Black Marks 2 - Chapter 1

WESLEY

“There you go,” I smile at the first-time customer and hand him the small white paper bag with his cinnamon swirl inside and then his double-shot espresso.

He tugs up the collar of his coat and nods. Then he hurries back to his mustard-colored Ford, side-stepping big puddles as he goes.

I slide the window of my coffee trailer back across but peer out and up again at the teaming rain and the sky above. Still those big black and purple clouds. The forecast said the downpour would be over by now, but there’s little sign of that.

The trouble with a pitch like this on the edge of an industrial park is that most customers have to drive to you. And no matter how much better my coffee is, who wants to get out of the car in the pouring rain when it’s only a mile or two to that new drive-through?

I pull my notepad and pen out from under the chrome countertop and scribble a line or two about that last customer. I’ve started asking a few preplanned questions when I serve people now. Like where they’re from, and where they heard about the trailer. Or what other items they’d like to see on the menu. And I tell them I’m thinking of starting a loyalty program. Gage their interest in that too. ‘Consumer research’. It’s something Sterling suggested when we were at his house that night.

And the questions and answers come with another bonus too. They keep my mind occupied when things are quiet here. They help a little to stop me obsessing about my wife Amelia and what happened at the Marks’ house.

I’ve brought my laptop today too and with no sign of another customer, I open it and begin to transfer the notes I’ve made so far today into a spreadsheet I’ve started. Maybe when the weather picks up I’ll apply for a license and bring a couple of foldaway chairs and a table with me. Put them up outside so customers can take a break from their cars or wagons and enjoy their drinks or snacks outdoors. It wouldn’t be the worst roadside to sit and relax by. Not with that couple of trees out there and an open field to one side.

Once I’ve added that last guy’s details to the spreadsheet and with no other customers in sight, those persistent other thoughts demand my attention again.

I allow the unsettling memories from the weekend before last to overwhelm me once more.

Amelia in that French Maid outfit. My wife sat on the lap of an old black guy. An annoying university professor who thinks he knows everything there is to know about business. And who knows more than he should about my Amelia.

He told me he’d love to have sex with her.

My dick shifts in my pants again.

The guy knows that I fantasize about her as a hotwife. He’s heard about her submissive relationship with her ex. Fleeting though her S&M experience might have been. And his fucking wife has fantasies about him with other women!

The image of his big dark hand on the pale skin of my wife’s thigh rises again in my head and now I let it stay there.

How hot was that sight? My dick stiffens rigid and I reach down to feel it through my pants.

For the thousandth time, I imagine what might have happened if I hadn’t insisted on leaving when we did. If I hadn’t reacted to how shocked Amelia looked on his lap when she felt ‘something’ under her butt.

Another man’s cock stiffening with excitement and ‘readiness’ for her. If she’d then reacted differently, with excitement, if she’d reached down to his pants if she’d touched his…

But even as I visualize the heady scene, shrouds of frustration and confusion descend over me.

I haven’t even told her about his ‘offer’. Nor about his wife’s supposed preferences. How could I? Amelia’s been barely willing to discuss anything about that night ever since. In or out of bed. I don’t know if she’s trying to pretend the whole night never even happened, or what.

I peer back out at the teaming rain.

Maybe I do need to just tell her everything Sterling said. Maybe there’s nothing to lose. I mean, she and I are back to the way things used to be before Vanessa told her about the importance of sexual fantasies in a relationship. We don’t discuss Sterling or any other guy in bed. She shuts me down when I try. She seems as uncomfortable about it as she ever was. Maybe even more so now.

Outside, a wagon slows and for a moment it looks like it’ll stop here. He doesn’t. I think the driver was just studying his GPS.

Things would probably be better now if she’d got together with Vanessa at that book club the Tuesday after. If they’d talked things through. But the club wasn’t on last week and then the Marks went away for a long weekend.

They’re back tonight though. And the book club is on tomorrow. Maybe Vanessa will repeat the suggestion to Amelia that she made when we were leaving their home. That it’s our turn now to host them.

But would Amelia even agree to do that now? And what makes me think anything more might happen if we did?

That same wagon has doubled back and pulled up outside and a bearded driver climbs down from his cab. The rain has finally stopped.

I serve the guy a milky cappuccino and he grabs a couple of muffins too in a big paw. Then after he’s driven away and I’ve made a note about him, my thoughts are drawn back to Sterling. And what he said about my wife.

‘Train’ her. What might a dominant guy who’s into S&M mean by ‘training’ my wife? If he believes she’s a submissive. Why didn’t I ask him to clarify it?

Because he shocked the crap out of me.

My dick shifts again in my pants and it’s no use. I need to jack off.

I peer back out to double-check on the rain. Masturbation has become as frequent these last two weeks as it was when I was an adolescent.

I don’t normally do it here, but around the back of the trailer should be OK. That’s where I pee when I have to. Out of sight of the road. I’ll hear any cars or wagons pull up and easily get back to serve them. I can’t wait.

I open the truck door and step down onto the gravel. I pick my way around puddles at the rear and stand near brambles and trees a few feet beyond the truck. The open field beyond and no buildings in direct line of sight.

I yank out my hard dick and stroke.

What if I told Amelia everything? If I didn’t let her close the conversation down and if she couldn’t help but get excited?

I ignore the more logical outcome that my wife would likely be scared to death, and I jerk hard. Fast. I visualize Amelia wet between the legs in bed, telling me how horny it could be to be ‘trained’ by Sterling. Telling me she’s imagined him as her ‘bull’. I cum with a gasp and spray the low brambles.

“Oh, sorry,” a female voice says and over my left shoulder, a middle-aged woman drags a little dog away.

Oh, fucking hell! Did she see I was beating -off?

A couple of minutes later though, when I get back to the trailer and inside it, she’s around the front, roadside with her dog.

If she’d seen what I was really doing she’d have run. Surely? I pull a wet wipe from the drum I keep on one of the worktops and I wipe my hands. Then I slide the window open.

“Sorry about that,” I smile at her.

“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” the woman shrugs, “He’s the same,” she gestures at the dog, “Glad the rain finally relented so I could bring him outside. Can I get a latte?”

Back on our street later in the evening after dumping the trailer and then picking up the SUV, and those summer days of Amelia writing in the sunny front garden seem an eternity away. There’s no likelihood of Sterling wandering past with his dog and catching my wife out here in the dark. No likelihood of any chance encounter.

The lights are on in our living room and when I get into the house that’s where I find my wife.

“Hi,” she smiles and gets up from the sofa with her strawberry blonde hair in a high ponytail. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve got pepperoni pizza in the oven.”

“Sounds great,” I say, and having thought more about it all the way home, I’ve made up my mind. I’m telling her tonight what Sterling said. I want her to know before she goes to the book club tomorrow with Vanessa. Then they might have a meaningful conversation together. Sterling didn’t ask me to keep quiet about what he told me, did he? And if I don’t get it all out in the open then I’m just pussyfooting around what has to be a real opportunity. I could risk it all fizzling out to nothing.

And a couple with attitudes and preferences like Sterling and his wife has to be too good an opportunity to completely waste.

Even if the guy can be a pain in the ass.

I wait until Amelia has put the food out and we’re at the dining table together. There’s a big bottle of chilled water and two glasses on the table between us.

“So have you heard from Vanessa since they got back from their long weekend?” I ask and try to sound low-key. Ever since hearing they were going away though, I’ve found myself wondering whether it might have been to some kinky BDSM event or other. Or whether my frustrated imagination is just in overdrive since his proposition to me.

“Nu-huh,” Amelia shakes her head but says nothing more. She hasn’t mentioned having any conversations with Vanessa since that night. Just swapping texts when the other woman told her the club wasn’t on last weekend and that they were going away.

I swallow a mouthful of pizza and having established in my head the order of my upcoming sentences, I finalize exactly how to phrase the first.

With a question.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” I clear my throat, “You know when Vanessa said something to you about a cuckquean?”

Amelia sighs like this is the last topic she wants to discuss.

“Did she mention that’s what she’s into?” I look across at her.

“Er no,” Amelia frowns and her big baby-blue eyes look down at her plate.

“Apparently it is,” I say and gaze right at her. I wait for her to look back at me.

“What gives you that idea?”

“Sterling told me.”

“When?”

“That night.”

“What?” she says and covers her mouth with one hand, gripping her raised knife as she swallows some food, “So he just came out with it, and told you his wife likes to imagine him with other women?” Amelia gives me a dubious look.

“Not quite. He said something like it was only fair that I should know her fantasies because they both knew ours.”

“So you were discussing me?” Amelia flushes.

“I didn’t have to, did I? You’d already told Vanessa about you and your ex, remember?”

Amelia reddens further and looks down at her plate again.

“Anyway, he told me that’s what Vanessa was into.”

Amelia doesn’t reply. She keeps eating, but slower now.

What will she say to Vanessa about this? Anything?

“He said something else too,” I hesitate a second, but what the hell? I’ve held off long enough. And where has that got me?

“What?” Amelia says the word slowly and looks up at me like she fears hearing, but she knows she must.

“I did try to tell you that night,” I say, “When we got home. Vanessa obviously must have repeated what you told her about my fantasies.”

Amelia’s eyebrows rise.

“Anyway, Sterling said that if we ever chose to make my fantasy real then he..”

“He what?” she lowers her knife and fork.

“Well, Vanessa said you’re his ‘fantasy girl’, didn’t she?”

Amelia’s face is beetroot red and I should probably stop now but I need to get it all out. Bottling it up and keeping it from her has driven me crazy.

“He said he’d like to train you,” my mouth has dried up and I grab the water. I pour a big mouthful but my hand shakes.

“Train me? To do what?” her cheeks aren’t getting any paler.

“I guess he assumed from everything he’d heard, that you’re submissive,” I shrug and eye her but my face burns too.

“I only told Vanessa I thought I could be,” her voice cracks, “sometimes.”

“You told her about the stuff that happened with your ex too,” I say, “So he knows that. And we know what he’s into. I’m guessing he meant train you in S&M. But I was too surprised to ask and find out for sure.” My cock has thickened in my pants as I watch her reaction.

“Did he honestly say all that?” Amelia stares across at me wide-eyed and covers her mouth again with one hand. Only this time I don’t think her hand has anything to do with politeness and hiding any chewing.

I nod my head but then shrug and feel the need to lighten the mood, “You and Vanessa started it,” I grin at her, “dressing up and teasing him.”

“What did you say to him?” her eyes remain wide.

“I didn't know what the hell to say. I was taken aback by it. Although it was horny too,” I reach for her hand across the table. My dick is rock hard now and I should probably stop the conversation here but the pent-up words keep coming. “He reckons if we did ever decide to make our fantasies real, it would kill more than two birds with one stone. Like, press Vanessa’s hot buttons as well as his. He said he’d love to be your bull.”

“My what?” she gapes at me.

“It’s what the other guy’s called when a wife has an affair with her husband’s approval,” I say but Amelia looks panicked, “Or she just has a little extra fun with the guy.”

“Well, I won’t be having any affair,” Amelia pulls her hand back and away from mine, “Or doing anything ‘extra’. And definitely not with Vanessa’s husband.”

Shit.

“There’s no way I can look Vanessa in the eye tomorrow night,” Amelia shakes her head and her ponytail. “Not now. I’ll text her tomorrow morning and tell her I won’t be at book club.”

Author's Notes

Where do think Wes and his dreams of Amelia as a hotwife go from here? Is there anything he himself can do to turn the situation around, or does he need to rely on Vanessa now? Or perhaps even Sterling?

It would be great to get your input in the comments below.

Next week, in 'Black Marks 2' it's over to Ash and Marcie where she revels in her increasing control over two chaste men.

© 2024 Tinto Selvaggio. All rights reserved.

 All characters portrayed in this ebook are consenting adults eighteen years of age or older. As a work of fiction, any similarities to any situations or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.