	Dear Abbey: Nighttime Visitor

(Can't make this stuff up. The note to Dear Abbey, included in the story, is from the original. I notice that the letter made its way onto some blogs. Who could resist? My version of events is, of course, a complete & utter fabrication. As always, the story is subject to minor revisions -- hopefully improvements: check the author's site if curious.)

	"I'm glad you came down last night."
	"What?"
	"I'm glad you changed your mind and came down."
	"To kiss you good night?"
	"No, I mean, later. Making love."
	"Oh..." Last night? "Oh yeah..."
	"It still feels good down there."
	Bill glanced at his wife. She was curled up in the passenger seat, sniffling and wiping her nose. She was small, with a cold, a blanket wrapped around her. She smiled at him. He smiled at her.
	His heart was racing. He jaw was already clenching. Last night? He didn't come downstairs last night! What should he do? He could ask: Are you sure you weren't dreaming? Then she would say: You don't remember? 
	And then what? 
	His stomach hurt. He glanced at his wife. She smiled with the loving smile of someone who is sick, but trying to smile. He smiled back.
	His damned heart was racing. He was speeding. Slow down. Calm down.
	What now?
	"You're so quiet..." Bethany rolled her head on the seat, gazing at him.
	"Just thinking..." 
	She was cute. She was too cute. She was thin and shapely. Stunning, as if he had only, just now, noticed.
	"That wasn't such a bad visit." She returned her gaze to the roadway.
	I `bet' it wasn't - but he didn't say that. He wanted to ask her what happened. But then she would know. He didn't want her to know. He would feel like an idiot. He let his guard down. He should have known better, right? That was his job. Bastards. Which one did it. He glanced at his wife. `His' wife. His `wife'. He married her. She was for `him'! Her hips, her breasts, her O's of pleasure were for `him'! Her..." He clenched his jaw. " Her opening belonged to him! She was `his' damn it!
	Stop it.
	She sniffled. "Why are you driving so fast?"
	He slowed down. "Sorry." 
	Sorry? He had to pull it together. Why did she bring it up? Maybe she knew it wasn't him? Maybe she was covering her tracks. If she didn't say anything, if one of his brothers confessed first, she would have looked guilty. Guilty as hell. So she plays innocent.
	How could she have `not' known?
	One of his brothers fucked his wife. God damn them. Their orgasm was inside her right now.  Was it Jeff? College boy, Jeff? Whiney when he was little, complaining that his older brothers got more: complaining about hand-me-downs and broken toys. Was his wife just another hand-me-down? - or did he think his wife should have been his? He glanced at the curve of her thigh and ass, he couldn't stop himself. 
	He didn't see his wife anymore. She was nothing but her sex. How was she taken? Was she on her side, facing away from him when he lifted the sheet and lay down behind her. Didn't she turn when she felt his hands feeling the round of her hips and swale of her waist? Did she push her ass back against him when he palmed her flat young belly and slipped his fingers into the moisture tucked between her thighs. Did she gasp and arch when he brushed and squeezed her nipples, pushing her round sex more insistently against his brother's thickness.
	She must have been on her side, spooning, facing away from him(little SOB). Did she groan or gasp, her eyes half lidded, when his cock slid into her?  And did she give him the satisfaction of writhing on the end of him as he slid in and out of her? Did he enjoy her? Did he make a sound when he spurted inside his wife's belly? He must have. How could she not know? Did she make the same sounds for him? Did she arch her back and thrust her pussy back for college boy? Was that it all it took? It didn't really matter who it was. She was nothing but a woman taking cock.
	"Slow down!" His wife sniffled.  "There's still snow on the roads!"
	He slowed down. `It feels good down there.' What did she mean by that? She must have cum. Was Jeff holding her by the shoulders when he spooned her, holding his cock hard into her as she thrust her opening against him, writhing in orgasm. How could she? God damn-it! How could she give him the satisfaction? Jeff must have enjoyed feeling his wife `pop' on his cock, knowing she was cumming on `his' cock and not her husbands. She was nothing special was she? - and Jeff had proved it. She was nothing but a hand-me-down now.
	`It feels good down there.' His brothers weren't any bigger than he was. Were they? Fuck! He wanted to fuck her. He wanted her bent over. He wanted her down, her ass in the air, her legs open wide. He wanted to fuck her hard, fast and deep. Her wanted her begging, whining, grunting, loud and vocal, her pussy up and full of his, her husband's, cock . Irrational. He wanted `his' cum in her. All of it. She was `his' wife. He was breathing fast. Got to get a grip.
	"Are you ok?" his wife asked him.
	"Yeah..." he laughed stupidly. "I was just thinking about making love to you again."
	"Mmmm..." she smiled and wiggled in her seat.
	Which one was it? Was it Dick - the second oldest brother. Dick used to do anything he could to sabotage him: Dick, the insecure older brother who undercut Bill from the day of his birth. Was that what this was about? Was he trying to sabotage his marriage. Was he trying prove he had married a slut?
	She must have known. 
	Was she on her back? Dick would have liked that. How could she have not seen him? Maybe he bent over her, one knee on the bed, his hands braced on either side of her pillow. Maybe he kissed her throat, kissing upward under her ear, before he tugged her earlobe between his lips and teeth. She liked to lean her head back, eyes closed. He would have licked her bared throat again. Maybe he bunched the pillow under her neck and she liked her head thrown back, her eyes closed.
	She liked it when he delicately pulled the covers off of her slender nudity; when he sucked her nipple into his pursed lips. Yes, she liked that. She would have arched her back, stretching her belly into the long thin line of muscle and belly button. God damn him. She would have felt him moving above her and she would have opened her legs for him unquestioningly. Unquestioningly? But she thought Dick was her husband, right? This was her husband. She would have opened her legs for her husband, welcomed him inside her. This was what a wife did. After years of off again, on again girlfriends, masturbating in bed alone, he didn't have to shoot into mid-air.  He had a wife. It was his right to enjoy her womb, to fill it again and again.  Only, it wasn't right. His brother had enjoyed her!
	"Bill! You're gonna' miss our exist!"
	Shit! Bill hit the brake, but not too hard. He braked... casually. 30 minutes felt like 30 hours. 
	"Look at you," she cooed. "You poor thing, how does all that fit in there?" She ran her hand over his crotch and the tip of his rigid cock pressing up underneath his jeans. "No wonder you're so distracted."
	"Yeah..." he answered stupidly. "When we get home..."
	"Mmmm..." she smiled at him and lifted the collar of her shirt, showing him her tit.
	Slut. She would have opened her legs for him, naked, unprotected. Dick would have loved that, the bastard. Bill knew what Dick was like. He was impulsive, quick to anger or jealousy and probably quick to lust. He would have thrust into the offered `open' of her legs, and thighs and sex. He would have thrust himself into her with one impulsive shove of his hips. She would have inhaled for him, loudly, back arched, head thrown back more, shoved up toward the head of the bed, maybe off the end, her bare nipples offered and thrust upward, toward him. Yes, completely open.
	Dick would have loved that - her legs wide open, knees crocked and thighs drawn upward, the flat of her feet against his thighs, her arms spread wide, elbows bent, fingers knotted tightly into the pillow under her neck, head thrown back and eyes closed. He would have fucked her hard, not fast, but hard, each thrust of his muscular hips jolting her up and up the bed. She would have grunted and bitten her lips to keep quiet. Her head would have hung off the top edge of the bed. She would have arched her ass into the mattress to keep herself from slipping off as he drove his cock upward into her soft belly again and again, slowly but inexorably calling his cum up from his balls, upward into his cock, before he relaxed and released it, spurt after stinging spurt into the yielding orgasm of her taught belly. Her back would have bent tightly, again and again, with her orgasm. Her tight sex would have milked him.
	Fuck, his wife was gently and rhythmically squeezing the tip of his cock through his jeans. He groaned. "It's ok..." she crooned.
	Then Dick would have left her like that: his cum leaking from her spread legs, maybe softly groaning, still shuddering, eyes still closed, taken. Yes, he would have known how he had taken the one thing, of all things, that was meant to be his and his alone.
	Bill twitched in his seat. Anger. Needed to cool off.
	"What's the matter?" his wife smiled. "We're headed home. Go ahead."
	Go ahead? Is that what she said to Paul? He was an arrogant bastard - the eldest brother who  never took `No' for an answer. He was the entitled oldest brother, always lording it over him If he had fucked his wife, he would have done just to enjoy her, because he could, because that's what his life was about - always getting what he wanted, especially beautiful women and, most especially, beautiful women who didn't belong to him. The arrogant prick. Of all the brothers, how could she have `not' known?!?
	Right, while he was up in his old room, like a pimpled adolescent, with only his hand to console him, his oldest brother, the grownup, was fucking his wife downstairs - doing what `he' should have doing. Shit!
	"Ohhh..." his wife wiggled. "I felt a twitch."
	Concentrate. Maybe she was asleep on her belly. He would have pulled her sheet back, enjoyed the S of her flawless spine, the swell of her buttocks and the tapering of her legs and the dark shadow between them. He would have masturbated his cock once or twice, possessively, arrogantly, before he kissed the nape of her neck. Maybe she would have moaned appreciatively when he pressed his thumbs softly beneath her shoulder blades, moved downward to the dimples of her back. 
	She would have gasped with surprise when he suddenly and forcefully gripped her narrow hips and torqued them, forcing her to arch her ass off the bed and present her cunt, upward and wet  between the diamond-shaped junction of her thighs. Did he slip a pillow under her hips, folding it to make sure her ass was raised?
	She must have moaned. She must have submissively pushed her sex upward. Was her breath shallow? Did his sudden possessiveness turn her on? But she thought he was her husband, right? This was her right? This was what she was due from her husband. She was a woman, young, in her twenties, with firm breasts and smooth muscular curves. She was tight, ready to give and receive. Where was he? He was in his little-boy bedroom. Fucking Idiot!
	When he lowered himself above her, his muscular hips above her narrower hips, his rigid cock over her soft opening, and drove his cock downward and into her,  opening her, filling her upturned belly, did she thrust her face in the pillow and scream? Did she grip the pillow tightly in her hands and keep her face buried as Paul fucked her from behind, the flare of his cock massaging the length of her insides, pressing at the softest part in her hard belly. Did she grunt with every thrust? He knew how she sounded, but it wasn't him who heard her. He was upstairs, letting his wife sleep.
	Did she gasp into her pillow when he lifted her ass, lifting her onto her opening knees. Was his cock still inside her? Was he enjoying his brother's wife on her knees, offering her belly. It was meant for `him' - her husband!  He must have kept fucking her, his hands tightly holding her narrow hips. She must have kept her face buried in the pillow as she grunted on the tip of every thrust. She must have convulsed, groaned and shouted out her orgasm in the down of the pillow. Arrogant prink. He must have smiled when his cock erupted inside her, again, again, again, and then again. Did she stay like that, his cum dripping out of her, the smell and wetness of his brother's wife's orgasm on his cock as he left the room?
	"That's it..." his wife cooed.
	He was cumming. He was spurting into his jeans. There was nothing he could do to stop it. Bill groaned and leaned his head back against the headrest.
	"That was all for me?" his wife smiled coyly. "Feel better?"
	"I want more..." he exhaled. He wanted to `know' more. Who did it? How did it happen?

	****

	"I bet you need to clean off." Bethany was already naked, adjusting the temperature in the shower. She was bent over and arching her back. Presenting.
	Fuck. He wanted to fuck her. Hard. He couldn't get hard.
	"I..." he stammered. "Just one more bag from the car."
	He brought the last bag in. The shower was running and the shower door was open.  He could see the blurred sinuousness of his wife washing her hair behind the variegated glass. He jammed his hands in his jeans, still wet with his cum, and tried to masturbate. What an idiot. His wife, fucked by one of his brothers while he was in his room, and now he couldn't get it up.
	He got on the phone.
		 
	****

	The next morning he took his wife. He reclaimed her. Twice. His thrusts were hard and measured. She groaned with each swing of his ass, legs spread open, gazing up at him and still waking up. He filled her quickly and shouted with pleasure as his sex released his juices inside her. "Get on your hands and knees," he growled.
	"Again?" she breathed.
	"And spread your legs," he added.
	She did. He was hard again. He fucked her again. She belonged to him. She was `his' wife. And he was going to make sure she was filled with `his' juice. "Deeper," she moaned between gasps. "Like you did it before.... uhn!" She gripped the sheets in orgasm as he filled her from behind.
	Deeper?
	What did she mean "deeper"? Fuck!
	
	****


DEAR ABBY: I am 27, and my wife, "Bethany," is 26. We recently went to my folks' house for supper. That evening a heavy snowstorm was starting and, because the trip home is 30 miles, we decided to stay overnight.

My old bedroom is upstairs, as are the rooms of my brothers, ages 25, 24 and 22. The guest room is downstairs. Because the room is quite small, and Bethany said she felt a cold coming on, we decided I'd sleep in my old room.

The next day, while we were driving home, Bethany  told me she was glad I had come to her room after all and made love to her.

Abby, it wasn't me! She had mistaken one of my brothers for me in the darkness. We are all about the same size and build.

I have talked to each of my brothers (they all know about this), but they won't say who it was for fear of causing a rift between the guilty party and me. I told them that unless I find out who it was, there will be a permanent rift between all of us. (Bethany still doesn't know it wasn't me.)

	****

	And a week later he called his parents.
	
	"Mom? Did you or Dad go downstairs that night we stayed with you?"
	"I didn't," she answered. "Why?"
	"Did Dad go downstairs?"
	"Yes."
	"Did he see anybody?"
	"I don't know, hon. He always checks the doors. Why?"
	"Just wondering..."
	"Well," his mother continued. "I think that if there had been anything worth knowing he would have known. He was down there for an hour. He usually comes right back upstairs. He said there was something wrong with one of the doors..."
	
	"Bill? ...Hello? ...Bill? ...Are you there?"
	
	