Taming Terri (Terri Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  Taming Terri

  Ben Boswell

  Taming Terri ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  © 2016 by Ben Boswell

  Cover image ©iStockPhoto/Getty Images

  First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell, July 2016

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  FOREWORD

  So concludes the story of Bill and Terri (for now, perhaps).

  It took me a long time to write these last two books. At first, I was leery of embarking on this project because I liked where I had left things with them in the first book. Now, having written two more novellas about them, I can't imagine not having written this extension of the story. The first book now feels incomplete to me.

  I don't want to make it seem like I consider myself a great writer, nor do I want to oversell my aspirations. This is... erotica, nothing more. But at the same time, I like to think that at least at times what I write can break out of the more cartoonish conventions of the genre. The reason I am pleased I came back to these characters is that while the first book ended in a comfortable spot, it was too comfortable, too convenient. It isn't that I wanted to make things difficult for Bill and Terri just for the hell of it, but the truth is that it would be difficult to simply live with the discoveries of the first book. Once the initial shock and excitement wore off, of course, things would become hard.

  So a warning.... This is erotica. There are a lot of hot sex scenes. But there is also a lot of angst, of misunderstanding and miscommunication, of anger and maybe even cruelty. This is a story about two people trying hard to balance their desires and their fears and not always doing a good job with it. If you want easy solutions -- simple, decisive actions, no doubts, no hesitations -- you won't like this book. And that is fine. I don't claim to have universal appeal. But I do urge you to heed my warning. Don't read this book if you are only happy when characters behave as you'd like them to. They don't and they won't.

  Why would I bother mentioning this? Because I've been getting hit with negative reviews recently that basically amount to "I wish this had been a burn-the-bitch story." Fine. There is room for that too. But that isn't the kind of story I write. And I'd rather sell fewer books and have them be read by people who like my work rather than sell a few more copies only to disappoint readers looking for something very different.

  Anyway... I hope you enjoy this book. I'd like to thank, yet again, Kenny Wright for advice, editorial support, and cover design. Reader Michael Kay did an amazing job editing for style and typos. And Robert C, Marge G and Rob P also caught numerous errors in the text. Thanks to all.

  Ben Boswell

  INTRODUCTION

  I know, I know. Be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. Terri had warned me. More than warned me, I now realize; she’d tried to wave me off again and again.

  But I couldn’t or didn’t want to see it.

  She tried to provide alternatives. Fantasy. Playacting. It all made sense now. The way she’d shown me her toys. The tales she’d made up about the night at Bardos. The way she’d cast me as our friend Herb, and let him/me seduce her. It was all her way of saying, we don’t need to do this.

  But we don’t need to do this is not the same and I don’t want to do this.

  Would she have been satisfied with just me, and our married-people-sex? Satisfied in teasing me with my obsessions, while leaving the exploration of hers in abeyance? Would she….

  Woulda, coulda, shoulda. That was all the past. A road not taken. Well, not a road. On a road, you can always turn around, walk back to the most recent fork, and start over. This was more like taking the wrong branch on a river. It is possible to turn around, but then you need to paddle against the current. And if the current is too fast, then it is impossible to make it back, and even if you do, you’re left too exhausted and rundown to proceed far along the other path.

  It is a stupid metaphor, but that’s what I felt like. It didn’t help that the current seemed to be moving faster and faster. Months and months between Jean-Pierre and Brian. Then several more before Mike. But the dam had burst. The evening with Mike had led almost immediately into another visit to Brian.

  Worse… the experiences were getting more intense… dangerous. In the past, Terri had always remained, mostly, in control. Chucky had tested her limits. But what boundaries remained?

  She’d surrendered completely to Mike. She’d allowed him to bind and gag her and then do with her literally whatever he wanted. What was terrifying was how obviously that situation turned her on. How the thought that he might buttfuck her or invite a friend to try her out didn’t make her recoil, but rather seemed to attract her even more.

  But for some reason, what really wrecked me was the rose tattoo Brian had gotten her. It was lovely and delicate, a small masterpiece of tone and detail, classy, even if its placement inches from her pussy was aggressively intimate. It was also a terrifying escalation. A permanent reminder of her surrender to another man. He’d marked her, branded her as his own in a sense. That was his intention, of course, and worse, I knew Terri was too sophisticated not to understand the symbolism of it, which meant that it was a message she wanted to send to me as well. The problem was… I still didn’t quite understand what that message was.

  But if her goal was to make me uneasy, well, then mission accomplished. I was feeling desperate.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Now this will either seem crazy or very, very normal given the emotional roller coaster I’d been on, but desperation makes one think outside the box.

  I needed to get a better handle on Terri. There was a part of her that I didn’t understand. But there was someone who did. Someone who seemed to understand her completely. Her needs, her wants, what made her tick. Chucky.

  Her bad-boy ex. The man who’d bedded -- well, sinked -- her within minutes of meeting her. The man whose attractiveness to her was so overpowering it had threatened to break us apart.

  I needed to talk to Chucky.

  I’d met the guy twice in my life. Once by chance, when he’d run into Terri and me at dinner. He’d proceeded to taunt me viciously, telling me that my wife was the “best lay” he’d ever had and mockingly thanking me for giving him her ass, which I knew about, of course, since he’d insisted she call me and speak to me when he sodomized her for the first time. The second time we’d met had been as part of a little birthday surprise that Terri and Chucky planned for me, where he fucked her ass, her pussy, and her mouth in front of me.

  It was, actually, hot to see them together like that, and yet it spoke to how much better he understood her than I did. Even now, I tiptoed around my desires, whereas Chucky had been able to talk her into what, by any definition, was an unusual scene. How?

  I’m going to buttfuck you while you straddle your husband’s lap, and then you’re going to suck me hard again so I can fuck you in your marital bed.

  I needed to talk to the man who had been able to pull that off. Except that was crazy. Too dangerous, and I didn’t really trust myself to stay in control if I was alone with him. Somehow, he seemed to be a key to understanding my wife, but I needed to work up to Chucky.

  So, the solution was obvious. I decided to go see Brian. If I was going to learn from my wife’s lovers, then he seemed like the easiest to approach.

  ***

  I didn�
�t have the courage to go as myself -- openly as the man whose wife he was fucking. I would need to ease into that. Since Brian had only seen me once, I figured a relatively simple change in appearance would be a sufficient disguise. I eschewed shaving for a few days -- I told Terri I was thinking of growing a beard, a statement she accepted with a bemused expression – and bought a pair of hipster glasses with clear lenses. I’d been in a suit the last time, so I dressed down in khakis and a pullover sweater.

  I wasn’t sure when Brian worked. We’d run into him that first night on a Friday evening, but Terri had hooked up with him at midday during the week….

  That thought suddenly gave me pause. Had she gone out just hoping to see him working that day? Had she gone before on another day and not found him? Or did she, somehow, know he’d be there?

  I tucked that away as I made my way downtown to the bar. I hadn’t noticed the name of the place at the time, but it turned out to be called the Stockyard, which, I mused darkly, seemed an appropriate place to track down my wife’s bull.

  I went in the early-afternoon, after the lunchtime rush, roughly around the same time Terri had gone the previous week. There were still a few people scattered at tables, finishing off lunch.

  There was a couple leaning in toward each other, talking ardently. Mid-twenties. She was a cutie, with dark hair in bangs and a precise, short ponytail fanned at the end. He was suited up and dark haired with the sort of thick stubble I was trying to cultivate without success due to my lighter coloration. They were young, earnest. She was married, or at least engaged judging by the ring on her left hand. I wondered if he was her husband or fiancé. They were young enough that they might still be in that first bloom of love, when even a lunchtime conversation might seem passionate. But her ring suggested a longer relationship. By the time people decide to get married, they’ve usually burned though that intensity already.

  So maybe they were just an intense young, engaged couple, but it wasn’t hard to imagine the alternative. Cutie-pie engaged to an older, settled gentleman, the kind who could afford the rock she was sporting. Working in an office with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Talking about work, sharing jokes about colleagues, flirting. And now, with her wedding day looming, thinking about him, about a last fling. Lunch, a shared bottle of wine, stomach churning with excitement, panties dampening. A proposition. A fierce, passionate debate, about the pros and cons of it, both of them already knowing what would happen, but the process of talking themselves up to it a wicked aphrodisiac.

  The Palmer House was around the corner with its romantic, old-fashioned lobby, plush armchairs, gilded-frame mirrors. The two of them now suddenly shy as the moment of truth approached. Awkward glances and hidden smiles in the elevator. Holding hands, not even noticing each other’s sweaty palms. Sliding into a room, and then combustion. Her perfect, little ponytail a reminder of the discipline lost in the moment of passion. Clothes shed, a button torn off a blouse. Then an adorable, young woman, betrothed to another, naked, riding her lover, her pert breasts crowned with rock hard erasers, her tongue swirling around his thumb.

  As if to confirm my suspicions, they both looked around furtively. I averted my gaze, but still noticed them quickly rise and move toward the exit, a respectable distance between them, but an almost visible energy seeming to bind their bodies together.

  I had crossed the room lost in thought, and was nearly at the bar before I looked up to see Brian watching me approach. I was momentarily startled. He seemed amused. I examined his face -- his fucking, annoyingly handsome face -- for signs that he recognized me. But he didn’t seem to. I was just another middle-aged schmuck, coming in for a midday drink, probably to get over the fact that I wasn’t a heavily muscled, square-jawed, blue-eyed, tattooed stud with a ten-inch cock. Or maybe I was just projecting. For all I knew, Brian was desperately sad and just wished he could have a well-paying office job, a wife, mortgage, and a couple of kids. Ha! who was I kidding?

  “Need a menu?”

  I shook my head. “No. Just a Maker’s Mark. Neat.”

  Fuck. Idiot. Why had I ordered the same drink as before?

  Happily he didn’t seem to make a connection.

  “Want to start a tab?”

  I nodded. He nodded, and stuck out his hand.

  “I’m Brian.”

  We shook. My hand seemed to disappear into his huge palm.

  “Um, Tony,” I introduced myself.

  He turned to pour me the drink. I was annoyed with myself. The fake name was another dumb move. Now I couldn’t pay with my credit card. Though actually, as I thought about it, that was serendipitous since letting him see my last name would have probably been a mistake. In any case, I had a couple of twenties in my wallet, so I should be okay.

  I took a deep breath. I hadn’t thought through any of this. I guess at some level I felt that just seeing Brian again would provide me with some insights. It didn’t. He was a handsome fuck. There were a lot of handsome fucks in this world. My wife didn’t just sit on anyone’s dick… well, as far as I knew.

  I sometimes had a dark thought that what I knew about Terri, what she had exposed to me, was but a small percentage of what she really did when she was out of my sight. I alternated between this sort of feverish notion and the realization of the more prosaic reality. Terri probably didn’t exceed the quite generous boundaries we’d set anymore than the cute young woman with the short ponytail cheated on her fiancé. But I couldn’t help myself. Those lewd thoughts were insistent, and Terri was almost surely right in suggesting that I had them in part because I liked them.

  He delivered my drink.

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded. ”Let me know if you need anything else.”

  He began to move away, but I stopped him. “Actually….”

  “Menu?”

  I shook my head.

  He gave me a suspicious glance. I probably misread it, but I think he might have been worried I was going to make a pass at him.

  My throat tightened with anxiety, and when I spoke, my voice was oddly high pitched. “I was here the other day… and… um… I saw you with this hot blonde….”

  “Yeah?” he replied cautiously.

  “It’s just… it seemed like….”

  He grinned. “What day?”

  “Um, Wednesday? Last week.”

  “You were here?”

  “Yeah. Well. I was over there,” I gestured toward a booth mostly of sight of the bar. “But when I was leaving….”

  He grinned. “What, you want her number?”

  “What? No. Just seemed like you two were… um… close.”

  He shrugged. “She’s your usual hot and crazy combo. She’s actually married. Just likes to drop by and bounce on my dick sometimes. Guess she and her hubby have an arrangement or something.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He laughed. “He was with her the first time we hooked up. Just sat there and let me walk her into the storeroom to bang her.” He shrugged again. “Takes all kinds.”

  “What do you think --“

  He held up a finger and reached into his pocket to pull out his phone. I took a sip of my drink. He glanced at the screen and grinned.

  “Speak of the devil. She’s in the neighborhood and looking for a little fun.”

  I nearly choked and was wracked with a coughing fit. He poured me a glass of water.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded, actually glad at half choking to death. It provided an alternative explanation for my red face.

  “She’s… she’s coming by now?” I asked.

  My voice was now hoarse rather than squeaky, a development that left Brian more amused than confused.

  “Hey, hold on a minute,” he said.

  He walked away and I anxiously scanned the entrance. I need to get the fuck out of there. I didn’t want Terri to catch me… although, maybe I did? Jesus, why was this so complicated.

  “Manager’s out for the afternoon,”
Brian noted as he returned.

  “Um…” I said, unsure why he’d said that.

  “So, you want to watch me pork your girlfriend?” he suggested.

  “My girlfriend?” I asked aghast. How had he….

  “Relax, man, I’m just busting balls.”

  I realized he was just referring to my apparent interest in this mystery woman.

  “But,” he continued, “if you want to watch, my manager’s office is a perfect set-up for that. He has a storage closet off the office with a curtain door. Just don’t come on his floor, okay?”

  “What? No… I….”

  “Look, buddy, she’s on her way. You in or out?”

  “What about her?”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry. She’ll be too busy creaming on my prick to notice. And anyway, if she does notice she’ll probably like it. Girl’s a freak.”

  I felt queasy. “Yeah?”

  He laughed. “Totally. I told you I picked her up right in front of her hubby, right? And last time she had me pose with my dick out for a bunch of selfies. Adrenaline slut, exhibitionist, you know? She’d probably love it if I just fucked her out here.”

  I looked around involuntarily.

  He laughed again. “Well, except she’d probably like it more crowded. And probably more dicks. She seems like the kind of girl who’d like to take on a whole room.”

  I shuddered a little as my mind again conspired against me by conjuring up a surprisingly vivid depiction of my wife, naked, spread eagle. One guy pulling out of her red, puffy pussy, his come dripping down to her ass, and another guy, dick out, stepping up and plunging into her.

  “Now or never,” he said.

  I nodded.

  He shook his head and grinned. He slid gracefully from behind the bar and turned toward the kitchen. I followed after him. He pulled out a set of keys, unlocked a door, and led me into cramped little office. I glanced around at the battered, mesh-back office chair tucked against a scratched and scuffed wooden desk. An unlit neon beer sign on the wall. An antique mini-tower computer. Seedy. But then again, what did I expect from a bar manager’s office? My heart sank as I realized this would actually be a step up for my wife compared with fucking him in a storeroom and a bathroom.