Spoiler Alert

Spoiler Alert Spoiler Alert

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


(Spoiler Alert: it all goes well in the end.) A wife spoils the ending for a book her husband has been waiting for for years, and suffers the consequences. (This story took third place in an online erotic stories competition for which the theme was that the stories somehow be about books or reading. )


(Spoiler Alert: it all goes well in the end.) A wife spoils the ending for a book her husband has been waiting for for years, and suffers the consequences.

(This story took third place in an online erotic stories competition for which the theme was that the stories somehow be about books or reading. )


Submitted: February 07, 2018

A A A | A A A


Submitted: February 07, 2018



The length and thickness were just right. It was the perfect size.

I’d dropped hints. The wrapped gift Annie handed me had to be the new Lance Stryker novel, None So Blind, I’d been waiting three years for. It had taken all my self-control not to buy it when it came out, two days before our anniversary.

I tore at the wrapping but watched her open her package. The plain green covers of the two-book set didn’t announce themselves right away, as the glossy dust jacket of her gift to me did. When she realized what it was, her face was hard to read. A smile and a frown crossed her face -- she looked as fresh-faced at thirty-three as she had in college. She bit her bottom lip, an unconscious habit that always aroused me.

“Oh God, Evan, this isn’t…?”

I nodded, proud of of my find. An 1894, first-edition set of Emily Dickinson’s letters, Annette’s favorite poet. It hadn’t been cheap, but it was perfect.

“This must have cost a fortune, and I only got you the stupid Stryker book.” She looked embarrassed, on the verge of tears.

“It’s exactly what I wanted,” I reassured her. “I’ve been waiting for this book forever. If you’d gotten me anything else, I’d still read this first.”

I was, however, surprised to discover a part of me was disappointed. I stifled the reaction and peeled off the “40%-off” sticker. The actuary in me did the arithmetic quickly. Post discount, the book had cost eighteen dollars. I’d outspent her forty to one.

“I love it. It’s… perfect. But you spoil me too much.”

She started leafing through one volume. Her look of wonder was worth every penny, but then she noticed the time. The book closed with a snap. “I gotta go or I’ll be late.” She kissed me lightly.

Her lips felt good; she smelled fresh and clean. I considered trying to convince her to be late --everyone could have “car trouble” once in a while-- but I knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, I told her, “Oh, I made 6:30 reservations at Mario’s.” Our go-to special-dinner place. With Annie needing to get up at six for work, it made sense to eat early.

“Perfect,” she said, pouring coffee into a travel mug.

“And we’ll have a date after?” I asked, using our usual euphemism.

“We don’t have to make an appointment to fuck, you know.” Her annoyed look surprised me more than her uncharacteristically blunt language.

“You don’t want to make love on our anniversary?” I wasn’t sure what she was getting at.

“That’s not what I meant.” She sighed. “I’ll see you after work. And please don’t send flowers to school; it’s embarrassing, and the kids tease me.”

“I make no promises.” I smiled at her as she picked up her schoolbag and left, frowning at my stubbornness. I always send her flowers on our anniversary.


I took the day off. Partly to do a few house projects, but really because I wanted to read the book as soon as possible.

Lance Stryker might not win any literary awards, but I’d loved his stuff forever. He wrote about an FBI agent, Pat Kelly, always chasing the same criminal. The “unsub” was known as the Reaper, whose letters mocked that he was someone Kelly knew in day-to-day life. I turned to page one.

Three hours later, I reluctantly took a break. I had to at least pretend to keep up with work, but instead I procrastinated on the web. When I opened Facebook, I clicked automatically on the message-alert icon.

It took me a moment to realize that Annie had forgotten to log out of her account after using my computer; hers was being repaired. I stared stupidly at the screen. Her message thread with her friend Leah was right there for me to see.

Annette: OMG! The last paragraph is my life!

I clicked on the link Annie was replying to. It was a breezy clickbait article, “Why Angry Sex is Best.” I skimmed it. Some stuff about how the sexual endorphins that fade after a couple has been together for a while can be recreated with anger. The author claimed that couples who fight a lot have better, more passionate sex.

The last paragraph --  “If the sex gets too polite, you might as well be paying bills. Sometimes, what I need is for my boyfriend to shove me against a wall and take me without asking, his hand tight on my throat. Sometimes, I need him to not be a pussy. I need him to be so angry I’m scared. I need for him to tie me up and threaten to fuck me in the ass and not worry he’s offending me.”

My heart was pounding. I felt sick. That’s how Annie felt? That’s what her reaction to our anniversary “date” meant? I stared back at the message thread.

Leah: What are you going to do about it?

Annette: No idea.

Leah: Get naked, get him horny, then do something to really piss him off. Maybe there’s a hidden beast in there somewhere. Lol.

Annette: Yeah, right. I can’t remember the last time I saw him angry. I’ll think of something.

Leah: You have to.

And that was it. Guiltily, I logged out and sat with my head spinning. I thought about calling, but she was teaching all day, with zero privacy.

I didn’t know what to do, so I tried some work. Numbers, usually my friends, blurred and spun and eluded me. I felt confused. Nothing had ever suggested she was unhappy or unsatisfied.

I imagined trying to give Annie what she wanted. I pictured shoving her against the wall in the hallway when she came home. She’d be carrying her travel mug in one hand and her school bag in the other. They’d both fall to the ground, and the mug would pop open, dousing her papers in coffee.

My cock hardened at the thought of roughly spreading her long trim legs and sliding one hand up her thigh until I reached her panties and yanked them down. Then what? I’d be hard, but would she be anywhere near wet enough to fuck? Was I even supposed to care, or was that too ‘polite’? My cock was iron in my pants; I had to adjust myself for comfort.

I felt the anguish of not knowing what to do and went back to my imagined scene of greeting Annie by shoving her up against the wall. What if the exchange with Leah was just banter, and she was just blowing off steam with a friend? What if I fucked things up by being too rough? Weren’t people supposed to have safe words? But asking her if it was okay to be dominant seemed like asking for permission to be a rebel.

I tried reading my book again, but it was no use. Not even the Reaper’s taunting note to Kelly could really draw me in. “I’ve always been here; you’re just too stupid to see what’s right in front of you.”

I decided to try.

As soon as she walked through the door, I’d give her what she wanted. I’d figure it out.

Having some semblance of a plan made me feel better. I made progress in my book, but mostly I stared at my watch. Sometimes the minutes dragged on; sometimes they seemed to fly, reminding me I’d have to figure it out soon.

Finally, I heard her car in the driveway. Under my breath, I rehearsed the words I’d planned. I could feel my heart hammering when she opened the door. I felt the way I had before our first date.

She saw me on the stairs and smiled, looking too fresh-faced and wholesome for what I was planning, like the girl in the old ad for Ivory soap. Annie looked tired but beautiful, with her loose honey-colored braid caught in the strap of her bag, which still hung on her shoulder. Her work-appropriate blouse couldn’t hide the swell of her high, firm breasts. I got to the bottom of the stairs and kissed her hard.

I pushed her against the wall and caught her wrists in my hands. Her eyes opened wide, but after a moment of tension, her body softened, and she kissed me back. I held her wrists above her head and pinned them to the wall as my tongue explored her mouth. A soft moan burst against my lips. Her shoulders were pinned to the wall, but her hips tried to meet mine. Trapped between us, her schoolbag became an unwitting chaperone, not allowing our hips to touch.

I broke the kiss and considered what to do next. Annie was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed. I tried saying the words I’d practiced, but they wouldn’t come out. Get on your knees and suck my cock. I reddened with embarrassment.

“Evan…” Her voice was strange.

“I… I’m glad you’re home, Annie,” I kept my voice casual as I let her go, as if I greeted her like this every day.

She nodded. In her eyes I saw disappointment, though thankfully less surprise than I’d have expected. Certainly not as much as you planned, you pussy, I thought.

I heard rather than saw her schoolbag thump on the floor as she put it down. Her hand touched my shoulder for a second before pulling back. I’d turned away so that she wouldn’t see my erection. That way I could pretend --we could pretend-- that everything was still perfect.

“I’m going to shower for dinner,” she said, brushing past. Neither of us looked at the other.

When I heard the water running, I went upstairs and read in bed, lying on top of the covers. Still no clue as to the identity of the Reaper, although he continued to taunt Special Agent Kelly.

Finally, the water shut off. A minute later, Annie emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, wearing only a black satin thong. My eyes snapped up from my book; I sat up on the edge of the bed. Annie’s breasts were first-class, and I never tired of looking. A small smile touched her lips. “I’m glad to see I can distract you from the incomparable Mr. Stryker.”

“The day I choose a book over your tits is the day I decide to get old.” Her eyebrows went up at my words. Usually I said ‘breasts.

“Good to know,” she said, watching my eyes closely. “Have you gotten to where he figures out the Reaper is Janine the lab tech, who has the crush on him?”

At first, her words didn’t make sense; too much didn’t compute. Annie shouldn’t even know who the Reaper was, much less Janine the lab tech. And she was smart enough not to spoil an ending. And… Janine? Just like that, all the hints fell into place. How could it have been anyone else?

And then, anger. The resolution I’d been wanting for three years, spoiled. More like seventeen years, since Stryker had been writing about Kelly and the Reaper for that long. My field of vision narrowed -- all I could see was Annie, her full tits and almost naked body taunting me. Why the fuck would she… Furious, I was about to throw the now-worthless book across the room when I got a better idea.

“Come here,” I said quietly. I didn’t yell. I didn’t growl. But for the first time in just about forever, I wasn’t asking.

Since she hesitated, I leaned forward and yanked her towards me. She fell across my lap the way I’d intended, her head on my left side and her legs spilling over my right side. “What are you--”

“Shut up.” I smacked her ass hard with the book.

“Evan!” she yelped, twisting in my lap.

I slapped her other cheek, making better contact. CRACK! The sound echoed satisfyingly across the room.

“What the fuck do you think you’re--”

“I said ‘shut up,’” I told her quietly. She was trying to get up, but I held her down with my left hand, entwining my fingers in her wet hair. The spoiled book came down again on the pliant flesh of her pert ass. SMACK! Annie’s golden skin was reddening quickly. As angry as I was, my cock was harder than I ever remembered.

Despite her words, Annie was squirming against me, rubbing her satin-covered pussy on my cock. “Evan, I’m warning you. You’d better--”

This time I interrupted her with another crack of the book on her pink ass, even harder than the ones before. She squawked in pain and surprise. “Evan! This isn’t funny!”

“Shut up!” This time I raised my voice.

Annie tilted her head up at me. “Or what? You going to hit me again, big man?” There were spots of color high on her cheeks.

I was fed up, but I had an idea. Her panties had little ties on the side that weren’t just decorative. I undid the bows and tugged until her thong was a ball of fabric in my left hand. I held them to her lips. “Open,” I told her.

She shook her head, pursing her lips.

“Open. Your. Fucking. Mouth.”

It might have been the ‘fucking’ that did it -- I never swore. She opened her mouth and I shoved the wisp of satin in. She made a muffled sound of protest, but she didn’t try to spit it out, or use her hand to pull it out.

I laid the book aside. With her panties gone, I could see that her pussy was parted and wet, with arousal beading on her smooth lips. As I watched, she pressed her hips down onto my erection, rubbing her shaved sex against my pants. Her ass was an angry shade of pink, the edges of color sharply defined by the shape of the book.

I wasn’t too stupid not to know what she was doing. Get naked and piss him off, Leah had advised. She wanted this. But knowing didn’t change that I was royally pissed off, even though it didn’t make sense to be this angry about just the book.

I stood up abruptly, dumping her to the floor. She squawked in muffled surprise but still landed lightly. Before she could recover, I pulled her to her feet, pinching one nipple roughly, prompting another moan.

“Lie facedown on the bed. Then reach back and spread your cheeks.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying, but I was beyond caring.

She shook her head. Her eyes were wide, and there might have been a little fear in them, less at what I was saying than at the fact I was saying it. I added, conversationally, “Or I’ll spank you until my arm is tired, and then I’ll switch arms. I’ll paddle your ass until you literally can’t sit down.”

Slowly, as if in a trance, she did what she was told. As she spread her cheeks for me, exposing her pussy and the tight pucker of her asshole, she turned her head and tried to ask, “What are you going to do?” Only the intonation made her words understandable.

“You have to ask?”

I got a jar of lube from the bedside table and freed my angry cock, purple with need and glistening with pre-cum. She made a small sound deep in her throat but continued to hold herself open for me. Her breathing was shallow and fast; she was rocking her hips rhythmically against the bed.

Somehow, seeing that made me angrier, even though my cock twitched at the sight. I wanted to punish her, not give her what she wanted. I slathered my cock with lube and climbed on top of her, pulling her wrists away from her ass and holding them down, squeezing hard.

With perfect aim and no further preparation, I thrust my cock into her tight ass. She squealed and squirmed against me, as I pushed in all the way in one smooth, hard push. Impossibly tight, her ass gripped me like a vise. She struggled in my grip, resisting the intrusion. I pulled back and thrust in again, biting at her neck.

I felt my orgasm rising, as though I was seventeen, but I didn’t care.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Do. Something. Like. That. Again.” Every word was a thrust, and every thrust elicited a moan or a muffled squeal.

I came. Hard.

My cock spasmed in her tight ass, which flexed around me as if welcoming my orgasm. It was as if my anger had emptied out of me along with my cum. I released Annie’s wrists and rolled off, strangely at peace.

Annie rolled onto her back. With my cum oozing from her asshole, she masturbated furiously; her hand was a blur as she rubbed her clit. Soon, she let out a muffled scream as her body tensed, then shook uncontrollably in a way I’d never seen.

I pulled her panties from her mouth as she kept coming. She came for a full thirty seconds. When she was done she looked more exhausted than after her first marathon.

“Still angry?” she asked, in a small voice.

“I don’t think so. Not sure.”

She nodded. “I’m not made out of porcelain, and I don’t live on a pedestal. You can be angry with me. It would make me feel less guilty, sometimes.”

“Maybe the Dickinson letters was going a little too far,” I agreed.

“And maybe the Stryker book wasn’t enough of an anniversary gift.”

I snorted. “Well, I gave it back to you, in a way.”

“You scared me a little, but it was the best sex we had in, well, forever.”

“Just don’t spoil any more books for me,” I told her as she nuzzled into me.

“I can’t make any promises.”


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