zone, and so prepared himself for the all too familiar wet towel of friendly rejection by a beautiful woman. Even if--and this was far from certain--he could muster up the courage to ask her out.

Thank God for church gossip. This normally toxic inevitability of church life actually turned the wind to David's favor early in his first semester. Unfiltered rumors about their weekly chitchats burned through the congregation--and all the old ladies whispered back and forth: David and Jordan are dating!

They weren't, but it didn't take long for the non-couple to hear it. On their way out of the church from opposite ends of a pew, they paused long enough to laugh together about the rumor. However, David knew a passing opportunity when he saw it, and threw his Hail Mary pass. He asked her--eyes down on the floor--if there was a man in her life, and if not...would she like to go get some coffee sometime and get to know each other? His heart pounded so hard as he asked that he wasn't sure if the last words out of his mouth were even audible.

He braced for impact, knowing that beautiful young women with deep and engaging eyes want nothing to do with unremarkables like him. Primed for a disarming reference to a boyfriend in another town, or an insistence that she is simply too busy with school, or even a gentle suggestion that she valued their friendship too much to risk it with a date, she dropped the biggest, most terrifying bomb of all.

"I'd love to. How's Tuesday morning?"

David was shocked enough to look up off the floor, meeting her eyes. She smiled from her core and lit him on fire. Holding her gaze, he stammered...re...re...really? She sensed the tension and disarmed it with a laugh: "Yes, really. I'd love to get to know you better, you seem like a nice guy."

A gentle buzzing on the desk snapped David out of his reverie and back into the present. He looked down from the unit directory--currently open to Mark's entry--on his laptop and picked up his phone to read a new text message.

"OMW. Get ready."

David's heart thumped. He hastily looked around the living room of their small apartment to make sure everything was cleaned and orderly. He closed his web browser, powered down his laptop and closed it on the coffee table. He hastily pulled off his shirt and pants, carefully folding them and placing them on the coffee table next to his laptop. He left his socks on, along with the silky black panties that covered his small, erect penis, and laid back on the couch to wait.

His mind raced and his heart pounded as he watched time pass on their wall clock.

5 minutes.

10 minutes.

As the minute hand inched toward 15 minutes since the arrival of the text, David heard a key slip into the door and turn. He sat up eagerly, propping himself on his elbows. Jordan entered the apartment and closed the door behind her, turning to face her husband.

David stammered..."Hi...hi honey, how was?"

Jordan raised her finger to her lips and David pursed his lips together in silence. Jordan walked calmly over to the side of the couch and knelt next to her husband, leaning over to kiss him gently on the lips.

"Shhh, baby. Remember...no questions until it's done, okay?"

David nodded slightly, mumbling assent. Jordan could see the angst in her husband's eyes. She stroked his hair, and leaned in to kiss him more deeply. The scent of the feminine perfume that she left the apartment with several hours earlier had diminished, masked now by another, weightier musk. Jordan locked eyes with David deeply and smiled.

"Are you ready?" Jordan whispered.

"Yeah..." David answered with a catch in his throat.

"Okay." Jordan stood up, unzipped her jeans and pulled them down along with silky black panties that matched the pair tented over David's trembling penis. She stepped gracefully out of her bottoms and extended her right leg to kneel over her husband, straddling his face. Small drops began to fall onto David's chin. His heart beat even faster.

She stroked his hair gently one more time, then cupped the back of his head and lifted it up to meet her.

[weluvtoodoit]

Wish there was a 'like' button for this!

[Crushing]

As inevitable as David's cuckolding seemed in hindsight, its slow journey to fruition seemed to be anything but certain at the time. Eyes stuck wide open, David laid restlessly next to his wife, who was sleeping soundly after a passionate evening with Mark. David recalled with burning cheeks the affectionate indignity he experienced as Jordan fed Mark's cum to him just hours ago. They had been married for two years last night, and were a couple for eighteen months before that. How did this happen?

David felt it might help him sleep if he recalled the journey in detail. This turn of events in their marriage was all the more emotionally potent given the innocent origins of their love. To call Jordan and David a vanilla couple prior to meeting Mark would be an understatement. They were an adorable, naive couple in their early twenties...graduate school newlyweds. Their love story was almost unbelievably wholesome--they stole the hearts of their small congregation, who watched them progress week to week from awkward conversations, to sitting together in pews, to holding hands as they left the service. One day, they finally made the church bulletin, announcing their intentions over the pulpit as the women who gossiped about their involvement began to fawn over the modest engagement ring that had appeared on Jordan's left hand.

Jordan handled all of this attention with ease, broadly compassionate social creature that she was. Also, being raised as a pastor's daughter, she was skilled in navigating the obstacles of church gossip while maintaining decorum. She met each squeal of delight with a broad, genuine smile and showed her ring to anyone who wanted to see it, matching their glee with her own.

From Jordan's perspective, the marriage was meant to be. She was initially drawn to David's shy, nervous personality out of habit as a pastor's daughter trained in outreach. She developed an enormous emotional intelligence as a result, which she would display in her instinct to befriend. She had been raised to make people feel welcome, after all, and had practiced it her whole life in a church setting. Once it became apparent that David was attracted to her, however, she began to look for his good qualities, quickly finding many. She knew he wanted to date her within a few minutes of their first meeting, but also knew that he would have a lot of trouble asking her. She thought about asking him, but ultimately decided that may send him deeper into shy withdrawal. He needed to find the courage to ask her.

So she waited, and continued their friendly communication each week.

Their conversations revealed a young man whose shyness betrayed intelligence and capability. David was successful in school, in college, and had worked several part time jobs which gave him a strong work ethic and a sense of moral gravity. Jordan found this to be very attractive, given her steady diet of Hallmark movies growing up in a sheltered Christian household. David had worked as a carpenter's apprentice during summers and at a movie theater during school. He also worked in the fields early in the morning before school while he was in junior high school, waking up at 5 AM to move irrigation pipe in his hometown in Iowa. He always had a job--sometimes two or three--and was well thought of as punctual, serious, and capable. He learned quickly, and despite his shy demeanor, he established himself as invaluable wherever he worked. Jordan learned these details a little at a time over their initial passing conversations. She observed his character through small details of his behavior--he was always at the service a few minutes early, and helped clean up the pews after the service was over. He seemed to instinctively want to do the right thing and be helpful when nobody was looking. And he seemed to prefer that nobody looked while he did the right thing.

From David's perspective, the marriage was a lightning strike on a sewing needle. Sheer, dumb, electric luck. Jordan was beautiful--pale skin with light brown hair; thin, graceful frame, petite features and strong facial symmetry. She had been a successful college track and field athlete. She had graduated college on full athletic and academic scholarships. She had been accepted into a top tier Ph.D program with one of the most renowned research psychologists in the country, Dr. Lev Lukascz. By all accounts, she was doing extremely well, and would, in a few years, earn her doctorate degree and begin a promising career. In contrast, David fumbled his way through college, working too much to have a social life, only got into a Master's program, and only by the skin of his teeth. He felt that his IQ didn't wow anyone so he had to work twice as hard. Girls didn't notice him, and most of the time his invisibility didn't bother him. But Jordan would talk to him each Sunday, even though he knew SHE knew he was weird. It was strange to admire a girl that would freely talk to him. He wasn't used to it. But asking Jordan Simms out on a date?

Don't be ridiculous.

But he took his shot, and she agreed. Probably out of pity, he thought at the time. But she agreed! David met her at a coffee shop Tuesday morning, arriving several minutes early to make sure he could find a table for them to sit. To his surprise, she was already there, holding a table with both a notebook and textbook open in front of her. She didn't seem to notice him come in. She probably forgot. This is just her morning study place, he thought. He should go, he thought. Save them both the awkwardness...

"David!" Jordan met eyes with him an instant before he turned around in the doorway. She closed her books and stacked them neatly on the side of the small table, standing up to meet him. She was wearing blue jeans and a loose, forest green turtleneck. She wore casual sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It was the first time he saw her in something other than her Sunday best. She was still stunning. He smiled nervously and began walking toward her.

Oh no, David thought...How do I greet her? Does I shake her hand? Hug her? Kiss her cheek? Too far. How was this supposed to go? David nervously extended his hand, and she looked down at it, then lifted hers to meet it. As they awkwardly shook hands, she lifted her eyes to meet his with a smirk. "Is this a business meeting David? Are we going to finalize the merger?"

David jerked his hand back and muttered an apology. This was going well. He managed a weak smile and gestured toward the counter to place their orders. She smiled and nodded. "Feel free to use words, David," Jordan laughed. He would usually be offended by remarks like this, but she had a sincerity about her that made him realize her playfulness had absolutely no malice in it. He began to relax a little.

"So...so, do you come here often?" he asked as they moved to the ordering line.

"Maybe once a week. Most of the classes I assist with are in the morning, but I have Tuesdays off. I like to come here then."

"Glad you could fit me in your schedule," David quipped with a slight smile.

"Me too."

The logjam of awkwardness that had built up over David's lifetime of shy misunderstanding began to slowly break apart under Jordan's patient interest in him. Conversation began to flow. Their hometowns, their families, their interests. Jordan coaxed a couple honest-to-goodness stories out of her shy date.

"How old were you at the time?" Jordan asked

"I would have been...fifteen. I'd been working as an apprentice since I was twelve, and I noticed that he had enough workers for two crews, and even three depending on the job. I told him how I thought he could reorganize everyone by skill level and dependability, and he went from one to three crews by the end of the summer. By the next summer when I came back, he had taken on a lot more work, and made enough money to buy a second truck and a speedboat. He taught me how to drive his old one, and even took me out on the boat sometimes."

"Sounds like a nice guy."

"He was, he could sure yell alot. But that's just how construction work is, you get used to it. And I know he meant well. He still calls me sometimes."

"So you were reorganizing businesses for efficiency before you could drive?"

"I mean, I guess if you call a group of hammerheads throwing up frame walls and stripping roofs a business, then yes..."

"I do. I do call it a business, David. What else is on your resume?"

"I don't really have a resume, I've always just sort of worked hard and my last boss recommends me to my next boss. So I have steady work. Right now I'm handling early morning deliveries for a distributor."

Jordan squinted slightly, perplexed at how someone as ambitious and talented could still be driving flower trucks. But she could help him with that later, he was still clearly vulnerable, and she wanted him to feel comfortable with her.

"Early morning..." she said. "How early?"

"I'm usually on the job between 3:30 and 4," David responded.

Jordan gaped slightly. "So you came to our early morning date after a full day of work?"

"More of a half day." David paused. "Wait, is this a date?"

Jordan laughed in disbelief. David's eyes went down to his coffee cup, and he became silent.

Jordan stopped herself, realizing that David probably misinterpreted her laughter as dismissing the idea of a date. She reached across the table and put her hand on his. David's entire body warmed, and, against his better judgement, looked up. Her gun barrel blue eyes locked with his, freezing him in place. She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Yes David. This is a date."

[eater]

I'm interested and excited

[shamed411bee]

Great start!!!

[Oneillfranko]

Great narration

[Crushing]

David opened his eyes to a newly cleaned bedroom filled with mid-morning light. He had fallen asleep, and passed a dreamless night. He turned on his side to find Jordan already gone, her side of the bed gently rumpled from a peaceful night's sleep. He sat up, turned to the side, and then stood up and stretched--straining to release the tension of waking. As he extended his arms up and his back out, he caught sight of himself in Jordan's small vanity mirror still wearing small black panties. The previous night's intensity flooded David's memory.

He grabbed some pajama bottoms from their dresser and put them on, walking out from the bedroom to the main living area of their small apartment. Jordan was in the kitchen, wearing fresh white cotton panties and David's old lifeguard hoodie.

"Hey you!" Jordan said, cheerily. She was standing over a frying pan, cooking breakfast. French toast. David's favorite. She flipped the toast in the pan, setting it back down on the burner. She then walked over to David, throwing her arms around his neck and leaning into him. "Good morning, baby." She loosened the hug enough to kiss him deeply and look into his eyes. "How did you sleep?"

"I had some trouble getting to sleep, but I slept like a rock afterward. How about you?"

"Oh, I crashed immediately. How are you feeling now?" She had a relaxed glow about her this morning.

"Surprisingly well rested. I fell asleep thinking about our first date. You might not even remember."

"I remember how nervous you were. You're so cute when you're outside of your comfort zone." She paused for a minute, as if trying to remember something she planned on telling him. "Speaking of which..." She reached down and pulled open the waistband of his pajama pants, revealing his panties, then let it go to snap shut.

David's face flushed. Jordan leaned into kiss range of David's face. "You were great last night..." Jordan said with a low voice, lightly pecking his lips.

"YOU were great last night!" David responded indignantly. I was so nervous, but you..."

Jordan giggled and put her finger over his lips. "Shhh! It's Sunday morning, and we don't talk about this before church. Now help me put the rest of this breakfast together so we can make the 11:00 service. I know how you can't stand being late!"

Jordan was often playful in the mornings. Her spirits seemed to come up with the sun. David had been worried about an awkward morning after, worried about her changing perception of him. But she had always been a fresh-start mornings kind of girl that way. Each day was a new day. She never let awkwardness, hurt feelings, or disagreements fester through the night. It made it easy for them to fall in love over and over again. Sitting down to french toast, bacon, and an orange--the height of luxury for newlywed grad students--David tucked in hungrily.

The couple showered together as husband and wife, wordlessly washing each other's bodies, then quietly dried themselves off and put on their church clothes. Jordan curled her hair slightly, wearing a modest dress with a pastel blue top that matched her eyes. David read a book on the couch while he waited for his wife to be ready. They arrived about 15 minutes early, and Jordan made her way to the front of the chapel as David sat quietly in a pew near the back. Jordan was singing in the choir this morning, which was good and bad. Good, because he got to look at her performing beautiful music. Bad, because he would sit alone while she did it.

As the service started, his mind wandered back to their dating days, picking up where he left off the night before. Jordan made it clear after their conversation at the coffee shop that she wanted to see him again. He gradually became more confident in asking her out. They shared some interests, enjoying the outdoors by going on hikes and even took a canoe trip together, sleepin in separate tents for several nights. They both loved to help, deciding together to volunteer with the church youth program mentoring teens. Jordan would help them with English and history homework, and mentoring student athletes too. David would corral the nerds, focusing on Math and Science. Not to be outdone by Jordan's extracurricular mentoring, he began to teach woodworking classes. The two would sit in on each other's games and classes. David was in awe of Jordan's athleticism. Jordan was impressed with David's skill with tools. He could shape and assemble amazing things with basic lumber. She'd never met a guy that could do that!

About six months into their courtship, Jordan invited David to her hometown to meet her family for a weekend. David was terrified to meet her pastor father, and worried (albeit only to himself) they would all be weird. When he met them, they were (it) a little sheltered, but extremely welcoming. David offered to get a hotel room--which he couldn't afford--but Jordan's mother made up a makeshift bed out of the couch in their den. Her little brother and sister were curious but friendly, and quickly took a liking to David. Penetrating his shy demeanor seemed to be skill shared by the whole family. Jordan's father did have a talk with David about respecting his daughter, but by the end of the talk he became convinced of David's noble intentions and appreciation for his daughter's boundaries.

On Saturday afternoon, David was invited to go with the family to their favorite swimming spot at a local lake. David was happy to be invited, excited for the chance to show off his lifeguard-honed swimming skills, and asked to borrow a towel. Jordan's mother pointed to a linen closet was down the hall next door to Jordan's room, where he retrieved a fresh beach towel. Just as he pulled the towel out, Jordan emerged from her room in a forest green one-piece bathing suit. Jordan had always dressed modestly, and while David knew and consistently admired her tight, athletic frame, this was the first time he saw the real contours of her body. He was taken aback at just how stunning she was. He briefly realized why the term "attraction" worked, as his attention was drawn to her body like iron to a magnet. Trim, athletic arms and shoulders were topped by the spandex straps holding up the suit that tautly covered her small, perky breasts, flat tummy, and tucked between her strong, toned legs. As she turned around to close her bedroom door, she turned slightly, revealing a well toned rear. David froze. She noticed his eyes lingering on her, with one hand still on the open closet door and the other holding a towel halfway in the closet.

"Hey there," she said, smiling.

"I'm sorry..." He said, quickly pulling the towel the rest of the way out and closing the closet door. He looked down. "You caught me by surprise..."

"It's okay, David." she said quietly, lowering her voice so that her siblings or parents couldn't hear. "I like it when you look at me. I'm your girlfriend. I want you to be attracted to me. Just look, and don't touch, okay?"

David now had an issue that required he hold his towel discretely over the front of his trunks and excuse himself from the conversation. Prior to leaving for the lake, Jordan put a t-shirt and shorts on over her swimsuit, which David both appreciated and resented slightly. Once they got to the lake, however, she trotted out on the boat dock with her brother and sister, removing her overshirt as she did. David's earlier swimsuit issue began to return, threatening to make the rest of the weekend awkward. He made a quick decision.

Walking briskly to the dock, he quickly kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirt over his head. He then sprinted full bore down the dock, flying past several other swimmers lounging or walking on the boards. When he reached the end, Jordan and her siblings squealed with delight, thinking he was just leading the way, jumping in the cold water. In a way, he was. Reaching the edge of the dock at a full spring, David took a flying leap, landing flat on his belly with a slap on the water. The whole dock full of swimmers groaned in sympathy.

"Are you okay, David?" Jordan leaned over the water slightly with concern as her boyfriend surfaced. "Yeah," David sputtered, the cold water and pain resolving his swimsuit issue temporarily. "I was going to dive, but I slipped." Hollering, Jordan's younger siblings cannonballed in after him, and Jordan's look of concern faded as David forced a wide grin. As she bent toward, him, he could see down the front of her swimsuit slightly, getting the first view of her bare chest--or a portion of it. His heart raced again.

"You jumping in or what?" David taunted his girlfriend. Jordan grinned, took three steps back on the dock, and then ran and dove smoothly into the water. Splash fights and Marco Polo followed. Jordan's parents even jumped and joined in for a bit. David's erotic conundrum faded as he had genuine fun with Jordan's family. They enjoyed a kind of effortless joy together, something he had not known in his family. It was something he deeply craved, and he knew that he wanted to pattern his own family life in a similar way. Jordan's father was not the stern, preacherly pastor he was expecting. His congregation was small, theologically and politically moderate, and more interested in caring for each other than making a name for themselves. So unlike many congregations David had found himself dissatisfied with during his undergraduate years. He was good at his vocation. Jordan's mother reflected her own intensity, but was excited that Jordan had found a nice, churchgoing boy. She quickly warmed to David, and her siblings were in awe of his ability to fix things.

As the afternoon faded, Reverend and Mrs. Simms called everyone back up to the dock to head back for burgers and ice cream. Jordan emerged from the dock ladder first, her body posture in the inadvertently sexy crouch that goes with exiting a body of water from a ladder. David drank in the sight of his dream girl dripping wet in skin-tight clothes, but didn't linger too long--the Reverend was definitely watching. He deliberately turned away and looked at some old men bringing their fishing boats into the docks while he slowly swam toward the ladder to get out himself. Waiting on Jordan's younger siblings to climb out of the water, David found (mercifully) that Jordan had put her t-shirt and shorts back on before his turn came, saving him the conundrum of having to hide his arousal when he got out of the water. Still, he was wary. Jordan, a form-hugging swimsuit, David's eyes, and the Reverend were a dangerous combination. After getting out, David quickly wrapped the beach towel around his waist tightly, knotting the front in order to preclude the need for emergency belly-flops.

With Jordan's family sharing their affection for David, it was not long before he mustered up the necessary courage and inventory to propose. She knew it was coming...but acted surprised. She did not have to feign delight, however. She was deeply in love with David, and equally deeply impressed by his character. He was far more flummoxed than she was as the ring went on her finger. Roughly three dozen overtime, overnight shifts at a nearby 24 distribution center went into buying the modest ring, and feared it wasn't enough. She loved it though--it was the symbol of a good man falling for her. A true prize.

Their wedding was small and sweet. Jordan's home congregation hosted and made it truly special, but it was a small-town wedding. David fought hard to make sure his own family behaved around his new wife and in-laws, with mixed success. But eighteen months after they met, they were married.

Their wedding night took place in the honeymoon suite of a small, rural hotel...which was basically a regular room with a slightly larger tub. The couple nervously checked in as man and wife, and the elderly clerk smirked knowingly as he handed them their keys. David's mind kept returning to Jordan in her swimsuit...salivating at the prospects of the coming hours. Approaching the door to the room, his hand trembled as the keys kept missing the lock. Jordan had changed from her wedding dress to plain jeans and a knit top. She looped her arms through his and leaned her head on her shoulder as he fumbled with, and eventually opened, the door. Her scent was intoxicating, and her body was warm against his. She, too, was nervous...a true virgin. Once they got in the room with the door closed behind them, they dropped their bags in the corner and began to kiss passionately and grope each other hungrily. David ran his hands up and down Jordan's back, first over her clothes, and then slipped his hands under, feeling the warm skin on her back for the first time. He slipped his hands under her brassiere strap, reveling in the new-felt territory. Jordan held him close, kissing his mouth, his face, his neck. She removed his glasses and threw them on the table behind her.

David took the opportunity to reach for her shirt and pull it up. His new wife stood before him in just jeans and a bra. She looked so vulnerable, so beautiful. He stared at her body and began stroking her front lightly. His right hand passed over her left breast for the first time. She instinctively reached up to stop him, then stopped herself--this was okay now. He nervously reached up and cupped both of her breasts over her bra. She responded by leaning forward and kissing him deeply. He reached around and fumbled awkwardly with her brassiere strap. Unable to get it open, he returned to stroking her back. She stepped back, looked down, and reached behind herself to remove it for him. As her bra dropped, his jaw followed, and he saw her topless for the first time. Her breasts were gorgeous--a perfect handful. Firm, smooth, with hardening pink nipples. He was not ready for the full effect, however. When he looked up and met her eyes again, their locked gaze nailed him to the floor. Trembling again, he reached for her chin again and brought her close to share a deep, passionate kiss.

Jordan's skin became warmer, and she began fumbling with his pants. He began to breathe rapidly as she wrestled his belt apart, then unbuttoned his top button and jerked his zipper down. She slipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, then reached in with her right hand trembling.

Initially her hand found nothing. She felt around while holding the kiss and smoothly passed her hand over his lower stomach, his right thigh, his left thigh. She then moved to his crotch and discovered his rigid penis.

David's body jerked suddenly, and Jordan broke the kiss to look down in shock--her fingers were suddenly wet and sticky. She took a half step back and pulled his pants and boxers down, finding a weak dribble dripping from a small, thin, rigid penis.

Jordan looked at David's penis for a moment, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and watching the liquid ooze out of the end--one small drop at a time. She looked up and met his eyes again. "David? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," he heaved. "Just really, really excited."

Jordan's nose crinkled as she smiled affectionately at him. She then looked down at what she held between her fingers, then looked up at David's face again.

"Is that it?"

[Crushing]

Jordan's playful reminder to David to keep their secret life out of church was intended seriously. Jordan valued their community and had many friends that she didn't want to find out about the new dimensions of her marriage. David, too, held the little congregation in high regard–this was the place where he met, courted, and dated the love of his life. To have this space tainted by scandal was unthinkable.

Jordan's perspective from the choir seats allowed her to look out over the conversation. She briefly made eye contact with David, three rows from the back toward the corner, and smiled at him. He used to sit in the back row, all the way in the corner. He had moved up a few rows. It was progress. She turned her attention to the preacher, now beginning his sermon. She tried to focus on the teaching from the pulpit, but the gravity of last night's experiences pulled her into a brief reverie. It was an emotionally intense evening, rivaling the emotional intensity of her actual wedding night. In some ways, it exceeded that intensity.

Jordan didn't remember her wedding night the same way her husband did. David remembered that night with shame and embarrassment–a fact that she had learned recently. She remembered his jerking premature ejaculation when she took off her bra and touched him for the first time, but she remembered that as a flattering experience that excited her. What David never seemed to remember is that he recovered quickly and they resumed the journey of love soon after. She remembered smooth, warm, comfortable feelings throughout. She remembered the first time she expressed her love physically. She remembered falling asleep happily in David's arms.

Last night had also ended with her falling asleep happily in her husband's arms. The hours before that slumber, however, were intense…

Jordan shook her head and consciously refocused on the sermon. From her seat in the choir, it could be harder to focus on the sermon since the pastor's back was to her. She looked around briefly, and noticed the woman sitting next to her smiling conspicuously at her. It was Carol, one of her first friends in the congregation. Carol was in her late fifties, and was a mother of 3 and grandmother of 2. She was also a career school teacher and an all around fun lady. Jordan looked up to her and they talked often at church. Carol leaned in to whisper to Jordan:

"You're looking very pretty this morning!"

Jordan blushed, "Thank you Carol…"

"You look like you're enjoying married life…you know?"

Jordan playfully slapped Carol's knee. "Of course I am. Aren't you?"

"Sweetie, I know what that look in the eyes. That level of distraction means you're really enjoying married life, you know what I mean? And good for you. Enjoy it while you're young."

"Stop!" Jordan whispered, giggling.

Their conversation was interrupted by the rest of the choir standing up to sing. Jordan and Carol rushed to stand, red faced, having missed the end of the sermon and choir conductor's cue entirely.

After the service, Jordan and David chatted amiably with the other people as they all filed out of the building into a warm Sunday afternoon. Jordan and David held hands as they walked to their car–a decades old Subaru that David had managed to buy right before they married. They drove home, chatting about the service and their upcoming weeks until they arrived at their apartment and closed the door behind them. David had been fixated on Jordan for the whole service, and couldn't wait to get her home. They kissed passionately as they fumbled with each other's clothes. Church clothes were hard to tear off in passion. Too many buttons, long zippers, underlayers, stiff shoes…Nevertheless, the two found themselves passionate and nude in their bed within minutes, hands roaming and caressing each other. David felt the wetness of Jordan's pussy and eagerly moved between her legs, excited to enjoy the pleasure of his wife's body.

"Wait, David…"

David halted, perplexed.

Jordan reached into the end table and pulled out a condom. She quickly ripped open the package, pulled out the petite prophylactic and began to roll it on to David's body. David was confused.

"Jordan, I thought your birth control was…"

Jordan continued to roll until the condom was tightly covering the modest length of David's stiff penis, then laid back and eagerly pulled his body on top of hers. She didn't seem to have heard David's protest. David gently pushed inside of Jordan, her warmth stimulating his whole body and filling him with passion. He began to thrust as he kissed his wife.

"I love you baby…you feel so good," Jordan cooed in between kisses.

David pulled her body close to his, concentrating to regulate his pace. He didn't want to end things too quickly. The condom deadened the sensation somewhat, which helped to moderate his excitement.

"You like my body, David? Do you like making love with me?"

"Oh, I love it. I love your body. You're so hot, it's just…"

A single, brute fact intruded on David's consciousness as he slowly moved in and out of Jordan's pussy. Mark had filled her pussy with his cum last night. His dick began to warm uncontrollably.

Mark had filled her…David knew. He had received her lover's cum in his mouth.

David shuddered and came, groaning involuntarily. Jordan tightened her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. The tension slowly drained from David's body, and Jordan kissed gently up and down the side of his face and neck as he relaxed into sleep.

* * *

David woke up next to Jordan roughly an hour later. He felt well rested after an excellent Sunday afternoon nap. Jordan was breathing steadily next to him, clearly still asleep. He gently leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then gingerly worked his way out of their bed. He had a full shift on the truck tomorrow morning starting at 3AM, and he had homework to finish before that. He looked at the clock. 2PM. He had approximately 7 hours to finish his homework, have dinner with Jordan, and then get to sleep if he wasn't going to be a zombie at work and school on Monday. He left the bedroom, gently closing the door behind him so he wouldn't disturb his wife's sleep, and moved to the kitchen table where the couple's laptop computers were stacked neatly. He moved Jordan's Macbook to the side and opened his old HP. Booting up the system, he stared at the screen as his programs struggled to load. Once the operating system seemed to be online he began opening browser windows. Again, he was frustrated by delays. He grunted in dismay as the system itself locked. This happened sometimes when he didn't wait for the system to be completely booted up before getting to work. It was an old laptop, and it was on its last legs, but David didn't want to spend money they didn't have on a new laptop he could do without.

He looked over to Jordan's Macbook. Much newer. All of his work this afternoon was web-based, and Jordan didn't mind when she borrowed his laptop, as long as she didn't need it. He reached over and turned on the macbook, then turned to reboot the HP and let it do a slow start. He could get to work on Jordan's laptop while his warmed up, he reasoned. The system booted up quickly, and the browser windows opened up effortlessly. He began to get to work while his old HP clicked, hummed, and delayed next to Jordan's smoother machine.

It didn't take long for David to get into a workflow. He began efficiently moving through tasks, quizzes, and assignments, forgetting to switch back to his computer in the process. Suddenly, an iMessage notification appeared in the top-right of Jordan's screen. Jordan's texts were synced with iMessage. This message was short:

Hey yourself.

David's curiosity was piqued, but he continued to work through it. Another moment passed, and another notification appeared.

About to go for a run, then doing some fitness reports. That time of year for me.

David looked more closely at the notification and saw the source. It was Mark. His heart quickened. After briefly wrestling with his better judgment and losing, he opened the iMessage app so he could see both sides of the conversation coming in. Just as he did, Mark's next message populated, and the text stream began to flow.

M: What about you?

J: I just woke up from a nap. I have some homework to get started on, but I'm feeling lazy…

M: Well you shouldn't wait too long…don't want to get behind things. That's my job…

J: Don't I know it

M: Where's hubby?

J: David's in the kitchen doing homework. I just wanted to reach out and thank you for last night…

M: Thank me? For what?

J: Don't be silly, M…you know for what…

M: Not sure I do. My memory is a little hazy.

David's eyebrow lifted and he began to feel blood flow in response to his arousal. At the same time, he began to be anxious…why was Jordan reaching out to Mark without talking to him first? They didn't have a hard rule about that, but he felt it was implied that he should be included before any communication.

J: Mark, don't make me say it.

M: I'm going to make you say it. I'm also going to make you touch yourself while you say it.

David felt his cock begin to stiffen.

J: OMG Mark 🫢
J: You're bad…

M: Not as bad as you are going to be if you're going to get what you want.

J: What's that?

The texts paused. Mark didn't respond. It seemed for a moment as if the conversation had run its course. A few minutes passed. Then, a new message. From Jordan.

J: Mark?

M: So you do want something.

J: 🥴

M: Are you touching yourself?

Another pause. Then

J: Yes.

M: Good girl. Now what do you want? Why did you text me?
M: I know how busy you are.
M: Jordan.

David thought about an excuse to knock on the door, interrupting this awkward exchange. His rational mind briefly entertained the idea of sitting down and talking about rules with Jordan, as this was pushing the boundaries they set together. Then a message from Jordan.

J: I want to feel good.

M: You want me to tell you that you get good grades and the people at church like you?

J: LOL, no, you know what I mean…

M: I do, Jordan, but I don't like the game. You want me to do all the work here, and I'm not your sex toy.

J: OMG Mark
J: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to insult you.

M: It's okay, but it seems like everyone's boundaries are a little fluid here, and things get messy at this stage. So a few things are going to happen right now. Understand?

J: Yes

M: Good. What are you wearing?

J: Nothing.

M: Get out of bed and put on some clothes.

J: OK. I'm sorry, Mark.

David was shocked, and put in the awkward position of wanting to jump in and tell Mark not to be an asshole to his wife. However, he couldn't let on that he was snooping on Jordan's texts either. He stopped working and stared at the message app, transfixed.

J: OK I have clothes on now.

M: Good. What are you wearing?

J: A t shirt and some sweatpants.

M: Send me a picture.

Another pause. Then a picture came through, Jordan facing her small vanity. She had taken out her contacts and was wearing her glasses. She sported a pouty face that tried to restart the earlier playful tone, but retained a small but discernible amount of genuine concern. She was wearing a church camp counselor t-shirt and loose gray sweatpants. Not her sexiest combination.

M: That's better. Now, we need to re-establish some things. Where's David?

David held his breath.

J: In the kitchen, studying.

M: If I remember right, your couch and TV are open to the kitchen, right?

J: Yes, why?

M: You're going to go out there and lay down on the couch. I'm going to make you feel good.

Another pause. Then

J:

David heard the doorknob to the bedroom click open and quickly shut her laptop, shifting his in front of him and hers to the side. Jordan came gingerly through the door, a little flushed and tentative. David tried to act casual.

"Hey Jo, how'd you sleep?"

"Really good, you?"

"Pretty good. Just knocking out homework before dinner, if I can manage to do it…"

"That's my hardworking man…" She walked past him and out to the living room area. She laid down on the couch, feet facing where David was sitting. David grimaced, uncomfortably aroused.

Jordan pulled the blanket off the couch from its usual spot and draped it over her legs, then leaned back and began scrolling through her phone. She was quiet for a good while, and David actually found his way back into his workflow. Then, slowly and quietly, Jordan's right hand slipped under her blanket.

David's face burned.

Jordan moved her phone more directly in front of her face. David wasn't quite sure, but he thought he saw her move her legs apart, very slightly. His face burned deeper, and his heart began pounding. How could he let this happen? What kind of a man lets this happen?

Thoughts of shame were quickly replaced by throbbing curiosity, however. Watching Jordan out of the corner of his eye, he very quietly moved Jordan's Macbook to the far side of his own laptop, with the hope of concealing it from Jordan's angle, and ever so slowly eased the monitor open to see what was going on between his wife and her lover.

J:OK I'm in the living room. David's doing homework.

M: Can he see you?

J: Yes, kind of. I have a blanket on.

M: That's fine. Begin to touch yourself now.

David caught up to the end of the text change. Then the flow began again…

M: Are you touching yourself?

J: Yes. I'm so worked up, I want to cum

M: You won't cum until you're told.

J: Yes sir…🥵

M: Can David tell you're touching yourself?

J: I don't know.

M: Open your legs wider.

David stared blankly at his own laptop screen, straining to see out of the corner of his eye as Jordan opened her legs imperceptibly wider. She responded

J: They're wider.

M: How do you feel?

J: Good

M: How good?

J: So good…🫠

M: As good as last night?

J: No.

M: Why not?

J: Last night you were there…🥵

M: Was I there to talk through your dissertation proposal?

David heard Jordan stifle a small giggle. His breathing quickened, and he struggled to conceal it as Mark finally engaged playfully with his wife.

J: LOL no.

M: Were we feeding orphans?

J: Lol no…we were having fun!

M: Dissertation conferences and orphan feedings aren't fun?

J: You know what I mean, haha.

M: I'm afraid I don't. Now focus on your clit. Keep the touch light, keep it slow.

The room seemed to become more silent. David began to hear small, hushed gasps from his wife behind her phone screen.

M: So, why was last night different, Jordan? Go a little faster.

J: Because we were together…

M: I know. Say what we were doing.
M: Say it.
M: Say it now, Jordan.

J: We were having sex, Mark.

M: Who's we?

J: You and me…

M: Let me spell it out. I know I had sex with you last night. What's my name?

J: Mark, we were having sex last night Mark. It was so good because you were there, Mark…

M: There it is. Add a little pressure to your clit. So you had sex with me last night?

J: Yes.

M: And you liked it?

J: OMG YES…

David heard a small, nearly imperceptible whine come from his wife. His erection edged into painful territory.

M: You want to cum, don't you?

J: YES. 🥵

M: Good. Stop touching yourself. Take your hand out from under the blanket.
M: Right now.

David heard Jordan exhale in frustration, and she pulled her right hand out from under the blanket. She slammed it down in frustration, throwing a silent mini-tantrum. David squinted at the iMessage. Jordan's hushed, rough breathing began to regulate and calm down. Mark sent the next message.

M: You didn't come, did you?

J: No.

M: Good girl. Now, I have a question for you. Did you tell David?

J: No, but I kept my promise.

M: The promise was to tell David.

David was taken aback. Tell me what? He thought…

J: I will tell him. I'll tell him as soon as I cum.

M: No. Before.

J: Please Mark, I'll go back to the bedroom, you can make me cum so good, and I'll go right out and tell him.

David's heart dropped. This was bad. Really bad.

M: No. Tell him what you've been doing, and tell him what we decided. Then you can go back to the room and finish.

Another pause. Then Jordan.

J:

M: Good girl.

J: 🫠

Jordan began to stir on the couch, and David subtly shut the Macbook. She stood up, folding the blanket and laying it over the back of the couch where she found it. David's heart raced as she took the few steps over to the kitchen table and sat down.

"Hey baby, how's it going?" David asked, his trembling voice betraying the innocence of the question.

"Hi David." She sat down in a chair across from him. "You didn't have to shut the laptop, I know you were watching my texts." She smiled coyly at him.

David chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry baby…"

"It's okay. Mark is right, we need to be clear on where everyone is and where our boundaries are. So we need to have a talk, and then I need to finish something." Jordan blushed noticeably.

"I guess you do," David tried to force his erection down between his legs.

"So, first off, you already know what I've been doing. I woke up a little while ago and began texting with Mark and masturbating. But you knew that. I'm guessing by the way you're trying to sit in the chair that you're okay with that?"

David squirmed, embarrassed. "Yes, I think it's pretty hot."

"So do I, baby. I'm glad we're together on that. But there's something else I was a little afraid to tell you."

"We can work it out, Jo. If we have to tell Mark no, I'm okay with that, whatever you need."

"Earlier when we made love, I put a condom on you, and I pretended not to notice that you didn't know why."

"Okay…"

Jordan looked down, her own face burning. "So last night, our two year anniversary, was the first time we let Mark cum inside me."

"I remember." Jordan broke into a smile, still looking down. "Of course you remember, baby."

"So I'm okay with that if you two want to keep doing that. I think it's really hot…"

"It's not about what you're okay with, baby."

"Okay, if you're not okay with it, that's fine too Jo, I totally get it…"

"David, shut up for a second. This is hard for me."

David sat up straight, listening intently. Jordan held her gaze down toward her folded hands on the kitchen table. "Mark says that now that I've received his cum, he owns my pussy." David began to feel the tip of his penis leaking. Jordan continued: "He says he will dictate who uses it, and he says you can use it, but you have to wear a condom. He doesn't want your cum in the same place as his."

David covered his crotch with both hands, and looked at his wife's downcast eyes, face burning. Jordan looked up and met his eyes.

"I really, really don't want to hurt you, and so I didn't want to tell you this. I tried to get him to go back to condoms, but he said once he claimed my pussy, it's his or it's not. We can't go back. I have to stop seeing him. I don't want to take away anything from you, and I don't want to hurt or disrespect you." Her eyes were pleading with his, hoping he would not take offense. "So if you want me to stop seeing him, I absolutely will. But if you want me to keep seeing him, you have to wear a condom for as long as I see him."

David's eyes were saucers. Jordan reached across the table, extending her hands to meet his. David wiped the moisture off of his hands with his pants, pushed his laptop aside and met her, holding hands across the table. Jordan inhaled deeply, then exhaled. Then she gave the ultimatum.

"I'm leaving it up to you, baby. You're my husband, and I love you. I know you enjoy this, and I enjoy this too. I can keep having sex with two men. But I can only have Mark's cum. Or, we can go back to it just being us, and I will love to have your cum."

David was trembling with shame and arousal. Jordan could tell, and let him take a moment to gather himself. Then he stammered out a response:

"Wh-wh-what do you w-w-want to do Jordan?

"I don't know what I want to do. I know what I don't want to do, and that is to hurt you. So if making you wear a condom is going to hurt you, I don't want to do that. But I like having sex with Mark, and I think you like when I have sex with Mark too. So if it won't hurt you, and if you'll keep enjoying that, I want to keep doing that."

David was deep in cuck space, and Jordan could tell. "I also don't want you to decide this when you're horny and then decide you don't want it later. So I'll make the decision a little clearer. If you even want me to touch or receive your cum, I'll do it and be happy. But that will be the end of my time playing with Mark. I haven't told him that, but that can be our deal. So basically, you can end this whenever you want. OK?"

David nodded excitedly. Jordan smiled, relieved. They were still holding hands across the table. She giggled to herself. "This is so naughty, isn't it? I was so scared to bring it up! Are you okay, David? Are you really okay?"

David nodded. "I'm so good, Jordan. This is so hot, you have no idea…"

Jordan nodded back: "It IS so hot! I know!"

David let go of her hands and leaned back in his chair, emotionally taut. "So, do you need to text him back, or…?"

Jordan laughed airily: "I KNEW IT! You love this. I love you baby. I'll text Mark right now." She picked up her phone off the table and began to walk back to the bedroom. David instinctively reached down to touch his trembling penis.

Jordan entered the bedroom, and turned to close the door behind her, then stopped right before closing it all the way, looking through the narrow opening. "David?"

"Yeah?"

"You haven't asked me yet."

"I haven't asked you what?"

"Mark said you'd ask me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

David pursed his lips together, perplexed. Jordan opened the door again, and walked slowly toward him. "Ask me, David."

"What do you want me to ask you, Jo?"

"Ask me before I go back to phone sex with my lover. Ask me."

David looked at his wife's face, the nervous tension of their earlier conversation replaced entirely by a sultry, unbroken gaze.

"What do you want me to ask you?"

Jordan stood next to David's chair, placing her phone down on the table in front of him. She crouched down so that her face was right next to his. He could feel her breath. She leaned into his ear and whispered below a whisper:

"Ask me, David."

David's face reddened, and he looked down.

"Does Mark cum more than I do?"

Jordan lifted up her hand, setting her index finger gently under David's chin, using it to lift and turn his head until his eyes met hers.

Those eyes. So deep. So blue. Like staring into a glacier lake.

"So much more, David. So much more."

David began trembling again.

"You know, baby. You ate some of it."

"Some of it?"

"Oh yeah, honey. That cum you ate out of my pussy? That was my lover's last orgasm. Out of four."

Jordan lightly kissed her husband on the lips, and then stood up. Wordlessly, she lifted her top up over her head. Her perky bare breasts were next to David's face, pink nipples noticeably erect. She placed her top gently on top of the two laptops, still in front of David on the table. She then pulled her pants down, stepped out of them, folded them in half, and hung them over David's shoulder. She then picked up her phone off the table, and turned to walk back into their bedroom.

As she crossed the bedroom door threshold, David called out after her tentatively:

"Jo? Where did the first three go?"

She turned to look over her shoulder, her pale, bare back and taut hindquarters causing David's eyes to ache with hunger. The door clicked shut behind her.

[Oneillfranko]

Great character development & really hot story

[Crushing]

LIGHTS, LIGHTS, LIGHTS!!!

The barren lights flooded the quiet, dark squad bay with light and instant chaos. Two long, neat rows of bunks exploded into action as wiry recruits tumbled out of bed and shuffled briskly to stand stock-still at the end of their bunks to be counted. Morning count-off commenced, the recruits shouting their numbers at the top of their lungs, shredding the 5 AM air. The frenzied bustle of morning head call and report to formation followed standard US Marine Corps training models–frenzied, chaotic movements terminating suddenly in tight lines or boxes of aspiring marines moving in tight coordinated movement.

Recruit Mark Rein had fallen afoul of a particularly vicious drill instructor this morning, as he had taken too long tying his boot laces prior to forming to march to breakfast. Now, in front of the chow hall as his platoon mates filed briskly into the building to shovel food into their aching stomachs, Mark hung helplessly on a pull-up bar with a surly drill instructor glaring up at him.

"5 more."

Mark had already completed over 25 pullups in a single set. His arms were dead. Sweat poured from his forehead and stung his eyes. His posture hanging from the bar betrayed his disadvantage: He had long arms and legs, and his larger frame made it harder to pull his whole body up than his smaller squadmates. He struggled, muttering muffled profanity to himself as he tried and failed to get over the bar one more time. He felt his fingers begin to slip. Panic crept in, as the young recruit gasped slightly with biceps, shoulders, forearms, and even fingers burning. The drill instructor began to break into a sadistic smile as Mark's fingers moved toward the point of no return, dropping him down to the ground in public, weak shame. Not a good start to the day at 5:20 AM.

Suddenly another recruit slammed into the drill instructor, throwing him off his balance and knocking his flat-brimmed hat off as they both tumbled to the ground. It was Jared Poisson, Mark's bunkmate. Jared was pursuing the incredibly bad idea to play catch with his hat, and, following another recruit's overzealous throw, he had attempted an end zone catch which put him on a collision course with a particularly vicious authority figure. Mark's fall to the ground went unnoticed as the entire platoon watched Jared and the senior marine tumble to the dust in horror. The drill instructor shoved Jared off him, stood up, picked up his hat, and began dusting it off along with his uniform. Placing the hat calmly on his head, he began to stare silently into the cowed platoon. The only way for a drill instructor to regain his dignity was to extract it out of an entire platoon's pain.

That night, after a particularly brutal day of training and punishment (honestly it was hard to tell the difference on most days), Mark and Jared were hastily organizing their footlockers before lights out. The air in the squad bay was heavy with exhaustion, the collected recruits clearly relieved to have survived another day. Mark turned to Jared with a half-cocked grin, voicing under his breath: "Nice job today dumbass."

Jared smirked, shooting a look at his bunkmate, responding with an intense whisper. "You think that was an accident, genius?"

Mark furrowed his brow, startled. He looked hastily around to make sure no drill instructors were nearby. Talking could start the platoon's pain clock again.

Jared leaned in. "Rein, you really think I'm dumb enough to take a flying leap into Staff Sergeant I'm-An-Alcoholic-Who-Never-Gets-Laid-And-I'm-Taking-It-Out-On-Recruits to save a uniform item?"

"So why did you do it? It fucked up the whole day for everyone!"

"You're my squad leader, Rein. You're also the squad leather to 20 other recruits. You were about to lose face, and maybe your leadership spot. I was looking out for you, and spreading out the pain. How can you not see that?"

Mark was stunned. "I just thought you were being a dumbass, man."

"Is that something I do, Rein? Am I the platoon shitbag? You can't lead if you can't actually see your people. Know your people, man. If you don't know your people, you can't lead. And if you don't want a day of unnecessary pain, tie your damn boots faster." Jared slammed his footlocker shut and turned back to his bunk. Mark had no response. He looked at his watch. Two minutes to lights out. Time to quickly review the squad before inspection and lights out. He took off briskly down the row of bunks.

30 minutes later, the squad bay was dark and shrouded in exhausted silence. Mark laid in the top bunk, staring uncomfortably at the squad bay ceiling. Tossing and turning, he wrestled with the reality that his weakness caused pain for the whole platoon that day. It couldn't happen again. He slipped noiselessly out of his bunk and crept to his footlocker. Removing his boots, he sat down on the floor, trying not to disturb Jared, who was sleeping on the bottom bunk with his back to Mark. He began tying and untying his bootlaces quickly and silently, stopping to examine every point at which he slowed down.

Out of the darkness, Jared whispered to Mark without turning to face him:

"Hey man, I don't think you need to practice tying your shoes. This morning was a one-off."

"It can't happen again."

Jared paused. "Thanks, Rein."

"Yeah."

Another pause. Then Jared, again, whispering:

"Hey, sorry for flipping out earlier. I think you're a good leader. I was just tired."

"Don't be sorry. You're right. I gotta do better."

Mark continued to focus on tying and untying his boots. Jared shuffled to turn and face him. "Rein…you're the big guy. You're the biggest target, and people count on you. It's not your fault, but it's your burden. I'm smaller, but I'm here in the same place. I'm in the same shit pile you are. You can count on me, but you have to see me. You can count on anyone, but you have to see them. You can't just march at the front, you gotta hold the whole line behind you. You gotta carry that whole line of weight in your mind. But they're gonna be there when you need them. You get my front, I'll get your back. You know?"

"Yeah," Mark grunted dismissively.

Jared sighed, turning away. More silence passed, and Jared began to drift off to sleep.

"Poisson…" Mark whispered. Jared opened his eyes slightly. "What?"

"Where you from?"

Jared smiled slightly. "Northern Vermont. Near the Canadian border. You?"

"San Antonio."

* * *

The doorknob clicked and Jordan emerged from the bedroom. Her hair was disheveled, her breathing noticeably relaxed. She walked, naked, to the kitchen sink, turned on the water, and washed her hands carefully with soap, humming the hymn she sang with the choir that morning. She turned off the water, dried her hands on a towel next to the sink, and turned to face David, leaning back against the sink. She wore a contented smile and nothing else. Her smooth shoulders hung slightly with noticeable comfort. Her perky breasts rose and fell with her measured breathing, nipples slowly losing their earlier visible erection. David noticed a small, shiny hint of moisture on her inner thighs and between her legs. Jordan spoke first:

"How's your homework going?"

"Good. How are you doing?"

"I'm great, baby. Thanks for asking." Jordan walked smoothly to David's side of the table and picked up her sweatpants, still folded over her husband's shoulder, putting them on casually–one leg at a time. She then picked up her camp counselor t-shirt, holding it out in front of her until it hung naturally before putting it on. She sat down across the table with a deep sigh. "I've got some homework and grading to do too. Can you slide my laptop over here?"

David pushed the laptop across the table. "I noticed no more texting…"

"No, we facetimed. What's the story on dinner? I'm pretty hungry."

"We have some leftover chicken, I thought we could heat that up, and some instant mashed potatoes and carrots. I can roast the carrots, if you want."

"That sounds tasty, honey. I'd love that." Jordan picked up her glasses off the table and put them on. David stood up, walked behind Jordan's chair to the refrigerator and stove, and began preparing food to share with his wife.

"Jordan?"

"Yeah baby?"

"I love you."

Jordan turned around to her husband, making a playful kissy face at him. "I love you too…" She turned back to her work.

[Crushing]

Jordan woke up suddenly, realizing she had slept through her alarm. She reached out to her nightstand to pick up her phone and check the time. 7:25. Her eyes widened; she had to hurry to make it to class by 8.

Shuffling to the drawer, she quickly opened and shut a series of drawers in quick succession, grabbing one item off the top from each one. Normally she liked to be more put together, but this morning she simply had no time. She ran into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Dropping her clothes on the vanity, she grabbed her toothbrush with one hand while testing the hot water with the other. This shower always took too long to get warm. Oh well...time for a hard wake-up!

She yipped as she stepped into the cold shower, then shut the shower door behind her as she crammed her toothbrush in her mouth. She washed her hair and body rapidly, ever conscious of the time slipping away. Hopping out, she quickly toweled herself off and put on her underwear, then frantically ran a brush through her wet hair before tying it back into a ponytail. She then threw on the top and bottom she grabbed from the drawer, noting that the colors went together surprisingly well. She quick-stepped out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the kitchen where David had left a note on the table before leaving for his early morning delivery route.

Morning Beautiful,
Hope you woke up on time…if you're running late, I made a smoothie the way you like. It's in the fridge. Have a great day.

David

PS: You are truly stunning, you know that?

She smiled to herself, taking the sealed breakfast cup out of the refrigerator in her left hand and threw her backpack over her shoulder with her right. She leaned down to the table and kissed the note before whirling around and heading to the front door of their small apartment.

Fast-walking her way to campus, Jordan kept looking at her watch as she raced to make the first class. She was a teaching assistant in a large, introductory psychology class with over 200 students. Normally, a tardy TA could slip in the back of such a large class without being noticed, but the professor she worked for had eagle eyes.

She made her way through the door of the theater with most of the students seated already. Thankfully, she made it there before Professor Lukacz. She waved to the other teaching assistants and found a seat in the front row of the theater–always the last to fill up–and pulled out her laptop. Professor Lukacz bouldered into the room a minute later, quickly setting up his laptop to project on the main screen and standing expectantly in front of the room. Jordan looked at her phone screen--7:59 changed to 8:00 exactly as Professor Lukacz stepped up to the lectern. Incredible.

The man's punctuality was legendary, second only to his reputation as a scholar and researcher. He was a hard-edged teacher, too. Undergraduates feared his classes, avoiding them if possible. Graduate students figuratively cut each other's throats for his letters of recommendation. Jordan had been accepted as one of his doctoral students, and over the course of her first two years in the program had become familiar with his habits. She knew he was tough, but brilliant. Even good work was met with fierce criticism. If a student brought a good proposal or paper to him for comment, he would return it bleeding with red ink. If they brought him less than their best, it would go in the trash.

Jordan's memory drifted back to her first few weeks of marriage, when she learned the truth of this aspect of his reputation. She had dashed off a draft research proposal the night before a due date during midterms. Having so recently gotten through a stressful wedding, coupled with the stress of setting up a new life with her husband, the normal chaos of grading midterms for her TA classes, and studying for her own exams, she simply didn't have time to make the deadline to submit that semester's research proposal. When she arrived at Professor Lukacz' office for her monthly check-in meeting, she knocked on the partly-open door and was waved in impatiently. She sat down across his desk and apologized for the draft, asking what he thought about her skeleton research proposal.

Looking straight at her, he silently pointed to the trash can next to his desk. Her eyes widened.

Jordan was stunned. "So...you didn't like it?"

Professor Lukacz snorted dismissively. "No, I didn't read it. I do not read drafts. I'm a busy man. Bring me the finished proposal, or bring me nothing." The quiet intensity of his voice pressed into her and she began to panic.

Jordan attempted to stammer out a follow-up question, but found herself at a loss. She had never been dismissed this way before. Her naturally personable demeanor and obvious intelligence, coupled with her consistency and dependability always made her a favorite with teachers, professors, and bosses. Here was a man filling all three of those roles projecting a blank wall of displeasure. A blank wall into which she slammed, headfirst. She was in a daze.

"I'm so sorry professor, it won't happen again. Can I get you a completed proposal for review and feedback?"

"I leave for Vienna on Friday. Today is Wednesday. We can meet tomorrow after class if you email me the proposal no later than 5 o' clock this afternoon. And this is the last time I will accept late work from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," she briskly replied, gathering her things. He returned his head to his work, waving her away. Her face had turned a deep shade of red. Her heart was pounding with embarrassment as she hurried out the door. She walked briskly down the hallway of the faculty office building, holding back tears. Once outside, she pulled out her phone and called her fiancee.

David answered on the first ring: "Hi beautiful, what's up?"

"I'm just calling to say I can't make our lunch date today. I have to revise and resubmit my research proposal. I'm so sorry!"

"Professor Lukacz didn't like it?"

"He didn't even read it. He said he doesn't read drafts and..." she lowered her voice to guard her admission: "he could tell I didn't do my best work."

"He didn't even read what you had and give you notes? What a jerk."

"He's not a jerk...he's...okay, he's a little bit of a jerk. But he's right, I didn't do my best, and I want to always do my best."

"I completely understand, Jo. Why don't you call me tonight after you send it off and we can check in on dinner plans then?"

"That's fine. I love you David, thank you for understanding! I've got to go, I'm walking into the library now."

"Love you too Jo, good luck."

She ended the call and hurried into the library, found her favorite study space unoccupied, and plopped down to fix her mess. With feverish effort, she managed to send off the corrected proposal at 4:55, just under her mentor's deadline, wary of the dangers of sending in late or unfinished work after the morning's confrontation.

She then hurried home to make dinner for her husband, but was surprised to be met with tasty smells as she opened the door. David had already cooked for her. He leaned back from the stove so he could see her come in. "You were supposed to call! I don't even have the table set!"

Jordan smiled like the new bride she was, put her backpack down in the corner, and walked up behind David, hugging him tightly from behind and kissing him on the cheek. She then reached into the cabinet for dishes and began to set the table for two while David finished the cooking.

Discussing their day over dinner, David predictably took her side against her professor's rigid expectations, which validated her own self doubts. While cleaning up the dishes, the newlyweds chatted about his day interning at a local accounting firm, and his dread of his own upcoming midterms in the final year of his MBA program. Then they settled down to snuggle on the couch and scroll through the latest streaming offerings on the open laptop in front of them. They couldn't afford a TV, or really anything other than basic furnishings yet, so movie night was an open laptop on the rickety coffee table across from the ragged brown couch they found at the thrift store. Tonight's show was an episode of a science fiction series that David had taken an interest in and loved to talk about.

As the show's theme music began, Jordan snuggled up to her husband, but couldn't concentrate on the show. She had met her deadline, but her thoughts kept returning to her stern encounter with Professor Lukacz. Why couldn't she let it go? She kept thinking of him pointing to the trash can with stern eyes fixed on her. His blank-wall stare loomed over her even while trying to relax with her husband. As she fixated on this unsettling encounter, she became gradually more agitated--even a little flushed. She finally decided that she needed to go to bed, and kissed David on the cheek.

"I'm tired, honey. I need to go to bed."

"Don't you want to finish the episode? This is a good one..."

"No, I'm a little distracted and need to get some rest. You finish up."

"No, I'm okay, I'd rather come to bed with you..." David's eyes were bright with newlywed expectation...a look that Jordan had learned to decipher during their honeymoon. She smiled and playfully beckoned him into the bedroom.

Both David and Jordan had deep religious roots, and followed a strict moral code before marriage regarding their sexuality. They were virgins when they married, and although David in particular found it hard to keep his hands off his then-fiance's tight young body, he respected their upbringing and her desire to save herself for her husband. Now that they were married, he was enjoying the freedom to explore her body, and she loved the excitement she was able to stir in her husband. Once they got in bed they fondled each other, kissing deeply and breathing heavily. David was still clumsy and overeager pulling off Jordan's clothes. Jordan--while loving her husband's enthusiasm--felt awkward slowing him down, and felt a desire to meet his excitement with her own. She handed him a condom...smiling knowingly as he rolled it over his eager, rigid penis.

David's heart fluttered as he moved to make love to his wife. He noticed that she was more flushed than usual. As he kissed his way down her stomach, he removed her panties and found her sex to be quite warm to the touch, much warmer than the rest of her smooth body. This excited him even more. He gently feathered the soft, warm tangle of light brown hair between her legs and found her wetness...which was wetter than he had ever felt before. He turned his eyes upward and met hers, which had a hunger in them that drove him crazy. He began kissing her thighs, gently moving his hunger between her legs.

Jordan moaned softly, reaching down to place her fingers in David's hair. She felt the intensity of her pleasure building, but also had the stern eyes of Professor Lukacz lurking in her mind's eye. She had hoped making love with her husband would clear her mind of her earlier confrontation, but the stern dressing down of his young doctoral student seemed stuck on a loop in her minds eye. Luckily, David's gentle lips and tongue were raising the intensity of her feelings, creating a general fog of mind that Jordan sunk into happily. She loved this part of sex, when the intensity of her pleasure rose steadily before her husband took her.

David snapped her out of the fog by abruptly shifting his body up to meet her eye. He kissed her deeply, and guided his rigid penis into her valley. David grunted passionately, and a light moan caught in Jordan's throat. She tried to focus on her husband as he thrust frantically in and out of her, but her heart began to pound with the returning memory of her stern, intimidating encounter. As she remembered, her pleasure grew too...an odd juxtaposition between the anxious remnants of her day and her eager husband's activities.

David was in heaven, as he always was when reveling in his wife's body. He kissed her and tried to look deeply into her eyes, but she seemed distant, detached. She had leaned her head back and closed her eyes, clearly enjoying the moment. David grunted and spurted into his condom. Jordan purred with self-satisfaction. She loved how good she could make her husband feel. David twitched in ecstasy as she stroked his back. As he gradually returned to a rational state, she opened her eyes to meet his, communicating genuine love with a hint of a lingering hunger. He pulled out of her, holding the condom to avoid spillage. He lifted up the prophylactic, crumpled with a few small drops of semen in the reservoir as a kind of trophy. "See what you made me do?" He smirked.

Jordan laughed, delighted that she accomplished her task. David dropped the condom into the trash can and kissed her one more time before laying back down and passing out.

Jordan, flushed and excited with the pulsating remnants of her earlier excitement still warming her inner thighs, laid her head on her husband's chest and tried, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep.

Coming out of the memory to the bland air of Professor Lukacz's lecture, Jordan remembered the early revelations of their first few months of marriage. Revelations that were very difficult to decode at the time. Revelations that had since evolved into stunning, life affirming insights about herself and her body. She knew sex excited her, but was perplexed as to why she didn't experience fulfillment the way David did. David's experience always culminated in body shuddering climax, consummating the experience with deep relaxation that she wasn't experiencing. She didn't enjoy her husband on the same level that he enjoyed her.

Jordan wasn't totally innocent–as an educated woman she knew much about the psychological dimensions of sexuality. She had studied sexual psychology as an undergraduate as part of her required curriculum. She knew what an orgasm was, but had not bridged the experience gap for herself yet. She simply thought that she had experienced her own sexual climax differently–-in the nice warm feelings her husband gave her each time they made love and stared deeply into each other's eyes.

But it was a different set of eyes that Jordan locked with when she experienced her first real, deep orgasm. And it was a different manhood–one that filled her deeply and totally–that ripped that experience out of her body.

* * *

Lance Corporal Rein. Report!

Lance Corporal Mark Rein and Private First Class Jared Poisson glanced at each other through side eyes. They were standing stiffly at attention for a normal afternoon formation. 18 months had passed since basic training, where they had become fast friends. They were always looking out for each other, and intimately aware of the details of each other's lives. Both looked perplexed. They had both assumed that this formation was the usual "safety brief" that reminded everyone to avoid the standard set of circumstances service members got into on liberty: not to drive drunk, remember to practice safe sex, and not to try jumping off a third story hotel roof into a pool. Standard stuff, really. But now Mark was being summoned directly. He fell out of the formation and marched smartly to the front of the formation. He saluted the company commander, and stood at attention.

Bracing for the worst, Mark's mind raced. What had he done? He was trying to extract some hint from his commander's eyes, but they were blank walls–a seasoned infantry officer never broke his bearing. Mark was a solid six inches taller and noticeably broader than Captain Wolfe, but the captain had the power to ruin anyone's day, weekend, year, maybe even a whole career. Mark certainly hadn't intentionally crossed him. The captain calmly pulled a small notebook out of his breast pocket and spoke, holding eye contact face-to-face with Mark, but speaking loudly enough for the company to hear.

"Lance Corporal Rein! You have been ordered to report in this formation in response to the feedback of your squad mates and platoon superiors. Your fellow marines have noted your willingness to step up as interim squad leader in the absence of Sergeant Sandoval. They have reported to me that even though you are…and I quote… 'kind of a douche sometimes' and 'too big to fit in any normal fighting vehicle,' and my personal favorite: 'a pretty good wall to catch bullets,' they have also noted that you are…and I quote again…'a legitimate badass,' and 'a great leader,' and again my favorite: 'someone we would charge into hell behind.' Having been made aware of Sergeant Sandoval's change of station, I have advised the battalion commander that I am appointing you to the squad leader position permanently. He, noting your time in grade and excellent Pro/Con marks, along with your excellent physical fitness and military bearing, has directed me to promote you to the rank of Corporal meritoriously."

Rein's platoon hooted behind him, breaking ranks briefly to show their approval. The company gunnery sergeant barked at them to quiet down. The promotion warrant was read, and Captain Wolfe removed Rein's collar insignia and replaced it with the new rank. He left the bronze fasteners off the insignia pins, leaving the needle-sharp fasteners less than an inch from Mark's skin. Then, following the unofficial Marine Corps tradition, he made two fists and pounded the new rank insignia, causing the needles to dig into the flesh above Mark's collarbone. Mark stood motionless, stunned at the surprise and wincing internally at the pain. Captain Wolfe stepped back, and spoke to Rein more quietly while extending his hand to shake: "Good job Rein. You're a natural. Keep it up."

Later that night, Mark was surrounded by his squadmates, packing the local watering hole to celebrate his promotion. Liquor flowed freely, and the occasional wrestling match broke out over the surrounding tables. Mark endured many playful gut-punches, tolerating them with good humor, but inwardly wishing to leave.

The party scene was not for Mark. He was an introvert at heart. He much preferred quiet time in his barracks room, long, solitary runs or solo workouts with his earbuds in, listening to music. He was also an avid reader, often spending whole Saturdays sitting on the lawn in front of the barracks devouring a new novel while his fellow marines walked by, mystified. He could keep up with his fellow marines in a given drinking contest, but generally shied away from the party scene.

Still, he stood out in the crowd favorably. Sensing the buzz about him, several women attempted to approach Mark as he chatted with his squad mates. He was definitely one to draw attention. Standing at 6 feet 4 inches with broad, square shoulders and a muscular physique, Mark had no problem attracting women. He had tightly cropped, brown hair and tan skin, and a movie star face. Women approached him often. He was not, however, one to get drunk on attention or to bed women simply because they were available. Not many women caught his attention the way he caught theirs, and even fewer held it after they started talking. Mark couldn't stand vapid conversation or shallow people. He could be friendly, but would not form attachments with those who he suspected did not match his intensity or depth.

So it was a little surprising when a slight, thin young woman with light brown skin and dark brown hair caught his eye from across the bar. She was sitting at a table by herself, clearly uncomfortable in her surroundings. Her unease intrigued Mark: she was showing what he was trying to hide in this social situation. He made his excuses to leave the conversation he was in and took his drink away from the bar. He walked over to the table, leaning over and extending his hand.

"Hi, I'm Mark Rein. I noticed you're all by yourself. Did a blind idiot stand you up for a date?"

The young woman raised one eyebrow at Mark's line. "I know who you are. Half the people at the bar are clearly revolving around you, so you don't need an introduction." Mark blinked in surprise. She continued. "...And for your information, I'm here with someone. He's just in the restroom at the moment."

Her curt response put Mark briefly on his back foot. "Well, can I get your name?"

"No, you can't."

Mark was not accustomed to this treatment. He squinted in surprise, unsure of his next step.

"If you're wondering what your next step is, it's in the other direction," she said, reading his mind.

Mark shook his head and started to turn away as Jared walked up behind him. "Hey CORPORAL Rein," Jared enunciated, sarcastically drawing attention to Mark's recent change in status. "I'm glad you guys met, I was hoping to introduce you tonight."

"Introduce who?" Mark asked, still a little jarred from rejection. Jared walked over to the table and tapped on the shoulder of the woman who had only just finished spurning Jared's new squad leader. She stood up, mildly horrified. Jared commenced with the introduction. "Mark Rein, meet Megan Rodriguez. Megan, this is Mark Rein, my boot camp buddy, barracks mate, and squad leader. Also, I'm pretty sure he's part sasquatch." Jared laughed at his own joke as Mark and Megan sheepishly extended arms and shook hands across the table.

Mark stared helplessly at Jared for a cue. Jared had been talking about his girl as long as they had known each other, but he always called her Mags. Was this the same girl? Was he dating someone new? Mark didn't want to blow it and make trouble for Jared either way.

The three sat down. Mark hoped to reset the conversation, awkwardly fumbling for a line to not antagonize her. "So you guys are on a date, huh? Hope I didn't spoil it, this bar's kind of a dump. There's probably better places to get to know each other."
Jared smiled, looking at Megan and blushing.

"No man, Megan is my fiancee. We're getting married next month."

[soupcan_99]

More, more please…

[Crushing]

The cab of a box truck making 4 AM deliveries is an excellent place to get some serious thinking done.

David hated to leave Jordan in bed, but he didn't have much choice. Rent and food weren't free. He was up at 3 on all of his working days, moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb his sleeping wife. This morning, he left a quick note for Jordan–directing her to the smoothie he made for her while she was in the shower last night. He picked up his own lunch bag and walked out the door, quietly closing it behind him.

Arriving at the distribution center at 3:30, David helped the dock workers secure his morning delivery in the old box truck, carefully checking each item off the list and ensuring no damage or poor loading would complicate his morning or make his customers unhappy. Climbing into the cab at 4 sharp, David started up the 30 year old engine, noting a slight droop in the battery level from Friday morning.

Old battery.

He should talk to his manager about replacing it before someone got stranded on the delivery route. He quickly put a note in his phone under the heading "work stuff to remember." One of many phone notes that helped David control a rather chaotic life–balancing full time graduate school, internship, a near full-time job and, now that he was moving toward the end of his penultimate semester as an MBA, a near full-time job search. Not to mention the added complexity of his marriage. Especially lately.

David shifted his weight unconsciously in the driver's seat as he put the truck into gear and pulled away from the dock. Usually he turned on the radio to pass the time between delivery points, and he had nearly an hour to his first dropoff. But on this Monday morning, David's mind drifted back to the surreal events of the past weekend.

Jordan had been involved with Mark for a few months, and they were meeting roughly once a week for an hour or two. Most of the time, David was either at work or at his internship when the encounters happened. He found those encounters unbelievably hot, but kept his distance knowing Jordan's reticence to talk about sex. Simply knowing she was in the arms of another man drove David wild. They had an agreement: She would text as she was leaving to see him, and again when she was heading home. As long as he knew when they were together, he felt involved.

The texts Jordan sent him bookended intense periods of erotic distraction for David. It was hard to hide: his face flushed, his erection pressed against his underwear, and he would pace around manically. If he was at home, he would often masturbate furiously and quickly ejaculate in powerful orgasms, subsequently dropping into extreme angst at the notion that his wife was enjoying sex without him, which would then quickly arouse him again. A vicious cycle. It was the most intense erotic emotion he could imagine. It was all-consuming, dark, and beautiful. In his lucid moments, he would wonder why. But any contemplation of Jordan's carnal pleasure never left him lucid for long, so his contemplations never got very far.

This past weekend was their two year wedding anniversary. Both wanted to make it special (within the limits of their budget, of course). They had planned and budgeted for a nice dinner at the restaurant where David proposed to her–the scariest night of his life thus far. Afterward, they would go home and have a special movie "screening," meaning snuggling on the couch in front of the open laptop, watching one of their shared favorite movies. David also had another surprise ready for Jordan: a new white-gold bracelet he found in a pawn shop the week before, which he would reveal over dinner.

Jordan didn't know that last part, of course, but she was still excited to celebrate the milestone with her husband. As they finalized their plans by securing reservations at the restaurant, she excitedly pulled out her phone and began typing. "I'll text Mark to let him know this Saturday is off," she informed David.

David's face had flushed, and he shocked himself by reaching out to place his hand over hers, preventing the text from being sent. Seeing his hand playfully covering her phone display, Jordan looked up and grinned. "Somebody having second thoughts?"

David reddened a little more. "I don't want you to not have fun because of me."

Jordan smiled. "I'll have fun with you, David."

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

There was an uncomfortable pause as the couple tried to evaluate what this shared desire meant for their marriage. The weight of their new sexual adventure might be a sinking ship in uncharted waters. Jordan attempted to open an escape hatch.

"I see Mark all the time, David. I can take a week off."

David looked down, embarrassed. Jordan was visibly confused.

David pulled out of his thoughts for a moment, returning to his driving route. He noted a slight dimming of the headlights and dashboard lights with concern. There was a real problem now. The truck had been running for 15 full minutes. The battery should be recharging. Either the battery wasn't getting a charge or the alternator was going out. Either way, there was a very real risk of the truck being stranded mid-delivery. He pulled over and called his supervisor to tell him there might be a problem.

The response was typical from the lazy middle-management of the early morning shift–they accused him of being dramatic and flatly told him to push forward with his deliveries. David rolled his eyes as he hung up the phone. This could be an aggravating day, and he knew that he would be blamed for late deliveries regardless of mechanical circumstance. Hopefully the battery would last for the whole route, and he could reason with the more practically minded managers that came in for the afternoon shift as he left.

His mind's eye drifted back to the past week when Jordan offered to forego her lover for him. It should have been a no-brainer for a red-blooded straight male. He almost agreed, but every time he lifted his eyes to meet hers, he knew she would know he was lying to placate her. She could always see right through him.

While David was awkwardly trying to articulate his confused desires, Jordan's face had shifted from confused to contemplative. David called it her dissertation face. It was distant but active. She was working through an idea. She usually held that look while she was writing or mulling deep thoughts. After a moment, Jordan broke the look and the silence.

"I think I know what to do. We both want our anniversary night to be special. Right?

David nodded earnestly.

"I think we have a couple options. First, I could tell Mark that I want you and I to spend our special night together just the two of us and, and that he and I can just get together another night, possibly just skipping a week. Or…"

David's pupils narrowed intently as his wife's voice took on the hint of a playful tone.

"Or…"

"Yeah?"

"We could make my time with Mark special."

David's heart leaped.

"What do you mean?" he asked hungrily.

"Well," Jordan reached innocently for her purse. "I know we're on a budget, and I thought…" she paused as she rifled through the contents of her purse, then grasped on to what she was looking for. "Ha! There it is."

She pulled out a thin black package of condoms, clearly distinct from the baby-blue box that held the condoms David and Jordan used when they made love. Jordan turned the box on its side so David could see its empty contents. She locked eyes with her husband. David was stunned, seeing the box for the first time. His eyes fixed on the two letters in the bottom right corner. XL.

"I'm out of Mark-sized condoms. Would you like me to save a few dollars this weekend?"

A harsh buzzing jolted David out of his memory fog. He looked at the dash. The battery was dropping fast. He likely wouldn't even make it to his first delivery. He would be surprised if the truck started again if he did make it. He reached down and turned off everything electric in the cab that he could. He picked up his phone to call his supervisor again. Then he stopped. Exhaling impatiently, David brought up a map search on his phone, looking for salvage yards nearby. He looked at the clock. 5:45. He knew at least one junk yard opened at 6, if he was close to it, he might be able to find a working alternator and swap it out himself. He always kept tools in the back. It was an old truck, after all, and David liked to be prepared.

A hit. Bingo. A junk yard he'd been to before opened at 6. He followed the directions on his phone and arrived just as the crusty old owner was slowly pulling the gate open. David drove through the gate and pulled up to the payment office. He turned the engine off, knowing full well it wouldn't start again if he didn't replace the alternator and probably the battery. He walked purposefully into the office and asked if they had an alternator and battery for the make and model of the old box truck. Luckily, they did–at the bottom of a heap of alternators sorted from other heaps by decade. No luck on the battery, though. David nodded gratefully and paid for the part, walking briskly back out to the truck. Pulling his tools out of the back and popping the hood, he dove into the repair. It took about 30 minutes, but he managed to remove the fried old alternator and replace it with the not-yet-fried old alternator. He placed all his tools neatly back in his box but left it open.

Moment of truth.

He got back into the cab, inserted the key, and turned it. The engine sputtered and died. He tried again. Sputtered and died. David put his head on the steering wheel. Now there would really be trouble from his supervisor.

"Wanna try a jump?"

The old owner surprised David, who jerked upright from his slumped position as the old man spoke from behind him.

"Yeah. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks!"

The owner went away for a moment, returning with an old wrecker–nearly as old as the box truck itself. David hopped out and hooked the two batteries up. He jumped back into the truck, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

"Boom." He quietly said to himself, allowing a small celebration. He glanced at his watch. He'd be half an hour late to his deliveries. If he called them all now, maybe they wouldn't report him to the supervisor, and he could make up time with shortcuts and hasty unloading. He unhooked the battery and shook the owner's hand gratefully. The old man nodded, a hint of admiration in his eyes, as David leaped back into the truck and looped around the lot to drive away.

After making his calls, David began formulating a plan to minimize the fallout when he drove the truck back into the warehouse this afternoon. Part of him contemplated not saying anything, while the other part contemplated ways to go around the morning supervisor in reporting the repair.

He had good reason to be wary about if and how he delivered the news. There was a constant tension in the warehouse, as the men who worked the docks were constantly trying to one-up each other–compulsively bragging about their own toughness and masculinity. David never went in for that sort of thing, and it made work uncomfortable sometimes. He didn't like how they talked about women, he didn't like their hostile, myopic worldviews. As insecure as he was about his intellect, he was a college graduate and almost an MBA graduate. He didn't let on about his education, though. That was poison. He could talk a little about sports, which helped, but he had not established himself as a tough guy in the warehouse. He mostly tried to keep his head down and be reliable.

It was silly, and he knew it, but men competing with each other for masculine dominance really bothered him. But it was unavoidable in that place. And if a supervisor didn't like you, you were branded as weak. Or so they'd make everyone think. And the only thing worse than a weak worker was a bitch. You did not want to be labeled a bitch in the warehouse–most guys didn't last more than a couple more weeks on the job after being labeled a bitch. David knew he couldn't establish himself at the top of any warehouse pecking orders, and frankly he didn't want to. He just wanted enough respect to do his job and live his life. Late deliveries and calling about mechanical problems might get him labeled a bitch if the wrong supervisor found out.

And there was only one label worse than a bitch.

Cuck.

The sun peeked over the horizon as David pulled into the loading area of his first delivery. He swung the truck around and began backing slowly into the dock, trying to shake the intrusive memory of his most recent Saturday night. But it was hard to shake the powerful mix of sensations flooding his memory: his beautiful young wife straddling his face, gently encouraging him as he lapped up semen while it slowly descended from her swollen womanhood.

Bumping gently against the dock, David locked the truck in park and leaped around to meet the receivers. "Sorry I'm late!"

* * *

Sergeant Mark Rein crouched behind a large concrete barrier that was set up in the street. His platoon was scattered in front and behind him, clustered in small groups taking cover behind makeshift shields: building corners, parked cars, whatever they could find. Mark was attempting to direct the squads in different directions, but his radio was malfunctioning. He keyed his handset over and over, attempting to be heard, but kept getting garbled responses. Frustrated, he forced the handset back into its holster and began darting quickly from one position to the next, giving terse orders to each group and moving on. The squads began to fan out neatly, as he did so, moving to surround the source of incoming fire. Three squads were accounted for. The last was much closer to the enemy position, and a lot of open ground threatened his movement. To get to them. He wasn't sure he could make it.

But fourth squad was led by Corporal Jared Poisson. Mark quickly picked him out from the rest of his squad, struggling to know how to move under intense and close enemy fire. He, too, kept keying his radio, unable to contact Mark.

Mark whispered harshly to his subordinate unit, wanting to avoid drawing attention to himself, crouched behind a bike rack:

"Fourth squad!"

No one heard him. He tried again.

"Fourth squad!" No response over the increasing crackle of gunfire. It was useless.

"Frenchie!" Mark yelled at the top of his lungs, drawing all eyes–friendly and enemy–to his position. Jared snapped a glare in his direction. Knowing he was now exposed, Mark stood and sprinted to a better cover–another nearby concrete parking barrier. The crackle of gunfire seemed to follow his heels. Jared followed his friend with his eyes…cursing his radio and Mark's hubris. Watching Mark disappear behind the barrier, Jared feared the worst. Then, Mark's hand appeared near the bottom of the parking barrier.

Hand signals.

The number 4.

The number 2.

Sign for grenade.

Jared slammed the butt of his rifle against the wall next to him to signal a problem. Mark peeked around the side of the parking barrier, and Jared frantically signed back to him.

Empty.

Jared had no grenades, and his squad was out. They had been pinned down to this position for close to an hour waiting on the reinforcements that Mark brought. With no radio and no visual contact with his other squads, Mark was out of options. He repeated the signals again. Four. Two. Fourth floor, second window from the left.

Mark pulled a grenade out of his own ammo belt, briefly popping over the barrier to pitch it to his friend. Jared hastily moved into the open to catch it.

Mark's heart stopped as he realized the grenade's pin had caught on his glove. Drawing his eyes from the dangling pin to the still-airborne munition, he panicked. It was possible the safety lever was still attached, but he didn't know, and didn't dare risk it. The pin was out. Jared should bat it away and take cover.

"Get rid of it!" Mark shouted.

Jared reached out and caught the grenade, whirled like a pitcher picking off a runner, and hurled it right through the fourth floor window. A world series throw. A tense second passed, then a small pop. Then silence. Nobody moved.

"Reset!"

Mark and his fourth squad stood up and walked back to the training officer for evaluation. The other squads gradually moved out of the adjacent streets of the training town set up in the middle of the Mojave desert to prepare marines for combat deployments to desert areas.

Mojave Viper.

Mark and Jared had done this training exercise before. This was different, however. This was the workup to their first combat deployment–they had been on expeditionary units on ship before, but never gone into the "sandbox", as it was called. Mark was seen by his colleagues as a rookie platoon sergeant–other platoon sergeants in his company and battalion had seen more combat than he had, and he was acutely aware of that experience gap. He nervously approached the training officer–a captain–as his platoon gathered around for debriefing.

"Sir, that communications breakdown was on me. I'll get that fixed, I'll do triple comm checks. That can't happen again."

"That wasn't you, sergeant," the captain replied dryly. "We were jamming you. Wanted to see how you acted when it hit the fan. You didn't disappoint. That grenade alley-oop was the dumbest fucking thing I've seen in this scenario. Fun to watch though. Glad you and your boy could pull it off. Got it right through the window. Four floors up, no less. But you got lucky. Never count on that."

Jared was standing a few steps back in deference, but broke into a wide smile. Their inexperienced platoon was doing well. Better, by some accounts, than the more experienced platoons. Mark, however, was unmoved. Hyper fixating on each detail that should have been under his control, he began to plan out remediation training for his marines and gear checks for their gear. He also began thinking through backup communication strategies. The captain's backhanded praise rolled right over him. He still had work to do.

Later that night, Jared and Mark were lying awake next to each other in their cots in a long, thin shelter covered by partially buried corrugated steel. The accommodations at Mojave Viper were not elegant, but they beat sleeping out in the desert–which happened on most days of a given training week. The shelter was packed with marines–some already asleep, others on laptops or playing cards and chatting quietly. Jared was texting his wife, a pleased smile on his face. Mark was still working through his morning tasks in his head, distracted by his responsibilities.

"Hey man…" Jared said

"Sup?" Mark said, only partially listening.

"You ever see that Brittney girl again? Megan wants to know."

"No." Mark replied, flatly.

"Why not? Help me out here, Megan wanted to fix you up. She says Brittney really liked you."

"She was annoying. Don't tell Megan that. Tell her something else."

Jared laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Like…no chemistry or whatever. That's technically true. She was just annoying as hell."

Jared laughed. "Alright. I'll tell her no chemistry. She was hot though, man, did you at least hit it?"

"No. Once she started talking I couldn't imagine getting with her. I can't stand women like that. Like, they're walking instagram posts or something. No substance, all presentation. Not into it."

"But she WAS hot, right?"

Mark turned and squinted quizzically at his friend. "Yeah…"

"I mean, you're not gay, right? Like, really? I promise I don't care."

"Fuck you, man, no. I'm not gay. I just don't fuck every woman who gives me the eyes. Gotta be something behind the eyes, or I can't get into it. Figured that out a few years ago…"

"You need a church girl…"

Mark laughed. "Yeah, right. I need someone like Megan to scowl at me all day. That gets me going…"

Jared snorted. "Yeah, I can see how you'd think that. Megan's actually really great, I married her for a reason, man. And she likes you too, she just had her guard up the first time you met, and she's always felt bad about that. But that was a long time ago. We've been married for more than a year now, she's relaxing around marines now. She's kinda shy, but I promise she likes you. She just hadn't been surrounded by that much testosterone when you met. Like, ever. It freaked her out."

Mark laughed again, this time, a little more freely. "Yeah, I can imagine…from sunday school to a bar full of marines…that's an adjustment. Can't imagine the sex is that good with a church girl, though…"

Jared's eyebrows raised. "Oh, that's where you're wrong, Rein. That's where you're wrong. Church girls get cr-cr-craaazy. All that repression…then you take off their leash…" Jared groaned and smacked his lips like he had just taken a bite of something delicious.

"Bullshit…" Mark snorted.

"Trust me dude…"

Mark snorted again. "Shut up, Frenchie. You're so full of it…Look, I gotta be up in three hours for gear inventory. You gotta be up in four to get your squad ready. We should get some sleep."

Jared nodded, smiling. "Fine, run away from the truth. You're the boss, SERGEANT…"

Mark ordered lights out and the platoon wrapped up their card games and conversations. The shelter gradually grew quiet, with just the two fire watch marines slowly pacing around both entrances. Mark and Jared slipped into their sleeping bags and began to drift off to sleep.

"Rein…" Jared whispered in the dark.

"What…" Mark responded.

Jared extended his hand over the space between cots, a small square of light creating a discreet glow over a small patch of the concrete floor. Mark reached out and grabbed the light. It was Jared's phone. He turned the phone face up to see the display. A full-frame picture of Megan Rodriguez-Poisson. She was naked. Golden brown skin with visible tan lines. On her knees. Looking up to the camera. Smiling hungrily. Her dark hair was visibly tousled, her pretty face gently spattered with semen. Her bare breasts were ample–solid C-cups, and they too had small drips of semen on them. Her nipples were erect, betraying visible arousal. Her hands were placed submissively on her kneeling thighs, her wedding ring clearly displayed on the third finger of her left hand.

"Holy shit…" Mark whispered.

"Told you…" Jared whispered back.

Mark started to hand the phone back, then drew it back to look at it once more. He felt blood begin to move into his cock, and he shifted his hips in response.

"Hey man, give it back." Jared whispered. Mark handed the phone back to his friend. They laid next to each other in silence. Mark tried to change the track of his thoughts to curb his arousal. Finally, he whispered back to Jared.

"That's kind of fucked up to show me that, man. You're wife's hot, I knew that already. But it's kind of fucked up."

"No it isn't."

"Yeah it is. What would she say if she found out you were showing that picture to other marines? Think about that, man…"

"I'm not showing it to other marines." Jared whispered back, his voice noticeably husky. "I showed it to you. And she told me to."

[Jaxbchcuck]

Crushing - excellent writing!

jbc

[lala2323]

This is great! Please post more.

[Crushing]

Jordan was walking through the student union building, swimming upstream against a current of undergraduates heading out the doors to class. She had completed her teaching for the day, but was now under pressure to finish her own projects. She had some class readings to do. And there were always, always more writing projects on the horizon. The academic grind. But she broke up her day, drawing an organizational wall between her teaching and her own student time. She wanted to get some coffee from the cafeteria before returning to the graduate student offices.

As she made her way to the cafeteria, she passed a familiar room and her heart fluttered slightly. 22B. The campus ROTC office. An unexpected place for a drastic change of life trajectory. Or at least that's how it felt now, in retrospect. At the time, more than a year ago now, walking between the service flags and through the otherwise nondescript door of 22B was more of an irritation than anything.

It was the day after Jordan's confrontation (if you want to call it that) with Professor Lukacz over her incomplete proposal. She had been anxiously waiting for Professor Lukacz' feedback on her proposal. She had submitted it in the specified time frame, although it was technically late. She had wasted a whole study day fixing it, then went home to her husband to relax and unwind. Relaxing had been difficult, however; her faculty mentor's stern dismissal of her initial work left her anxious.

After making love with David that night, the tension remained. It couldn't be the sex. That was what eased her tension. She always felt so good and relaxed while her husband enjoyed her body, although if she was honest with herself, she also noticed a lingering tension after he finished. Some days it was worse than others.

The next day at school, she avoided interacting with her colleagues, unsure of if or what they had heard about her late/unsatisfactory proposal. It was a tough spot to be in. Too much tension. She tried not to be irritable, but her fuse was short. She wanted everything to appear effortlessly put together, including herself, for her meeting with Lukacz at 2:00 that day. She dressed smart: tan slacks, a dark blue turtleneck sweater, and a light gray scarf.

It went well. He was in a much better mood. He cheerfully greeted her as she came in and handed her the printed out proposal, dripping with red ink as usual. However, his in-person feedback was refreshingly helpful.

He was clearly rushed though–he had an upcoming presentation at a Vienna conference, and his own stress was peeking through his stern veneer. Jordan took careful notes, responding politely and cheerfully, easing the tension on both sides. By the end of the meeting, the two were chatting amiably. Jordan was visibly relieved as she stood up to leave.

"One more thing, Jordan…" Professor Lukacz said, turning around to rustle through some papers behind him. "I was doing a spot check on some of the student papers you and your colleagues graded, and came across this." He pulled a paper out of the stack. "You gave an A to a student paper…a Mr…Greg Schett. Do you remember?"

"I do, actually. I think he shows a profound understanding beyond his sophomore status. I think he's one to watch. The paper is pretty impressive."

"Yes…" the professor grunted in assent. "It does show advanced acuity. Probably because he copied almost all of it from a paper I wrote about fifteen years ago."

"Oh." Jordan responded sheepishly.

"Not to worry…" Lukacz continued. "You aren't expected to read everything I've ever written. At least not in your second year." He briefly made eye contact and a small, sarcastic smile broke across his normally stern face.

"I'll definitely be more careful about…"

"Again, not your fault, dear." Lukacz interrupted. "You did nothing wrong. You correctly graded a paper that is obviously brilliant." His smile widened and Jordan began to relax again. "There is not question…this paper deserves an A in a sophomore class. It just wasn't his."

Jordan smiled and nodded.

"Normally, I refer these issues to the academic office for action," Lukacz continued. However, young Mr. Schett is in a military officer's training program. Are you familiar?"

"The ROTC cadets? Yes, I see them around campus in their uniforms sometimes."

"Well, his commanders need to be notified since this will likely affect his scholarship. In my experience, they prefer to be notified before the academic office is notified."

"I see." Jordan said, unsure of where she came in.

"They'll want to talk to the one who graded the paper…that's you…and they'll want to talk to me. I can't talk right now, I have a plane to catch. But I don't want this to sit for a week. I need you to take the paper down to the ROTC office and explain the situation to the officers there. They will contact me and I can finish the process. But I'd like you to get the ball rolling as soon as possible."

"I understand, professor. I'll stop by on my way home today," Jordan replied confidently. "Good luck in Vienna, professor."

"Thank you, Jordan. The ROTC office is in the student union building. You can look up the location in the directory. That will be all."

Jordan smiled and nodded, placing the offending paper in her bag.

Ten minutes later, she had located the ROTC office. 22B. She stood in front of a blank, brown door flanked by military flags. She took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob.

* * *

In a desert environment, even a few minutes of rain makes a huge mess. A rare cloudburst had dropped about an hour's worth of heavy rain early in the morning. Sergeant Rein was intently aware of the unstable soil and its effects on his marines' ability to move efficiently around the battle space. He had woken up early that morning and function checked every platoon radio 3 different times, checking every battery and spare battery twice. Although he had learned on the previous day that the communications breakdown was manufactured, he didn't dare risk a repeat under any circumstances. Yesterday's success was entirely too close to catastrophic failure. And today promised to be a messy day–mud always interferes with the mission.

He was standing in the shelter doorway. Only he and the fire watch marines were awake. The sun had not yet risen. He looked at his watch. 4:59. Thirty seconds left.

His mind drifted briefly back to the previous night. The glowing phone screen in front of his face. He had seen his best friend's wife naked. Not only naked, but in an extremely compromised, sexually aroused state. It was undeniably hot. He felt the blood move into his cock as he remembered her bright brown eyes staring up at the camera. Staring up at him.

Poisson had said she had given him permission to show that to him. No…Poisson had said she had TOLD him to show him. He wasn't sure he believed him. It seemed incredible. Irresponsible. Pretty depraved. Not really the behavior he would ascribe to his fourth squad leader and boot camp buddy. But there was one thing that Jared Poisson was definitely not known for: lying. Of all marines, in fact, of all people Mark had ever interacted with, no one was more consistently honest and straightforward with him. But love and sex make people do strange things. If he was lying, then he was essentially sharing his wife's most intimate moment with another man without her permission. A serious breach of trust displaying a shocking, inexcusable defect of character. If he was telling the truth, then his best friend's wife was either complicit in sharing their most intimate moment with her husband's superior, or actively inviting an affair.

In either case, Mark had a serious problem on his hands. This sort of thing could and would lead to a serious breach in the discipline and cohesion of his platoon if not handled with tact and discretion.

He wasn't certain how to proceed. He was, however, absolutely certain that reporting this to his own superiors would only make it worse. Whatever the cause, whatever the outcome, this issue was his to deal with.

Sergeant Rein looked down at his watch. 5 seconds to 5. 4…3…2..1..

Mark's eyes stayed fixed forward as he addressed the marine awaiting his orders at the light switch. "Lights."

The light switched on, and the shelter sprang to life as marines fumbled about, getting ready for the training day.

* * *

Walking through 22B, Jordan was surprised at how spare and neat the office was. Most university offices were packed with welcoming furniture, fun and affirming posters, perhaps little bowls of candy. This office was more…spartan. There was a reception desk, a few office doors, and a small cluster of straight backed wooden chairs parallel to the entrance. Jordan approached the reception desk, finding a polite young female cadet in uniform.

"Hello! I'm wondering if I could have a quick word with the ROTC commander? My name is Jordan Stark-Simms, and I have one of your cadets in my psychology 121 class."

"Of course." The cadet briskly typed something on her keyboard, eyes on her monitor. After a moment, she looked up and smiled. You can go right in. Captain Lund says he has a few minutes.

"Thank you." Jordan walked around the desk and toward the three office doors in the back. All three were ajar. The one on the left had a nameplate on the door matching the name given at reception. Sam Lund, Captain, USMC. Jordan gingerly knocked on the door.

"Come in." A raspy, tenor voice emerged from the open part of the door. Jordan pushed the door open, a little hesitant. Behind a basic wood desk sat a man of medium build, short hair, and thin, wiry glasses. He was wearing a button up khaki shirt with no tie, a small square of multicolored rectangles above the left breast pocket, and two silver bars on the lapels of his open collar. Jordan was a little flummoxed. It seemed so formal. Was there a protocol for interacting with military officers? Professors usually responded to their title, so she risked it and addressed him by rank.

"Captain Lund. I'm Jordan Stark-Simms. Hello."

"Good afternoon. What can I do for you?" Firm, but polite.

"Captain, I'm a doctoral student and teaching assistant to Professor Lukacz in the psychology department. We have several of your cadets in our introductory psych class."

"Big class, right? Couple hundred students?"

"Yes. And we love your cadets, they're very good and engaged students."

"That's good to hear."

"Yes sir. However, we did have something come to our attention recently. It seems that one student plagiarized a paper. Professor Lukacz indicated that you like to be informed before this goes to the academic office."

Captain Lund's eyebrows furrowed. "Yes. Yes we do. I'm very sorry about this. What is the cadet's name?"

"Gregory Schett. He's in my section, so I graded his paper."

"Can I see it?"

"Of course." Jordan opened the file and pulled out the paper.

The captain glanced at the heading, and handed the paper back to her. "I'm going to refer you to his direct superior. Please tell him what you told me."

"Of course. Thank you for your time, captain."

Captain Lund stood up and led Jordan out of his office, crossing over to the opposite door, also ajar. He knocked once and pushed the door open. Jordan stood behind him, unable to see into the office, thinking it proper to wait to be introduced. Captain Lund spoke brusquely through the doorway.

"One of yours. Plagiarism. The grading TA is here."

Jordan heard a sigh emanate from the other side of Captain Lund. The captain stepped aside, motioning to Jordan through the open door.

"Miss Stark, this is Lieutenant Rein. He'll handle the situation from here."

* * *

"All squads roger up."

"Squad 1 Lima Charlie."

"Squad 2 All present"

"Squad 3 Up."

Mark squinted. He was located with squad 2 for this part of the mission, following the morning's frag order splitting up each squad to handle different objectives around the training town. Poisson's squad wasn't responding.

"Squad 4, roger up."

Silence.

"Squad 4, radio check."

Silence.

Mark exhaled in frustration. He looked at the squad 2 leader, who shrugged back at him. Mark keyed his radio handset quickly. Still no response.

Mark was ordered to report his platoon status to company HQ in 2 minutes. No response meant that he would report only 3 out of 4 squads in his platoon. He began to walk impatiently toward his second squad leader. They conferred in hushed tones while the other squad marines looked on, annoyed.

Exhaling audibly, Mark motioned to the back half of the squad to follow him. They began to file off, breaking the initial route plan in order to account for the missing squad. They only had a minute to do it. Quick stepping on an unplanned route was a really good way to get blown up by IEDs, and Mark knew it. Nevertheless, he had a whole squad missing.

Just as they rounded the corner, with Mark in the lead, two clicks came over the radio speaker.

"Squad 4 up."

Mark rolled his eyes, motioning the 6 marines following him back into their original line. He barked into the handset.

"Squad 4, radio check. Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. We were talking to a local, I rogered up as soon as they stopped talking."

Mark grunted. They would have words about this later.

* * *

"Miss Stark, is it?"

"Mrs, actually. Jordan Stark-Simms." Jordan walked through the door and extended her hand over the desk. The lieutenant reached out to grasp her hand. His hand was huge, big enough to completely surround hers.

"Have a seat, please." The lieutenant said. Jordan sat in the plain wooden chair across the desk from the lieutenant. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm here on behalf of Professor Lukacz. We have a student in our class, in my section actually, that we believe to have plagiarized a paper."

"I understand. Do you have the paper?"

"I do." Jordan handed the small sheaf of stapled pages over the desk. The lieutenant examined it intently, looking through the pages. After a moment, he returned to the first page and turned it around to face Jordan.

"Mrs. Stark, this paper has an A grade on it."

Jordan smiled. "I understand that, Lieutenant. I initially graded the paper and found it to be very good. Very advanced, in fact. Later on, Professor Lukacz checked over this particular paper and informed me that it was actually plagiarized."

"There are no indications on this paper that it is anything other than exemplary."

"That is true," Jordan responded, a little taken aback. She was not prepared to be challenged on this paper. "I brought it straight here from Professor Lukacz' office, I didn't have time to re-grade it or anything."

"How does Professor Lukacz know that it's plagiarized?"

Jordan was increasingly uncomfortable with the officer's intensity. Her voice began to shake…almost imperceptibly. "Professor Lukacz is very familiar with the paper it is copied from."

"So let me get this straight, Mrs. Stark." The lieutenant's voice was low and powerful. When he spoke, Jordan could almost feel the vibrations of his voice. She felt powerless and frustrated as he locked eyes with her. "You want me to discipline and possibly revoke the scholarship of a cadet because YOU gave him an A on a paper, then YOU heard from SOMEONE ELSE that they thought he plagiarized that paper?"

"I don't think Professor Lukacz would lie about that, Lieutenant," Jordan responded, beginning to get angry.

"Could he possibly be mistaken, Mrs. Stark?" The lieutenant lowered his voice even more menacingly.

"No, I don't think so, Lieutenant," Jordan narrowed her eyes at him, her indignation finally causing her to match his intensity. "I suspect he's not mistaken. You see, PROFESSOR LUKACZ wrote the paper that your cadet stole it from." She let that sink in, as they locked eyes like rams lock horns. "He copied a paper written by his examining professor, then turned it in for a grade."

Jordan was shocked at herself. She shifted uncomfortably in the plain, wooden chair. This seemed to be going so poorly. She had no control of this situation, and a specific charge to fulfill from her boss and academic mentor. What would she do if this man refused to forward the paper to the academic office? It had her handwriting all over it, singing its praises! It would make her look ridiculous! She had given an A to a plagiarized paper! Maybe she would have to contact Professor Lukacz in Vienna to push back. But that would certainly annoy him and make her look weak and helpless.

Lieutenant Mark Rein paused, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "Well, that was pretty stupid of him, wasn't it?" He smiled disarmingly.

It took Jordan a moment to realize the tension was gone and to regain her composure.

"I thought so," Jordan responded, nodding solemnly.

"Mrs Stark. I apologize for my line of questioning. I'm very protective of my charges."

Jordan smiled a little and softened. The Lieutenant continued.

"Mrs. Stark…I'm sorry, you're still very young…may we call each other by first names?"

"Of course. You're Mark, right?"

"I am. And you're Jordan."

She nodded.

"Jordan, I recognize we have a serious situation to deal with. I am more than willing to handle it. However, I need more than a paper with an A on it in order to respond properly. Could you find me the paper that it was taken from and bring that in for us to look at? Maybe point out the sections you think are plagiarized? Or if you're too busy, you could point me in the direction of the paper myself and I'll review it. Either way, I need some more to take action. Clear, thorough communication is absolutely crucial to what we do here. We cannot have any weak or ambiguous communications in military life. That's just how we do things here."

"I understand, Mark. I'll take the paper back and find that for you," Jordan responded amiably. "I'm familiar with Professor Lukacz' work, it shouldn't take me long to find it and annotate Greg's paper. When you do take action, however, I'd like to be involved, and hopefully resolve this amicably. I think we can bring closure to the situation without damaging your cadet's future."

"That's a wonderful sentiment, Jordan, and I appreciate the assistance. However, there will be damage to the cadet's future. Of that, I assure you."

Jordan was taken aback. "It's his first offense, though…I'm sure there's an explanation. Perhaps he was under stress and panicked…"

"I have no doubt of that, Mrs. Stark," Mark replied, returning to formalities. "But I have a cadet who is working toward a commission as an officer with the power over life and death that that commission brings. In an academic setting, he has chosen to cheat, and will likely lie about it. Stress and panic are not mitigating circumstances in this case. In fact, they make it worse. Any of my Navy and Marine cadets, perhaps all of them, will be put in situations of extreme stress. Many, many panic inducing circumstances. If it drives them to misbehave, then I cannot allow them to occupy that position."

Jordan was stunned. "I understand. I'm very sorry to hear that. What about his age? He's young. I'll…I'll work with him." She found the prospect of such final consequences to be very jarring. She began to feel responsible for the young man.

"Good day, Mrs. Stark. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Mark stood up behind his desk, allowing Jordan to see his whole frame for the first time. He towered over her, with broad shoulders and a clearly powerful build that was poorly concealed under his form-fitting khaki shirt and dark green slacks. Jordan noticed that the square of colored ribbons over his left breast pocket was noticeably larger and more colorful than that of Captain Lund's–his superior. She briefly wondered about that.

Mark leaned over the desk, picking a business card with his contact information out of a box and handing it to her. Once she took it, he grasped her small hand in his again warmly, gently moving her whole arm up to the shoulder.

Jordan held on to his hand for a moment, looking directly into his eyes. Bright, blue, icy eyes. They were stern and unyielding. But she thought she saw a hint of mercy–of compassion–deep below the surface. Something of depth covered over by a stonewall self-image. Holding his gaze, she tried to regain some control of the situation.

"Please keep me in the loop on this, Lieutenant. He's my student, as well as your cadet. I have charge of him too."

"I will. It was nice to meet you, Jordan. Good day."

Jordan let go of his hand, picked up her bag, and walked out the door.

* * *

A brutal training day, 5AM to 10PM. At 10:15, Mark and his squad leaders were holding their final huddle of the day, standing loosely in a circle apart from the platoon, eating out of open MRE bags. Mark was listening to each squad leader's concerns and complaints, making a final inventory of everyone's gear issues before they all fell into their cots for a night of well-earned rest.

Mark and Jared were facing each other on the opposite ends of the circle. Jared seemed to be slightly tuned out, staring past Mark toward the blank wall behind him. Fatigue stares…Mark thought to himself. Mark reached a long right arm across the circle and poked him in the cheek. "Pay attention, Poisson. Don't tune out like you did on comms earlier."

The other squad leaders snickered. Jared narrowed hostile eyes at his friend. Mark ignored the look, offering final parting instruction to the young marines. "That's the word for tomorrow. Keep. Tight. Comms. Communication is what is going to make or break us. We're doing good overall, but keep tight comms among your squads and with me. I will not wait for answers tomorrow. I'll just beat asses. Got it?"

The corporals grunted in affirmation and parted, returning to their corners of the shelter. Mark and Jared walked together back to their corner.

Jared kept a slight, conscious distance from Mark–clearly miffed.

"You calling me out in front of people now? What the hell, man?"

Mark scoffed back. "You taking advantage of our friendship and running your own little mini-platoon over there?"

Jared gritted his teeth, saying nothing.

"You embarrassed me in front of people, Frenchie. In front of our whole platoon." Mark grabbed his friend's face and turned it to lock eyes. "I'm your guy, Frenchie. But you. Can't. Ignore. Me. You got it? You play games in front of people, I'm gonna slap you down in front of people. You got it?"

"Got it…" Jared mumbled, grudgingly.

They sat down on their cots in silence, picking out the last morsels from their food bags and chewing slowly to hide their deep fatigue.

"So you still mad at me for showing you that pic? You ought to be grateful, man…"

Mark paused, thoughtfully. "She's really, really hot man. I'm not going to deny that."

"Really? What'd you think..?" Jared changed his tone, barely masking his excitement.

Mark paused again, staring down at the ground. Exhaling deeply, he looked back up at his best friend. "You ever read the Iliad?"

"The Lily Pad?"

"That's what I thought. No, The Iliad. It's a long story–an epic poem, actually–about the Trojan War. Ancient Greece."

"Uh, I think we read some of it in high school, I don't really remember. Why?"

"There's a character in that story named Briseis. She's a young woman…a captive slave, really. There are two warriors fighting on the same side–Achilles the invincible warrior, and Agamemnon the king. They end up fighting over who has the rights to this girl, basically as a sex slave. It pisses Achilles off so much that he refuses to fight, and he holds back his own troops from fighting. Tons of people die because these two guys fought over a girl. Including Achilles' best friend."

"You're worried we're going to fight over my wife because I showed you how hot she is?"

"No, I'm worried things will change because now we're connected in a way that turns things messy."

This time it was Jared looking down to the floor. "That was a huge leap of faith on my part to show you that pic, man. I'm sorry I did it."

Mark sighed. "I actually know that was a big deal for you. That's part of the problem. You should know I still respect you. But you didn't think that all the way through. I'm worried about what this means…You get me?"

Jared nodded, still looking down.

Mark continued: "Dude, you have to, HAVE TO assure me that this doesn't change things. I'm still your platoon sergeant, you're still one of my squad leaders. We have to count on each other. No matter what."

Jared looked up and nodded, determined. Mark held his gaze for a moment, waiting. Then, his eyes softened slightly.

"Show me that pic again. I can't get it out of my mind." Jared excitedly reached into his pocket for his phone.

Mark thought twice.

"Wait."

Jared stopped, phone in hand, and looked at Mark, confused.

"Text Megan. Tell her you showed me the picture. I want to hear what she says."

Jared grinned and nodded, looking down at his phone and typing quickly. A moment passed, and his phone buzzed.

"She said 'OMG what did he think?'"

"Let me see." Mark verified the text and handed the phone back. "Tell her I want to see it again, but I want her to give permission. Jared nodded excitedly and began typing. "Wait…"

Jared stopped again.

"Give her my phone number, and tell her I want to see it again, but I want her to text me and tell me to look at it."

Jared's breathing quickened and his face reddened. He wordlessly complied, hitting SEND on the message. No response.

The friends waited, finishing their MREs and standing up to throw the remains in the trash outside the door of the shelter. As they were walking back to their cots, Jared's phone buzzed again.

"She said no, she's too scared."

"That's what I thought. You're thinking with your dick too much, man. You two gotta figure this out."

Jared nodded solemnly, clearly disappointed. "I get it man. You're right. Sorry for bringing this up." Mark grabbed him and gave him a back-slapping hug. "No worries, Frenchie. Let's put it behind us."

The two removed their fatigues and climbed into their cots. Jared laid on his back with his phone in front of his face, clearly still texting Megan. Mark took one more look around, ordered lights out, and laid down to sleep.

A gentle buzzing stirred Mark out of pitch-black sleep. It was his phone, tucked underneath the rolled up clothes he was using for a pillow. He reached down and pulled it out, hiding the light under the lid of his sleeping bag.

New text message.

3:00 AM.

He looked over at Jared.

Sound asleep

Mark opened the text message.

An unknown number.

Hey, it's Megan. Are you awake?

Mark squinted.

Mark: I am now. What's up?

Megan: Thanks for being understanding and talking Jared down. He gets excited sometimes, it's good he has a friend like you to keep him level.

Mark: No problem. You guys okay?

Megan: Yeah, we're okay. I just wanted to say thanks.

Mark: Yeah, no problem.

Mark put the phone down and began to drift back down into sleep. The phone buzzed again. He picked it up, annoyed.

Megan: Mark.

Mark: What's up, Megan?

Megan: Jared told me about Briseis. He definitely spelled it wrong.

Mark: Lol.

Megan: He hasn't read the Iliad, but I have. I think what you say makes sense.

Mark: Cool. You've read the Iliad?

Megan: Yeah. We should talk about it sometime.

Mark smiled.

Mark: Sure, totally.

Megan:But Mark…
Megan: One thing I know about that story is that nobody, ever, asked Briseis what she wants.

Mark's attention narrowed, zooming in on the last text. His heart quickened, and he sat up slightly.

Mark: That's definitely true.

Megan: So. Don't you wonder what Briseis wanted? What she would have wanted?

Mark's face began to flush, his cock stirring.

Mark: Yeah, I guess I do. What would Briseis want?

Megan: I think she wants you to look at that picture…

* * *

Jordan thanked the young student employee handing her coffee to her. She smiled at the not-too-distant memory. Her first meeting with Mark was mixed, with no real indicators that their relationship would evolve beyond collaborating on the fallout of a plagiarized paper. Turning back toward her graduate student office in the adjacent building, Jordan walked thoughtfully, holding her coffee cup in her left hand, her phone in her right. She passed 22B again.

She pulled up the contacts on her phone and looked up the contact page of a man who occupied so much room in her life and marriage lately. The contact entry was old, a carryover from when she first put it in her phone on the day he handed her that business card. A card promising a business relationship.

Lt. Rein, ROTC.

Jordan clicked edit, and changed the entry.

Cpt. Mark Rein, USMC.

She then recategorized the contact from "work" to "personal." Then, on a lark, she texted him.

J: Hey. Just walked by 22B on my way to get coffee. Remembering how we met. Thinking about you. Hope you're having a good day.

The text was marked sent, not read. She returned her phone to her pocket and walked briskly back to her work space.

The graduate student "offices" were really just a collection of large open rooms divided by dozens of half-cubicle walls. Jordan's desk was near the corner, furthest from the entrance. She walked to her student desk, set down her coffee, and immersed herself in her work.

Deadlines, deadlines, deadlines. Always more deadlines.

Her phone buzzed on the desk next to her laptop.

New text from Cpt. Mark Rein, USMC.

She opened it.

M: I think you wore a dark blue turtleneck.

Jordan blushed.

J: You remember! I'm flattered. I certainly wasn't dressing to impress you…I didn't even know you then.

M: What are you wearing now?

J: Jeans and a dark brown blouse.

M: Are you wearing a bra?

Jordan blushed again.

J: Of course…

M: No you're not.

Jordan blushed again.

M: Jordan, are you wearing a bra?

J: Yes…

M: No you're not.

Jordan's heart began to beat faster. She glanced around to see if anyone was looking. All the others had their heads down, many with headphones on. She wasn't drawing attention to herself.

M: Jordan, tell me you're not wearing a bra, or I'm going to up the ante by telling you you're not wearing a top.

Jordan began to feel her pulse rising gently between her legs.

She looked around once more. No one was outside of their own little work bubble. It was risky, but she loved doing what Mark told her to do. She leaned forward over her desk as if she were stretching, and then reached behind her back and unclasped her bra strap.

The familiar sound of elastic releasing tension seemed ten times louder than it ever had before. She frantically scanned the room again, then quickly pulled the shoulder straps through her sleeves. Finally, she reached under her shirt and pulled the bra out, quickly folding the cups in half and stuffing it in her bag.

Face flushed, Jordan quietly picked up her phone again.

J: I'm not wearing a bra.

Silence. Then, one more buzz.

M: Good girl.

Jordan began to carefully regulate her breathing, as she feared her arousal would become audibly apparent to her colleagues if she didn't watch it.

J: I did what you wanted. Do I get a reward now?

M: That depends. Are your nipples showing through your blouse?

Jordan looked down.

J: A little.

M: Good. Rub them a little, so they show more.

Jordan bit her lower lip slightly as she reached up to rub her nipples through her shirt. Unsurprisingly, they quickly began to poke into the fabric of her shirt.

J: OK. I definitely can't go anywhere for a while.

M: I understand. So I just have one question, and I'll leave you to your work. I know you're busy after all.

Jordan smiled to herself.

J: Oh, thank you…
J: What's your question?

M: Do you know how long sperm can stay in a woman's body after sex?

J: I don't know…like 4 hours?

M: Definitely longer than that. Sometimes 3 days.

J: That's very interesting.

M: I think so. So just a quick follow up question. Did you and I have sex recently?

Jordan bit her lip harder.

J: Yes.

M: When?

J: Saturday night.

M: Did I cum inside you on Saturday night?

Jordan began to pant. The pulse between her legs grew steadily in intensity.

J: Yes.

M: A little or a lot?

J: A lot. God, so much…

M: That's my memory too. What day is it, Jordan?

J: Monday

M: Let's see. Saturday night…Sunday night…Monday afternoon. What might that mean for your body right now, Jordan?

Jordan couldn't stand it. She needed him. She felt so submissive. So beautifully used. Her fingers shook as she texted back:

J: I might have your cum in me right now.

M: That's right. So here's what you're going to do. You're going to stand up, nipples showing or not, and you're going to quietly go to the nearest bathroom.

J: OK…

M: When you're there, you're going to go into a stall, pull down your pants and panties, and you're going to remember how much I filled you up two nights ago. You're going to remember the feeling of my cum, and you're going to do your best to find whatever is left in you with your fingers.

Silence.

J: Yes, sir…

[RustyRover]

This is such a hot story. Please keep it cumming. Great Pacing and I love the way you hint about things to come.

[antidote2909]

Absolutely fascinating. Brilliantly written and superb build up.

[Crushing]

Turning into the distribution center's loading docks, David glanced at his wristwatch, not trusting the truck's clock after the electrical troubles he had fought through that morning. He was just over ten minutes late back to the dock. Managing to make up most of his lost time through sheer grit and hustle wasn't quite enough to cover his earlier delay. He gritted his teeth as he threw the box truck into reverse and backed smoothly into the dock. Bumping gently into the rubber stopper at the end of the dock, he ratcheted the gear shift into park and exhaled, exhausted.

Vinny was waiting for David as he walked through the door into the driver's lounge. Vinny had been David's morning shift supervisor since he began his delivery route. They were not friends.

"You're late," Vinny sneered as David began to apologize.

"I know you were worried about some electrical shit, I don't care. You complain early in the morning, you obviously don't want to work. Probably late 'cause you pulled over to check the battery every five minutes or some nervous bullshit like that."

David's face reddened. He knew it was pointless to argue with Vinny. Working at the loading dock for almost ten years, he was just dumb enough to think he was smart. A walking, tobacco dipping Dunning-Kruger effect. Any attempt to correct him was extremely counterproductive. Furthermore, he was physically larger than David, and, like most bullies with bargain basement IQs, liked to threaten subordinates and smaller people through physical intimidation.

David was self-conscious about his height at 5 feet, 7 inches, while Vinny was easily 6 feet tall, wiry, and mean. David was non-confrontational to a fault, always preferring to use his brain to find better ways to do things rather than using his personality and physicality as a battering ram to get his way. Trying to muscle his way through things was never going to work for David Stark. Using his brain did. At least eventually. In situations like this, however, he was at the mercy of whatever lunk wanted to steamroll him.

David feigned remorse and submission. "I'm sorry, Vinny. I thought there was an issue, and I stopped to check it. I was wrong, but I made up time on almost all my deliveries. I'm very sorry, and it won't happen again."

Vinny sneered, perceiving his subordinate's capitulation.

"That's right, bitch. It won't happen again. If it does…"

David held his eyes down, where his eye caught his wedding ring. He was grateful Jordan didn't see him like this.

Vinny continued. "Don't touch my fucking trucks. They work fine, and you don't know shit. And I'm not authorizing you overtime when you're coming back late. As far as I'm concerned, you clocked out at 2:30. Got it?"

David glanced further up his hand and saw his watch. 3:15. "Got it…" David muttered.

"Get out of here."

David nodded and walked out toward his car. Covering about half the distance to his car, he thought twice. He turned on his heel and walked briskly back to his work truck, still parked at the loading dock. He looked around. Shift change. No one around. He quickly opened the cab door and pulled out his toolbox. Opening the metal case, he pulled out the fried alternator and closed the lid, replacing the toolbox and shutting the door quietly. He then walked the other direction, away from Vinny and the other delivery managers, and toward the mechanic's shop.

"Hey Hamad, I got something for ya…" David called out as he walked through the shop door where the distribution hub's mechanics worked. Hamad had been his go-to guy, a first generation immigrant who was very handy but a little hard to understand. He and David had bonded, since both were thought to be weirdos on the outside edge of their work groups. Hamad walked up and grinned at David and shook his hand. David took the opportunity of the handshake to slip Hamad the burned out alternator.

"This went out on my truck this morning. I got it to a junk yard before it completely fried and replaced it with another used one. Got it?"

Hamad nodded, confused, and gesturing to the blackened metallic junk he was now holding: "Get it. What I do with this?"

"Just throw it away, I just wanted to show you." He then leaned in to Hamad and lowered his voice. "Then, when you change the oil on truck 14 next time, I want you to do an inspection and find a broken alternator. Then get a new one on there. I don't know how long this junk one is going to last. And…" David pulled a ten dollar bill out of his shirt pocket and shook it into Hamad's hand, "this conversation never happened. Got it?"

Hamad, who loved a conspiracy, just grinned as he took the bill.

David smiled and slapped Hamad on the back, then turned and walked out the door, without noticing Jack, the crusty old mechanic's supervisor, standing in an adjacent hallway.

* * *

David fumbled with the keys to his apartment, jiggled the lock open, and stumbled through the door. Artfully kicking the door shut behind him, he flopped face first onto the couch. What a day.

After a few minutes, he rolled over on his back and looked at his watch. 4:05. Jordan usually got home between 4:30 and 5, and they liked to eat early. He forced himself to stand up and walked to the bathroom, dropping his work clothes in the hallway. After a quick shower scrubbing at the weird combination odor of dockworkers, diesel, and fresh flowers, he changed into a t-shirt and basketball shorts and walked into the kitchen.

Jordan arrived about 5 minutes to 5, when David had nearly finished dinner. She was humming to herself as she came through the door, and although David couldn't see her from the kitchen, he smiled unconsciously to himself. Just her presence brightened his day. Jordan put her bag down next to the couch and tiptoed into the kitchen, playfully placing her hands over his eyes as he worked the skillet. "Guess who?"

"Salman Rushdie?" David responded.

"Close. So close…" Jordan giggled. David turned around to see her. God, she was so beautiful. Smooth, symmetrical face. Shiny, wavy auburn hair. Slim, feminine build. Gun barrel blue eyes. Kind of an Anna Kendrick vibe, but a little taller and with even daintier facial features.

Jordan leaned in playfully and kissed her husband. "What's for dinner?"

"I've got a stir fry going. With chicken. OK with you?" David leaned in to kiss his wife one more time.

"Sounds great." She took two steps back and leaned down to get some juice out of the refrigerator. Placing the pitcher on the counter, she reached up to pull a glass out of the cabinet. David noticed something different about her.

"You're not wearing a bra!" David observed, taken aback.

Jordan smiled coyly.

"Way to go, eagle eyes."

She was wearing a slim fit T-shirt, so the smooth contours of her breasts were fairly apparent through the fabric. Any doubt was removed by noticeable dents–her nipples pressing against the fabric. David was instantly flustered. This was so unlike his wife, who dressed conservatively to a fault. Had she walked around all day like that? How should he respond?

"Is that…like…on purpose?"

Jordan's eyes crinkled as she smiled evasively. "I'll set the table."

* * *

Corporal Poisson was in lockstep with his platoon sergeant. It was almost like boot camp.

Rein and Poisson anticipated each other's moves and communicated almost without speech. Jared had taken yesterday's correction to heart, and, after a good night's sleep, slipped back into his old self. The training day went off without a hitch; the whole platoon received high marks in all training criteria. Sergeant Rein was definitely catching the attention of the company commander and senior enlisted marines. His lack of experience seemed to pale under his natural leadership, which appeared effortless from the outside. All of these things combined to substantially improve Mark's mood at the chow hall that night.

Jared, along with the other three squad leaders, were a bit suspicious of Mark's good mood. It wasn't like him to be this relaxed. Something had changed. But they didn't want to spoil a good evening by questioning it. After eating a hasty, unappetizing field mess with his platoon, Mark huddled with his squad leaders, giving them a rough outline of the next day's schedule before dismissing.The platoon had an actual night off, albeit in their tin-can camp in the middle of the Mojave desert.

Mark and Jared laid back on their cots, trading barbs, jokes, and stories as military men do. Eventually the topic returned to their exchange from the night before.

Mark broke the ice.

"Hey man, I don't know if you know this, but Megan texted me last night after lights out."

Jared's eyes widened. "Really? What did she say? What did you say? What…?"

Mark laughed, cutting his friend's line of questioning off. "We discussed…ancient literature."

Jared laughed tentatively. "No really, what did you guys talk about?"

"She said she wanted me to see that picture again."

Jared's eyes widened a little more. "So…you want to see it again?"

Mark stretched out on his back, put his hands behind his head, and looked at the ceiling. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

"Send it to me."

"Holy shit…Ho.Ly. Shit…"Jared muttered under his breath as he reached for his phone and, hands trembling, pulled up the picture. He tried to play it cool, but held his breath as he began to hold out his phone for Mark to take.

"Nope" Mark asserted, not moving his eyes from the ceiling. "I didn't say hand it to me. I'm not borrowing it. I'm taking it. Send me the picture, then delete it from your phone. It's mine now."

Jared froze, his hand still frozen halfway across the distance between their cots. "You…you serious?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"Yep. That's how it's going to be. We're not going to haggle and fight over shared property. We're going to obtain knowing consent from everyone involved, and we're going to draw clear boundaries. Got it?"

"Dude, that's awesome," Jared choked out a nervous laugh. "You have no idea…"

"I think I'm getting the idea, Frenchie. Send the pic."

Jared looked down to his phone, pressed a few buttons, and Mark felt the buzz in his hip pocket indicating a received message. His heart began to beat more quickly. However, playing it cool in tense situations was a craft he had honed for years now. He kept his gaze held straight upward.

"Now, delete that pic from your phone."

Jared hit a few more buttons on his phone display, pausing slightly before pressing the final one. "Done." He said tentatively, trying to avoid a slight tremor in his voice.

"All right." Mark replied, matter-of-factly. He made no motion to get his phone out of his pocket. He simply acknowledged that the racy picture was now his possession. "So what now, Frenchie?"

Jared squinted. He hadn't thought this far. He never thought he would get this far. He was dumbfounded at the new heights of excitement he was already experiencing. He struggled for a moment, but had no answer.

"Allright Frenchie. You did really good in training today. Night and day difference from yesterday. We had clear communication about this situation, and that seemed to fix the situation. I'm trusting that this isn't going to get in the way of our mission, as long as we're all communicating."

"Yeah…" Jared rasped.

Mark continued, cooly in charge: "So since you're kind of at a loss for words here, I'll go ahead and make a couple things clear, just to make sure there are no more problems. Cool?"

"OK, cool," Jared said tentatively.

"I have your consent to communicate with Megan in whatever way she and I decide. Right?"

"Yeah, uh…yeah, I guess so."

"Say yes," Mark said, briefly taking his eyes off the ceiling and looking directly at his friend.

"Yes," Jared said, barely above a whisper.

"OK." Mark stood up, picked up his jacket and cover, put them on, and slung his weapon over his shoulder. Zipping up his jacket, he looked directly at Jared, and gave orders.

"I'm going to take a walk. You're the ranking NCO on deck. Do not leave the shelter, handle any platoon issues, and call lights out at 2300. Report anything relevant to me when I get back. I'll be back later."

"OK," Jared said, voice still clearly tentative. "When will you be back?"

Mark locked eyes with his subordinate, and spoke with a low voice, avoiding drawing the attention of the rest of the platoon. Nevertheless, he made his intentions crystal clear:

"When I'm done with your wife, Frenchie."

* * *

Jordan loved David's stir fry. It was one of her favorite dishes, and David usually made it on Monday or Tuesday, when the vegetables they bought for the week were the freshest. Already seated at the set table, she closed her eyes and deeply inhaled the scent when David brought in the skillet, still steaming from the stove top. He set it down on the table between them and sat down across from her.

David asked Jordan to say grace. She folded her hands and rushed through the meal prayer, still intoxicated by the aroma in front of her. After the "Amen," she grabbed the serving tongs and dug in.

David grinned as his wife attacked the food. He had discovered a fascinating synergy growing between them since he and Jordan got married. He was most happy when he could see her happiness. When she got excited, he got excited, and vice versa. It was exactly the type of feelings he hoped would develop, but he had never experienced this dynamic, where one partner's emotional state so clearly reflected and fed the other's.

He was also fascinated–on a much less psycho-spiritual level–by Jordan's wardrobe this afternoon. Jordan always dressed professionally, or at least as professionally as graduate students generally dress. But not wearing a bra with a form fitting top was pretty out of the ordinary for her. Unprecedented, really. David's eye was repeatedly drawn to his wife's chest. The gray cotton hugged her bare skin, accenting the contours of her body. Her nipples were still slightly visible through the fabric. And unlike the Jordan he knew six months ago, this Jordan did not seem self-conscious about it. It was almost like she was viewing her own body differently. More comfortable in her own skin. Maybe.

David snapped out of his "meditation" to see Jordan's eyes focused on his face, a slight smirk reflecting his rather bewildered fixation on her body.

"David? I'm up here."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Jordan giggled. "I guess I'll say it again. I like that you look at me. It makes me feel sexy. OK?"

"OK," David said, still a little embarrassed.

"So, how was work today?"

"It was okay. I ended up being late and getting chewed out by Vinny."

Jordan frowned, a little surprised. It wasn't like David to under perform or miss marks. "What happened? Was there a wreck, or traffic or something?"

"No, the alternator went out on the truck. I found a junkyard, got a different one and swapped them out, but it put me back a little. I rushed to catch up for the rest of the day, but didn't make up enough time." David's tone was flat, clearly expressing some repressed irritation at not meeting his daily goal.

Jordan squinted, trying to make sense of the story. "So you found a part in a pile of junk, brought the truck back, got it fixed, and still almost finished all your deliveries on time?"

"No, I didn't bring it back. I had my tools in the truck, I just fixed it in the yard and kept going." David sighed and put a forkful of stir fry into his mouth, chewing absently while he digested his frustration.

Jordan caught a chuckle in her throat, thought for a minute, then let out a full laugh. Shaking her head in disbelief, she looked down to get another fork full of stir fry before looking back up at her husband. "Okay baby, I know that you get wrapped up in end products and goals and stuff. But you're a flipping ninja. Seriously! Who fixes their own truck while on their delivery route and still makes all of them almost on time?"

"Me, I guess."

"Yeah you," Jordan nodded incredulously, smiling. "And Vinny gave you crap for being late?"

"I didn't tell him I fixed it. I thought it would be a bad idea. I told Hamad though, so he can check my work and make sure it's good." David's tone remained flat, unimpressed with himself.

"Well, Vinny's a jerk. And I think you're amazing."

David blushed, his wife's admiration finally breaking through a little. He changed the subject.
"Okay, enough about my boring day…how was your day?"

"Pretty standard. Professor Lukacz was lecturing on abnormal psych. Always entertaining. At least the class seemed to stay awake this time. Most of them, anyway."

"Abnormal psych? What makes anything you study abnormal? It all seems weird to me."

Jordan playfully poked her fork across the table in the direction of her husband. "That is too big a question for this dinner, you turkey. And I'm not too sure we should be the arbiters of psychological normalcy lately."

David blushed again.

"So…were you in a hurry to get out the door this morning?"

"Yeah, I kinda was. Slept in a little. Thanks for the smoothie, by the way."

"I was just saying," David cleared his throat. "It seems like you dressed in a hurry."

"I did. Do you think the outfit is badly matched? Maybe you should lay out my clothes…" Jordan smirked again.

"I was more wondering if you forgot something."

"Oh. No, I don't think so…"

Jordan, clearly cognizant of her husband's intention, began nonchalantly and surgically drawing out his curiosity.

She moved her fork around the plate, gathering the last of her helping of stir fry, and put the final bite in her mouth, chewing nonchalantly as she locked eyes across the table. David cleared his throat.

"So, you looked…like this…all day? I mean, it's great, I think it's great…"

Jordan lifted an eyebrow. "You're wondering if I left the house with a bra."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Funny thing, baby. I did leave the house with a bra. And I had a bra on while I was teaching, and when I had my lunch, and when I went to get a coffee in the cafeteria."

"So…did you take it off, or…"

"Well, after I got back to the office and started working, I found myself in a text conversation with a friend of mine. His name is Mark Rein. He's a marine. Have I mentioned him before?" Jordan inflected innocently.

David grunted, loving and hating the direction of the conversation.

Jordan leaned back in her chair, sitting straight against the back. The soft curve of her petite breasts was perfected in that pose. She was both fully clothed and suggestively exposed. Exquisite. David found himself consciously trying not to lick his lips. Jordan pretended to stretch, then continued her story.

"So I was texting with this friend, and he just happened to ask if I was wearing a bra. Of course I told him yes…why wouldn't I be?"

David tried to keep his eyes focused on Jordan's face. It was a slow, losing battle. "Did he tell you to take it off?"

"No. Of course not. That would be wildly inappropriate for a man that is…Not. My. Husband. Don't you think?"

David's fork was frozen in the small pile of stir fry still on his plate. She leaned forward and put her fork into his food, lifting out half of the remainder and raised it to her lips.

"Mmm, baby. That's so good. I love your stir fry." She leaned back again, seeming to end the conversation. "So…after we clean up, I thought we could start watching that new Star Trek series. I heard they brought back Picard as an admiral! Pretty cool, don't you think?"

"Yeah…that…um…that sounds great."

Jordan leaned forward again and gently used her fork to move David's fork out of the way, which was still frozen on the plate. She then scooped up the remaining stir fry, clearing his plate, and placed the fork in her mouth.

Despite half of him screaming to let the conversation go, David couldn't. Moths and flames and whatnot.

"So…what happened?"

Jordan chewed and swallowed the last of the meal. Then she affected an look of innocent curiosity, both eyebrows raised disarmingly. "Hmm?"

David blinked, still blushing. "What happened with…you know…"

"Oh, that." Jordan nodded innocently. "Well honey, it was the darndest thing. Even though I thought Mark's question to be wildly inappropriate, I did tell him that yes, of course I was wearing a bra. But then the strangest thing happened. He told me that I wasn't. Just flat out called me a liar. Can you believe it?"

"But…" David stammered, heart racing. His cock stiffened.

"I know, baby. I was livid. I thought to myself…'how dare he assert a false reality! I know what I'm wearing. Mark Rein has another thing coming if he thinks he can gaslight a Ph.D student in psychology.' I was about to tell him off." Jordan stood up and picked up both plates, carrying them into the kitchen and placing them in the sink. She then returned and picked up the silverware. David remained sitting, not wanting to draw attention to his erection by standing up.

"So…you told him off?"

"Well, like I said, I was about to. But then, I looked down…and…you'll never believe this, David. He was right! Somehow…and I know unexplained things happen every day…but it's always so strange when it happens to you, you know. So somehow, I wasn't wearing a bra! It has never happened to me before."

David swallowed. "So did you lose it? Where did it go?"

Jordan walked purposefully over to the door of their apartment, bent down, and pulled her neatly folded brassiere out of her bag, holding it incredulously up next to her face. "No baby, it turns out it was right in here. Folded in exactly the way I fold my bras. Weird, don't you think?"

David shifted in his seat. He was now sweating.

Jordan slowly walked back toward the table. She pulled the back of David's chair. David shifted, helping her move the chair away from the table. She held her bra in her right hand and sat down on his lap, placing her left arm around his shoulders. Her breasts were right at David's eye level, and her nipples had stiffened slightly.

"How do you think it got off my body and into my bag, David? Isn't it weird?"

David's erection ventured into painful territory. "It's a mystery…" he weakly responded.

Jordan kissed David's forehead gently, and responded with a silky smooth voice. "It is, baby. It is. A. Mystery." She kissed him gently on the cheek and stood up to take the remaining dishes and dropped them into the sink. Turning around and leaning against the counter, once again highlighting her unsupported breasts under her thin cotton T-shirt, Jordan affected a change in subject.

"So…if you could clean up the dishes real quick and then meet me in the bedroom? I was looking for something earlier, and I'd like some help finding it. Can you do that for me?"

"Okay…"

"Thanks baby!" Jordan walked past him down the hall toward their bedroom.

* * *

Mark found an isolated space behind the chow hall. No marines were milling around, smoking, or patrolling. He was most likely to be interrupted by coyotes in the desert night. He sat down with his back to the outer wall of the building and pulled out his phone.

Mark: Hey Meg. How's your night going?

Megan: Hey Mark, what's up?

Mark: Did Jared tell you I was going to text?

Megan: Yes…

Mark: So…I have your picture in my phone now. I made Jared delete it.

Megan: That's what he said.

Mark: I needed to see how serious he was. So, now that I know, you and I need to have a little talk.

Megan: You're right. I'm sorry if we're coming on too strong. I've had my doubts about this whole thing, but J is super into it. I'm sorry if we're pushing you and putting you in an awkward position. If you want to talk about, I don't know…maybe strategize about how to talk J down, I'm totally ready to have that conversation.

Mark: Well, we might need to do that. But I guess the first thing we need to figure out is what kind of conversation you want to have.

Megan: Ummm…what kind of conversation do YOU want to have?

Mark: I'm open to a few different ones. But first things first, you're absolutely right. J is way more excited than he is rational at this point. He usually has better judgment, and it's worrying me a little bit. But people get crazy around big changes, and we have some big changes coming. Whatever happens here, we need to have an escape plan where this all goes back to zero and we forget it and move on.

Megan: I agree.

Mark: Good. So, what I need to know before we go any further than this, is where YOU are at. What are your feelings about this? Don't hold back, I can handle whatever answer you give.

Megan: …
Megan: …
Megan: …
Megan: This is so weird.

Mark: Oh, I know. It's weird for me too. And admittedly hot as hell too.

Megan: OK…yeah kinda

Mark: OK, let's start with the basics. Are you on board with this? Or are you just going along to make J happy?

Megan: OMG this is so embarrassing…
Megan: J and I have been doing some role play, and we both think it's kinda hot. J has this fantasy that I sleep with other guys while he's deployed, but he's the only man I've been with. I can't just go nuts on my own, so I don't really know what I'm doing. WE don't know what WE'RE doing. All we know right now is it's a pretty hot fantasy. But obv, the deployment's coming up, and I'm kinda scared.

Mark: OK, I think I get it.

Megan: I told J I didn't want to be with a total stranger, and he asked me if we knew anyone that I'd be into, and I kinda said you…

Mark: Obviously I'm flattered. Question though…
Mark: When you say you're scared, is it because of the deployment or just because you're thinking about trying this new thing?

Megan: Both, kinda, I guess. I mean, it's both, but I'm not really sure.

Mark: A lot of intense emotions? Hard to figure out?

Megan: Yeah, kinda.

Mark: Makes sense. I'm not in a relationship, and basically all my friends are going with me on deployment. So I'm feeling as safe as I probably could be in the circumstances. I can only imagine how weird it is to know your SO is going to be gone for a long time, and be in danger the whole time.

Megan: OK this is officially not hot anymore, lol 🥹

Mark: I know. But it's important, so hear me out. I just need all of us to know what kind of a minefield we're getting into, and emotions get confused and intense. The absolute last thing any of us need is some kind of messy emotional triangle that pits me and my best squad leader against each other and leaves you alone and isolated. And I knew that talking through this with J would just have him telling me that it would all be cool. He's a great squad leader, totally dependable, but when he wants me to go along with something, he just goes nuts. If I were to just go off what he says, I would have no idea how you feel, and we could all really mess things up.

Megan: You're right. That makes sense. Mark, seriously, thank you. I'm glad I have someone to talk to like this.

Mark: I'm glad I have someone to talk to like this too. The fact that that person is my best friend's smoking hot wife is obviously a bonus.

Megan:
Megan: OK, sloppy stuff aside, since we're being honest, I'm kinda wondering if your being super sweet and talking about emotional minefields and stuff is just kinda…

Mark: Kinda what?

Megan: Kinda like…letting me down easy? Like you're not into me but you don't want to just say no?

Mark: …
Mark: That's not it.

Megan: OK. Since we're being honest, I was just so scared to even approach anyone, much less J's boss. It was kind of a nightmare scenario to put myself into, well both me and J, and then make things weird and ice the cupcake with knowing that you're just not into me. It sounds stupid now that I'm saying it. I know, I'm so vain…

Mark: Meg, you should know something. I took that pic from J because I wanted it. Seriously, Megan, you're a damn smoke show. If you weren't married to my best friend…

Megan: ?

Mark: Well, let's just say that I definitely wouldn't be showing the restraint I have been so far in this text chain.

Megan:

Mark: And no shit…that picture is crazy hot. CRAZY. Now I know not only how hot you are, but what a freak you can be. I can't get it out of my head.

Megan: That's good to hear.

Mark: So, let's cool it and think about it some more. But yes, to be clear I'm both flattered and interested. I just want to be careful and respectful of everyone's situations and emotions. Gotta do my job and be a good friend, you know?

Megan: Seriously, Mark, thank you.

Mark: No problem Meg. Thanks for being so open. I'm gonna get back to the shelter. Have a good night.

Megan: Can I say one more thing before you go, Mark?

Mark: Yeah, sure. What's up?

Megan: *image* Click to open

[Johng1953]

I just came across this. What a great story and so well written. What have we done to deserve such a treat? Can't wait for more!

[Crushing]

Jordan smiled as she heard the organ play the introductory bars of "All Things Bright and Beautiful," one of her favorite church hymns since she was a little girl. Her grandmother used to play it on the family piano, and she would sing it at the top of her lungs. Even before she could read. She soaked in the memory as she stood up next to her husband, opened the hymnal so he could read the music, and joined the congregation in song.

The choir wasn't singing today. Jordan was excited to sit next to David in the pews. As they had walked in, she held on to his arm so he couldn't go to his usual spot in the back corner, and instead steered them both gently toward a center pew, still near the back. She was working on making him feel more comfortable in the space, but she knew it would take time. Now, they were standing next to each other, singing happily. It was a beautiful spring morning.

The song ended. Jordan reflected on the penultimate verse, which teaches that "great is the Almighty, who has made all things well." The young couple sat down and braced for community announcements and a very hit-or-miss sermon from the congregation's elderly emeritus pastor, Pastor Ripkin. Their normal, younger, and substantially more engaging pastor was out for the week and had handed off the service to his elderly predecessor.

As the old man approached the pulpit, Jordan put her arm through David's and leaned on his shoulder, enjoying the idyllic morning. Everything is beautiful. She almost instinctively zoned out of the sermon before it even started, her memory drawn into the past and upcoming week. The busy life of a grad student and newlywed.

She was quite busy. She was moving into the dissertation proposal phase of her program, which required quite a lot of work. She had more students this semester, and while most were fine, some could be a real pain. Daily emails from a handful of disgruntled students could throw her off center on bad days. She also sang in the church choir, requiring rehearsal time, and tried to do charity work. She also had some things she wanted to organize in their home. So much to do, and not enough time to do it all…

Drifting along through benign thoughts revolving around her practical life concerns, she found another, stronger memory intrude. She tried to bat away the thoughts of her Saturday night sins, but they were too powerful.

She checked her watch. 11:15. Just under 12 hours ago, she was totally naked. On her back. She was trembling in ecstatic pleasure as her legs extended out under a tall, muscular man.

She remembered in the moment a strange, almost out of body detachment from the noises coming out of her as he filled her deepest physical place. Small whimpers. Heavy, rapid, and irregular breathing. Occasional long, involuntary wails. She had lost the ability to track time. Moments with her lover passed as hours in the world outside his bedroom. Inside his bedroom, time simply slipped away. Last night was a blur, but she did remember languidly staring at the light gray ceiling past his bed posters as she felt his core stiffen and jerk, releasing copious seed into her body.

This was the second time he had cum inside her.

This was the second time any man had cum inside her.

This time she had unconsciously locked her arms around his neck. This time she had wrapped her legs around his waist as he flooded her.

She felt exhaled for forever as his body slowly relaxed into hers…

"HYPOCRITES!"

Jordan snapped out of her reverie when the shouted word invaded her consciousness from the pulpit. She shook her head, slightly dazed. What did the old man say?

"Jesus pronounced curses on hypocrites. Those who say one thing and do another. Who promote themselves as good, but are bad. Bad in the deepest places of their souls. In Matthew 23, Jesus calls such people "whited sepulchres…nicely painted tombs that look clean and orderly from the outside, but are filled with rotting corpses."

Jordan was familiar with this passage of Scripture. She was familiar with quite a bit of the Bible, in fact, having taught Sunday School to children in her father's church fairly regularly from her teenage years onward. Growing up, her natural curiosity and intellectual appetite focused deeply on the central text of her family's faith. This scripture had never struck her this way before.

Pastor Ripkin cleared his throat and continued.

"When I was a younger man, we had enough people in the churches to speak about this fairly often. Now, the churches are emptying out, and it seems like all Christians talk about is the wickedness of all those sinners who never darken the doors of our churches. But we…we who do come together to worship…we do not come to church as saints. We come as sinners seeking the forgiveness of God. If we walk in thinking we are saints, we fool ourselves. When we walk past the altar of the church as self-identified saints, we mock the cross. When we hide our sins under a veneer of sanctity, we become part of a very exclusive group: those who Jesus has little or no patience for. We become…hypocrites."

Jordan tightened her grip on David's arm. David, barely paying attention to the old man's ramblings, turned his head to face his wife, who was grimacing on his shoulder.

"Are you feeling okay Jo?" David whispered, trying to avoid drawing attention.

Jordan forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just…I'm just feeling a little…nauseous."

David's lips pursed, concerned. "Are you feeling sick? Do you need to go?"

Jordan didn't answer right away. She closed her eyes and seemed to zone out. Pastor Ripkin's fatigued voice drifted between them, detailing additional scriptural passages that indicated Jesus' dissatisfaction with hypocrisy.

David was far too focused on Jordan's condition to notice. He noticed the early signs of tears welling through her closed eyelids. She seemed to be in pain. David put his hand on her knee which caused her to wince slightly, so he withdrew and closed his hand in a fist, resting it on his own leg instead.

The sermon dragged on. After a few minutes, Jordan nodded slightly and whispered back:

"Yeah, let's slip out. I don't think I can make it to the end today."

David reached over her lap and picked up her purse, helping her to her feet. They sidestepped their way out of the pew and made their way toward the back of the church. Jordan was now noticeably pale, using her hands to cover her mouth and stomach, poorly hiding her discomfort. Some of the gossips they passed on the way out noticed the signs of morning nausea and smiled knowingly to each other, excited at the prospect of juicy news–not their own–that they could transform into social capital for themselves. David kept a hand between his wife's shoulder blades as they passed out of the sanctuary and moved to the outer door of the church. As the sanctuary door shut quietly behind them, the phrase "hypocrites and sinners" drifted past Jordan one last time.

When they got to the car, David helped his wife into the passenger seat, then walked around the back to get in the driver's side. By the time he sat down and closed the door, Jordan was sobbing audibly. David froze in shock.

"What's wrong, baby? What happened? Do we need to see a doctor or…"

"No, I'm fine. I'm just a terrible person!" Jordan wailed, scrunching her face in moral panic and hiding it behind her hands. Her shiny, Sunday morning auburn curls hair fell around her face and hands, veiling her anguish. Her shoulders shook.

David was stunned. "What…why would you say that, Jo? You're a great person. The best person! I love you so much…"

Jordan paused for a moment between involuntary sobs. "You shouldn't though. I've hurt you so much. I've hurt you so much!" The tears started again.

David's manstinct was to categorically deny the hurt. Surely, that would solve the problem. "I'm not hurt, Jo. You haven't hurt me!" Jordan sobbed louder.

"Yes I have…and of course you'd say that…" she sniffed through her hands. She looked up and looked imploringly at her husband. Her face was red, her makeup running with tears. Her breath still stuttered with anguish.

"David, can we just go home? I don't want anyone to see me like this."

David noticed that the key was frozen halfway to the ignition. He nodded slightly, giving a sympathetic smile to Jordan as he started the car.

Once they got in the house, Jordan ran into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. David stood at the entrance of their apartment, the door shut behind him, with absolutely no idea how to proceed. He went to the kitchen and got a glass out of the cupboard. Filling it with water, he walked to the bedroom door and knocked twice, gently. No response. He knocked twice again, with no answer. He reached down to the knob and turned.

Locked.

David frowned. He knocked again. "Jordan? Can I come in?"

"Jordan?"

* * *

Sergeant Mark Rein, Corporal Jared Poisson, and Megan Poisson sat asymmetrically around a booth in a Shoney's restaurant. Jared and his wife sat together on one side, Mark on the other. Mark's hands were folded, his eyes down and focused on his twiddling thumbs. Megan, wearing more makeup than Mark had ever seen her wear before, looked like she wanted to run screaming from the restaurant but had taken some kind of drug that paralyzed her in the sitting position. Jared was holding his wife's hand under the table, sporting a thousand yard stare fixed on some random point across the restaurant. They had just ordered. No one was hungry.

Mark and Jared had just returned from Viper two days ago, with a full deployment date in 30 days. Back from the Mojave desert training, their unit was at full readiness to fulfill their orders to Afghanistan. Mark and Jared were on pre-deployment leave. Jared and Megan had plane tickets to Burlington, Vermont the following morning, returning to their hometown to visit both of their families prior to the deployment. Mark had no plans to leave the area, but he had bought a kayak and planned to drive up the coast and do some shallow water exploring and swimming, enjoying his prized solitude.

Megan cleared her throat.

"So…it's been a while since I read the Iliad, Mark. Is this how Achilles and Agamemnon figured out their differences? Like…if there was a Shoney's and cell phones to send nude pictures of Briseis on the beach outside Troy, then the war would have been over in like…one year instead of ten?"

Mark laughed in spite of himself, keeping his eyes down. Jared smirked, still not fully getting the reference. Mark, charmed by her wit, looked up and grinned at Megan sporting an impish raised eyebrow. Her eyes betrayed a crippling anxiety. Humor was a weak attempt to deny what everyone knew. It was awkward.

Mark found that mixture of smart sarcasm and heart-pounding vulnerability extremely attractive. Normally he would be more assertive at this point, but he was still on eggshells. Unsure of exactly where he stood. He turned to Jared.

"Frenchie, just so we're on the same page…Agamemnon initially got the girl, but Achilles sulked and fucked up everything for everyone for like…a long time. That's what your wife is talking about. So, if we're using them as a metaphor in our situation, am I the king or the unstoppable warrior?"

Jared grinned nervously and slowly let the smile fade. He took a deep breath. "Rein, you know where we stand. We just want to meet and go over ground rules and stuff before anything happens. Like, officially."

Mark nodded. "Got it. What are your rules?"

Jared cleared his throat, then folded his hands on the table. "Megan goes home with you, she keeps me posted, I get pics, and it goes as far as she wants it to. Anytime she says stop, it's over, and anytime I say stop, it's over. Also, any rules she wants to add when you guys leave count as both of our rules."

"Geez, Frenchie. Do I look dangerous? I'm not going to hurt her."

Jared snorted. "Yeah, but don't you like…have a boner for open communication? Clear, precise communication?"

Mark nodded. "That's fair."

"So…" Jared continued awkwardly, "this is us…communicating."

Mark turned to look at Megan. "What about you, Briseis? Would you like to add anything?" She smirked. Another attempt to hide her latent fear.

"I would just add–" she paused for a moment, then blurted out quickly: "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Mark smirked back. "What do you think I wouldn't want to do?"

Megan turned her head shyly away, showing rare vulnerability. She said softly, "I'm not a charity case."

"Say again?" Mark said, leaning forward.

Megan turned and locked eyes with Mark, displaying a much more familiar expression: defiance. "I said I'm not a charity case. Don't do this as a favor to your friend."

Mark nodded, trying to hide a smirk. He failed.

Megan snorted. "You think I'm kidding?"

"No," Mark responded. "I think you're deluded about how attractive you are. If you're game…" here he paused to check eyes with Jared, whose excitement was beginning to show, "If you're game, Briseis, I'm going to fuck you tonight. Quite possibly more than you're ready for." Her eyes widened. He lowered his head and leaned forward, whispering. "You've been sending me pics of that body for weeks now. You've got my attention. I don't want a piece, I want it all. But I won't beg. You don't do me any favors, either."

Megan's eyes sparkled. "Ok, then."

The two locked eyes across the cheap dining table. Off in an invisible periphery, Jared's breathing quickened audibly.

* * *

David sat helpless on the couch, unsure of what to do next. Jordan normally had such tight control of her emotions. This was totally out of character for her. He was surprised to note that he still held the glass of water in his hand. Looking at his watch, he realized he had sat in that state of tension for some time…over an hour! He shook his head in disbelief.

He put the glass down on the end table, leaned back, and rubbed his eyes. Jordan was having second thoughts about her trysts with Mark. That had to be it. Must have been something that happened in church, but he wasn't paying attention. He had preoccupations of his own. Furthermore, he had insecurities of his own relative to the Mark situation. He was ashamed to admit that he found it unbelievably, mind blowingly hot. He never thought–not in a million years–that he would end up with someone as smart and beautiful as Jordan. The fact that she was sexually adventurous, or at least had turned out to be, was icing on an already rich cake.

But he knew they were pushing moral boundaries. This made him uncomfortable when he was not aroused. It also made him incredibly insecure. He loved seeing Jordan pursuing sexual adventures. He really loved when she came home and he knew that she had caught those adventures. She had a kind of seductive confidence about her that just drove him wild. But this behavior was clearly outside the boundaries of their wedding vows. He knew that, and it made him think. Problem was, whenever he began thinking about it, he got aroused, and when he got aroused, he loved the idea. So he hadn't spent too much time really probing the downside. If he did, would he panic like Jordan had an hour ago? Was his own emotional breakdown on the horizon? He didn't know. How would Jordan handle him if he was the one suffering? She would definitely know what to do.

Down the short hallway, David heard the lock switch turn on the bedroom door. David sat up, tense. He waited for the door to open and for Jordan to come out. She didn't.

Crap.

What now?

David shook his head and sighed. "Well, if I'm going to screw this up, then now is as good a time as any…" he thought to himself. He walked gingerly down the hallway, halted at the closed door, and knocked quietly.

"Jordan? You okay?"

Jordan's voice drifted quietly through the closed door. "Come in if you want…"

David carefully turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open. "Hey baby…" the concern in his voice was all too apparent. Jordan was laying on her back on the bed. She was still fully dressed in her modest church clothes, including her nice dress shoes. Her right arm was draped over her face, blocking her eyes. David looked at her. She was clearly peeking under her arm and could see him perfectly. He smiled at her, and a mirror smile broke through on her face to match his.

"Don't look at me…" she moaned melodramatically, rolling onto her side. "I feel so stupid!"

David walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He put the glass of water on the nightstand, and leaned down on his side, propping himself on his elbow and stroking her hair with his other hand.

"Don't worry about how you look. Which is beautiful, by the way."

Jordan mumbled through her shirtsleeve, now definitively hiding her face. "So you're into crying girls? That's weird. You're weird, David."

David laughed. "You have no idea, Jo. Yeah…I'm weird."

Jordan laughed through her sleeve again, hiding her eyes from her husband. The awkwardness had not yet dissipated. The laughter died, and the room fell silent. She sniffed again. David kept looking at his wife, and she kept hiding her face.

"David?" She said, this time with gravity.

"What's up, Jo?" David said, reaching out to stroke her hair again.

"Why don't you hate me?"

"Why in the world would I hate you?"

Jordan paused, and David saw her torso tighten and jerk again. She was trying not to sob.

"Because I hurt you!" she choked out between tears. "Because I'm a selfish whore who steps out on her husband!" Jordan rolled away to face away from David. David kicked his church shoes off and rolled to his side, scooting up behind his wife. He stretched his arms around her and pulled her in close. His face was buried in her curled hair. It smelled nice. She always picked out the nicest scents. David loved every part of being close to her body. He breathed in deeply and squeezed her into him.

"Jordan. Do I seem like I'm hurt to you?"

Jordan's grief lightened somewhat. "I don't know. Would you tell me if you were?"

"I think I would. I think we've been pretty honest with each other so far, don't you?"

Jordan sniffed, then grabbed one of David's hands, still stretched out behind her from behind, and kissed his fingers gently. The feeling of her soft lips on his fingers began to arouse him.

"I just don't understand it. Why would you be okay with this? I mean, I know what I get out of it. But I would never, ever, ever be okay with you being with another woman. You're mine…" She kissed his fingers again. "All mine."

David's heart warmed, and he squeezed her again with his free arm. "You're darn right I'm all yours. And I love it. That is non-negotiable."

She squeezed his hand as he continued. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Jo. I hate to think that I'm the cause of this. We can stop this right now if you're uncomfortable."

Jordan let go of his hand, and then flipped on her other side so she faced David on the bed. "I am uncomfortable, David. Maybe we should stop."

David nodded. "We can do that. No problem. What is it that makes you uncomfortable? Does Mark make you uncomfortable?"

"No, I like that part. Too much, maybe."

"What do you mean too much?"

Jordan grabbed David's hand and kissed his fingers again. There was no stopping the arousal now.

Keeping her eyes down and focused on the fingers she was kissing, Jordan confessed. "I really, really like being with Mark. Physically, I mean. Only physically. I kind of…crave him. But that feeling makes me uncomfortable when I don't have it. As soon as I stop feeling comfortable, I feel like I should feel bad. I feel like I shouldn't feel that way. Ever."

David's heart picked up. He tried to tamp it down. This was not the time to get horny. "Why shouldn't you ever feel that way? You're human, aren't you? Humans feel ways sometimes. Ways that are weird. You know that way better than I do, with all your research. And I know the feeling from my end. I love it when you go do what you do. I think it's so hot, it drives me crazy for days. And when I don't actively feel that, I'm like…what are we doing?"

Jordan laughed. "Yeah, that's kind of it. But for me it's more than just psychological weirdness. For me it's paired with this deep physical fulfillment. After I spend time with Mark I just feel…good. For days after. And it makes me want to do more things. It even makes me want to be with you more, and I think that's good too. But I just feel like it should feel bad. I'm afraid of the good feeling when it doesn't feel bad. It feels dangerous. Like I'll get addicted to it."

"Are you afraid you're going to leave me? And that when you leave me it will hurt me? Is that what you mean?"

"No, baby." Jordan looked at David. Her messy makeup was so cute once she calmed down. Her unkempt appearance was scary to David when she seemed to be out of control or in pain. Now that she was calming down, it was cute. God, she was beautiful.

"I really don't think I'd leave you for Mark. I don't even really know him very well. I don't love him, and I do love you. It's just a purely physical thing. It's weird, I can't seem to even put it into words. My body…just…needs his body." She shuddered slightly, and her eyelids fluttered.

David cleared his throat and her eyes opened again and focused on her husband.

"That part doesn't hurt me, Jo. I mean it does, but it doesn't. It's kind of weird, I think the jealousy actually turns me on."

Jordan giggled. "That's so weird, baby."

David grinned. "The only part that really would really hurt me is if you do start loving him. If you get closer to him, or start making life plans with him. That would hurt me. If that's not part of this, then I actually think it's like…crazy hot…"

Jordan shook her head in disbelief. "So weird…" she muttered.

"Do you feel a little bit better now?"

"Yeah," Jordan smiled weakly. She grabbed his hand again and began lightly stroking his fingers.

David breathed a sigh of relief. "So what got you all upset today?"

"I don't know, it was the sermon. Pastor Ripkin was talking about hypocrisy, and I felt so fake being in church. I love being there. My religion is really important to me, and I just feel…" she started to stammer again. David took her hands in his and squeezed gently. "I…I just feel so dirty and like a fake liar. I feel like a hypocrite. We took vows in church, David. To only be with each other. And I broke those vows last night. And I've done it every Saturday for months now. Last night Mark came in me and I didn't even feel bad about it! At least not until that old guy started in on hypocrisy…"

David shifted his weight to hide his growing erection. He tried not to let the thought of his wife's lover inseminating her overpower his focus. He nodded to her. "Yeah, I thought that might be the case. But don't listen to that old grouch. I think whatever we do in our marriage is all our business, and none of his. I think if I'm okay with what you do, then it's okay. That's what I think. But I'm not as spun up on the Bible and psychology stuff as you are. I'm just a delivery truck driver. As long as I'm involved and consenting, I don't think you're a hypocrite. Honestly…" David laughed, "I think it's awesome. It makes our love life all the better. As long as I'm included, it's even better than it was before you met Mark!"

Jordan's eyes widened as she saw her husband's excitement. "You think our love life is better now?" She hadn't thought of this enhancing their love life. It certainly enhanced hers. How could it not, with Mark's endowments and sexual assertiveness? But she had always thought of this as David's sacrifice to her selfishness, with his enjoyment of her escapades simply a small sex kink that she could kick back to him in compensation for her dalliances. That made her Saturday nights…dirty and disrespectful. What would they mean now? After this conversation?

She squinted as she looked into her husband's eyes. He once again spotted her dissertation face. She had to figure him out. This impulse of his was a puzzle. A puzzle that dovetailed into an extremely convenient lifestyle for her own sexual desires. But could it heighten their marriage How could she do that?

"You say you want to be involved? What do you mean?"

David cleared his throat again, face reddening. "I don't really know. I just. I get hot when you come home, and thinking about you when you're gone. When I know stuff about how you feel, I feel…strong feelings. I don't know if I can put words to it. But when you tell me things, or when you tell me to do things so you can have sex or do stuff with Mark, I…I love it. I just love it. And it scares me. And it makes me jealous. And I can't get enough. I guess, the more you let me in to your sex life, the more I feel involved."

"Hmmm." Jordan's dissertation face deepened. "I'll have to think about that. It's hard for me to tell you this stuff, because I don't want to scare you. Or hurt you. Or make you jealous. I'm not sure what to do that will work for both of us. I'll have to think…" Jordan's eyes glazed with thought again.

David interrupted her thought process. "I love you, Jo, and I'm not hurt. And I don't think you're a hypocrite. But what I can't do is figure this out for you. You're so much smarter than me. You know the Bible better, you're an almost Ph.D psychologist. You can figure this out. All I can do is support you and…I guess…enjoy the ride. I love hearing when you come back, and thinking of all the things that made you feel good."

Jordan pulled his hands to her lips again and kissed his fingers one by one as she responded. "You're so sweet, baby. I just…I feel like…I just wouldn't want to do anything that I wouldn't want my dad to see or know about. You know? So when I go to church, that's kind of like my childhood home. I feel like when I think about what I did last night inside the church service, it's always going to gnaw at me. I don't know how to reconcile that."

David's eyes stayed fixed on his wife's lips as she kissed his fingers. Almost without thinking, he responded with:

"You wouldn't want your dad to see us having sex, would you?"

Jordan froze. Then laughed out loud. "Where did you come up with that? That's so twisted! No. I mean…No!" Jordan laughed again. "That's NOT what I meant!"

David flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I mean…I guess what I meant was…our sex life is for us, right? We don't owe anyone any details or explanations about what we do together. Why do we owe anyone details on what we decide to do, together or not? I just think…you're a hypocrite if you're doing something wrong and pretend you're not doing it. But we're actually not doing that. Nobody asked us if we're doing regular sex stuff, or weird sex stuff, or whatever. It's nobody's business but ours. We're married. This is our space. That's how I feel about it."

David had drifted from an insecure tone to an adamant one near the end of that speech. Jordan nodded, impressed. "You actually have a really good point there, Mr. David Stark. I'll have to think about that one."

David blushed again. He didn't think he'd pull out of the tailspin after mentioning Jordan's dad and her sex life in the same sentence. But, he pulled it out. Somehow. Maybe he was better at this than he thought.

Jordan squinted again, the dissertation face taking over.

"I want to figure this out together, but I need to do some thinking on my own. What do you say we meet right here…" Jordan patted the bed between them "to…discuss the meaning of our love life next week. In the meantime, I'm going to mull over what we talked about."

She seemed to have brightened up. Almost to her old self again. David's heart lightened. "So you feel better? No more crying?"

Jordan sat up, and pivoted to sit upright on the edge of the bed. "I think I'm past the crying part, but I could do without the condescending tone…" Jordan shot a playfully hostile look at her husband over her shoulder. "But I think we need to actually work through some of this stuff or it might get out of control. I know I have trouble controlling myself when Mark comes up, anyway."
David remained curled on his side on the bed, hoping not to betray his erection when his wife mentioned her lover's name.

"So meet back here, one week after church? We'll have a real talk about moving forward?" Jordan concluded.

David nodded. Does that mean you aren't going to see Mark on Saturday?

Jordan stood up and walked to the closet. She began efficiently removing her church shoes, and stockings. She faced away from David toward the interior of her closet and began zipping down her church one piece dress, starting between her shoulder blades and ending at the small of her back.

"I'm sorry, what did you say, David?"

"I said, does this mean you aren't going to see Mark on Saturday?"

Still facing away, the zipper reached its destination near Jordan's midsection. Jordan shrugged off her dress, revealing her porcelain skin, covered only by a thin black lace bra strap and thin black lace lingerie panties only partially covering her tight backside. She seemed to examine her front in the closet mirror, hidden from David's view, really examining her sexual assets. David fought the urge to ask her to turn around.

"Am I going to see Mark on Saturday?" Still facing away from David Jordan reached behind her and unhooked the black lace bra strap. It fell to the floor on top of her church dress.

David suddenly realized. He had not seen that lingerie before. Where did that come from?

Still facing away from David, Jordan reached up to cover her breasts with her crossed arms. She tossed her curls and looked back at him over her shoulder.

"Ask me Friday, okay baby?"

* * *

Megan and Mark sat silently in Mark's car. Pulling out of the Shoney's parking lot, Mark took a left turn onto the main road. In his rearview mirror, he saw Jared's headlights turn right to head in the opposite direction–to the small home he rented with Megan. He glanced over at his passenger, who was staring nervously forward.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Fine." She answered.

"Looks like it." Mark quipped back. He expected a shot back from the usually quick Megan, but she continued to look forward. She was clearly anxious. "Are you really okay?"

"I'm just nervous." She said, eyes still forward.

"Do you want to do this? Like really?" Mark said.

"It's just…surreal I guess. I've only ever been with Jared. You and I have been texting, and It's been crazy hot, but…"

"Now it's real, right?" Mark intoned.

"Right."

Mark let the silence settle as he turned from the town road onto the country road. He had rented a small house about 15 miles out of town for the occasion. Unlike many single platoon sergeants, Mark preferred to live in the barracks with most of his platoon. He rented a private place for the occasion. Megan was more than worth it, but Mark was still focused on playing it cool. Jared, who was married, lived off base with his wife. But Mark thought the first time should be on neutral ground. Mark had given Jared the address as a precaution, showing Megan where it was on his phone map before they left the restaurant to make sure all parties were aware of all the details.

He looked over at Megan again. "You look good tonight."

Megan smiled slightly at the compliment. "That's the best you can do? That's how you talk your way into a girl's pants?"

Mark grinned. "There she is…" he chuckled at her verbal challenge. "There's the Megan we know." Megan grinned back, her nervousness subsiding slightly. Another short stretch of silence settled into the car as she worked up the courage to speak again.

"So…" Meghan turned to look at Mark through the dark. "What do you usually say to get into a girl's pants?"

Mark grimaced. "Honestly? I don't like to think of it that way. I don't like to trick a woman into sex. I usually just figure out if she's into me, and if I'm into her, I play it straight. I tell them what I want, and they tend to respond. If they say no, I go on with my life. If they say yes…"

More silence. Then Megan:

"If they say yes…"

"I take what I want."

Megan shivered slightly. This was very different from her husband's mode of romancing her. Jared's method was either pleading for, or playing elaborate games to get her attention. Mark was direct. His low, rumbling voice contrasted her husband's warm tenor, and the sound of her voice alone was stirring her excitement. But she was still in a state of near paralyzed anxiety.

Yet she felt a sense of warm arousal, knowing that her second sexual partner would not coax her across the threshold, but would simply take her. She had felt that same arousal in the previous weeks as she and Mark exchanged texts and pictures. Mark simply took charge, directing her to produce and send the digital content he desired, and she felt increasingly hot as she complied. Pictures of her in various states of undress. Videos of her masturbating and moaning his name. Voice memos of her expressing her desire for his body. She had made them all. Sent them all.

But he was always out in the desert–far away–when it happened. The encounters, such as they were, remained…virtual.

Her stream of consciousness was interrupted by the feel of a large, muscular hand resting gently on her left thigh. Mark held on to the steering wheel with his left hand, and kept his eyes forward. Megan looked down in shock, then looked up at Mark. He did not share her anxiety. He was simply asserting. Her anxiety began to be replaced with desire, and she slowly placed her left hand on top of his right hand on her thigh. The modest ring on her third finger flashed periodically in the dark as approaching headlights intermittently illuminated the inside of the car.

A shiny ring. On a small, brown, delicate, feminine hand. On top of a large, tan, rough, masculine hand. On top of a smooth, firm, nervous thigh.

After a few minutes, Mark pulled the car into a long driveway, which wound several hundred yards through a copse until it broke into a clearing. Presently, they arrived at a house. It was dark. Mark pulled out his phone to find the access code for the rental in his text messages. Finding it, he turned to Megan.

"Wait until I get inside and turn on some lights, then take a picture of this house and text it to Jared. Tell him that we've arrived and I've gone inside. Tell him that this is his last chance to back out, that if either of you decide you don't want this, I'll come right back out and take you home. No harm, no foul, and we move forward as if this never happened."

"Okay…" Megan responded, her voice shaking with anxiety again.

Mark clenched his teeth through a closed mouth and inhaled deeply through his nose. Then he unbuckled his seat belt and opened the car door. He turned to Megan before getting out of the car. The two locked eyes under the harsh dome light.

"If you get cold feet, if you decide this isn't for you, or you're not ready, or whatever, that's fine. Just communicate that to me, and I'll respond. But if you decide to come in that house, I'm going to fuck you. I've seen your body. I want it. And I know you want me. And I want you. So if you walk through that door, I'm taking you. Understand?"

Megan shuddered and breathed deeply.

Inhale. Exhale. "Yes, I understand."

Mark ducked slightly and exited the car, closing the door behind him. Not looking back, he moved confidently up the walkway to the porch of the small house. He manipulated the lock box, removed the key, and opened the door. He reached around the door frame into the house and turned the porch light on. Megan saw him in the new light, casting a giant shadow that stretched effortlessly down the driveway into the trees. She drew her eyes away from the shadow and back to the man. Tall. Muscular. Confident. Close cropped hair. Strong facial features. Deep, masculine voice.

For the first time in her life, Megan made a decision to have sex with a new man. She just…wanted him. Her feelings of anxiety fluttered about in her chest, trading blows with her rising arousal. The pit in her stomach faded.

Mark disappeared into the house. One by one, lights appeared in the windows.

Megan pulled out her phone and took a photo of the house, and selected the option to send it to her husband. She pulled up her texts and thumbed in a message.

Megan: We're here.

Jared answered immediately.

Jared: OK. Is everything okay?

Megan: Yeah. Mark went inside already. I'm going in now.

Jared: Okay. Are you okay?

Megan paused.She didn't know what to say. She began to write a few different messages, deleting each one until she realized she didn't have words for this. The time for words had passed.

Megan: I'm going inside now. I'll text later.

[antidote2909]

You're an amazing writer. This story is absolutely brilliant. Thank you.

[Crushing]

Megan was visibly shaking as she quietly closed the front door behind her. The small house opened to a modest living room with a picture window that faced outside into the dark. The view outside was illuminated by the porch light, showing the shadows of the copse of trees that blocked the distant roadway. The house itself was nestled cozily in solitude. No one was around. No one except Mark.

And Mark was not in the room. She looked around at the decor. It looked like someone's grandmother lived here, died, and then the kids turned it into a rental. The carpet was old, but well cared for. The furniture was old fashioned. The colors were slightly faded. Yet the room was warm. Comfortable. Homey.

Heart pounding with anticipation, She walked toward the back of the house through a small doorless archway into a small galley kitchen. The stove and counter sat on one side, the sink and dishwasher on the other. The refrigerator was at the end of the narrow galley, facing the archway. Megan moved toward the refrigerator. Maybe there was some beer. Something to calm her nerves…

Her heart continued to flutter between waves of erotic anticipation and crippling anxiety as she remembered Mark's large, muscular hand on her thigh a few moments before. Where was he? Opening the fridge, she found only butter, a few bottles of water, and some ketchup and mustard. She shut the door.

The appliance was covered with magnets. Many of them clearly came from a local church, St Martin Luther. Lutheran. Megan was pretty sure she knew where it was. It was not the church she went to most weeks (she was raised Catholic) but the two congregations probably had much in common. Other magnets were advertisements for local handymen who had likely done work around the house. And a plumber…

Megan's heart began pounding as she heard heavy steps coming down the hall toward her. The light through the archway darkened as Mark's frame filled it, casting a shade of gray over the white refrigerator. He didn't pause, but walked right up behind Megan, who attempted to turn to face him and disarm him with a sarcastic quip that would put him on his back foot.

Instead, before she could turn, he felt his hands slide forward on her hips, securing her by the waist.

Jared would often do this move in the kitchen while she was cooking or doing dishes, hold her around the waist from behind. It was cute. She loved the feeling of safety and affection.

But it was strange to have new hands move forward on her body.

But the new hands were not holding her affectionately. The left hand went upward immediately, but deliberately. It passed lightly over her left breast with a brief squeeze that jolted her into the reality of the situation. Then it moved up her neck to cover her mouth and clench the sides of her jaw firmly. At the same time, the right hand moved confidently downward, deftly unbuttoning the top of her cute new jeans, maneuvering under the waistline of her pants and panties, and moving smoothly over the warm, smooth, soft skin that led to her vagina.

Megan had, earlier that evening, shaved her pubic hair into a thin landing strip–a fact discovered by Mark's hands. He moved his right hand gently around her pubic area, inspecting her by touch under her panties. His fingers moved around her bare skin across the thin patch of hair designed to attract his attention, and back onto bare skin again.

Megan's plan had been to reveal this seductive grooming by showing Mark when she undressed. But Mark had taken control.

Her heart pounded. He made a V with his first and second fingers and ran them lightly up and down on either side of her little strip of hair, moving a little further down with each stroke. Megan's terror increased. This is not how she had planned for the evening to go. But the rhythm of her heart betrayed a measure of anxiety equal to her arousal, each emotion vying for dominance. This was totally new.

Mark's fingers slowly drew together–from a V shape to a tight parallel–and moved the first two fingers of his right hand between her legs and curled them up, tightening the pressure over her sex, and reveling in her smooth, soft warmth.

His left hand tightened slightly over her mouth as she groaned in surprise. Pulling her whole body into his, Mark leaned down to her ear and said in a low, soft voice contrasting the tight grip of his hands over her mouth and sex:

"Welcome, Briseis. Welcome to the tent of Achilles…"

* * *

David arrived at the loading dock at 4:20 AM as usual. He was scheduled to leave the dock at 5:00, just like every other day. He walked toward the bay door where his truck was loaded and found the flower carts set in front of the door with the door closed. The other loaders were dispersed among the other trucks, working efficiently to load them. The quiet absence of work in his truck bay stuck out like a sore thumb in the early morning bustle of the warehouse. He scanned the floor and saw Vinny grinning at him over his clipboard from across the floor.

David rolled his eyes and put his lunch bag down on the ground. He moved quickly to the bay door and threw it open, stepped forward and opened the truck door, and began preparing the container to be loaded.

David's primary skillset was in evaluating efficiency. He could quickly identify a list of tasks necessary to completing a goal and order and prioritize them to get the job done quickly and well. Scanning each of the wrapped flower racks for size and mobility, he mentally grouped them for packing. He then looked for the delivery schedule, but only found an empty clipboard on top of one of the shipping racks.

Crap. He had to talk to Vinny.

David sighed and walked over to the taller, skinny man sporting a poorly concealed smile.

"Morning, Vinny. I can't seem to find my delivery schedule, but I have orders on the dock. Any idea where that might be?"

Vinny innocently looked down at his clipboard. "I printed them all this morning. Everyone else has theirs. You must have lost it, little man."

"I didn't lose it. I came in to an empty clipboard."

Vinny glared at him. "You callin' me a liar?"

"No, but you might be mistaken." David cleared his throat, hiding his frustration. This was not going well. He had to defuse or at least deescalate the situation. "Maybe you're right, Vinny. I'll be happy to run to the office and print out a new schedule."

"I think that's what you're going to do," Vinny grunted, looking back down at his clipboard.

David walked briskly back to the office area. Dimly lit, depressing. The shipping office had one clerk and then the supervisor's–Vinny's–office. David approached the morning clerk and politely asked her to re-print his delivery schedule. The clerk grunted acknowledgment, and a few seconds later he heard the printer whirring into action. He walked over and pulled the warm pages out of the queue as they came out.

"Stark!"

David jumped as a vaguely familiar voice called his name behind him. He turned around to see Steve, the general manager of the whole distribution center standing in front of him. Not just flowers. Groceries, construction materials, everything. He probably oversaw 800 employees.

Steve never came in early. Steve rarely came in at all. He'd been in charge of the whole distribution for more than a decade, and working at the center for at least three decades beyond that. What was he doing here? David swallowed nervously.

"H…hi Steve. What brings you in so early?"

"I received an informal report from the mechanics that you hot-swapped an alternator out of a truck while out on delivery."

David grimaced. Had Hamad told on him? That wasn't like him. He cringed, bracing for impact.

"That's some ninja shit, Stark. That's really impressive."

David's features softened. "I…I just kinda…did what needed done, I guess. I hope I didn't cause anyone trouble. Next time, I'll…"

"I'm gonna level with you Stark," the older man interrupted. "I know more about you than your coworkers out there." He motioned toward the office door. "They all think you're just another guy off the street with a loading or delivery job. But I know you've got an active accounting internship with Chauncy and Smythe. I know you're a couple months away from an MBA. I know your work ethic is strong, and I know you take personal responsibility for your own success and failure. I also know that all of this has gone unnoticed. But I've been watching you."

David shifted his weight nervously. To deflect attention, he turned briskly around and got the rest of the pages from the printer, picked the stapler up off the table, stapled the sheaf, and turned back to face Steve, who was shaking his head in disbelief. What was this kid scared of?

"I'm retiring next year, Stark. I think you should apply for my position. I'll recommend you."

David's jaw dropped. This was huge. He didn't know what to say. He stammered out a weak 'thank you' and nervously took Steve's hand to shake when it was extended. "I…I have to get a delivery out."

"I know you do, Stark. Get going."

Steve watched David hustle through the door and watched him through the window. Steve had also noticed no loaders at David's truck bay. He watched David quickly shove the papers into his empty clipboard, flip through them, and then speedily lift racks of flowers off the pallets and into the truck. Steve noticed that he moved deliberately out of order, clearly working out a different loading system than the program suggested. He looked down at his watch. 4:55. David finished loading, strapped down the racks, and shut his truck door. Steve glanced around the dock. Every other bay had two or three loaders, and none was more than halfway done. David, oblivious to this, stepped outside the bay door and shut it behind him. First truck to roll out of the bays this morning. This kid sprints up hills on instinct, Steve nodded to himself.

* * *

Mark's right middle finger had curved upward into Megan, with his first and third fingers now cupping her vagina firmly. He alternated gentle probing and smooth, light stroking, contrasting the firmness of his grip. Megan had closed her eyes. It felt good. Really good. And she was standing in a galley kitchen, fully clothed. She was not in bed in lingerie. She was not in a warm shower. Her body began to slowly relax into a sexy feeling while standing in an unsexy place. She shuddered as he found her clitoral hood. He curled back his middle finger and began to gently but firmly press down on it, moving gently from side to side. Her excitement grew, and she moaned gently under his left hand, still covering her mouth.

Mark was enjoying the sensation of Megan's arousal. She was getting noticeably wet, and as his finger became more coated with her moisture at each pass, the better his manipulations seemed to make her feel. It was good progress. She was relaxing, but still clearly nervous.

Mark released her vagina and withdrew his hand from her pants and from over her mouth. He took a half step back in the kitchen and used her shoulders to turn him around. Her pupils were dilated, and they stared up at him, tense but wanting. He lifted up his right hand, using the bridge of his first finger to lift up her chin. He leaned down and began to kiss her deeply.

Still tingling with warmth between her legs, Megan welcomed the kiss. She kissed him back gently. Their lips smacked with low but distinct noises that filled the small silence of the narrow kitchen. After a few exchanges, Megan lifted her arms up and around his neck, standing on her toes to approach his superior height.

The two breathed heavily through their noses as they kissed.

Mark wrapped his arms around Megan's back, pulling her close. He felt the swells of her breasts on his body, noting the rise and fall of her chest as they exchanged passionate kisses. During one kiss, Mark gently probed her open mouth with the tip of his tongue. She responded with a quick inhalation before she met it with her own.

Megan, in turn, felt the swell of Mark's cock against the surface of her stomach. It was noticeably larger than her husband's, which she suspected from the picture exchanges they had shared while he and her husband were training in the desert. It both excited and concerned her. She pushed her hips slightly forward into his body, instinctively trying to get closer to him.

Mark inhaled deeply one more time and stood up straight, breaking off the kiss. Megan's arms stayed wrapped around his neck. Still holding her back with his left hand, Mark moved his right hand out of the embrace.

She leaned back slightly and turned her head up to look at him. He reached up and ran his right hand from the top of her chest, up past her neck, and then over her mouth.

"Open your mouth."

Megan blinked in surprise. Then, she complied. Mark slipped his still moist second finger into her mouth, introducing Megan to the taste and smell of her arousal. Megan was shocked at his level of confidence. She had never tasted herself before. She almost didn't notice the taste itself, just doing what he was doing and what he was saying. It was…exciting.

"Suck on it." Megan closed her eyes and began to draw in her cheeks around Mark's middle finger. She ran her tongue gently around his finger, feeling his cock harden slightly more against her stomach.

"Good." Mark rumbled. He removed his hand from her mouth and began stroking her face, then her hair.

She looked up at him in anticipation. He was silent as he stroked her face, then her hair. He leaned down to kiss her again, which she met willingly. A single smack from the extra kiss sounded outsized in the small galley kitchen. She leaned forward, laying the side of her face against his chest and felt his breathing. She almost got up the courage to ask if he wanted to take her to bed, when his chest rumbled as he spoke.

She wasn't totally sure what he said, just felt him speak.

She leaned back again and looked up at him. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

Mark nodded and repeated himself, looking down into her eyes.

"Get on your knees."

* * *

David's morning deliveries had gone well. He was efficient and courteous as always. He particularly drew the gratitude of a customer by noting 5 out of 12 roses had a small amount of damage and a few withered petals before they went into the customer's display fridge. David noted the damage on his clipboard, returned quickly to his truck with the damaged bouquet, and came back with a fresh, undamaged bunch. He took his job seriously, and felt that poor quality reflected poor work. And poor work was unacceptable to David. Anyone who worked with him could see that.

It was 11 AM. Lunch time for an early shift delivery driver. He pulled into a box store parking lot and parked off to the side, where no other cars were. He put the truck in park and turned the key off, then reached under the passenger seat and pulled out his lunch bag. Jordan had packed his lunch the previous evening, something she didn't usually do, but David suspected some residual guilt from their afternoon conversation.

Rifling through the bag, it had all the hallmarks of a Jordan-packed lunch. Carrot sticks. Yuck. Turkey sandwich with his favorite kind of mustard. Yum. Wrapped brownie from the bunch she made after dinner. Double yum. Naked Juice. Yum. Wait…it was one of those green spinach ones. Yuck.

David noted a small envelope tucked into the lunch bag on the far side of the cooling pack. She left a note! David smiled and reached for the sandwich. He unwrapped it and took a bite. Amazing. She always found that perfect balance of turkey to mustard. He savored the first bite, then clumsily opened the little envelope with one hand. Instead of a single paper or card with a note, David found a small sheaf of handwritten notepaper. There were probably 5 or 6 pages, completely filled.

David's eyebrow raised involuntarily as he unfolded the sheaf and found the first page. It was a letter. David's heart skipped slightly as he began to read.

"Dear David,

I wanted to write to you since we're still trying to figure this out together, but communicating about it is hard. I feel so disrespectful to you when I communicate the things I feel. Also, like I said yesterday, I'm struggling with the morality of what we're doing, and I feel like I need to work through that. I thought maybe I could work on communicating and processing my own feelings at the same time, and this way we can come up with a way to be open until we get better at communicating face to face. So here's what I think should happen: I'll leave letters in your lunch, and then when we have dinner after I get home, you can tell me if anything bothered you. Then I can address that in my next letter.

So here goes. I wanted to start by just sort of narrating how we got here from my perspective. I want to examine my own thoughts and actions and see if I can find what's bothering me, and see if there's anything in that story that we need to address as a couple. Besides all of it I guess. Oh jeez, this is so weird. OK. Here goes. For real this time.

As you know, I initially met Mark because we caught one of his ROTC students plagiarizing a paper. He was actually pretty intimidating the first time I met him, and I was kind of scared of him, but I got the sense that it was kind of his job to be scary. But I didn't want to totally ruin the future of that student, so I offered to work with him to mitigate any damage to his scholarship. Mark didn't agree, initially, but I guess the ROTC commander wanted to give this student another chance. So Mark emailed me to meet with him and the student in his office. I did, and Mark really tore into him, and said that he was only still there because I fought for him. I was really, really uncomfortable throughout that whole meeting, and the student was kind of groveling to me, which was so weird. I left the meeting a little disgusted with the process, actually. I was kind of upset at Mark for a while at the beginning.

I had a few meetings with the student over the next few weeks, emailing Mark after each meeting with an update. My student made up the paper and did some other make up work. He was doing okay. I felt like he had learned his lesson and could come off probation, so I asked Mark if I could meet him to discuss it.

This is where I have my first confession. I was physically attracted to Mark. And I knew it by then. I could have probably resolved the issue with an email, but I asked to meet him. I felt bad about it as soon as I sent the request, and kept feeling bad every minute until the meeting. I compensated for it by purposefully dressing really modestly for the meeting, as I didn't want to betray any signals that I was attracted to him.

As it turned out, he only had time to meet for a few minutes before leading PT (that means physical training, I learned later). So I met at his office at the time he suggested. He wasn't in his normal uniform, he was in a kind of matching tracksuit that said MARINES on the jacket top. It was different than the ones the ROTC students wore, theirs was a kind of gray sweatsuit. So I was a little confused by it. Anyway, the meeting went okay, he agreed to take my student off probation as long as I kept him informed of all his other assignments, and we parted ways.

After we shook hands and I turned around to leave, he thought I was already through the door. He stood up and took his tracksuit top off. He had on a normal green workout shirt under it, but the shirt kind of lifted with the tracksuit so I saw under his shirt for a minute…"

* * *

Megan had nervously descended to her knees. She was in a tight spot, still in the galley kitchen with her back to the refrigerator. The lower cupboards now extended over her eye line. It was almost like being under water. She felt a little trapped. All she could see was cabinet doors and drawers on her right and left, and Mark's pants in front of her. She looked up at the man who had ordered her to kneel, who was looking expectantly down at her. Was she supposed to take the initiative now? What was her role?

Mark, sensing hesitancy, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, pulling them down to his thighs. With his left hand, he reached into the fly of his boxer shorts and pulled out his penis. Then, with his right hand, he reached behind Megan's head and gently grasped the back of her skull.

Despite knowing why she was where she was and what was expected of her, Megan was shocked as Mark's cock fell out of his underwear. It was only partially erect, but already noticeably larger than her husband's. Jared was between 6 and 7 inches long, and fit perfectly in her hand and inside her. She often joked that their parts were literally made for each other.

This was different. Without even being fully hard, it was already noticeably longer, and the slow swelling that was apparent in front of her eyes noted the definite difference in thickness. She began to panic slightly. How could that possibly fit into her body? Could she even get it in her mouth?

She felt the pressure on the back of her head as Mark guided her head toward him. Her eyes focused on the bottom of his shirt, dangling directly at eye level, and nervously opened her mouth. Her heart began to pound again as she felt Mark's heavy member slip in between her lips. She opened her mouth wider as she felt her teeth lightly scrape the head of his cock.

Mark smiled and groaned slightly as he felt the warm wetness of Megan's mouth for the first time. He slowly pulled her head closer until he felt the back palate of her mouth touch the tip of his cock. He held her in that position for a minute, then let go. He lifted up both hands and placed them on the opposite sides of the galley kitchen counters, resting comfortably.

"That feels good. Just like that. Now, suck it."

Megan's head began to slowly and uncertainly bob forward and back on his penis. The warmth of her mouth felt wonderful. He leaned his head back slowly and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

Megan's jaw began to strain as she felt Mark's cock get even harder. She worried about scraping him with her teeth, but she continued to move her head forward and backward in a slow steady rhythm. She placed her hands gently on Mark's thighs to stabilize her activity, then reached around and gently grasped the back of his thighs. Her arousal was climbing still as she felt his manhood in her mouth. He had strong, sinewy leg muscles that had real bulk and heft to them. Jared was wiry. In shape, but wiry. This was a new sensation to feel on a man's body. Furthermore, the sheer heft of his cock was becoming more apparent as he got harder. It was, literally, more massive than she was used to.

Mark looked down to see Megan's brown eyes staring submissively up at him. He wasn't expecting that. His own heart began to beat faster. He stroked her hair once, twice, then let go and slowly pulled back from her. Mingled with saliva, his hard cock dropped out from between her lips.

"Get up."

* * *

"So it was only for a second, but he clearly had this incredible body. He had actual pectoral muscles, like you see in professional athletes. He had definition in his abs. He also had that thing, you know, when men are really in shape, and there's this kind of V shape that goes from over their hips down to…you know…

Anyway, I screwed up. I knew it. If I wanted to avoid thinking about him or being attracted to him, that incident didn't help. I also saw this bulge under his tracksuit bottoms, but at the time I thought it was like, just his shorts. It was way too big to be anything…anatomical. I was wrong about that. Now I definitely know better. That bulge is all him. But I didn't actually know that then.

I'm sorry, this is still super awkward! I'm really, really, really hoping this doesn't hurt you or make you mad or jealous. I know you say you like it, but it's just so weird to be telling you this stuff! OK, focus, Jordan! Focus…

So after that meeting, I didn't have any professional reason to see him in person again, and I thought I could just shake it off and go on with my life, you know? But I kind of found myself walking a little slower past the ROTC offices when I got coffee sometimes. That didn't work, so I kind of planned when I would leave the office to come home so I could walk by the drill field where the ROTC students do their afternoon training. He wasn't there every time, but he was there sometimes. I never talked to him or flirted with him or anything, I just kinda wanted to see him.

I really want to stress that I wasn't trying to, or even thinking about cheating on you, David. I hope you know that. But it was the weirdest thing. When I saw him, I would get butterflies, but differently than when I get butterflies with you. When I with you, I feel happy. Like, spiritually. I just feel light and happy. But when I saw Mark, I kind of felt excited, and felt kind of warm and fuzzy between my legs. A lot like the way I feel when you and I make love. It was more physical.

I mean think about it, David. Just by looking at a man…I got as aroused as I do when I have sex with my husband. I had no idea what to do with that. I felt so weird. Like when I was 13 at a boy band concert or something. Just intense feelings, but I didn't really know what to do with them.

That's when I decided I needed to talk to you. Do you remember that conversation? I bet you do. I sure do, baby…"

* * *

Megan was left standing in the kitchen, back to the refrigerator, facing the archway with wet lips and a sore jaw. Mark had pulled up his pants and zipped up, walking out to the living room. She was beyond flummoxed. What was his game?"

"Megan. Come in here."

Megan squinted in disbelief. She walked to the archway and leaned out slightly, looking suspiciously at Mark, who was standing across the living room. She stepped nervously toward him, feeling confused but aroused at the discovery of her submissive tendencies. She stood in the center of the living room, facing Mark.

"Don't move. Not at all until I tell you. And don't speak. Nod your head if you understand."

Megan nodded slightly. Her heart began to thump again.

Mark stepped forward and lifted her chin again, leaning down and kissing her deeply. She melted slightly, but kept her arms to her side as they kissed. Mark's hands began to move over her shoulders, then up the sides of her back as he kissed her. He broke off the kiss and took a half step back, moving his hands over the front of her torso. First her hips, then over her stomach, and then over her breasts, cupping and caressing them slightly.

She was still fully clothed, but with the top button of her pants was still undone and the zipper still down. Her panties were still visible through the jeans hanging open. After gently exploring her body over her clothes, Mark took another half step back. She was staring up into his eyes. Docile. Aroused.

"Take your shirt off." Wordlessly, Megan slowly grasped the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head. As it came off, her long, black hair fell through the neck of her shirt and some of it cascaded over her front. It reached nearly to the bottom of her rib cage. Dangling hair covered both of her breasts, albeit imperfectly. Mark stepped forward and moved her hair back over her shoulders, one side at a time.

Thus revealing her breasts modestly covered by a thin Victoria's Secret bra, Mark stared at his best friend's wife. He briefly lost focus on his dominant position as he took in her body. Rather than directing her to do it, Mark stepped forward, reached behind her, and unclasped the bra to expose her perky, C-cup breasts. They were full and soft, with clearly erect nipples poking out directly toward him. Her body was smooth and enticingly shaped. She clearly was an athlete, and worked on herself.

Mark bent down further and kissed the top of her shoulders. Then, he got on his knees and began to kiss all over her torso and breasts, stopping briefly to nibble and suck each nipple.

Megan was on fire. She was topless and totally passive as this statuesque man was worshiping her body. She heaved in a big breath and bit her lip slightly as Mark bit down ever so gently on each nipple. She was sensitive. It felt…

Mark seemed to come to himself and resumed his commanding presence. Still on his knees, he sat back on his heels and reached up to pull her pants and panties down in one jerk, exposing her freshly groomed pussy with the thin strip of dark hair extending from the cleft of her opening upward. Her pants were still bunched around her ankles and her shoes were still on, restricting her movement.

Then, standing up, he walked behind her, put his hands around her hips with his fingertips on the iliac crests of her hips, and led her forward and to the left toward the couch.

Megan's heart was racing. This was it. He was going to lay her down on the couch, take off her shoes, pants, and panties, and take her. She felt her wetness with one hand as she shuffled toward the couch. She was so ready…

Mark stopped her movement as she faced the couch. He held her waist with her left hand, and then pushed her down with his right so she bent at the waist over the couch.

"Grab the back." Megan bit her lip again and breathed in heavily as she reached forward and grabbed the back of the couch. She felt his large fingers reach into her from behind, checking her wetness.

She whined slightly.

She heard him unzip his pants again.

She felt pressure on her pussy, and she realized this position wasn't for inspection. She wasn't going to be gently laid down. She was going to be taken where she stood. She briefly panicked. The picture window was wide open, the curtains flung to the side. Who might look through and see them…?

Her worries were cut short as she felt him push inside her for the first time. It was painful. She tensed. She winced. She yelped. He drew himself in and out very gently, pushing a little deeper each time. Little by little he pushed into her, and she felt more full than she ever had before. The pain subsided slightly as his cock took on more of her moisture and found its way deeper insider her. Deeper than she had ever felt Jared…

He reached her depths and stopped, clearly bumping into her cervix. She became aware that she had not taken all of him. He had more cock than she had room to give him. He, being accustomed to that, slowly drew out, then pushed in again to ease her. He did it again. Thrice.

By the third time, Megan's eyes rolled back in her head as Achilles, the invincible warrior, began to slowly, confidently fuck her from behind.

* * *

"I was so, so, so scared to talk to you, but I felt terrible! I was having these feelings, and I didn't know what to do with them, and I never wanted to shut you out or hurt you. So I remember sitting you down after dinner and telling you that I loved you and that that would never change, but that I was being tempted with something. I remember bawling about it, and I remember you were so sweet, saying that it's only human to have crushes, and that you weren't offended, and you were proud of us for being able to talk about it. I remember feeling so much better. I remember thinking that the feelings would go away, since I had confessed it to you and you forgave me.

The problem is, they didn't go away. I tried to avoid thinking about him, and I did avoid seeing him. But he kept creeping into my thoughts, and I would get hot. Then I would take that hotness and I would want to be with you right away, but most of the time it was hours and hours before I would see you. I remember you liked that I started attacking you when I got home. I know you loved the spontaneous sex. I remember you burned some dinners because I would drag you to bed. Those were fun times. I remember thinking that as long as thinking about Mark did this, as long as it made me hot for you so we could have fun, then it would be fine.

The bigger problem with that was, once I was with you, I didn't get less hot. I got more hot. I didn't know what to do with this. You would finish, and I would just be like…on fire. I'd want to ask you for more, but I felt selfish. I felt like I had a real problem. I did have a real problem. I just didn't know what it was. Mark started to show up in my dreams, and I'd wake up needing you, and sometimes you didn't wake up and I couldn't get back to sleep. It was awful.

I didn't know what the real problem was at the time, but I do know now, baby. And please, please, please forgive me if this hurts you. But I have to admit it, because it was true.

You weren't satisfying me.

I loved being with you. I still do! I love being with you, and I love feeling our bodies close together. I love giving you good feelings. I love everything about it. But it would just sort of get me going, and then leave me hot. I needed more. I didn't know it at the time, because I had to be with Mark to really come to understand what my body was telling me. But I needed more than you could give me.

* * *

Megan, a former competitive swimmer, was breathing like she had just finished a 400 meter freestyle. Her forehead was resting on the crest of the old couch frame, her arms crossed and hanging over the edge. Her knees had become weak and collapsed into the couch cushion. Her ass was straight up in the air, her back sagging and her breasts hanging down freely. Her pants were still bunched around her ankles, her shoes and socks still on her feet.

She had just had an orgasm. It was not her first of the night. Through the heavy breathing, she recapped the surreality of her very recent past…

The first orgasm had come after Mark had been thrusting into her for about 5 minutes. The sheer friction of his size and the dirtiness of this exposed and vulnerable position made her whole body tremble as she stuttered out an orgasm. Mark had felt her legs shake and her pelvic muscles contract and remained silent as she rode it to completion. Then, as she began to relax, he shocked her by grabbing a fistful of her dark hair near the base of her scalp and pulling her head back tightly.

"No. You're not done yet."

Megan felt this sudden pressure and pain that held her neck in tight tension, her head nearly perpendicular to her torso, which was bent over the couch. Her eyes widened and she felt her whole body tense as Mark's large cock continued to take pleasure from her. He had been silent up to that point. Now, he began engaging her verbally.

"You just came on my cock."

"Yes…" Megan gasped.

"You want my cock."

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Oh God, I want your cock. Please…"

Mark increased the pace and Megan began to moan. She tried to drop her head, but he had not let go of her hair. She jerked her head back sympathetically with her lover's pressure and held it there.

Mark's eye caught her wedding ring as her left hand curled around the crest of the couch.

"You're married, Megan."

Megan moaned.

"Say you're married, Megan."

"I'm m…I'm m…married." she said in syncopated rhythm with her lover's movements.

"What's your husband's name?"

"Jared. J…Jared…"

"Am I Jared, Megan? Is my name Jared?"

She began to clench around his cock again. This was so bad…

"Am I your husband, Megan?"

"N…no…"

"And you're going to cum on my cock again. You're going to cum deep, and you're going to cum hard. Because you want me."

Megan moaned again. Mark let her hair go and her head dropped between her arms. The tension continued to build around his cock. God he felt so good!

"Megan…" Mark rumbled out again.

"Yeah?" Megan asked weakly.

"You're going to cum hard. And deep. And you're going to do it…"

Megan's moan raised in pitch.

"NOW!" Mark barked, using his full Marine Corps sergeant voice. Megan quivered and collapsed forward, knees digging into the couch cushion and head falling on to the couch. She yelped as her legs twitched involuntarily. Mark held her hips tightly, continuing to thrust until he felt her relax around him.

Now she was breathing heavily. Much like an athlete does after intense aerobic exercise. Mark smiled, and stepped back, withdrawing his large cock from her body. It was still erect, and coated with Megan's pleasure.

He had not yet been satisfied. He was also still wearing all of his clothes.

Still bent over the couch, Megan weakly looked over her shoulder at him. He looked back at her and removed his shirt, then removed his shoes, pants, boxer shorts, and socks. For the first time, he stood naked. Statuesque.

Megan drank in the sight through glazed over eyes. She felt a profound fatigue. She was thirsty. He had taken her more deeply than she knew was possible. She looked at his erect penis. He was still hard. He wasn't done.

Mark noticed her eyes on his manhood. "You want more?" he asked her, eyebrows raised.

Megan hesitated, then nodded weakly over her shoulder, still panting.

"OK. Text your husband and tell him you just came harder than you ever have in your life. Then take off the rest of your clothes and come find me in the bedroom."

Mark's footsteps thumped away down the hardwood floor of the hallway. Down the hall, Megan heard a bedroom door open, then close.

"Okay…" she panted, reaching for her phone.

* * *

The letter ended there. David was stunned. He looked at the clock. 11:30. Time to go. His sandwich remained in his left hand, one bite missing. He would have to eat while driving to the next stop.

David was rock hard after reading. He wanted more. He also knew that some response was required from him. Jordan felt most comfortable communicating indirectly, at least for now.

He put his sandwich back in the bag, and ran around to the back of his truck. He opened it and disappeared inside. Seconds later, he returned with the bouquet of damaged roses. He took the five damaged roses out and threw them off to the side. Then, he bundled six together and left the seventh separate.

When he arrived home, Jordan had not yet finished her workday. David quickly found the notebook she had written her confessions in, and he opened it to the first page. It was blank. She hadn't moved on to the next installment. He pulled a pen out of his work shirt and wrote on the top line.

"Jordan. You're incredible, and I love you. Please don't stop.

-David"

He placed the notebook on the kitchen table with a rose on top. Then he took the remaining half-dozen, trimmed them and put them into a vase, and placed them on the nightstand next to her side of the bed.

[Johng1953]

Loving this and so well written. Greedy for more!

[faerun69]

Incredible work. Especially with the main character Jordan’s dialog, subtle actions, and thoughts. She’s wrecking me.