I rediscovered this story of mine this week, while trying to find a standalone excerpt for a website. Honey Trap appeared in the Seduction anthology from Black Lace many moons ago...
“I could give you a head-rub if you like,” he offered. “I learned Indian massage a while back.”
“In an ashram?”
He handed me my drink. “In Canberra. There wasn’t a lot else to do.”
He wasn’t to know it, but he’d hit on my weakness. I love having my head massaged; it’s the next best thing to sex. So at his suggestion I sat down on the couch and he knelt up behind me to take my newly-washed head in his hands and rub it. And he was very good indeed – patient, firm and skilled. He eased all the tightness from the back of my neck and pressed smooth my forehead and scalp. He tucked his arms under mine, ordered me to relax and shut my eyes, then scrunched my shoulders until they unknotted. I lost all sense of time or thought under his kneading hands, dissolving into pleasure, as if he’d opened my skull and taken my brains out. More and more of my weight relaxed against him. His hands broke little murmurs of pleasure from my lips, and when he stroked my throat softly I groaned. His arms were around me gently, his firm body supporting me.
“That dress you wore last night,” he murmured in my ear, tracing my cheekbones with his fingertips.
“Mm?”
“Did you know it went see-through against the floodlight? Did you know I could see all your body beneath it?”
I was almost too relaxed to speak. “That’s not true.”
“‘No?”
“I think Rhys would have noticed.” I was faintly aware that I was using my husband’s name as a talisman, to ward him off. It didn’t work.
“What makes you think he didn’t want to show off the beautiful body of his wife, for me to see?”
I smiled.
“You were wearing very sexy red lace lingerie last night. Right now though,” Marcus whispered, “you’re not wearing either a bra or panties. I can feel your skin through this dress.” He brushed his hand across my hip to make his point and I forced my heavy lids open, trying to focus. “No,” he breathed, his voice tender and heavy: “keep them shut.”
His fingers stroked my lids and my lips and I obeyed with a sigh. Cradling me in one arm, he kissed my lips softly, seducing them open with his gentleness. I tasted the smokiness of the whisky on his tongue. His free hand caressed the tips of my breasts and I realized that the air-con had brought them to obvious points under the cotton. I moaned into his mouth.
“Now I’m going to touch your pussy, Astrid,” he said. “And you’re going to let me.” He put his hand on me through my skirt and he was right; I not only let him, I parted my thighs a little. “That’s right,” he sighed, stroking me. “Now. You lifted our skirt for me at the restaurant, didn’t you? You’re going to do that again. Slowly.”
Mesmerized by sensation I drew my skirt up my thighs, finger by finger. Cool air lapped at my damp skin. When I got to the hem he laid his hand on my bare mound, parting the swollen lips with a couple of fingers, delving between to find the syrupy slickness of my juices. When he traced the contours of my clit I writhed against him.
“Oh, honey, you’re ready for this, aren’t you?” His touch was like fire to my tinder: I felt flames rushing through my body. “All day you’ve wanted me to do this, haven’t you? And you’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do it. Look how sweet and wet and open this is for me.” His lips brushed away any objections that might have risen to mine. “Now unbutton your dress. I want to see that beautiful body, Astrid.”
I fumbled with the little buttons, unable to look because he was kissing me, and bared my breasts. He sighed with satisfaction.
“Now play with them, Astrid. Play with your breasts while I make you come.”
I cupped them, squeezing them together, fingering my nipples, but I couldn’t do it for long. “Oh—I’m coming now!” I gasped.
Marcus plunged his fingers into my slippery entrance, using his thumb on my clit. “Yes. You are: right now.”
“Make her come,” moaned the echo.
I opened my eyes as orgasm flooded through me. I saw Rhys standing against the kitchen bench, but it was too late and I couldn’t stop; I just stared and moaned and spasmed in pleasure.
“‘Oh God,” whispered Rhys, wide-eyed.
“Rhys?” I whimpered, when I could speak again. For a brief moment I tried to sit up straight but Marcus’ arms tightened around me in a hug.
“It’s all right, honey.” His voice was warm and sure.
“Rhys? What’re you doing here?” My voice came out husky.
“Oh God, you’re beautiful,” said Rhys. “So fucking hot and beautiful.”
“He’s not angry,” Marcus said.
I gaped. This felt wildly unreal. “What’s going on?”
“Astrid, I…”’ My husband looked shifty.
I jumped to the worst possible conclusion. “Did he pay you for this?”
“Far from it,” said Marcus smoothly. “Astrid, there is something you don’t know. Rhys and I met on the Net about six months back. On a cuckolding site.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that we both have certain specialist interests. My thing is married women—“
“Your thing?”
“‘My passion. My obsession: women who are faithfully, happily married, and just longing to be seduced all over again. And Rhys’ single greatest turn-on,” he added, his voice hardening; “the thing he fantasizes about constantly, is the thought of his beautiful wife being fucked by another man. Of her being so aroused by this stranger that she’ll do anything for his cock. Of him watching helplessly while she gets the shafting of her life, better than any he could ever give her, and she screams that other man’s name and begs like a slut for him to fuck her more.”
I was stunned. It all made sense now: the way Marcus knew exactly the right things to say, the way he knew what I liked and what I wanted. He’d certainly done his homework: he’d been perfect for me. I’d been played by both men, but it was impossible to take the high ground when I’d just been discovered by my husband with someone else’s fingers up my pussy. I couldn’t even feel indignant. I cleared my throat to ask, “Rhys told you everything, didn’t he?”
“Everything. He gave me copious notes … and photos. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” Marcus stroked my damp hair from my face and kissed my cheek. “Now I’m going to fuck you, Astrid, in front of him. Just like he wants me to. Just like you want.”
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