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Position

By: RMHLTFC



As I laid in my bed panting, I thought to myself, "what an amazing dream." It felt so real that it was hard to believe it was just a dream. I rolled around in the bed from side to side trying to shake off the feeling of wanting to get laid. I needed it bad and my body was screaming to be touched. It's been awhile since I have been touched by a man and my toys just aren't cutting it anymore. I needed something to take care of my sexual needs and I need it now. 

"I really need to cum very badly," I said to myself as I placed two fingers inside of my hungry, wet pussy. 

I jumped out of bed and hurriedly took off all of my clothes and lay back down in bed. I reached for one of the sex toys that I always kept in bed with me. I never knew when the urge to cum would come over me, so I always have my toys close by just in case. I reached for my two headed bullet and I insert it inside my sweaty hot pussy. I feel the moisture begin to build between my legs as I feverishly pinched and rubbed my nipples. I love to rub my nipples as I play with my breast.

It doesn't take that much to make me cum nowadays. A touch of a feather, the warm breath of a man on my neck, or a porno movie will all set me off. My ass is going to feel so good I thought as I placed the condom on the end of one of the bullets. Inserting a vibrator up my pussy always makes me think of the love of my life, Keanu D. Carrington. Just thinking of him makes my pussy get wet. His dick is the best I have ever had in my life. He can turn me on by just saying a few words and no man that I ever been with could make me get wet in less than sixty seconds. 

After preparing the bullet, I grabbed the Astroglide and rubbed it around my asshole. I wanted to make sure the bullet goes into my ass with ease. The anticipation is almost too great. I wanted to make this the best cum ever or at least the best cum that I had by myself. I gently pushed the bullet inside my ass with one hand, while still pinching and rubbing my nipples with the other. The cum was building inside of me and the juices were nearing the surface, so I have to slow down my pace as I insert the Jack Rabbit thrusting dildo inside of my pulsating walls. I stopped rubbing my nipples as I switched the bullet on. I eagerly turn on the thrusting motion on the Jack Rabbit dildo and allow it to pound against the walls of my inner being. 

I stopped momentarily to insert my right breast into my mouth and gently lick around the nipple. My large breasts allow me the added ability to pleasure myself with my mouth. I grabbed the other bullet and begin to up rub it across both of my nipples. I was in my self-created heaven. I could feel the vibration of the bullet in my ass and the thrusting motion of the dildo start to send me over the edge. As the tension began to build, I rubbed the bullet franticly over my nipples as I feel my release nearing. I inserted the bullet that I was using on my breasts into my mouth and began to pinch and rub my nipples again at a feverish pace. I could feel my pussy walls gripping the dildo as my orgasm begins to take control of my body. 

I cried out Keanu's name as I my orgasm flowed throughout my entire body twisting and thrusting my body in unimaginable positions. The pleasure that came over my body leaves me in a state of delirium for several minutes as I tried to catch my breath. I do not want this feeling to end, but I can feel my orgasm waning and I instantly become sad. It was over and I am still horny as hell. My toys are not working for me anymore, I need a man and I am determined to get the one I want. I want to feel a real dick deep inside of my neglected body. 

As I removed the dildo and bullet from my body, I contemplated calling Keanu and inviting him over. It's been a while since we fucked and I really missed him. I know he must be feeling it too since we use to fuck at least three times a day. Just the thought of fucking Keanu again, made me instantly wet with anticipation. I refused to spend another day in agony. I grab my cellphone and punch in his number. As I waited for him to answer, my heart began to pound loudly in my ears and stomach started to feel like it was being tied into knots. Feeling of defeated started to wash over me as the phone continued to ring and he wasn't answering my phone call. Just as I was about to hang up the phone, I heard is voice at the other end of the receiver. 

"Cairo, what do you want?" He said angrily. "I don't have time for you bullshit."

By the tone of his voice I could tell that he was still very upset with me. My brain went into overdrive trying to think of the right words to say to him to get him to come over.

"Key, I'm sorry. I need to see you. I miss you so much," I said pitifully.

I didn't want to sound like I was begging, but I would have walked to the moon and back if it would have gotten him to come fuck the shit out of me. The phone was silent for a few seconds as if he was mulling over what I had just said to him. Keanu and I fall out all the time, but I'm the person who usually smooth things over between us when we have a disagreement. At times, I get tired of waiting on him to make things right between us, so I end up taking the lead. I know it looks bad when a woman goes after a man, but I have to have him. Keanu is the only man that makes me weak and could get me to do anything for him and to him. I trust him completely. At this moment, he has the hammer and I need to be nailed.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said after a long pause.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because we are just not right for each other and you need to let me go," he said. 

"I think we are right for each other and I'm never going to let you go. I think you are afraid to admit just how great we are together especially when we are fucking each other's brains out. Tell me you don't miss my pussy?" I asked with conviction. 

The phone was silent on the other end and I waited patiently for him to answer me.

"Where are you?" he asked.

"I'm at home," I answered sheepishly knowing that he wants me too. 

"I'm on my way," he said as he hung the phone not giving me an opportunity to answer him. 

No other words are needed at this point, his words sent shivers down my spine. I knew he wanted me just as much as I wanted him. We never could resist each other and this was our downfall. We tried to date other people in the past, but we always seemed to find our way back into each other's arms. I must admit that I am addict to Keanu. I could never get enough of him and his dick and no matter how hard I tried to let him go. Although we knew we were bad for each other, but on the other hand, we were just too good together to ever stop seeing or sleeping with each other. 

I couldn't believe that he is on the way to my house. I jumped out of my bed and headed straight to the bathroom to take a quick shower. I finished my shower in record time. As I dried off, I thought of what I could do to get Keanu to never stop talking to me again. A slow smile crept across my face as I came up with the perfect plan. I ran to my closet and pulled out my bag of BDSM toys. I grabbed a blindfold, a riding crop, a pair of handcuffs and a dildo from the bag and placed the items next to the chair in the living room. Keanu loves to fuck me in that chair and I plan on using his weakness for sex to my advantage. Truth be told, Keanu loves the BDSM lifestyle and since he introduced me to this is new form of pleasure, I could never go back to having regular vanilla sex. In my opinion, everyone should try to add kink into their sex lives or at least try it once. They would never regret the experience if they did because I sure haven't.

I checked the time and rush back into my room to get dressed. I rummaged through my drawers and found a black lace bra and thong set. I held it up for me to inspect, but decide against it. I wanted to be naked when he came in. The fewer clothes the better as I began to prepare myself for his arrival. 

I flat ironed my hair quickly and sprayed on my favorite fragrance and inspected myself in the mirror. As I put the final touches on my makeup, I realized that I wanted this to be a memorable moment for him, so I decide that I would get into position for him and be ready to offer my body to him when he came through the door. I walked to the found of my apartment and laid out all of toys that I wanted him to use on me. I wanted everything to be perfect. I could feel my pussy getting wet ass as excited started to build inside me. I cannot wait to taste him again as my mouth begins to water in anticipation of me sucking his dick until he explodes in my mouth.

I heard the door locks begin to rattle and I quickly tied the blindfold around my head and drop down into position one at the front door. I placed my hands behind my back, lean my head back and open my mouth in eagerness of Keanu seeing me like this. I heard the door open and I could hear Keanu breathing. I heard the door close and I hear him take a few steps toward me. I could hear him walking around me and I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. He grabbed my hair and pulled it with back with force as I began to feel his hands moving between my legs. I was so turned on and I could feel my pussy juices start to run down my leg.

"My pet you have been waiting for me I see," he said with enthusiasm. 

"Yes master I want to please you," I said quietly.

"I see you are not in perfect position, but I will let it go this time," he said.

"Master believe me I only want to please you," I said as I smiled secretly to myself.
I heard Keanu's zipper being lowered and heard him taking off his pants. As I awaited his instructions on what to do next, I thought this was the most memorable romantic interlude that I have had with anyone. If Keanu and I don't get back together after this, I will always have this moment to keep me warm at night.

I could feel Keanu standing in front of me now and I could feel him start to rub is dick across my cheek. I flick my tongue out to let him know that I was ready to taste him, but he pulls his dick away from my face.

"You can't suck my dick until I'm ready," he groaned.

"Master I really want you to fuck my mouth," I said in a low tone. 

"Suck my dick. Don't play with it. I want you take it to the back of your throat," he commands as I reach out to take his dick into my mouth.

My pussy clinches at his request. I took his dick inside my mouth and begin to suck on the head of his shaft taking it into my mouth an inch at a time. I loved the way he tastes and I can taste his pre cum on my tongue as it makes me wetter than I have ever been before. I grabbed his ass to bring him more into my mouth and I tried my best not to gag as I take in more of him. I ran my tongue on the underside of his dick paying close attention to the area between the head and the foreskin. I heard Keanu began to moan as I began to suck the head of his dick again and again. With my other hand, I grabbed his shaft and brought all of him into my mouth. I rubbed and squeezed his balls as I moved his dick in and out of my mouth. I could feel that he is nearing his release and I was about to cum myself. I wasn't ready to cum yet, but sucking his dick like this felt so good. Just as I was about to cum, Keanu pulled his dick away from mouth.

"I don't want to cum this way, I want to cum with your ass wrapped around my dick," he said.

I almost came with just those words alone.

Keanu picked me from the floor and placed me at the back of the chair. I could feel Keanu bending my body over and with my ass in the air. The thrill of this moment washed over me. I heard him pick up the handcuffs and move around to the front of the chair. I could feel the cold metal lock around my wrist and at this point, I'm so ready for Keanu to fuck me I can hardly fight the anticipation. I heard him walk to the back of the chair and pick up the riding crop. I hear him hit himself in the hand a few times to test out the sturdiness of crop. After making sure the crop was to his liking, I felt his hands as he palmed my ass and spreads my cheeks wide open. I moaned loudly and rotate my hips as his hands roamed around the puckered hole of my ass and pussy. 

His hand stills for a moment and I could hear him licking his fingers. I knew that he enjoyed tasting my juices. As he continued to lick his fingers, I could feel him grabs my waist with his other hand. I felt him insert two fingers into my ass, all in one motion. As his fingers move in and out of my ass, I tried to concentrate on breathing. The motion of his fingers were just mere seconds away from making me cum all over him. Just when I think I cannot take anymore, he inserted two fingers into my pussy and establishes a rhythm that is pushing me towards the edge of no return. As he kept up a steady pace moving his fingers inside my ass and my pussy at the same time, I tried my best to hold on to what little resolve I had left. This is pure torture I thought as I was neared the point of no return when I felt Keanu remove his fingers from my ass and pussy. How could one man make me feel this way I thought as I begin to miss the feel of his fingers inside of me. 

"I'm going to ride you my pet and I'm going to ride you hard while I spank your ass," he said.

"As you wish Master," I replied submissively.

My body began to shake in anticipation as I prepared myself for the pleasure that he was getting ready to lavish upon my body. 

Keanu spreads my ass cheeks once more and runs his tongue around the rim of my asshole. In the next moment, I could feel his dick pushing against my puckered ass hole seeking entrance. Keanu tried his best be to gentle with me as he tried to slide inside of me, but for some reason my ass wouldn't open for him. I could hear him curse under breath as he tried harder to gain entry. 

"Cai, you are going to have to relax or this is not going to work," he said. "Or maybe I can help you out."

I felt a stinging hit from the riding crop against my ass. I cried out in pain. I willed my body to relax so that he can gain full entrance to my ass. The hits from the riding crop were coming in full force now. With every hit, I can feel his dick stretching me wider. After a series of hits to my ass, I could feel his dick fill me completely. I felt his body go still as my ass adjusts to his dick being inside of me.

"My pet, please remember the safe word if this begins to be too much for you. I'm going to ride you hard and I won't stop unless you say the safe word," he said.

Knowing full well that he does not want me to stop him, so I decided at that moment that I will endure whatever pain is necessary for him to reach his full release. I wanted to please him in any way that I can.

"Master, you can do anything you want to my body. I will never stop you," I said.

With those last words being said, Keanu begins to stroke me slowly allowing me to further adjust to his dick. The slow pace at which he is fucking my ass was driving me insane. 

"Master, fuck me now!" I exclaimed.

He began to move faster inside of my ass taking care not to come fully out. He held on to my waist as he rode me hard. I can feel his shaft slamming into my tight ass hard over and over. 

I am not sure I will survive this moment, but if I had to die this would be a great way to go. 

I can feel my ass contracting around his dick and I know I am on the verge of coming. I feel his hips pressing against my backside as he plunged deeper inside of me.

"Master, may I cum please," I said I as I tried my best to control my emotions.

"Then cum for me my pet," he commanded.

The only sound I hear was me moaning and grasping for air. I honestly couldn't breathe at this point. I began to feel my body shudder as my orgasm seized my body. Never have I felt anything as magnificent as Keanu hammering into me with rapid speed. I can tell by Keanu's breathing that his he was coming close to releasing. I could feel his hands grip my waist tighter as he slammed into me for the very last time. 

"Oh fuck," he said as he came hard, shooting his hot juices inside of my ass filling me to hilt. 

He collapsed onto my back and wraps his arms around me as he tried to get his breathing under control. I can feel his hot semen running out of my ass down my leg.

"Cairo, baby, I'm sorry. What happened between us will never happen again. I promise you." he said apologetically. 

"I know it won't happen again," I said as I continued to smile to myself. 

Honestly, I am looking forward to the next fight between us because I can't get enough of having Keanu between my legs.

The End

Position Filled



You get home at around seven in the evening after another hard day at work. Your wife Emma has prepared your diner but is sat on an armchair sobbing; she has her face in her hands, unaware you have arrived home. You quietly walk over to her and with a hand on her shoulder you ask her why she's crying. She tries to speak but she makes no real sense. 

You try and lift her head as you ask, "Emma, what's wrong, what's up, why the tears?"

She lifts her head and the tears streak down her rosy pink cheeks from her blue eyes. Her blond curly hair in a mess; she tries to talk but again makes no coherent sense. You sit beside her and place an arm around her to comfort her. You allow her to come round and tell you in her own time.

You have been married for just over a year; it was a wedding not attended by her parents, because they could not afford the flights from Jamaica. Emma's parents were not very happy saying you were both too young.

Although you were twenty five and she was twenty two when you got married, you both felt it was the right future for you both. But it has not been easy financially to break away and set up home on your own. You both liked the street you lived in and as a mixed race couple you were both accepted happily into the neighbourhood. 

You stand up and fetch some tissues for Emma's watery eyes. You kiss her forehead with a couple of tender kisses. She looks straight into your eyes and says, "The place burnt down and I've lost my job." 

Emma worked in a small family run business, where she helped out with the orders. She is a friend of the owner. But because of the disaster, the owners cannot afford to rebuild and restart the business; more so that the elderly owner was thinking of retiring soon anyway. He told Emma that the insurance money he would get will be his retirement fund, and unfortunately not for a rebuild. 

You are not that well off and you both need each other to be bringing in money. You already work long hard hours as a labourer at a building site, a new job for you there. The next couple of months are very difficult to get through, only having money to pay for essentials, no luxuries, not that you and Emma indulged in anything extravagant. 

At work you hear a position for a secretary has become available. But you think it's already been allocated to a friend of the boss. This was a new boss there too, he only started last week. But you wonder if you could put Emma's name forward, not that you were on any special relations with the boss. But you want to help Emma as she feels so low.

You go into work as usual and as you pass the site office your boss is pulling up in his car. You put up your hand and say, "Morning."

But he just looks at you and grunts while he gets out of the car and walks to his Porto cabin office. You walk on and wonder if it's a good idea to bother him with your problem. The morning goes by and every time you pass the office, all you hear from within is him shouting at someone; either someone in the office with him, or on the phone. You can make this out through the dirty office window. 

Lunch time and he has come out of the office and is stood in the open doorway. As you are passing he shouts out, "Hey you come here." 

You walk up to him and say, "Yes sir can I help you?"

He gives you some money and says, "Here get me a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee. Be quick I haven't much time."

You take the money and go to fetch him what he requested. On your return, you knock on the door with your hands laden with his items. He shouts out, "Come in."

You open the door and walk in; he looks up with a very stern look on his face and says, "Put it on the table over there."

Your boss is white, he is older than you at forty one; he's not slim but not that fat, well-built fairy tall and always with a very serious look. His face looks weathered, his eyes very steely, his tone very strict, and his attitude was always harsh. 

You place his lunch on the table and take a deep breath, you swallow. He has his head down and going through some papers. You just stand there and he looks up and says, "That's it you can go."

You still stand there not knowing what to say, how to ask. He looks up again and with a sterner tone says, "Well what is it, I said you can go."

You want to ask about the position for Emma, but you choke and hold out your hand and say, "Your change sir."

He grunts and says, "Just leave it there as well, on the table."

You turn sideways and put the money on the table and slowly turn again to face him. You take a step closer to his desk. Your heart races, you feel hot, your palms perspire. He looks up and almost shouts at you, "What is it now."

You know in your mind you need Emma to have a job, some money coming in, just to pay the monthly bills so that you both can survive. You again swallow and say, "Sir...I was wondering..."

You cannot finish the sentence; he stands up and again very loudly says, "What the hell's the matter with you, can't you speak."

You think to yourself, 'If I don't ask now I'll never have the opportunity, come on, come on, ask.'

You make eye contact and he scares you to the bone, but you manage to utter out in almost a whisper, "Sir the position for secretary, my wife would be interested."

He stares at you, you feel utterly weak. He thinks and then says, "It's filled."

You know in your mind that it's not; he's got this other person already lined up. You know you are desperate. You almost plead with him, "Please sir, please give her a chance."

He still stares with a stern expression and says, "I said it's filled."

You almost have tears in your eyes but know that would be a very weak signal to him, your mouth is dry, but you swallow. You know that Emma's not happy being at home, not working, and you both need the money. She has had several interviews and not got anywhere. And lately even the interviews have not come along.

Again you say, "Please sir just a short interview, you don't have to spend too much of your time." 

Your boss looks down to his desk and you say, "Please see her, you'll be happy with her, she works really hard."

He looks up very slowly, he sees you with your hands clasped in front of you, not crying but do look very sorry for yourself. He says, "Look here... okay, I'll see her for a chat... tomorrow lunchtime ask her to come in, ten minutes, that's all."

Your face lights up and with a broad smile you cannot thank him enough, "Oh thank you sir thank you. She'll be so happy; you'll see she's just right for the job... thank you."

He says, "It's just a chat, no guarantees you understand."

You take small steps backwards as you almost bow out and say, "Thank you, thank you."

You go back to your work and have the biggest smile for the longest period. You can't wait to get home and tell Emma. 

You rush home and Emma is in the kitchen preparing your meal. You rush up to her and give her a big hug and say with joy, "He'll see you tomorrow, for that job I told you about."

Emma smiles, in her heart she knows she won't get it because you already told her about the other person for that job, but nonetheless she smiles with you for your joy and says, "That's nice of him."

You say, "Tomorrow lunchtime, his office."

The next day as you leave early you say to her, "Don't forget, lunchtime."

She laughs and says, "Yes, yes, as if I'd forget."

When you get to work, there is a very large lorry on site. It has the new equipment on it, the pile-driver for the deep footings needed for the pillars of the building. It gets put up and starts its job late in the morning, it's very noisy.

You go about your work and have to wear ear defenders. You keep looking at your watch, it's close to lunchtime. Your mind is on when she's coming, you keep looking at the main gate where she will come through. 

It's nearly time; you look towards the office, you see your boss waving his arm at you, wanting you to come to him. You run across the muddy yard to him and he steps back into the office, you follow him in and take off your ear defenders. The noise is still very loud even with the door closed. But you know what he wants, as he holds out some money and says, "Get me a bacon sandwich and a coffee."

You hardly hear him, but you know what he wants; you take the money and say to him, "Emma, should be here soon."

You wonder if he heard you, you shout out again, "Emma, she should be here soon."

He waves his hand for you to go. You run out and go to fetch his lunch. You've been gone for fifteen minutes and on your return, you knock on the door and go in. You see Emma sat on a chair; you look at each other and smile. You look at your boss and he says nothing, he points to the table for you to leave his lunch. 

The noise from the yard is still loud, but now there are small breaks where you can just hear each other talk for short periods. You see your boss has a smile on his face and he says, "I didn't realise your wife was..."

But he stops in mid-sentence; you finish the sentence off in your head, 'White.'

He looks across to her and says, "Very pretty."

You are black and he expected your wife to be black also. The noise outside starts again; he waves at you and says, "Okay, you can go about your work now."

You look at Emma and give her a comforting smile as you leave.

As you work outside you keep looking at the office to see when Emma comes out. Then one of the supervisors asks you to do something over the other side of the site. It'll take you some time to get it done and you can't see the office from over there.

You work as quickly as possible so you can get back as quick as possible to see when she leaves. You know that you will probably have missed her, as your boss said he will only spend ten minutes with her.

When you finish over the other side fifteen minutes later, you rush back and notice your boss's car is not there. You run up to the window and wipe away the dusty layer on it and look in, no one in there. You go to try the door but it's locked.

You say to yourself, they must have finished and she's gone home and your boss must have gone off somewhere. You drop back and notice it's still a little while for you to finish work.

Time moves slowly as you keep checking you watch, over and over again. Then its time, you clock out and rush home. You can't wait to ask Emma how she got on! Did she get the job?

Your head tells you the other person had already got the job even before your boss saw Emma today. But your heart wants to believe Emma got it. Your heart is singing all the way home as you hope she has got it and would be so happy. Your face shines for her happiness, you walk quickly with a skip in your step.

But then the smile you had on your face all afternoon disappears, giving way to a quirked look. You see a car very similar to your boss's parked outside your place. You think it's not his, it can't be his, he doesn't know where I live.

As you get closer, your walk has already slowed to almost half walking pace. You look at the number plate and it's his, the muddy covered paintwork from the muddy yard, it was his car.

You turn and look at your house from top to bottom, you wonder what's going on, and why is he here? Did your boss give Emma a lift home? You go into your home expecting to see them there in the front lounge. But there is no one there, you briskly walk to the kitchen, there is no one there.

You still look around frantically and then make your way upstairs. You hear some noises but they are muffled, you can't make them out. The door to your bedroom is wide open. You can make out that the noises are coming from in there. You gingerly step closer and you peer through, wide eyed, not blinking.

The site that beholds you is one you will never forget, ever! 

Your wife Emma, there on the bed, spread-eagled naked, her hands and feet tied to each corner of the bed, she has a gag in her mouth, your boss's neck tie. Your boss is too without a stich on, laid outstretched on his front between her open legs. His hands under her arse, his face buried in her pussy. He sucks licks and eats your wife. 

Emma is going through an orgasm; her eyes are closed, shut tight. Her head is thrashing from side to side, her hips are bouncing up and down, and her tits sway left and right. Her voice is muffled as she moans out.

Then your boss is the first one to see you, he turns his face just slightly and says, "It was too noisy at the office, so I brought her here for the interview."

Emma has now opened her eyes, she stares at you, again she's trying to say something but her muffled voice makes no sense.

Your boss has gone back down and has stuck in a couple of fingers as he licks her bulbous clit. You do remember what her clit and pussy look like? Let me remind you. She is clean shaven; she has long pink pussy lips. But the best feature is her big clit; it's very big, almost like the end of a little finger.

You stand there, motionless as you watch your boss lick and suck on her big clit. You look back at your wife's face, her eyes are closed again. You look closer, you notice her face is wet, not just wet with perspiration but you make out that it's cum over her face. Your boss has already blown a load off onto her face and probably down her throat too before gaging her. 

You can't see your boss's cock as he is laid on his front. What you can see is his hairy back and legs, he is balding, but his body hair is quite thick. He moves his knees up and you catch a glimpse of his cock. It dangles down, semi hard. 

Your wife has started to thrash about again; her muffled cries are like you have never heard her before. Your boss has his fingers knuckle deep and is wriggling them inside her pussy, on her g-spot. With a finger and thumb of his other hand he has pushed back the hood, and is sucking on her protruding clit.

Your wife's hips push up into your boss's face three four five six times and then her cries die away as her arse falls gently back onto the bed. Your boss lifts his head up and looks at you and says, "I'm sure you know, but, she really does taste exquisite."

He lets go of her and falls back onto his knees. You see his cock, and you stare at it. It's fully erect now and it stands almost twice your size. Yours is five inches and his seems to be a nine. And as you stare, you also notice his thickness, and gauge it's probably as thick as your wrist. He's is cut, his purple bulbous head like a plum on the end of a thick rod.

He catches you staring and says, "Never seen a cock before son?"

You look away and towards your wife, her eyes are open and she stares back at you. Your boss leans forwards and slips across your wife's body, he reaches out and pulls on the knot on the cum covered neck tie. He throws it to one side and kisses your wife. 

From the way she kisses him back you can tell she is not being taken by force, she is not the innocent party. Your boss's cock lies on her belly, pressed hard between their two bodies. He swivels his hips around while they kiss, her body replies to his. They both massage the cock between them.

He lifts his head up just slightly and pokes out his long tongue, your wife looks at you while she sucks on it. He spreads his arms and legs out on top of hers, he clasps her fingers in-between his. 

You feel nothing, just numb all-over, your dick does not even get excited, it lays in your pants as limp as a wet biscuit. Your eyes roll over their bodies from their feet to their entwined hands. They both look at you; you take a long gulp and continue to look at their outstretched naked bodies. 

You see your boss raise his arse up and lower his cock to seek your wife's entrance. You take a couple of steps to the side and you see his plum head stab at your wife's flower petals. Your wife moves her hips from side to side allowing him to get into her. You see her pussy being opened wide as his plum stretches her out. He thrusts in very slowly, about three to four inches and pulls out with her juices now on his cock. He again pushes in, and this time he goes all in right up to the hilt, right up to his balls. 

Your wife moans out, a low grunt as she accommodates your boss's big thick cock. They both lay still for a few moments, then he pulls out. You see your wife's inner pussy being pulled out as it hugs tight to his oversized shaft. 

He pulls out to the head, and then back in. Not rushed, all done very sensually. He seems to be in control, long deep thrusts take his cock from being seen to being hidden into your wife's willing pussy.

They continue this for a few minutes while they kiss and look at you, looking at them. As you are watching the intimate connection, you hear your boss say, "Like the view do you son."

You don't say anything, your dick still limp, and your eyes wide. You hardly blink, not wanting to miss a second of the proceedings before you. 

Your wife moans out continually and on each occasion his cock hits home, your wife softly says, "Oh god."

You had never got her to say that with all the fucks you had with her. Your boss turns his head back to you and says, "I love her pussy, it's real nice and tight."

Your wife looks at you and she says, "Show him your dick."

You hesitate, you feel embarrassed because you know you don't measure up to anywhere near his cock. Even if you got it hard, you would need two of yours for one of his. Your wife again says, "Come on get it out and show him. Show him why my pussy is still so tight."

You step back and undo your zipper; you reach in and pull out your dick. It's limp, it droops and only barley hangs out of your pants. Your boss looks at it and says, "Well it's a good thing I'm here to help out from now on." 

Your boss turns back to face your wife and she says, "Contrary to popular belief, not all black men are supplied with god's gift for a woman."

She turns her face to you and says, "Okay, put that pathetic thing away."

You fold it away and redo the zipper. You take a couple of steps back to your favourite view. They have started to pick up the pace; your boss's cock goes in and out of your wife much quicker. The moans and groans from your wife are more audible and more frequent.

The words and tone of her language are again something you have never heard her say when you fucked her. Phrases like, "Jesus fuck," "Harder, harder," and, "This cunt loves that fuckin' cock." 

You can see her juices leak out the sides as his shaft pistons in her pussy; your wife says to your boss, "Hold on a minute, take it out."

Your boss does not want to, he carries on fucking your wife with even more vigour, and she says again, "Take it out just for a second."

With great reluctance your boss slows and comes to a stop deep in her. He then slowly slips it out; it sparkles and only strands of your wife's womanly offerings link his cock to her pussy. She looks at you and says, "Have a feel of that cock, see how hard it is, see what's making me scream out with pure delight."

You reach down and grab his cock; the width of your whole fist fits easily onto his shaft. You notice your fingers as they barely meet. You can feel it throb, it's intense heat, but what makes you say 'Fuck' in your head is the strength of the thing, it feels alive, it feels strong and is as hard as a tree trunk - as hard as the wooden floor you are stood on.

Your wife says, "Nice isn't it, hard, fucking hard. What I need, what I've always wanted and what I'm going to be getting from now on." 

Your boss without turning says, "Let go, go on fuck off." 

You let it go, and your boss promptly shoves it back into your wife. Your wife's cries start straight away, your boss's cock now moves even faster. Two or three minutes and your wife goes through another very visible orgasm. He still fucks your wife like you could never; he fucks your wife like she is demanding from him. She has never demanded anything like that from you. 




Position Filled



He kisses and sucks your wife's tits and hard nipples; he gropes her tits and slaps them hard with his rough builder's hands. He fucks your wife with his very hard builder's cock. His big builder's hairy arse is going like the clappers up and down, driving that builder's cock deep and hard into your wife's cunt.

It sends a fierce body ripping orgasm through your wife. Her body violently shakes, her legs, her thighs, her arms all tremble. Rope burns noticeable around her ankles and wrists. 

She looks towards you and in frenzy shouts out, "Free my hands, now free my hands."

You go round and undo the knots and her arms are free. She instantly grabs your boss in a bear hug. Her finger nails dig into his hairy back. Your boss is now taking long slow deep thrusts into your wife. You quickly return to your much-loved vantage point. And you can see your boss's cum run out of your wife's pussy. It trickles down her arse and soaks into the bed sheets. His thick hefty cock is covered in cum as he withdraws and plunges back into your wife, to discharge load after load of the man juice. You could never even envisage on supplying anywhere near that sort of load.

They both lay panting; your wife still hugs your boss, his cock still deep in her, cum still trickles out of your wife's pussy. Your boss squeezes his arse and pushes out the last few drops of cum, then rolls off her. His hairy chest moves up and down, both their eyes closed.

You undo your wife's ankle bindings, as she looks at you and smiles. Your boss gets up and starts to put his clothes on. Your wife pats the bed indicating for you to sit there. You do, and watch your boss finish dressing. He picks up his cum covered neck tie and throws it to you and says, "Souvenir for you. But bring the ropes back tomorrow."

As he walks to the door you ask, "So can she start soon?"

He chuckles and walks out while he says, "I told you... the position's filled."

You turn your head and look at your wife sadly, she has a beaming smile on her face as she shrugs her shoulders and says, "O well, at least we tried... but I'm not giving up. I'll keep trying harder and harder. I'm sure he won't mind!"



Position Interview



I tugged on the lapel of the suit and looked around the deserted reception room, admittedly a bit nervously. I felt quite alone here. The receptionist had checked me in, made a call, told me to take a seat, picked up her purse, and was gone. An end-of the day job interview appointment. I adjusted the knot on my tie and smoothed down my hair. I moved the heel of my right shoe back, feeling it encounter the end of the small duffle bag I'd placed under the chair. Didn't want to lose that.

It was all nerves. I knew I looked good. Eddie told me he liked sending me out on temp assignments like this because I looked so good in either a suit or a tux. Of course Eddie would probably tell me anything he had to to get me to do this.

Eddie had said, "Your name is Jeffery Walker. Remember that. And give him this résumé as soon as you enter."

"Résumé?" I'd asked. I scanned it. "This isn't anything I'd know about doing. I can't even pronounce half of these words."

"Don't worry, he won't look at it. Just make sure you establish that Eddie Jones sent you. He won't be concerned about anything else."

"Eddie Jones?" I'd asked, giving Eddie MacMillan a confused look.

He returned a pointed "don't ask, stupid," glare at me. He was right to. I'd done this before. It's just that Eddie had sprung this on me on short notice.

"We've got you backstopped," Eddie had said. "That's all that matters."

The room was starting to go to shadows. The receptionist had been gone for a good fifteen minutes now. It was well beyond the appointed time. I took several breaths. I didn't want to start sweating. Not in this special suit Eddie had given me to wear.

"Mr. Walker?"

I hesitated and then looked up at the door that had opened to an inner office. The voice was assertive and had cut through the silence like a knife. There was an accent in it. Spanish?

"Yes, sir, that's me."

"Step in here, please."

He was maybe in his forties. Good looking and built like a tank. Looked really good in his suit. Graying at the temples, but on him it looked good. Dark and sultry. Steel gray eyes. The Spanish accent. Yeah, maybe Spanish. He looked Mediterranean. He looked luscious. I was surprised. I had expected another sort of interviewer.

He stepped aside and grasped my hand as I entered the room. A warm smile and a strong grip in the handshake. "I'm Carlos Vendoza," he said. "Take a seat over there." He pointed to a chair on the other side of a big, wide, but not deep mahogany desk, swept clean. I sat, as I heard the door to the reception area close—and a lock clicked—behind me.

Vendoza came around and sat in the executive chair on the other side of the desk, facing me. We were really sitting pretty close together across the narrow desk. And when he leaned forward on his elbows, it almost was like he was invading my space—not that anything in this room was my space. It was all his, and he gave off the vibes of everything in the room being his too.

"You were sent by . . .?"

"Eddie Walker," I said as I laid the résumé Eddie had given me that had too many unfamiliar technical words in it for me to have had any hope of memorizing it, in front of him on the desk, the print turned toward him. It would be more accurate to say that I placed it under his nose and between his elbows. He fingered the edges of the document with strong-looking hands—long, sensuous fingers—but he didn't look at it. His eyes were boring into me, testing me without even starting into the questions.

"You understand what this position is, Mr. Walker? That it would be under me?"

"Yes, sir. I understand that. Mr. . . . Jones . . . hadn't specified what the business was, though." Eddie had told me to talk like this really was a job interview, to ask questions about the job.

"You could say that we work with imports and also . . . deposits, you might say. The company is based in Bogotá, Colombia. I'm the Miami connection, umm manager. I guess you could say I'm the inside man in Miami. Does that bother you, Mr. Walker? Me being an inside man?"

"No, sir. That suits me fine." Ah, that explains the Spanish accent then.

I had been looking above the man's head. I lowered my gaze and noticed that he had taken off his suit coat and tossed it aside on a side chair. His blue dress shirt looked expensive. Probably silk. And it was tailored close to his body, tapering down from bulging pecs to a smaller, but still solid waistline. The material was thin. I could see the shadow of the dark, curly chest hair swirling around on his pecs and descending in a trail toward his waist. And the material puckered at his nipples.

Although all of that was included in what I observed, that wasn't what caught my attention and made me take my breath in in a gulp. He was wearing a gun holster in his left arm pit with a godawful big and long handgun sheathed in it.

And then there was his foot. As I'd already observed, the desk wasn't too deep and the knee hole was open on both sides. His socked foot was resting on its heel on the edge of my seat between my thighs. Mostly on reflex, I widened my stance, and he pushed the foot farther into the chair, pressed his toes to my crotch, and began to rub. Any illusions that someone in my position could have had about this interview to this point—although most anyone would have caught on with the empty reception room and the click of the lock of the door—what he was doing with his foot would dispel that. My reaction was to go hard. There was no doubt that he could feel that with his toes.

"You haven't asked what it is that we import, Mr. Walker."

"I was interested in that, but would it really matter?" I asked, as I watched him unbutton the top buttons of his shirt.

"No, not in serving under me—me being an inside man—no, that shouldn't matter to you. But I'll tell you that we work with pharmaceuticals and in moving money."

"Ah. Good to know." No saying later that I didn't know, that was for sure.

"You are interested in the gun, I see, Mr. Walker."

Well, I was initially, but now I was more interested in watching him unbutton his shirt and pull it off his back. The hint of a magnificent, hirsute chest and taut nipples that had been given through the filmy blue material was borne out. The man was a bodybuilder and was doing all the right things in sculpting his body.

"It's big and long, isn't it?" he said. "The gun. That's me. A big and long gun. I'm also what you could call an enforcer. You wouldn't be expected to do that as well—working under me—I would cover you as needed. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said in a voice that was somewhat weaker than I intended.

He had his tie off and was winding each end through his fists. He moved much quicker than I was prepared for. He was behind me, looping the tie over my head and around my neck before I had time to react. He pulled me up from my chair and kicked it aside. I was gagging as he pulled my head back into the hollow of his neck while bending me over the desk, my chest landing on top of the résumé he hadn't bothered to read.

He fucked me from behind, bent over the desk, with that big, long gun of his. He took his time, both in the fuck and in the preparation. He'd choked me with the tie enough to have me gasping for every breath of air I could get and not worrying about anything else he wanted to do to me. When he released me, I just lay on top of the desk, looking at the floor on the other side of the desk and moaning and gulping in air, as he ripped my shirt off my back, leaving the tie in place.

I felt the bulk of him come off my back and his hands go to my butt cheeks as he knelt behind me. I heard and felt the rip at the seam of my breakaway suit trousers and then my briefs as he opened up access to my now-bare ass. And I felt the colder air on the cheeks and then his warm hands, spreading them. And his hot breath on my asshole.

"Don't even think of moving," he growled. And with a thought to that gun in his holster and to his size compared with mine, I didn't. I lay there, chest on desk top and fists grasping the far rim of the desk, groaning and grunting, as he pulled my cock and balls through my spread thighs and worked them over with his hands and his mouth.

By the time his mouth had moved back to my asshole, with his hands spreading my butt cheeks apart, I was his for anything that he wanted to do.

And what he wanted to do was rise up behind me, grab and reverse my tie to my back, and arch my torso back toward him with brutal tugs on the tie that left me gasping for air again. Stuffing himself inside me, me grateful that he had opened me up well with his mouth and tongue, he took me in long, deep, ever-quicker strokes that had me forgetting the choking of the tie around my neck. I gave him an A in stamina and vigor. Just in case I thought of objecting to any of this, I could feel the leather of his holstered handgun banging against my shoulder blades each time he jerked my torso up to his chest with a tug on my tie. He rode my ass hard, without letup, for twenty minutes to, first, my ejaculation on my nice new, polished shoes, and then his. He'd worn a condom, although I had no idea when he'd sheathed himself.

He exhausted me with the first fuck, but if I thought he was finished, I was very much mistaken. After he'd ejaculated, he stayed inside me, embracing me from above while he let his hands roam and told me I was "a good one."

He was really good at fucking himself—and I told him so.

After he'd calmed down, he began heating himself up again, ultimately with me on my back on the desk top and him crouched over my face and feeding his cock into my mouth for me to get hard again.

He climbed down off the desk, pulled my pants and briefs—what was left of them—off my legs, and made love with his hands and mouth up and down the black silk calf-high socks with suspenders that Eddie had insisted that I wear. He enjoyed doing that enough—and it looked from where I was laying that it made him even harder—that I had to wonder if Eddie knew something about the demand I wear those socks that I didn't.

After I watched him roll another condom on and spritz his cock and my hole with lube, he grabbed my legs at the ankles, spread them wide, giving me a wide stance that I appreciated immediately after, and thrust back inside me. I think he fucked me even longer this time than the first. And he was just as vigorous as before. I had reason again to think that he had to be spending a lot of time in the gym.

I would have let a guy this good looking and built and endowed do this to me for free—at least that's what I thought until the point of his last ejaculation. As he was building up to one, signaled by his ragged breathing and the jerkiness and intensity of his stroking, he let loose of one of my ankles and pulled his handgun out of his holster. Scaring the bejezuss out of me, he rammed the barrel up into my mouth. Frightened out of my wits and too surprised to react—and well, about to hit my own shoot off—I lay there, paralyzed.

I heard the click as he ejaculated. And then the deep laugh. A click, not an explosion and then nothing. But who knows it if was just a misfire. We struggled for the gun. He was still laughing, maniacally, I thought.

I'll always remember the rush of adrenaline from having the gun barrel pushed in my mouth and the struggle with the guy for that gun.

* * * *

I heard the click of the office door behind me and went over to the chair I'd been sitting in in the reception room and dug the small duffle bag out from underneath it. I'd scouted out the men's room outside of the elevators on the floor when I'd first arrived, and I went there, stripped, and cleaned myself off with paper towels and water from the bank of sinks. I worked as quickly as I could. Eddie had said for me to get out of there as quickly as possible, and I certainly wanted to do that. I was exhausted. All I wanted was a beer and eight hours of sleep—in a very isolated place.

Shredded breakaway suit and shirt in hand, I looked around for the trash bin. Then I remembered that Eddie had told me not to leave anything like that behind either. Of course he was right. I stuffed them in the small duffel after taking out my jeans, T-shirt, and bikini briefs. An entirely different, completely casual look. I checked my face in the mirror to make sure nothing needed to be cleaned off and saw that my hands were trembling. I felt so numb that I hadn't known they were.

Out on the sidewalk, I looked up the side of the high rise, trying to pick out the window of the office where I'd been. I couldn't. I don't remember having looked out of the window of the office to get my bearings.

I laughed then, relieved by "mission accomplished."

Eddie had told me that these were good jobs and that they paid more because of the kinkiness of them. Other than the gun being pulled on me and stuck in my mouth, I had found it all very interesting and arousing.

His story had been a good one—if you take away Eddie having explained it all from the beginning. Not the gun, though. Certainly not the gun. And if you didn't know that this was the headquarters of a major insurance company and that the title "Insurance Agent" hadn't been stenciled on the man's door over his real name—Kenneth, not Carlos, Vendoza.

He'd almost had me fooled about being South American—not the drug cartel business, of course. That was over the top but really pretty hot, in its own way when matched with his Latin good looks and great body. And that dick, oolala, that magnificent dick. He'd only dropped the fake accent when we were heavy in the clutches and he'd lost control of what he was saying.

All in all a good fantasy category assignment. And a great fuck. If the guy contracted for another fantasy fuck, I'd be happy if Eddie signed me up—the guy had said he wanted to see me again. But no guns next time. That was almost too real. I would have shit my pants on that if I hadn't cleaned out real good before going there. And if I'd been wearing pants. And if he hadn't had my ass channel stuffed with his big, long cock.



Position of Trust



I love laundry day. Sure, it's an easy job, as far as housework goes, and I have the uncanny ability of making a few loads seem like I've cleaned the whole house. Although the smirk my wife gives me every time I declare the family's clothes to be clean makes me think she might be onto me. But more than anything, it's the perfect excuse to get my hands on my stepdaughter's dirty panties.

Last Saturday began the same way as all the others of late. My wife, Liz, had taken our twelve year old daughter to her weekly netball game, yet again losing the battle with Natalie to take her across the Harbour to North Sydney on the ferry. I tried to reassure Liz that it was in fact the quickest way when she kissed me goodbye, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Your daughter," she scowled in mock accusation as she stabbed her finger into my chest on the way out the door.

I smacked her ass playfully in reply, eliciting a giggle, and wished Natalie good luck with her game as I watched them walk out to the street. 

Then I felt Julie's shoulder push into my back, and her breast press against my arm as she sidled up beside me. "Good luck, kiddo! Knock 'em dead," Julie called after them from the doorway as they made their way down to the Balmain pier.

Julie gave me a quick smile, her deep blue eyes twinkling, and the smell of peanut butter on her breath. She touched my arm affectionately, then padded up the stairs. Her perfect heart-shaped ass rose before me, firmly clad in pink and purple striped pyjama bottoms. I shook myself free of the vision, locking the front door and returning to the kitchen to finish my breakfast. 

The sound of running water and other assorted feminine beauty rituals wafted down from upstairs as I tidied up the dishes, and tried to keep my thoughts out of the gutter. At nineteen, Julie had blossomed into such a beautiful young woman, and it was driving me to distraction.

I turned to see that she had pulled up a stool and was watching me bustle around. Her head was tilted slightly, with her long, sandy blonde hair falling over her shoulder. I snorted a laugh at her t-shirt. It was the light grey one with a Storm Trooper holding a tissue, and the words, 'I had friend's on that Death Star.'

"You like it?" she smiled, sitting up and pushing out her ample chest.

My voice caught slightly, but I managed to croak out a response, before putting much more attention than was required into the coffee machine. "Do you want one?"

"No, thanks. I just brushed my teeth." She wrinkled her nose at the thought, then tapped the book that lay face down on the bench. "I'm just going to read for a bit outside."

"Oh, okay. What are you reading?"

Julie didn't answer. Instead, she just grinned at me, sliding the book off the bench and holding it close across her stomach as she skipped out onto the patio. 

"Okay then," I said to myself, a little confused.

I savoured the taste of the coffee, and the anticipation of the prize that awaited me upstairs in Julie's dirty clothes basket. When I had waited as long as I dared, I went upstairs to her bedroom. 

I scooped up her scattered clothes from the carpet, where she had stepped out of them the night before. Kicking her shoes under the bed and flicking the lid off the hamper in the corner, I dropped in the bundle, then stretched for the plain white t-shirt just out of reach. Then I saw them, a pair of tiny lavender panties up against her bedside table.

Sitting on her bed, I bent down to pick them up. The softness of the satin instantly tingled my fingertips. I held them out in front of me, studying the cute little bow on the front of the waistband, and the frilly, lace embellishments down either side of the gusset. The '10' on the tag, I'm ashamed to say, offered a much more seductive thrill than the size sixteen Liz had become in her mid-forties.

I exhaled slowly to try and calm my heartbeat. Then, turning them inside out, I held the crotch to my nose and mouth, and breathed in her scent. The hint of perfume combined with the earthy aroma of her sex brought me an indescribable relief.

I'm such a scoundrel, I silently confessed to myself, before deeply inhaling again.

I balled up her panties in my pocket and took the whole basket downstairs to the laundry. Sorting the load into lights and darks, I sniffed at each pair as I went, but none of the intoxicating delicates were quite as fresh as the lavenders I had in my pocket.

I got Julie's lights on first, frowning as the old plumbing in our Balmain terrace hissed and shuddered with exertion to fill the washing machine. Then fishing her panties from my pocket, I took another long, comforting sniff. When I opened my eyes, I noticed Julie out through the window.

Illuminated by the sunlight, she was sitting on the far side of the table from the kitchen door, reading with her feet up on the chair beside her. But from my vantage point at the small laundry window, my view of Julie was unobstructed by outdoor furniture.

From that angle, I could see the cover of the novel. I chuckled to myself as I read the title, Fifty Shades of Grey. Her mother had been right into it herself, ploughing through all three books in record time. It had certainly sparked up our sex life, I remembered fondly. 

This sexy little acorn apparently didn't fall far from the tree.

With my forbidden secret safely back in my pocket, I watched her. She was engrossed in her book, turning the pages every minute or so with considerable urgency. I noticed her lick her lips and swallow, her lips shiny and coming to rest slightly parted. A pinkish hue too, began to spread across her cheeks and neck. 

I focussed on the deepening rise and fall of her chest as she read, and I flushed with warmth as I caught sight of her nipples hardening beneath that Star Wars t-shirt. I began to grow hard myself, my cock straining against my jeans.

Julie pulled her sunglasses down her nose, then looked over the top of the rims into the kitchen. I stepped out of view as she swivelled her head back towards the laundry, and counted to ten before poking my head back around the window frame. Craning her head up to look at the windows above her, and obviously not seeing me, she pushed her glasses back up and sank back into her chair.

She rubbed her bottom lip with the tip of her index finger as she resumed reading, then began slowly tracing a path over her chin and down her throat. When her finger found her nipple, mine once again found the lavender satin. I breathed her in as she circled the proud point atop her breast, then pinched the engorged nub with a twist through her t-shirt. The sensation caused her to bite her bottom lip. 

As Julie repeated the process with her other breast, I released my aching cock from my jeans and began to stroke. The slimy pre-cum already at the tip provided half the lubrication I needed. I licked my palm for the rest and began pumping my fist up and down my shaft. 

Watching her tease her nipples while smelling her nubile musk, I was lost.

Her finger continued its journey down her stomach, no doubt an imaginary substitute for the riding crop I guessed she was reading about at that very moment. I held my breath as her fingers approached the hem of her t-shirt. My own hand was frozen in a tight grip around the head of my cock.

Time stood still as Julie, excruciatingly slowly, lifted her hand from her waist to turn the page. She turned her head to check again that I wasn't watching her from the kitchen, and satisfied I wasn't, she licked her lips once more before returning her right hand to its task.

"Oh my God," I actually heard myself gasp in response to Julie's fingers burrowing beneath the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

The pink and purple striped fabric bulged across the back of her hand between her legs as she masturbated in the relative privacy of our backyard. I resumed my own strokes, keeping in time with the tiny, twitching motions inside Julie's pyjamas. But I was quickly losing control.

Taking one last, splendid whiff of her underwear, I wrapped the precious garment around my cock. The silky smooth sensation of Julie's panties sliding up and down the full length of my hardness was too much.

I erupted in spurt after groaning spurt of thick cum into those lovely lavender panties. I actually had to brace myself against the vibrating washing machine to keep from buckling at the knees. Squeezing the swollen, sensitive head of my cock, I milked every last drop of semen into them.

Folding my cum into her underwear, I lifted the lid of the washing machine and threw them in with the rest of the load. I took a minute to slow my breathing as I zipped myself up and looked out through the window at Julie on the patio. 

Her hand was a lot deeper inside her pyjamas, and the way the pink and purple stripes were moving, I could tell she was fingering herself. Julie threw her head back, biting her bottom lip. The delicious squirm of her whole body told me she was close.

It was then that the idea struck me. I smiled wickedly at the thought.

I strode out into the kitchen and threw open the sliding door to the patio. I was two steps outside before Julie noticed me, her soft moan of pleasure twisting into a shocked gasp. 

I drifted around the table, keeping my eyes locked on the dark lenses of her sunglasses and delighting in the crimson flush of Julie's cheeks. She subtly slipped her hand from her pyjama pants, masking the move by laying the book on her lap. It was all I could do to keep a straight face.

I lifted Julie's feet from the chair and sat, placing them back down across my lap. Ratcheting up the tension by remaining silent, I revelled in the effort she was making to control her heavy breathing. I couldn't help but smirk. The sunlight caught the sheen on her fingers, glinting slightly as she dried her slender digits discretely on the outside of her thigh.

"Good book?" I teased, knowing I had denied her the release she was so close to achieving.

Julie wet her lips before breathing an incredibly tortured, "Uh-huh."

"Hmmm," I smiled. I was far too pleased with myself.

We chatted a while in the garden, screened off from the neighbours by the lilly pilly hedges running down either fence line. I caressed her shins through her thin cotton pyjamas, gently kneading the firm flesh of her calves. Her embarrassment eventually faded, but I noticed when I started rubbing her feet, she blushed again. I petted her knee to let me up, and she lifted her feet. As I went inside, I caught Julie's reflection in the sliding door. She was watching me walk away over the rim of her sunglasses, her brow furrowed in a bemused frown. 

For the rest of the morning, I took great delight in making sure Julie never had an opportunity to finish what she started. Every few minutes or so, I would reappear, offering her a drink, striking up a conversation, or just lingering by the patio doors. I even interrupted her retreat to her bedroom to return her fresh laundry.

It wasn't long before Liz and a victorious Natalie returned home for lunch, unwittingly joining me in Julie's torment and giving us both a thorough play-by-play debriefing of the game. We all chipped in preparing lunch, and ate it together on the patio.

"Hey, I know," I suggested enthusiastically as we cleared the plates. "Why don't we all play some board games this afternoon? Let's make a day of it. Have some real quality family time."

Liz and Natalie were all for it, with Natalie rushing off to grab the games. Julie shot me a look that could have shattered glass, but she put on a tight smile for her mother and little sister.

Julie's sexual frustration smouldered as we played Cluedo. I loved watching her fidget, and fight to control her concentration. But as the game progressed, Miss Scarlett regained her composure and got stuck in with Mrs White, Mrs Peacock and Colonel Mustard, eventually winning the game. It was me, in the library with the revolver.

But when we moved onto Monopoly, the morning's mischief was little more than a memory. And in the innocent fun of playing board games with my family, I was overcome with the guilt of what I had done. I felt like I had betrayed Liz by taking a sexual interest in another woman. And the fact that it was her daughter, made it all the worse. To say nothing of the liberties I had taken with Julie, or at least her panties.

The board games rolled into dinner, before the four of us ended up in the media room for a Legally Blonde double bill. Liz snuggled up against me on the sofa, with Julie on her other side and Natalie on some cushions on the floor. We ploughed through the first one in relatively short order, and as we moved into the second, the regret of my earlier perversions waned. Julie and I were having a great time, quoting nearly every cheesy line together.

"How many times have you two watched this?" Liz huffed at us.

Julie and I exchanged a knowing look, then shrugged in unison with a smile. We shared a giggle, before quoting the next line together.

Liz woke up a snoring Natalie as the end credits of the sequel rolled, ushering her up to bed and asking if I was going to come up. Julie jumped in, announcing that she wanted to pull an all-nighter with a Paranormal Activity marathon, begging me to stay up with her.

"Don't think you're coming in to bed with us if you get scared, young lady," Liz frowned in mock admonishment.

Julie assured her mother she would be all right, snuggling up to me on the couch.

"What about me?" I asked, feigning fear. "Can I come to bed with you if I get scared?"

"We'll see," Liz giggled as she kissed us goodnight, and closed us in the media room so as to not be disturbed by the sound of scary movies.

The thumping footsteps and old plumbing upstairs faded away as the movie got going. I became very conscious of Julie's body pressed up against mine, and the soft, vanilla scent of her hair. She held my left hand between hers on my lap, and my other arm was around her shoulders, gently stroking her upper arm.

As the creepy scenes of the movie played, I felt Julie snuggle in tighter. I squeezed her reassuringly and kissed the top of her head, which was now resting on my chest. It wasn't the adrenalin thrill of horror movies that she loved, I knew. It was the comfort of feeling safe and protected against them.

Her soft breast squashed against my side, and her firm thigh rubbed against mine. I lost track of the movie, instead basking in every tactile sensation. Julie crossed her legs towards me, rubbing my shin slowly with her instep. And the hand sandwich on my lap crept almost imperceptibly closer to my aching hardness.

A thousand thoughts flooded my brain as I sat there with my nubile stepdaughter squirming against me. The suspense of the movie only added to the tension of my thundering heartbeat. I could hear Julie's breathing against my chest, shallow and uneven. As time went on, it only got worse.

Gradually those thousand thoughts diminished to just one: fuck her!

Gritting my teeth, my own ragged breath signalled my desire. I was going to do it. I had to. I couldn't take her rubbing herself against me anymore. She was teasing me. She had to be.

Fuck her! NOW!

I leapt off the couch and grabbed Julie by the hips. Her beautiful blue eyes were saucers as she gasped with surprise. I pulled her down onto the cushions on the floor her sister had been laying on earlier. Clawing my fingertips into the waistband of her pyjamas and panties, I pulled both down roughly over the soft flare of her curves and down her long, shapely legs.

Julie's mouth hung open, frozen in shock. I snatched her panties out of her pyjama bottoms, and balling them in my fist, I shoved them in her mouth as a makeshift gag. Then I manhandled the hem of her Star Wars t-shirt up her body, causing her full, ripe breasts to bounce free. I gasped myself, getting a perfect view of her swollen globes in the dim light of the television. She barely resisted as I yanked her shirt up over her face, and up the length of her arms.

With her top at her wrists, now held above her head, I twisted her t-shirt around and around to bind her hands together. Then straining to lift the front corner of the couch, I forced the twisted cotton behind the stubby timber leg to hold her in place.

Stretched out on the floor underneath me, completely naked, tied up and gagged by her own panties, Julie was the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

I crawled over the top of her, making sure not to touch her. She trembled, her breasts jiggling slightly beneath the erect nipples that betrayed her excitement. I stared into her eyes, until eventually, she dipped her gaze submissively.

"You little tease," I whispered, touching the end of her nose with my index finger. Then running it over her chin and down her throat, I continued, "I'm going to fucking use you."

Julie shuddered, snorting heavily through her nose. I ran my finger between her breasts, then slowly circled each nipple, careful not to touch either engorged nub. Making my way down her impossibly soft, yet flat belly, I looped her navel, then continued south. The coarse thatch of pubic hair, delicately manicured into a thin landing strip across her mound, nearly made me come as I ran my finger back and forth. 

"Open them, Julie," I very slowly breathed.

Her whole body squirmed as she released the tension that was holding her thighs tightly together. My body flushed with warmth as her legs carefully parted. Julie's familiar scent filled my nostrils, and the glow from the television illuminated the slick sheen of moisture which had spread halfway down her inner thighs.

"You little slut." I spiralled my finger across her soft, slippery flesh, inching closer and closer to her sex.

I ripped into my jeans like a kid tearing open a present on Christmas morning. My cock sprang free as I shuffled between Julie's legs. Guiding the mushroom head of my cock to her opening, I drove myself deep inside her, in one, forceful thrust. 

Sheathed in her sopping wet heat, the moan caught in the back of my throat. I began to fuck her with long, slow deliberate strokes, digging my cock into her as deeply as I could. I kissed and licked the side of her face, sucking on her ear and whispering obscenities. As I ground myself into her, I grabbed a handful of her long blonde hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck. I licked and sucked at Julie's incredibly taut skin, almost devouring her.

I pounded Julie's pussy for all I was worth, pumping into her with lusty abandon. The noise of her snatch slurping with every thrust rose above the deafening sound of slapping flesh and heavy breathing.

My climax built, warming my entire body with a growing tingle. I knew I was close, and held on as long as I could, wanting to savour every last moment. But no longer able to control myself, I buried my cock to the hilt in her sopping cunt and came inside her, flooding her womb with my seed.

I lay spent on top of her, inside her, paralysed by the sensitivity of my orgasm. Julie's chest heaved beneath me as she too fought to regain her breath. After a few minutes, I sat back onto my heels, allowing my softening cock to slip from her wrecked pussy. My cum was already starting to ooze out, trickling down the crack of her ass.

Her face was turned to the side, resting on her arm. I leaned over her, turning her chin to face me. Julie kept her eyes cast down. She still had her panties stuffed in her mouth. I tugged on the delicate lace, but she bit down, not letting me remove the gag.

"Mm," I grinned. "You still want more?"

Her blue eyes met mine by way of reply, blazing with intensity. I flushed again, not able to believe my luck.

"Do you want to come?" I taunted.

Keeping our eyes locked, Julie nodded. I wound her hair into another ponytail and wrenched her head back, sucking and biting at her neck.




Position of Trust



"You filthy little slut," I growled as I nuzzled my way between her collar bones. "You'll come when I say you can come. Do you understand?"

I felt Julie's head nod obediently against the side of my face as I kissed my way down between her breasts, following the same path my finger had taken earlier. But this time, my mission was different. 

I sucked her erect nipple into my mouth, biting down and flicking the sensitive nub over and over with the tip of my tongue as I kneaded the soft flesh of her breast with my hand. Julie twitched beneath me, fighting to hold back the groans and whimpers that escaped through her panties. I pinched her other nipple and rolled it firmly between my thumb and forefinger, twisting it hard every now and then to elicit another muffled yelp. 

Sucking and nipping my way across the smooth skin of her stomach, I splayed her thighs wide apart and dived head first into her used cunt. The pungent earthiness of my own cum mixed with Julie's arousal was intoxicating. I plunged my tongue deep inside her dripping folds and lapped up everything she had to give. 

Julie bucked her hips up to meet my mouth, grinding as best she could into my face. But I held her down fast. Once I had eaten her clean, I sucked her labia, nibbling on the swollen petals until I was circling her clit with my tongue. Her twitching and moaning intensified, and I redoubled my efforts.

"Remember, you don't come until I tell you." My tone was low and menacing.

Julie whimpered despairingly, almost sobbing. I eased two fingers into her pussy as I took her clit back into my mouth. I stirred her gooey depths before finding that subtle change in texture on the front wall of her vagina and rubbed furiously. 

The sloshing of my fingers struggled to be heard above Julie's restrained grunts. She bucked and twitched spasmodically, bristling my nose with her dark blonde pubic hair. But somehow, she found her balance under my ministrations, if only just. 

But this test, she was meant to fail.

Sucking her clit and flicking it roughly with my tongue, as I had done with her nipples, I slipped my fingers from her gaping cunny. Slick with her juice, I shoved my middle finger straight up her ass.

The shock threw her off balance, and she screamed into her panties with her release. Julie was racked with wave after wave of pleasure, spasming uncontrollably beneath me in violent convulsions.

I sat back, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, enjoying the incredible view of my defeated prize, spread out before me. Julie was squeezing her eyes shut, blushing. She tried to close her legs, but I pulled them back apart, keeping her on display.

"You disobeyed me," I observed in a low whisper.

Julie's breath shook. I was surprised by how much I was getting off on this. Letting the anticipation build silently, I regarded the beauty bound and gagged before me.

"You're going to have to be punished."

Julie whimpered, which only aroused me more. Closing her left leg over to her right, I picked her up by the hips and shuffled her forward until she was on all fours. Then snatching her hair up into a messy ponytail, I wrenched her up as far as the leg of the couch would allow. 

I groped her perfect, heart-shaped ass, slipping my fingers into her. Then I raised my hand and smacked her right cheek with a loud crack, leaving an angry, red handprint. Julie yelped through her panty gag, snorting heavily through her nose. I spanked her again and again, alternating from one cheek to the other until both were bright red in the flickering glow of the television behind us.

My hand stung from the spanking, and my cock was rock hard from the control I was exerting over her. I slid my full length into Julie's sodden snatch once more, thrusting in and out a few times to coat my shaft with her wetness. Then I pulled out, positioned my head at her puckered asshole, and forced my way inside.

Her tight, muscular ring fought my entrance, but was soon sliding tightly up and down the full length of my cock as I fucked her ass like an animal. I held her hips, digging my fingers into her soft flesh. Julie's panty-muffled grunts were deafening. Combined with the sound of my hips slapping into her ass, I was sure we would wake up the whole house.

But I didn't care. I wanted them to wake up. I wanted Liz to come downstairs and watch me fuck her daughter in the ass. I wanted the whole world to know what we were doing.

I felt my orgasm build. I pulled Julie up by the hair again, and bending over her, I bit down on her shoulder as I came in her asshole, filling her bowels with my semen. We both collapsed to the floor in a sweaty, panting mess.

Once composed, I pulled out and wiped my cock on the back of her thigh. It was the final, degrading act. I don't know why it thrilled me, it just did. I savoured the feeling as I tucked myself back into my jeans. 

But when Julie rolled over onto her back, it was over. I gently took the panties from her mouth and slipped them back up her long legs. I lifted up the corner of the couch to release her hands, and tenderly helped her pull her t-shirt back down over her body. We didn't exchange eye contact at all. I just couldn't. And as soon as she was reasonably covered up, I left her there on the floor of the media room.

Despite having so magnificently found my sexual release with my stepdaughter, an absolute torrent of guilt and shame washed over me as I climbed the stairs on the way back to my wife. Stepping inside our bedroom, Liz was dead to the world, snoring like a lawnmower. I looked out the open window at the fluorescent Sydney skyline in the distance, thankful that she was still asleep. At least I had gotten away with it as far as she was concerned.

How things would now be with Julie would be the real test.

At breakfast the next morning, Natalie was excited about spending the day with Liz and I at Taronga Zoo. Julie was still upstairs, getting ready to go out with her friends. And I was dreading her coming down before we left. But she did, dressed in a black long-sleeved turtle neck and a red tartan mini skirt. Julie kissed her mother and sister good morning on her way past into the kitchen, however, she didn't look at me.

My heart thundered. The fear that I had gone way too far the previous night consumed me. Well, the realisation that I definitely had. The dreadful consequences were what I really feared.

Liz and Natalie bustled off upstairs to brush their teeth and finish getting ready for the day, leaving me alone with Julie in our kitchen diner. The air was thick with tension. She stood there with her back to me. Her tight, straight blonde ponytail looked almost white against the black of her skivvy. And the only sound was the coffee machine, and the bloody plumbing from upstairs. 

I couldn't take it anymore. I skulked into the kitchen, moving up behind her. She sensed my presence and turned around, but without looking at me. I reached up and peeled down the top of her turtle neck. Julie's throat was covered in dark, angry love bites. I gasped, my blood running cold.

Then taking her hands in mine, holding them delicately between us, I rolled back her sleeves. Julie's slender pale wrists were heavily bruised from the twisted t-shirt I had used to restrain her.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, racked with guilt.

"It's okay," she whispered back. Then looking up to meet my gaze, her eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth curling upwards. "I told you last time, I like it rough."



Position Perfect



"So Mr Smith, what brings you to Australia?"

For six months now I'd cyberfucked John Smith, alias Eli HorsePeter, on Skype. I called him Eli. He called me Tiger. When he wasn't calling me 'you hot slut', that is. He didn't know my real life identity. But I discovered his. And I was itching to try him for real. Cyberfucks are all very nice, but there's nothing like the taste of cum in the morning. So I had to get him over here and make him think it was HIS idea. Men like to think they are in charge. Ever noticed that? 

Arranging a job offer for him with my firm wasn't that hard. He had an impressive peer reputation in his field. I Googled it. I'm smart that way.

I studied the papers on my desk. "Resume of John Smith". I pretended to consider it hard, like it mattered. The man in the visitor's chair stared at me. He tugged at his tie like he wasn't used to wearing a suit. Very tall, suntanned, big strong outdoor hands. Who would have thought. I'd expected big from his deep resonant internet voice, but even I was surprised. 

I looked up suddenly and caught him staring at my breasts. "What brings you to Australia?" I asked again. 

"That's personal." He almost snapped at me, then he looked away.

I smoothed down my short black skirt. Hmmm, so it was a woman that caused you to come here. I almost smiled. Almost.

"I think you have a temper, Mr Smith."

He sat forward. "Now that makes me real mad when people say things like that." 

We eyed each other. Stalemate. I thought he would get up and leave.

I coughed and looked at my notes. "You will be occupying a sensitive position. I have to know I can trust you."

"You can." It was almost a grunt.

I pulled my chair round to the side of my desk. Big pieces of furniture can be a barrier to communication. Then I felt unprotected under those intense eyes. I crossed my legs and picked up my clipboard.

"Well, Mr Smith...John. In Australia we are not formal in the workplace. We call employees by their first names. Well John..."

"Employee? Does that mean I'm in?" There was a wry twist to his mouth. He was hoping, in spite of his tough-guy stance. He was talking to my crossed legs and sheer black stockings, not me.

"Not so fast." I recrossed my legs and felt my black skirt slide up even farther. He must have seen my suspender tops that time. I rather thought he had by the way he shifted on his chair. 

"You understand the duties of the position? What I require?"

"Hmm. Yeah I read all that." Those eyes didn't miss a thing. "I'm your man."

I fiddled with the papers on my clipboard, and tried to focus on the words in front of me. "That remains to be seen. Why do you want the job. What interests you?"

You interest me his eyes said.

I felt my face getting hot. "Because I have to tell you there's a lot of local interest too ...Australian applicants."

"You try an American and you'll never go back. By American I mean me of course..."

Really his arrogance was intolerable. I slid my glasses to the end of my nose and fixed him with one of my special stares. It's won me negotiations many times. The I'm-going-to-spank-you schoolteacher look that makes some men rock hard in an instant. I figured he was one of those men. 

"We'd like to know more about you... for our files."

He squirmed like his boxer shorts were hurting him. "Such as?"

"Information, statistics. Yours."

"I never had any complaints." He looked at me hard, up and down. Sizing up my body. Taking my statistics. I eased my legs open a bit more. I was getting very wet. Maybe he could tell.

"I'm sure you understand that I can't let just anybody in. He has to have qualifications. Certain skills."

"Try me." His voice was husky. Alpha plus male with attitude. 

It felt like an elevator just plummeted between my legs. I knew I had to break eye contact or lose control fast. I stood up and walked over to the cabinet and poured myself a shot of Bourbon. 

"That company policy?" His eyes bored right through my tight black skirt, looking to see if there was a panty seam. There wasn't and he'd just realised. My knees started to tremble. 

"In some circumstances." I took a swift gulp and felt the heat all the way to my wet pussy. 

"Really?" He looked up at me as I walked over and handed him a glass. Close up his shoulders were even broader under the business suit. He seemed to give off a heat and energy all his own. Maybe I was giving off something too. I wanted to take his tie off, unbutton his shirt. Who am I kidding? I wanted to see what was in those straining pinstriped trousers.

I walked over to the glass office wall and twitched the pencil venetians shut. Then I perched on the desk just out of reach. 

He sipped his drink. "Nice."

I knew he didn't mean the Bourbon. "Kentucky."

"Good things come out of Kentucky."

"Really?"

He put his glass down."Nice desk."

When he stood against me he must have been 6' 3" easy. He took me by the hips and pressed me back on my desk. I was expecting a quick fuck. To my surprise he dropped to his knees, opened my legs, and worked his tongue on me like a madman. I began to buck and twist and cry as he used his fingers in me. My orgasm was building fast.

He raised his mouth for a quick breath. "This position been vacant long?" 

"Too long!" It came out somewhere between a moan and a scream.

"Oh baby, you need me to fill it ... bad."

He stood up and reached for his belt. We had a brief struggle to see who could get him undone fastest. Really, he didn't disappoint. Long, hard thick and ready for action.

"Where do you want me to start?" Where, not when mind you. I love a man who cuts right to the chase.

He scooped my legs up wheelbarrow style and pressed his cock slowly into me. Then he withdrew, lifted my legs to his shoulders and pressed even deeper. A wave of heat overtook me.

"John, there's something I need to tell you."

"Later babe." His cock was drawing me closer and closer to the edge.

"Now John, NOW! I will give you the best position! NOW! Turn me over! Mount me from behind! Ooohh fuck!" My voice was like an animal wail.

He gave a gasp. His strong arms flipped me over on the desk. I felt the thrust of his hips as he entered me. His voice moaned in my hair. "How did you know? That's my favourite position. Absolute favourite."

He was holding me, splitting me, pumping me so deep now. 

"But John..." I felt the scream building in my throat as the wave overtook me. "John... Eli... that's what I've been trying to tell you. It's me. I'm TigerRain. Welcome to Australiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"



Position Switch



NO one in this story in a sexual situation is under eighteen; all situations are between those of legal age.

**************** 

I was a proverbial late bloomer. Even though my father, Jack Watson, was six three, and 240 pounds of muscle, and as tough as anyone around, I was a scrawny kid. It didn't help much in my early teenage years that my father said that he had been a late bloomer too because no one at the school that I went to cared, and I suffered in comparison to my next door neighbor.

Will Simpson was the kid next door. Although just a year older than I was, since he was big and muscular for his age and I was short and scrawny for mine, it looked like we were four or five years apart, not one. Looking back, I think that Will had - likely still has - some sort of mental problem or personality disorder because he fluctuated between treating me nicely and cruelly; I never could tell from day-to-day. If it wasn't a personality disorder or mental problem, maybe his mercurial actions could be explained by how weird that his family was. 

Will had an older brother, Sam, who was the town teenage jerk. Sam obviously got it emulating Will's father, Mitch, who was the town's adult jerk. Fortunately Mitch travelled a lot so he wasn't around too much, and Sam seemed to always be out causing trouble, or in jail for various misdemeanors. 

The only normal member of the Simpson family was Will's mother, Betty. Betty was nice to everyone, but seemed to take a special interest in me and if she was around would make every effort to mitigate the harm that Will inflicted upon me. 

Betty also seemed much more intelligent and sophisticated than the other members of the family too, and since I didn't have the body or coordination for athletics as a teen, I made sure to study hard and get good grades in a wide variety of subjects. Betty was always interested in history, literature, civics as related to current events, and even science, so many times we had talks about all of those subjects. Since both of my parents worked, oftentimes I would go over to Will's/Betty's house after school. After a discussion about a subject of mutual interest she would usually send me away with a home-made bakery treat with a smile and "Thank you for coming over to talk with me, Jeremy; it was so enjoyable." When I got into my middle teens, I also did home improvement projects for Betty, which I was rewarded for with a big smile, a chaste hug, and another bakery treat.

Will got his good looks from Betty - she had a very pretty face. While I never really paid any attention to her body, there didn't seem to be anything remarkable about it. She wasn't skinny or fat, but beyond that you couldn't tell much because she always wore very conservative clothing, whether at home or out.

************************ 

I guess that it's human nature to remember the bad things more than the good ones; at least it was for me as related to Will's treatment of me. Will was the starting quarterback of the varsity High School football team as a sophomore, and I was a lowly freshman. At Will's urging I was manager (towel boy) for the team for one year but never again in view of the cruel tricks Will urged his teammates to pull on me, including taping my pants on me, putting analgesic balm under my armpits, and soldering my locker shut. These harsh behaviors were interspersed with just enough inclusive acts so that I didn't completely disassociate myself from Will, and there were some good times when I was just "one of the guys."

Being such a scrawny non-athletic teenager, I never really dated; I was too shy around girls - exactly the opposite position that Will was in. He was outgoing and dated - on and off again - by far the best looking and sweetest female in the school - Marcia Briggs. 

Marcia was every teenage boy's wet dream. She looked like Kate Upton before anyone had ever heard of Kate Upton - I think that about sums it up. She was the Queen of everything in the school not just because she was beyond gorgeous, but because she was nice to everyone. Of course I worshipped her, but she was so far from being attainable that I never, ever even considered the possibility of acting upon my worship. I could barely get a greeting out, I was so awed by her, the times that she came over to Will's house when I was around.

One thing puzzled me about Marcia, however. I could never understand why she put up with Will's mercurial antics.

The most emotional pain that Will ever inflicted on me was when I was at my most vulnerable. At the beginning of my junior year I had just started to get a little self-confidence and decided that I finally needed to act on a crush that I had on Amy Williams, who was in a few of my classes. Amy was not someone who I considered unattainable, like the goddess Marcia, even if she was more desirable in every way than I was. Amy's looks were probably in the top half of girls in our school, though not even close to those of the girls that Will dated when he was off-again with Marcia. I made the mistake of telling Will about my crush on Amy. 

It wasn't two weeks after I had stupidly told Will about my crush on Amy that I finally worked up the courage to ask Amy out. As I was talking - mostly stuttering - with her near her locker, Will barged right into our conversation and asked Amy out on a date that weekend. Of course she couldn't refuse the handsome quarterback, and I was left with a reddened face as they walked away from me, chatting like old friends and ignoring me. It wasn't a month after that before Will had fucked Amy and then proceeded to trash her reputation around the school. Poor Amy couldn't handle it and transferred to another school at semester break.

After the Amy episode I distanced myself from Will - I had to for self-preservation. Perhaps strangely, the only person that I told about it was Will's Mom, Betty, when she asked me point blank one day why I would always disappear when Will came around and never went anyplace with him anymore.

Betty was as distraught as I was, comforted me, and even shed a few tears with me. Then she told me something very surprising but uplifting: "Jeremy, while I love my husband and boys I know that they're self-centered jerks, and I apologize for that. Will doesn't deserve a good friend like you. You'll have it rough in your early years, but someday you'll be successful far beyond them and anyone else in our neighborhood. Your intelligence and kind, loving, disposition will eventually hold you in good stead. Don't ever change; don't ever become mean or cynical." Then she kissed me on the cheek and gave me a big hug.

That did more to buoy my spirits than any other single thing throughout my teenage years. After that, any problems that I had I felt more comfortable discussing with Betty than my own parents. Betty was always a good listener, often had good suggestions, and always made it clear that she was in my corner no matter what.

Things started to change for me physically at the beginning of the summer after my junior year in High School. I was seventeen. I first noticed it when things I always had trouble lifting before were now becoming much easier to handle. Then my shoes didn't fit; then my pants were too short; then the collar on my only dress shirt was way too tight; and if I had been a singer my voice would have deepened from tenor to baritone. By the end of the summer I was of average height and weight - no longer short and scrawny.

I continued to dramatically change throughout my senior year so that about two months before graduation I was six two, 210 pounds, with almost no fat. When I noticed my musculature starting to develop, for the first time I actually devoted time and effort into improving my body. While my lack of a sports background meant that I didn't try out for any team sports, my school had just started weight training and conditioning classes as an alternative to gym, so I took that course and became almost addicted to working out - easy to do when you see progress. While both my mother and father favorably commented on my drastically changed appearance the person who was most flattering was Betty. "Your body is now as fantastic as your mind and personality," she gushed several times, with a big smile on her face!

******************* 

It was about the time that my physical metamorphosis was almost complete that two tragedies occurred next door. Betty's oldest son Sam had committed a felony and had been sentenced to two years in jail; then about a month later her husband Mitch died in a vehicle collision in another state. Will could only make it home from college for the funeral and a few days afterwards - once again demonstrating how self-centered that he was. Betty had no other family in the immediate area. Therefore, just before my eighteenth birthday I became Betty's main confidant and support system.

"Confidant" and "emotional supporter" weren't jobs that Betty thrust upon me. I just always made myself available to her, including visiting her every day after school. She confessed that she could no longer afford the house that she was living in, and with no family nearby wanted to get it ready to go on the market.

The summer after I graduated High School, my life was looking up. I had changed physically into the person that I wanted to be, I was all set to go to a good state school on a three-quarters academic scholarship, and I had an easy, though unusually well-compensated, summer job.

A few days after I turned eighteen, my parents had the only party that they ever threw for me since I had turned eleven; a combined graduation and eighteenth birthday party. All of my relatives, a number of my friends - including several new ones since I had matured physically - and a few neighbors were invited. Of course, that included Betty. Will was not coming home for the summer but instead going to summer school so that he could keep eligible for football, and I had already promised Betty that I would help her get her house ready for sale so she didn't need his help for that.

I didn't open gifts during the party, but did the next day. Betty had told me that she wanted me to come over to her house a day or two after the party and she would give me a special gift. When I went over to her house after my summer job two days post-party she was bubbly when she greeted me. I remember thinking that I was really happy that she was coming out of her malaise after her husband died and older son was sent to jail, and probably for the first time looked on her as a woman rather than a mother-figure. Ever since her husband died she had dressed less conservatively, and she had insisted that I call her "Betty" rather than "Mrs. Simpson." By the time of my party I was comfortable doing that.

"Hi, Betty; is now a good time for me to come over? You've got me in suspense about what my supposedly 'special gift' is," I greeted her with a big smile on my face when she opened her front door. Then I instinctively, certainly not thinking about it, said "You look really nice in that dress."

"Thank you, Jeremy," Betty grinned back. "I do hope that you'll like your presents."

I noticed the plural of "presents" but it didn't register at that time.

Betty got me a glass of juice, and herself a glass of iced tea, and we sat down at her kitchen table. "Her is a card and your first present," she said after I took my first sip of juice, extending a small package and an envelope. "Present first," she continued.

I took off the wrapping paper and found an original hardcover of Stephen Vizinczey's book "In Praise of Older Women," signed by the author. I had heard of this book in literature class my sophomore year, but had never read it. Betty and I had discussed contemporary literature many times, but never this book. "How did you get it signed by the author?" I asked, making eye contact with Betty; I noticed that she was blushing. 

"I have a friend who works for a big publishing house, and she was able to get an original edition of the book and through her channels get it signed by Mr. Vizinczey. I hope that it's an OK present?" she replied. She seemed to flush even more.

"I've heard of this book and I'm sure that I'll enjoy it," I replied with a grin; I noticed that she diverted her eyes.

"Uh,..., you should open the card now," she said in a low voice.

"OK," I replied, tearing open the envelope.

The outside of the card had a combined graduation, 18th birthday, printed message; probably hard to find, but certainly not bizarre, or even unusual. I wasn't really prepared for the hand written message inside, however. "Jeremy, you're my favorite non-family person on earth. There are no words to describe how much your companionship over the years has meant to me, or the tenderness that you have demonstrated in the last two very difficult months. I believe that I can best show you how grateful I am by making sure that you don't go to college a virgin. Love, Betty."

I gulped hard - then lifted up my head to look at Betty. She was crimson, but met my gaze with a resolute look on her face. Then she stood up and by pulling one string dropped her dress to the floor - it was the only article of clothing that she had on.

Like any normal eighteen-year-old I had seen lots of naked women on the Internet. Due to my shyness and lack of a real social life, however, I had never seen one live. I immediately noticed that her tits were much larger than I had assumed undoubtedly due to the conservative clothes that she normally wore. I was especially taken back by the size of her areola and the hardness of her nipples - both much more extreme than in my typical Internet perusal. 

Her crotch was glistening and almost hairless - except for what I had been told in Internet articles was a "landing strip." Her labia looked much bigger and more inviting than I had seen on a screen, and there was no mistaking a musty type of odor - not something that comes through on a computer monitor. I was absolutely shocked by how "female" she was.

I'm sure that my eyes were as big as saucers as "Wow - Betty is really a sexy-looking woman" flashed through my brain.

I had no move - I was frozen. Fortunately, despite her obvious embarrassment Betty did have one. She slowly walked over to me, bent over, and gave me a slow kiss on the lips. Then while staring into my eyes she took one of my hands and raised it up to a nipple. She held my wrist and I instinctively lightly pinched and stroked her pencil-eraser sized and firmness appendage.

After a minute or so of that, she reached for my other hand and placed it on top of her snatch. I could feel the wetness seeping out of her crack. She moaned when my fingers came into contact with her outer labia.

After I rubbed the outside of her pussy for a couple of minutes, apparently Betty had established that I was not going to run away, so she slowly lowered her body until she was on her knees and started unzipping my fly. Although I certainly had felt tightness in my groin when I was touching Betty's equipment, only when her hands went to my crotch did I notice how significantly I had tented my pants - and how painful my cock was as a result. Betty took care of that in short order.

My belt was undone, my fly opened, my pants pulled down to my knees, and Betty's mouth was on my cock, in what seemed to be no elapse of time whatsoever. When her lips touched my rock hard dick I flinched, then sighed, as the best feeling that I had ever experienced washed over me like a rolling ocean wave. When my eyes were open I could tell that Betty was staring at me as her right hand held my cock, her mouth engulfed it, her tongue caressed it, and she fondled my balls with her left hand. All too quickly the glorious sensations ramped to a crescendo and I felt wad after wad of my cum spurting out of my penis into her pulsating mouth.

When the intensity of my orgasm had peaked, but a general sense of euphoria still remained, Betty gave my cock one last lick and then proceeded to completely remove my shoes, socks, and pants. Then she stood up, grabbed my hand, and said "Come with me to my bed; I knew that you'd be too quick for your first climax so I wanted to do it orally. Now I'd like to show you the pleasures of true intimacy."

At that point, my mind was off in space somewhere. I would have done anything that Betty told me to do. Although she never said a word, what she did tell me to do by her actions, soft hands, and looks, was to take off my shirt, and then lay down in bed with her while we kissed, she rubbed my balls, and I put my hands anywhere that I wanted to. After several minutes of this bliss, during which I came to enjoy both her wet hole and mammary glands more and more, she whispered in a silky smooth voice "I can feel that you've recharged. I'm going to mount you now."

I rolled onto my back, Betty straddled me, and gazing into my eyes with what had to be the most loving look that I had ever seen grabbed hold of my cock with her right hand, supported herself on my chest with her left, and lowered her slippery hole onto my cock. Every centimeter of penetration spiked my pleasure receptors; by the time that I was completely buried I felt even better than when she had sucked me dry.

Although at the time I had no idea what she was doing, in retrospect it was clear that Betty was pulsing her pc muscles as she slowly moved up and down. I quickly got the hint when she moved one of my hands into contact with one of her boobs, and I latched onto both of them as she rode me to euphoria. I'm quite sure that she had an orgasm which interrupted her bucking, and after she continued and I squirted into her love canal she had a second one. I felt a sustained exhilaration, a feeling incredibly beyond what I had ever experienced before. Betty collapsed on top of me and we lay together, with my key still in her lock, as a sense of well-being drifted over me.

When I got dressed and was ready to leave about an hour later, a still naked Betty - with a crimson crotch leaking some of my bodily fluids - gave me a passionate kiss good-bye. "Jeremy; would you like me to give you a key to my house. Until I move I'll always be available to you."

"I'd love that, Betty," I mumbled, then kissed her again. "This has been the best day of my life so far..."

She interrupted me with a wicked smile. "The best is yet to come."

And it was!

It was by far the best summer of my life. Betty and I didn't just have sex; we went to movies, plays, canoeing, and to the park, together, either in separate cars so as not to raise suspicions about our relationship, or under the pretext of doing something to help sell the house. My parents, involved in their own lives and that of my younger sisters, never questioned me. I'd visit Betty after work two or three days a week; we'd shower together and then fuck like minks. The days that I didn't come over after work I'd use the key that she'd given me and sneak into her house in the middle of the night, ravage my lover a couple of time, then return home not just satisfied but euphoric.

I don't think that there was one day that summer that Betty and I didn't have sex of one kind or another. It turned out that our mutual favorite was tit fucking. With her encouragement I tried it for the first time after we had been intimate about a week and I was changing from awkward to comfortable; and about a half hour after she had given me a blow job to relieve the tension in my balls. The sounds that she made and the looks on her face as I stroked my cock in the lubricated valley between her tits while she pushed them together drove me nuts. She actually orgasmed from my tit fucking alone, and when she came down from that shrieked "In my pussy, please, Jeremy!"

I instantly removed from cock from her valley and buried it in her soaking wet pussy in one thrust. It wasn't a dozen strokes later before I was cumming like a fucking volcano and she was writhing from a second orgasm within a couple of minutes.




Position Switch



Despite our constant sexual encounters, because of the circumstances we never had the opportunity to spend the night together until she sold her house just before I had to leave for college and I helped her move to an apartment in a city where she had family, more than two hundred miles away.

Before the three nights that we spent together in her new apartment, Betty made it clear what would happen in the future.

"Jeremy; I love you, and I know that you love me. However, I'm twenty six years older than you are, and you need an age appropriate girlfriend. Also, I need to move on with my life and though old by your standards I have a lot to offer a man and need to find one who is age appropriate for me. Therefore, when you leave here Saturday, we won't be together sexually ever again."

She gave her little speech - which I could tell was hard for her to get through - with a few tears in her eyes. I knew that she was right, but it still made my heart ache.

"I don't think that I'll ever find anyone that I'm as sexually compatible with as I am with you," I replied, tears forming in my eyes.

"What a dear thing to say," she smiled while stroking the side of my face. "My sincere hope is that you will - but we are good together, aren't we?" she laughed.

That was the understatement of the decade, as far as I was concerned. Up until our first tit fuck she spent a lot of time building up my confidence and alleviating the initial clumsiness on my part - especially when eating her pussy, or fucking in some positions. After that we seemed to meld our bodies together during sex, and instinctively knew what the other wanted. We both were more interested in pleasing the other person than ourselves, and as a result we both succeeded in spades.

After Betty's little speech and my reply, she wiped away her tears and my own and said "Now that that's settled, let's see if we can fuck each other comatose the next three nights!"

That was the first time she had used the word "fuck" in her relationship with me. That opened the floodgates, however, and the next three days we both talked dirty as we fucked each other into oblivion three times a day. When that was combined with the times that I ate her out or moved a vibrator into her ass, it seemed that we were doing something sexual at least ten hours a day. When we finally did go to bed with the purpose of recharging rather than fucking, we passed out more than fell asleep.

Betty and I thanked each other profusely when we kissed goodbye and promised to email each other regularly. By the time that I got home from the two hundred mile drive I was ready to face college, with the knowledge that I could handle myself in any sexual situation.

***************** 

As Betty had predicted, I did become successful in life because I was smart, industrious, and kind to everyone - unless they demonstrated that they weren't worthy of my kindness. By the time that I was twenty eight I had my own company headquartered in the city that I grew up in, for fun (and to stay in shape myself) taught cross training for runners at a local fitness facility two nights a week and on Saturday morning, and had a good cadre of friends. 

The only area where my life was not a success was in the long-standing-relationship-with-a-female department. While I had had a number of relationships, starting my sophomore year in college, that lasted about six months or longer, I never found anyone that I was completely compatible with. I never consciously "blamed" that on Betty, but I'm sure that deep down inside I was comparing my girlfriends to Betty and they were coming up short. Betty and I had communicated by email for three years, until she found a guy who was crazy about her and much nicer than her old husband Mitch, and thought it best to end our communications; I agreed with her at the time, so we hadn't had any further contact. 

While I had always tried to be sweet to and considerate with girlfriends, eventually I would convince myself that the girlfriend de jour was not right for me, and would terminate the relationship as kindly as possible. When at twenty eight I broke up with a woman who the rest of the world considered eminently compatible with me I finally admitted to myself that I needed help and went to see a shrink. It was after two sessions with the shrink that something happened to change my life.

I was just doing some shopping at a food store that I rarely frequented but wasn't too far from my house when I heard "Jeremy; Jeremy Watson; is that you?"

I turned to see what appeared to be a beer-bellied and balding version of Will Simpson. I primarily recognized him because of the cock-sure smirk on his face, one that I had often seen before.

"Hi, Will," I replied, once that I was sure that it was him. "I didn't know that you lived nearby."

"Yeah, me and the missus have lived in the neighborhood for about three years. How have you been? I can see that you're certainly no scrawny kid anymore!" he responded.

Of course I wasn't a scrawny kid anymore the last time that he saw me either - now ten years ago - but that was only once, and I'm sure that in his mind I was still the 95 pound weakling that lived next door, and not someone six two, 220 pounds, with bulging calf and arm muscles.

I was surprised at how friendly that Will was toward me. Apparently he had forgotten the Amy incident - but he had done so many miserable things to many people in the past, that likely was no longer in his memory banks. He even invited me to a party at his house the next weekend. I was looking for a subtle way to decline and figure out what food store I should patronize in the future so as not to run into him again when he said "Marcia would love to have someone from our old High School days over."

"Could he possibly be referring to Marcia Briggs?" flashed through my mind, remembering the Kate Upton clone who had been his on-again off-again girlfriend in High School and my fantasy woman.

"Are you and Marcia Briggs married?" I asked, trying to hide the incredulity in my voice since I always assumed that someone as beautiful and with-it as Marcia would eventually realize what an ass Will was and distance herself from him.

"Sure am; she made an honest man out of me shortly after college," Will grinned.

Suddenly curiosity overwhelmed me. I wondered if a girl that was so fantastic that I never even harbored any thought that she would date someone like me had changed. I wondered if she was still the nicest and sexiest - aside from Betty - woman that I had ever seen, or if she was now a dissipated hag after being married to Will for five or six years. So I cheerily replied "Uh, sure - that is real nice of you, Will. When next weekend and what's the address?"

******************* 

I showed up the next Saturday night at Will and Marcia's house with an expensive bottle of Cabernet, dressed smart casual. With a streak of vanity that I found disconcerting, I made sure that my biceps were very visible bulging out of the tight shirt that I wore.

Marcia Simpson, nee Briggs, answered the door. "Hi," she said, with a perplexed look on her face. She clearly didn't recognize me.

"Hi, I'm Jeremy Watson," I replied with a smile. "I used to be Will's next door neighbor growing up, and ran into him last weekend at the Kroger on Jackson Street and he invited me to your party - I hope that I'm not intruding."

"Jeremy? You're not pulling my leg?" she responded with a tone of skepticism. "Will told me that he had invited you but I truly do not recognize you."

"Yeah," I laughed, "the last time that you saw me I was probably five three and weighed a hundred pounds. I had a growth spurt."

"I'll say," she chuckled, "well come on in, and welcome."

I handed her the bottle of Cabernet which she profusely thanked me for - I think that she was sophisticated enough to know that it likely cost the $80 that I had paid for it. She still seemed to have a slight degree of doubt about who I was as she introduced me to the other party goers. That is until Will came bounding in from the back yard, a twenty ounce plastic cup full of beer in hand, slapped me on the back and said "Nice of you to come, Jeremy; you remember Jeremy, don't you Marcia? The scrawny kid next door."

I don't know what made me do it, but I laughed - maybe sneered, I can't be sure - and then picked Will up in my arms, spun him around, and said "Scrawny no more!" I wanted Will to know that I would not be taking shit from him, even if it was his party. Fortunately, for the tranquility of the evening Will laughed it off, even though the rotation had caused a small amount of beer to spill on his shirt.

After getting a token beer myself, which I intended to nurse all night since I don't really drink alcohol, I mingled with the guests always trying to watch Marcia out of the corner of my eye. Her face was just about as lovely as I remembered it - maybe she had put on a few pounds that showed on it, but she was definitely a beautiful woman. I couldn't tell about her body, however, since strangely to me her outfit was very conservative. She had on pants and a long sleeve blouse that wasn't tucked in, and flat shoes.

I got the impression that of the twenty five or so guests about two thirds were married, and the other third single, both men and women. Most, even though in their late twenties or early thirties, seemed to be on a quest to get drunk, something that I thought that they would have given up after college.

Pursuant to my plan to see what Marcia was like I took every opportunity to interact with her, without being obvious. I think that I made a big hit on her when I was the only person to offer to help with some of the food she was preparing and serving, and worked with her alone in the kitchen for a good twenty minutes getting things ready. I made sure to compliment her culinary treats - which actually were pretty good - and got a big smile from her in return.

I talked with Marcia more than with anyone else for most of the night. She still seemed as sweet as she was in High School, while Will as really being loud and obnoxious most of the time; even more so than in High School. At some point Will decided that some of the guys needed to play poker, despite Marcia's protests, and he went with a cadre of his drunk buddies onto a back porch area that had a gaming table and started dealing.

One of the single card players passed out shortly after the game started, which caused Will to come into the living room where the remaining guests were congregating and insist that I take his place. I resisted at first, but seeing his continually ramping up obnoxiousness and the concern that that was causing Marcia I relented.

Since I was stone-cold sober and a decent poker player, and since the others, especially Will, were drunk and probably not that great even if sober, it wasn't long before I was way up. Will kept on raising the antes and stakes, including emptying his wallet, as the others at the table were eliminated. That left him and me. I tried to cash out - even offering to return everyone's money by lying that I was a card shark - to no avail. Since by then all but the passed out guests had left, Marcia came into the room and tried to get Will to call it quits. Instead he went all in during Texas Holdem when there was a two, four, five, six and Queen, in a rainbow (at least one card of each suit), on the board and I had a seven and eight in my hand. In other words, I couldn't lose. I tried to cajole him out of going all in since it was the 200+ ounces of beer that he had consumed that was clouding his judgment, but he just thought that I had a losing hand. So I reluctantly called him.

Will had two Queens in his hand, but of course three-of-a-kind doesn't beat a straight, so I started collecting all of the money on the table, as Marcia sighed in the background.

"Let's go one more hand for everything that you've won," Will snarled and then burped.

"Will you're out of money," I said as kindly as possible.

"Look, if I lose you can fuck Marcia - I know that you've always wanted to since High School," he blubbered out.

Marcia started crying. For some reason the Amy incident from High School rushed into my mind, and I became enraged. "How dare you think that you can use your wife as a poker chip, you pompous ass," I screamed. "You obviously don't deserve her, and you need to apologize to her right now."

"Fuck you," Will bellowed as he stood up and a wide-eyed Marcia obviously cringed. "Now take my offer and deal out another hand or I'll smack you upside the head."

"That boat sailed ten years ago asshole," I shouted right back as I also stood. 

The drunken jerk took two steps toward me then swung. I easily blocked his pathetic attempt, hit him once in his beer belly as hard as I could, and when he bent over with the wind knocked out of him hit him on the chin with an uppercut.

After he hit the floor he was just shy of unconscious and puking his guts out. I was afraid - only because I didn't want some legal entanglement - that he was going to suffocate himself, so I yelled for Marcia to get some dish towels and a turkey baster.

I sat him up, avoiding his puke the best that I could, and gave him some stiff slaps on his back. Marcia soon returned with what I asked for, and together we used the dish towels to get the puke away from his mouth, and I held him upright while Marcia aspirated him with the turkey baster.

When we were done, I still wasn't sure that Will's life wasn't in danger, because he kept on gagging, and once Marcia was alone with him I knew that she couldn't handle his bulk by herself - he had to weigh 260 pounds, fifty more than his playing weight. So I convinced Marcia to call 911 and helped the paramedics load Will onto a stretcher. As Marcia got in the ambulance with Will I told her that I'd clean up inside and gave her my cell phone number to call if she needed a ride from the hospital, "Regardless of what time it is, Marcia." 

She looked at me wide-eyed then said "Thanks," and the ambulance door closed.

I did as promised. I didn't just clean up the puke - a very unpleasant task, but I had worked a board job during college so I knew what to do - but cleaned up everything from the party. I had done two loads in the dishwasher, washed the serving pieces by hand, cleaned up the whole house, and had gotten cabs for the three passed-out drunks when they awoke, before Marcia called. It was 3:30 a. m.

"Hi, Jeremy?"

"Hi, Marcia; I'm glad that you called. Do you need a ride?"

"Well, uh, yes, if it's not too much trouble. They're keeping Will overnight because they think that he has alcohol poisoning. He drank some hard liquor in addition to what must have been a quarter keg of beer, and he's not real responsive. Plus when he hit his head on the floor he might have gotten a concussion so they're afraid to not monitor him," Marcia replied, obviously exhausted.

"OK - are you at the hospital on Twenty Third and Chambers?"

"Yes."

"OK, I'll see you at the emergency entrance in fifteen minutes."

When I picked Marcia up she looked tired - but to my surprise also had put on new makeup. We were mostly silent until we got to her house. She thanked me and then said "There's one thing that I need you to help me with. Could you come in for a second?"

"Sure," I replied.

When we got into her house and she saw that everything was cleaned up she was bowled over. "I can't believe that you did all this? My house has never looked so good. Why did you do it?"

"I promised that I would help clean up and I got carried away. Plus I figured after the night you had - your husband disrespecting you and then me getting carried away and hurting him, and you having to go to the hospital, and all - that you could use a break," I replied.

Marcia stood there staring at me for a good thirty seconds.

"I feel guilty about asking you to do something else after all you did, but could you help me load the keg and related paraphernalia from the back yard into Will's pickup truck?"

"Sure," I replied. "I can do it alone. Why don't you relax?"

"OK," she replied. "But don't leave before you've answered a couple of questions for me."

That statement confused me, but I smiled in response, and then went into the back yard. I took the tap off the keg, emptied the large pan of melting ice that the keg was sitting in, then carried - one at a time - the keg, pan, and tap with tubing, into the garage, loaded them into the pickup truck, and strapped them in. When I returned to the living room Marcia was in different attire. Daisy Duke shorts, a short sleeve top and bare midriff, and three inch heels. The body mystery was now solved - she looked as good as she did in High School - maybe better since she had matured. I hoped that my eyes hadn't frogged on me!

"Thanks again, Jeremy," she said in a seductive voice. "Before you go, though, please answer a few questions honestly for me."

Before I could reply she hit me with the first one: "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uh, no... not right now," I mumbled, still awed by her appearance.

"Do you remember Will's mother Betty?"

"Where in the fuck is this going?" I asked myself. "Uh, yes, I certainly do. A wonderful woman."

"Why would she say that you were the greatest guy in the world?" Marcia asked, now with her hands on her hips and a playfully stern look on her face.

"Uh,..., well,... when did you talk to her?" I stuttered.

"To night when Will was in the hospital. I wanted to inform her of the situation and also ask her what she remembered about you."

"Oh," was my intelligent, obviously frog-eyed reply.

"Well?"

'Uh, well, Betty and I always liked each other; when I was a teenager she was probably my best friend."

"She liked you more than she did Will, didn't she?"

"Uh,..., maybe; if that's what she said."

"Have you wanted to fuck me since High School?"

"Marcia - I,...uh, I don't think that's an appropriate question," I replied after a pregnant pause, certain that I was turning bright crimson.

"Under the right circumstances?" she barked more than queried, still with that playfully stern look on her face.

"Yeah; I guess, under the right circumstances," was my halting, embarrassed reply. 

"Such as if I wasn't married to Will?"

"Uh,...yeah, I guess."

Marcia broke into a big smile, walked to the front door, opened it and said "Thanks for coming and for all your help and for being honest with me," she chortled. 

As I walked out the door she pulled my shirt so that my mouth was even with hers, gave me a five second long kiss on the lips, and while she did that ran her hand over my pants at my crotch - which obviously had been tented. Then she playfully pushed me out and closed the door, and I heard the lock click.

"What the fuck was that about?" I asked myself a million times in the short drive back to my house.

**************** 

For a good two weeks I had a hard time concentrating on anything else except the vision of Marcia in the Daisy Duke shorts and revealing top, and her kiss and hand pass over my crotch as I left. Sometimes I fantasized about fucking her brains out in front of a tied-up Will, and then posting photos of me doing that all over the Internet to ruin both of their reputations. "What a position switch that would be from the Amy incident, huh?" I would chuckle to myself.

Much more often than that fantasy, however, was one where I ran into Marcia at an out-of-town conference and we fucked each other senseless, just like Betty and I did the last three days of our relationship.

After two more sessions with the shrink, I finally got my act together, again, however, and actually went on a couple of uninspiring dates trying not to compare them to Marcia. I even had a one night stand with a woman that I picked up at a bar - a very slutty and less endowed and good-looking version of Marcia.




Position Switch



About three months after the party at Will's house I had just gotten back from the cross-training class that I taught on Saturday morning, had showered, put on a T-shirt and pair of loose-fitting shorts, and eaten a couple of handfuls of nuts. I was deciding what I was going to eat for a late lunch when there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Marcia standing there in a dress - one that had a very vague look of familiarity to me.

"Hi, Jeremy! Surprised to see me?" she chuckled.

"Yeah, you could say that," I replied. Marcia looked radiant.

"Are you going to invite me in?" she demurely asked.

"Of course; where are my manners," I replied, opening the door wide.

Marcia walked in carrying a large envelope, commented on how nice my house looked, and then asked "Can we go to your kitchen table so that I can show you what's in this envelope?"

"Uh, sure," I stammered.

"First, though; do you have a copy of the book 'In Praise of Older Women?'"

Of course I did - the book that Betty gave me for my combined 18th birthday and graduation present, which I kept in a place of honor in my bookshelf. But why the fuck was she asking me about it?

"Uh,...a strange question, but yes, I do."

"Can I see it?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

"Uh, sure, I guess," I said. I walked into my den, took it off the shelf, and handed it to Marcia. She opened it up, looked at the signature and acknowledgment from the author Stephen Vizinczey, chuckled, and then gently placed the book on the table. Then she opened up the envelope she was carrying.

"This is a copy of my legal separation agreement from Will. I've already filed the petition for divorce. I've made it clear that if he contests it, or the 50-50 split of assets that I've proposed, that I'll make public his cheating with prostitutes and shady dealings at the company that he works for. I don't anticipate any problems."

I quickly leafed through the papers, and they looked to be what she said they were.

"Uh...why did you want me to see them?" I asked.

"Because when Betty gave me this dress she said that you'd never fuck me if I was still with Will, and that I would be missing out on the best sex of my life with the best catch in the world, that's why," she said with a smirk.

"That is the dress that Betty wore the day we first made love!" ricocheted through my muddled mind. 

Marcia pulled a single string. The dress fell to the ground exposing her consummate naked body with probably the best tits that I had ever seen, and a truly inviting crotch.

By the time that she walked over to me and put her hand into my loose-fitting shorts my cock was not just saluting; it was throbbing. When she kissed me I almost spontaneously ejaculated. Fortunately I gained control long enough to shed my clothes, bend her over so that her hands rested on the kitchen table, enter her sweet, leaking, snug pussy from behind, and pound the shit out of her as I manipulated her tits and she moaned and screamed in pleasure. It wasn't long before I grunted and unloaded into her the largest gob of jism that I had produced since my horny teenage time with Betty.

Once both Marcia and I recovered, when I lifted her up and turned her toward me I was chagrined. "Sorry that I got so carried away," I stuttered, "but your body is so awesome I couldn't help myself."

"Now that we have that first animal fuck out of the way, let's go to your bed and see if we can get locate all of each other's erogenous zones," Marcia giggled, just before she pushed her tongue into my mouth.

"Sounds like a plan," I chuckled as I lifted her up and carried her to my California King bed.

We did nothing but fuck, shower, and eat - maybe two hours of sleep, max - until the next morning. At 8:00 a. m. she got out her cell phone, dialed a number, and said "Hi, it's me. You were right - best sex ever! Want to talk to him?"

With a big smile Marcia handed the phone to me and said "It's for you."

I was mystified when I said "Hello, this is Jeremy."

"Hi Jeremy, this is Betty," came a sing-song voice on the other end.

"My Betty?" I unconsciously asked.

"I'm not yours anymore; I'm Thomas' Betty now," she giggled. "However, you know that I still love you and I'm sure that you still love me, so I'm asking you to do a favor for me."

"Uh, sure - this is surprising, but you know that I'd do anything for you, Betty."

"Give Marcia a chance for a long-term relationship with you. Will never treated her right, and to me she is like the daughter that I never had, especially after her mother died while she was in college. Marcia deserves a great life - and so do you - and you deserve to love each other. Please give her a chance to make it happen." 

Just then, Marcia snuggled up to me and took my soft, red and hurting, overused dick into her mouth. The thing must have liked it since despite the workout it had received over the last twenty or so hours, it started hardening.

I laughed to myself; the only woman I ever truly loved is telling me to give the goddess in my bed a chance because I'll grow to love her too. With a wicked grin on my face I chortled into the phone "I'll let you know in a few months, Betty. Right now someone is trying to raise my dead appendage, and I've got to find out if she can do it."

I heard Betty laugh just as I hit the red button on the phone.

**************** 

Shockingly, that morning Marcia did get me up again; we had a great titty fuck; she moved in with me two weeks later; and two weeks after her divorce from Will was final we got married, with Betty as the matron of honor.

That was three years ago. I've never been happier, not even with Betty. Marcia is now in her seventh month of pregnancy but still insists that I "service" her almost every day!

Will moved out of town after the divorce.

Best position switch ever!



Positions Unconscious



I should start off by telling you that I don't remember much of what happened that night, the night of four times. I passed out shortly after it was over and I awoke two days later. Let me introduce myself, my name is Liz, I'm 29 and have been married for three years. I have long blond hair, dark green eyes, soft skin, firm size 34C breasts, tight stomach, long legs and a tight little ass that everyone just loves to observe and sometimes...grab.

That night, I had gotten home from work very late. I was working on an assignment and my deadline was approaching. Nick, my husband, had had the day off so there wasn't much for me to do once I got home. He made dinner and I relaxed in front of the T.V. for a little while. I then decided to go upstairs and unwind in the tub. I got undressed and got in. The hot water made me feel good, but I wanted to be relaxed even more. I caressed my calf, moved up to my thigh, then to my inner thigh. Then my finger entered my pleasure region and began to massage my very hot and very wet clit. I then started to finger myself slowly. Oh did it feel good. I'm afraid it felt so good that I began to do it quicker and quicker. Sliding in and out from my sweet pussy lips. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but I guess I got too loud because, soon after, Nick came upstairs with a smile on his face. I had no idea what I was in for.

He sat down next to the bath tub and asked what was going on. I simply told him that nothing was going on, that I was just singing to myself. I couldn't think of anything else. He knew I was lying, obviously. He laughed and asked me to tell the truth. I flashed him a guilty smirk and begged him to not make me say it. He then asked why I stopped. Why did I stop when he came in? After thinking for a short while, I started to touch my breasts and then returned to sweet holiest of holies. I began to moan louder and louder as I made myself cum hard. I was now fingering myself intensely. You could tell that this was exciting Nick, it was apparent. You could see his 8.5 x 2.3 in dick hardening with delight in his jeans. After he couldn't take it anymore, he started to massage his prick through his pants. After I became tired of my index and middle finger, I reached up and grabbed him and pulled him into the tub, clothes and all. 

As we kissed, he played with my cunt while I undressed him. When he was completely unclothed, he stood up, allowing me to suck his dick. It was so hard, it throbbed in my mouth. I rapidly jerked and sucked him off. In about a minute he shot cum everywhere. We then grabbed a towel for the both of us and went into the bedroom.

As soon as we got in there, Nick threw me on top of the bed. He grabbed me by my legs and pulled me closer to him. I began to tease my tight pussy with the head of cock which drove me wild. Then, he slowly began to insert it into my wet cunt. For a couple of seconds, he went slow. Then went faster and faster, pumping me harder and harder and harder. I couldn't catch my breath. I was screaming, YES! YES! OH GOD YES NICK!! YES! so loudly I thought I was going to wake up the neighborhood. After about ten minutes of pumping me good, he came. 

The only thing Nick said throughout this moment was when he came, in which he let out an OOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOH, soft and slowly. I remember soon after he caught his breath, my back was up against the wall. Nick's cock wasn't inside me this time, it was his finger. I was so hot, my juice was all over his hand. A little while after, his dick was back in me. With my legs rapped around him. He began to fuck me hard and fast again. Pushing my back up and down against the wall, I came about fifteen minutes. My orgasm was so intense, I felt like my hear skipped a beat. It probably did, I don't know. What I do know is shortly after, we were on the floor and I was riding Nick. Going up and down, feeling his dick sliding in and out of my still extremely wet pussy was making me crazy.

I soon began to massage my clit while this was going on. Sort of a way to add a lot to the already hot fire. This time my orgasm was so intense, my face became as red as a tomato and hyperventilated for a few seconds. Nick asked if I wanted to stop but I wouldn't think of it. Now, I found myself lying over the bed with my legs still on the floor. Nick was fucking me up the ass. I let out a scream every time I managed to catch a breath. Nick's muscular body was pounding my tight little ass and making me cum quickly. He started to go faster and faster. To satisfy both ends, I licked my index finger and inserted into my pussy and proceeded to finger myself hard and fast. Nick till the point where I couldn't take anymore. 

I had to catch my breath, but then we started back up again. Fucking me harder and harder, pounding my little innocent ass with his throbbing hard dick. I began to orgasm again. It came slowly, but it was better than all the others. I let out a few whimpers of delight and then, all of a sudden, I got dizzy. I can't remember anything else after that.

When I woke up two days later in the hospital, the doctor told me I passed out due to the lack of food intake and me also taking part in highly energetic activities. I laughed when he told me this. When he left, my mind started to wander. I started to think about whether or not Nick brought me to the hospital right away or did he take advantage of me being unconscious. Just thinking about what he could've done to me during that time made me hot. I couldn't take it for very long. I began to finger myself once again, right there in the hospital, in my room, in my bed. Boy was I embarrassed when the cute female nurse, doctor, and Nick all walked in at the same time!!



Positive



It's hard after the fact to be sure, because the memory is affected by everything else that happened. I think I expected something, or suspected something, but who could know? There was something about her, something more distant than the usual chasm, even with the little faux-sultry looks I was getting, and her use of "sweetie," and what seemed to be her almost uncontrollable laughter. Was the ground thawing at last? Judith was completely agreeable on everything, kidding about everything, laughing at everything, laughing at nothing at all. It was as though she'd suddenly feel a laugh come on and couldn't contain it, like a hiccup, looking sheepish at her newly-found hilarity, as though she were experiencing some new and overwhelming state that pulled her every way there is, so that she was forced to laugh at the idiocy of it all. And so she was. 

Before she took her bath she pulled me to her and gave me a slow, sultry kiss full of lips and tongue and warm breaths, and she made a promise: "I have a surprise for you in bed." She chuckled as she walked to the bathroom.

And in bed? Here the facts are clear enough. Judith checked to make sure I was ready to accept the kind of promise a woman gives with lips and tongue and warm breaths, caressed me all the way from my balls to the tip of Big Ben, even pulled on me twice. I'm sure it was twice. Then she gave me a simple goodnight peck and, turned away, and as I was starting to protest at this playful promise break, she said in her most syrupy voice:

"I had sex with George Mathis this afternoon."

*****

What? I said it milliseconds after I thought it. 

"Well, I just thought you should know. Good night, sugar."

What kind of joke was this? I was sure I'd heard her right. I waited for a punch line but there was only the outline of my wife's body in the dark. Finally I asked: "What are you talking about, Judy?"

"I told you." Her voice was still honey and cloves.

I turned on the light.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Because it's true."

"Sex? With George?"

"Well, what's good for the gander…"

"What in the world are you talking about?"

That's when the scene went from troubled dream to absolute nightmare. If it had been a movie, the light would have changed to something garish and eerie, and there would be strange, discordant music. Instead, it was just the two of us in our regular bed. Freddie Krueger didn't step into the scene. Everything was as ordinary as it could be except that Judith sat up and turned toward me, and her voice grew tight and thin and almost teary with anger. "I went down on him too! Do you want to know what he's like down there?"

Chew on that a while. I wasn't sure she'd actually done what she was saying, but I didn't know what to think any more than any other husband would. I had to ask one more time.

"Honey. I don't know what you're talking about. What's going on?"

"Don't you 'honey' me, you bastard! How much have you slept around? How many times have you done it? How many women have you done it with? Or have they been men? My God, you're gay! That explains it!"

"Judy …"

"How could I have been so taken in by you? Am I that stupid?"

"Judy!"

"And you know what else, you son-of-a-bitch? You went and got yourself infected with HIV! And now you've infected me!"

"Judith!"

"Get out of my bed! Did you have to ruin my life? Wasn't cheating enough?" She was crying openly.

*****

Nothing prepares you for something like that, does it? Could it? I'm not even sure what I thought at first. That she was crazy? That this was an over-the-top joke? That … what? I wasn't worried, or sad, or angry, not yet. I just didn't get it.

"Judy! What's going on? HIV? Sex with George? This doesn't make any sense!"

"Get out!"

I got off the bed. 

"I don't have AIDS. I'm not gay. What are you talking about?" Sex with George Mathis? HIV? Impossible!

"I got tested today. The test was positive." She seemed to be trying to control herself.

"What? How? Why were you tested?"

"Because Dr. Schadenfreude thinks everyone should be, and he recommended it. So I got to find out that you infected me!"

"When?"

"It was my regular visit! This morning! Damn it, you never pay attention to anything! All you can think about is screwing, isn't it? He has a fast test. And I'm HIV positive, you bastard! Get out! Get out! Get out!" Judith was shrill, screaming, red-faced, a banshee. I thought she was mad. Maybe I was right. I went as far as the door.

"What about George?"

"What about him?

"You sexed him? Really?"

"Yes. You're not the only person in this house who can get laid, you know!"

"With him?'

"Why not him? How many different ones did you do?"

"Why?"

"Get out of here!"

"Why?"

"You bastard!"

"There's one thing…" I had a thought. It seemed the only reasonable possibility.

"No!"

"Listen first! Did it ever occur to you that your result could be a false positive?"

The tenor of the conversation changed right then. Judith stopped and looked at me for a second. 

"Don't try that. You gave it to me. I've never, ever cheated!"

"Until today."

"Yes, you bastard! If I'm going to get sick because you've been screwing around, I might as well enjoy myself too!"

"Well, you didn't get it from me!"

"Are you saying you've never cheated?"

"I'm saying I'm not HIV positive. Damn it! I don't fool around." While she was thinking of how to answer, I thought again too: George Fucking Mathis?

"Well, you can't get it from toilet seats, you know!" Judith doesn't do sarcasm well.

"But you can get a false positive from the test. Judy, shit! I did not infect you! Period! George Mathis?"

"I made him use a condom, which is more than you've apparently done!"

"When you gave him the blow job?"

"You can't get AIDS that way. So, yes, I sucked him, and he liked it. I did him all the way. He really liked that and wants to get together again tomorrow. He wasn't even very clean!"

"It's not impossible to get it that way. Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus! If you're infected … but you're not because I'm not, and you've just done the stupidest thing imaginable."

"Me? I didn't infect my wife! You are an absolute bastard! You won't take responsibility even when it's obvious!"

Murky. It was murky, with strange, shifting tides of meaning. It was too much to comprehend. Any part of it could make sense. It would be bad, but it could make some sense. There was just too much, though. I had to get away from her and think. I had to get my head straight.

"Okay. Okay. This is what we're doing. We're going in to get tested together. Together! I'm going to call your doc first thing in the morning."

"And then you'll see the results of what you've done!" 

She didn't sound completely convinced. 

*****

I lay awake most of the night. Judith was awake too. At one point I heard her moving around in the back of the house. I knew I couldn't be infected. Could I? You can know, but you don't actually know, do you? 

 

I spent most of my time thinking first of them together, then of AIDS, then of them together. No one could miss how he'd looked at her over the years, in the grocery, at parties, across the room. Not that he'd looked at her so much differently than he did other wives, but it was pretty obvious, and being obvious seemed to work for him. It got him divorced, and since then there had been a long string of women, most of them apparently married. Some of them had managed to save their marriages afterward. 

I imagined Judith kneeling over George's penis. He'd held her head while she did it. I was certain of that. Judith would do the whole thing slowly, taking it deep and sucking especially hard as she pulled it out. How did she get George to use a condom? I'm sure he enjoyed her. I imagined him with a wide grin. Oh happiness, to have such a pleasant surprise come walking up to him! But maybe not such a surprise.

*****

We didn't talk the next morning until Judith said, "I went on-line last night. The test is more than 99 percent accurate."

Shit. She didn't have a clue.

"But only half a percent of white women are infected. About half of all their positives are wrong! Didn't Schadenfreude say anything about that? That the fast test is just a screen?"

She stormed from the room, and we didn't talk again until it was time to go. 

So it was just a screen. So? It was still 99 percent accurate. What did it mean? The rat ran inside the wheel, never making any progress at all. Then I thought again of George's schlong and Judith's mouth. It almost pushed the thoughts of AIDS out of my head.

Almost.

*****

Dr. Schadenfreude was unctuous and non-judgmental and very careful not to be obvious that he thought I was at fault. "You probably know that almost all cases of infection come from mixing bodily fluids through unprotected intercourse or the sharing of intravenous needles." He seemed to fight a grin. I didn't want to be there. I could tell Judith was trying not to cry, and I felt sorry for her, but that passed.

She did George. Him! She called him and went to him the day she found out, thoughts of corruption swirling in her head, straight to the biggest horndog we know, and she went right up to him and pushed her chest into his and looked him in the face and touched her tongue between her lips. That's how she'd do it. George would look her up one side and down the other, and fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it all!

I asked, "What's the likelihood of it being a false-positive?"

"There's always a chance. That's why we'll do a more definitive test." Condescending bastard!

Of course it would take several days to get the results.

Judith asked, "What do we do after we know for sure?"

"Well, let's not expect the worst. It isn't necessarily a death sentence anymore." Silence. "If the result is confirmative, I think you…" He moved a hand to indicate he meant both of us. "You need to…" he cleared his throat, "you need to alert anyone you may have been, ah, intimate with, or shared needles with, in the past decade. You should compile a list. Of course I would need to see it, and our office would contact the individuals. Very discreetly." Again he seemed almost gleeful.

I couldn't help it. "She's the one who needs to talk with sex partners."

I know I shouldn't have.

Judith gasped. It was the loudest thing I have ever heard. Her eyes grew round and she looked at the doctor, then at me. 

"You SOB!" This was a hiss. "You cheating, lying, fornicator! You, who infected your own wife after screwing who knows how many people! You … bastard!"

"Please," said the doctor. "This isn't helpful." He touched the fingers of his two hands together in front of his chest and looked back and forth between us. "I know this is very difficult for both of you. We've found it can be helpful to have couples meet with a counselor, to work through their initial shock." This time he did smile.

"We won't need that," I said. I stood up, to be able to tower over Judith while I said it. "She'll want a divorce and I'm perfectly happy with that." Then I stared down at her. "But I'm not moving from the house!" And I left.

*****

We were moving carefully around each other. There had been no words at all from Judith when she got home. She'd been out for hours. Finally I stuck my head in the den and asked: "Been sucking George again?"

"Fuck you!"

"Mmm, good. Nothing like fresh cock…"

"Fuck you!"

"It's almost a meal in itself."

"Go do your boyfriends! I'll get you some grease!"

"Fuck you, you fucking bitch! You're the only one fucking anyone else!" 

I got my jacket. As I opened the door she yelled, "Before you screw your boyfriends, be sure to warn them!"

"Fuck you!"

*****

That day, and the next, and the next crept at their petty pace. I've talked with friends who've gone through bad times, some who got divorced. They had it a lot like us, even though none of them faced dying. Were we going to die? That wasn't the worst thing – not right then. It was the awful problem of simply having to see each other, to acknowledge each other. The house was filled with frost, then suddenly we'd be excessively polite to each other. Did I want some of the leftover roast? "No. Thank you." At times I thought I couldn't breathe. I'm not being metaphorical. I couldn't. It was as though someone was squeezing me. I'd have to get outside, and then I'd go for long walks in the park, but I always came back. Where else should I go? Whatever was, was, wherever I went.

*****

I couldn't sleep, again, and I was ready to leave to work before Judith awoke. I should have stayed in bed but I needed something to keep me occupied. I walked into the bedroom doorway, and when she saw me she stood still, a statue, her eyes looking god-awful, the eyes of someone else who had spent another night waiting for the world to end.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry for what I said before." Judith stared. "It was cruel. And crude. Anyway, I'm sorry for that."

She turned her back and I went to work.

*****

That evening the phone kept ringing, but whoever called hung up when I answered. Finally I let it go until Judith picked it up in the bedroom. Whoever it was didn't hang up on her. 

I tiptoed down the hall as quickly as I could and stood just outside Judith's line of sight. She was being quiet, but she wasn't quiet enough. "No, he's still here … No! …. Stop it, Mother! … Mother! … Because I'm not going to let him drive me out … I can stand it as long as he can … He can leave if he wants to … Mother! ... Well just call my cell phone next time…"

I went out onto the patio and stared at the evening clouds. They were peach and blue and white, and the edge of one glistened like gold leaf. You wouldn't know from them what was happening here, down below. The colors were gone long before Judith finished her conversation. Surely it hadn't taken that long to tell her mother her new theory, that I'd been getting some on the down low, and they probably shared what they'd heard on Oprah. I wondered how many people besides her mother she had told about the test. Good old queer Matt. I'm sure her family was all abuzz. I was certain she hadn't told anyone about George. 

*****

Once I had been the person Judith would whisper to over the phone.

She lived with two other girls and shared a bedroom. She told them to hold the living room phone while she ran back there, then to hang up.

I started it. "Where are you?"

"I'm sitting on the bed."

"What are you wearing?"

"Guess."

"Tell me."

"Shorts and a sweatshirt."

"Take off you're your shorts."

That's when Judith had begun whispering.

"I can't do that! Someone might come in!"

But she had wriggled out of them. It was the early days.

"Now touch yourself."

"No!"

"Do it." She was silent. "Are you doing it?"

"Wait. Okay. Oh you're evil!"

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Yes."

"Now rub yourself. Do it slowly, all the way down and up."

"Okay. Okay. I'm doing it. Uh! Oh, Matt!"

There was a rustling and I heard muffled female voices. When Judith came back on she said: "Sharron almost caught me!"

"Start over."

"No!"

"Do it." And she did.

"Oh! Okay. Oh! I'm doing it."

"Keep going." For a moment the only sound was Judith panting.

"I am. Oh! Matt, they'll catch me!"

"Do it faster."

"They'll hear me!"

"Faster!"

"I am! Oh God!"

"Faster!"

We were so conspiratorial, and so close. We wanted to try everything together at least twice, and to take chances. Much later, after we were married, Judith would turn to me in the car or while we were watching TV and ask, "Remember when we had phone sex?" That always led to play time. Then something happened. It was the usual thing. Time passed. Years passed. We became a middle-married couple, experienced in the everyday things that come between you, things like parents, money, personality quirks, time, sex, friends, snoring, the color of the carpeting, bad breath, bad sex, and who takes out the garbage. Everything. Nothing. We fought. We made up. We made love from time to time. We never again whispered on the phone, but now Judith whispered to her mother. Did she gasp at some point and say "He'll hear me"? Like us – when we were an "us" – the conversation with her mother was about sex, but it was different.

I thought about it all through the night, every night. Could I be infected? Could I have given it to Judith? Oh Jesus. Oh Jesus. Could I , just for a minute stop obsessing about it? Stop thinking about it! I should be sick. Stop it! I should be dying. God damn it, I am not going to think about it any more! But what if, what if, what if…?

It was midway through the fourth day that we got the results. 

It had been weeks, months, but really under a hundred hours. We'd both stayed home, avoiding each other, jumping whenever the phone rang. Our house was one big watched pot. I was about to call the doctor when we got it, the big call. Judith took it on the first ring.

As I came into the den she was saying "Yes?" Then "yes" again, more softly, sounding resigned. Then she gave a tiny sigh and said, "Okay. Okay. I understand." There was a pause while she listened, and I drifted closer and saw her collapse into herself. She put her free hand to her eyes. "Yes." She sounded like she had lost a child. 

I hadn't thought it was possible. I had but I hadn't. How could anyone? Who was infected, Judith or me? Or both of us? Hearing her, seeing her, gave everything a different cast, so different that goose bumps raced up my back. My chest filled with a strange, otherworldly feeling that reminded me of a very high note played on a violin. It was almost a beautiful feeling. "Yes. We'll be over. Thank you." The vibration ran all the way down my arms.

Judith put her head down into her hands and was still for several seconds. She finally said "No" to no one in particular. A meek, grieving little 'no.' Then, "Oh God."

"Tell me."

She looked up, her face glistening, here eyes red. She tried to smile, but she couldn't keep her mouth right. I'd expected her to attack me again.

"Tell me. We'll deal with it."

"It's just…I didn't know." She clapped a hand over her mouth, and the tiniest part of a cry made it past her fingers.

"What do you mean? Didn't know what?"

She was almost breathless when she spoke. She was crying before she finished. "I didn't know the test could be wrong." 

Judith put both hands over her mouth. She covered her face so that only her eyes showed. It grew so quiet in the room that my mind played a trick on me and whispered that we should be hearing a dog bark somewhere in the distance. While I waited for the dog, my wife pulled her hands away from her mouth, not far but far enough to let her speak, and she said, "I'm so sorry, Matt."

And me? I walked past her to the kitchen door, through the garage, to the driveway, got into my car, and left.

*****

Tell that to your mother!

I hated Judith. It was a good, clean hatred, not mucked up by any uncertainly about having done anything wrong. I was so in the right, so much the victim, so pure that I wanted to kill myself.

I told a group of guys at a bar. It seemed like the right place to be, though I don't usually do bars. I didn't know any of the guys, so I told them everything. Of course they loved the story.

"God damn that's cold!"

"Hell, yeah," said another, "But you've got the bitch by the short hairs now. Toss her out of the house, close down your accounts, and get a lawyer. She's toast!"




Positive



"You think?"

"Fuckin' A!" said a small, meek-looking guy with a dapper mustache. "Though some slapping around is in order, first. She'll never tell a soul, I guarantee."

"The guy needs a lot more than that!" said the first one. "A baseball bat will do wonders for him!"

"Here! Here!"

"I don't know …" They were talking too fast for me to get words in.

"You can't be a pussy about this!" said a gigantic, obese man in a drab, gray business suit. "You've gotta be a man and take charge. Don't get mad, get even!"

"Meaning?"

His voice dropped low and he leaned forward. So did several others. So did I.

"I know some guys who would gang-bang her for you. For a price. You'd never have to get involved. No one could prove you ordered it, but she'd get the message."

Mostly the guys just went on about how bitches ruined your life and how the law was unfair to men. The main theme was not to be a pussy. I heard that about four times.

The bartender poured me a free drink. I remember it was a single-malt scotch, neat, a double, from a bottle he pulled off the racks of rich-colored bottles behind him. He had tattoos up both arms, and a pony tail, like so many losers. Didn't his probation require him to stay away from bars? While he poured I wondered if that was his standard way of dealing with a man done wrong, and if maybe he expected I'd buy a round or leave a big tip.

The regulars were having a great time tossing around ways to put bitches in their place. While they did that the bartender leaned across the bar, close in to me. He had a thick, pink scar at the corner of his forehead.

"You seem like a nice guy." I smelled stale cigarettes on his breath, a whole carton of them.

"Thanks."

"So listen to me. Don't do anything crazy."

"What they said?" I nodded toward the barflies. "They're just bullshitting."

"Not necessarily. Not all of them. Watch out for the ones who bring it up again."

I looked over at them again but the bartender focused on me. "Like I said, you seem like a nice guy. Just don't do anything crazy." I wished he'd stop repeating himself. Then. "Your wife, she went crazy one day. She went nasty on you. But it's over. Right? She's sorry." He looked at me until I nodded. "So, before you do anything, you should think about how you two were before. If what she did is enough to end things cold turkey, then you already had bigger problems than you're gonna get fixed in here. If not…?" He shrugged.

I stared at him. I was feeling the drinks, but they weren't helping.

"Are you a therapist?"

He smiled a tight, almost nonexistent grin that didn't hold any humor.

"Just a barkeep. One who's learned from his mistakes."

I bought a round for everyone and left a big tip.

*****

I decided to leave Judith. Yes, there were bigger problems, Mr. Bartender.

It wasn't just the scotch thinking for me. I was drunk enough, but that wasn't it. It was because of who she chose to sex. At first I'd thought she picked George because I can't stand him, but it hit me I was wrong. Not that it being George wasn't a plus for her. No, the real reason it was him was that he'd do it right away, no questions asked. She wouldn't have to wait to get back at me. She got the news, and after the shock she thought, "That bastard! I'll kill him! I'll worse than kill him! I'll cut his balls off!" Stick it to Matt by having George stick it in her. It could have been a bum off the street, as long as she could do it without waiting. 

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!' She chortled in her joy.

The whole time she was doing it she was planning how she'd spring it on me. She should have seen my barkeep. He'd have told her not to do anything crazy, and he would have been right.

When I got home Judith was waiting for me, looking like a sad, lost puppy. At first I wouldn't say anything to her, and she followed me around the house like that little pup, asking me to please talk. While I got down a suitcase she said, "Please, Matt."

"There's nothing to talk about. I need to be away from you."

"Don't leave."

"Why would anyone stay after that?"

"Please! I was desperate. I thought you had killed me. What else could I think?"

"Oh, that maybe there was a tiny leetle mistake?"

"I know, honey, I know, but I was insane! I wasn't thinking straight. Please try to see what I was going through. Please. Out of nowhere, I thought you had given me AIDS. I went out of my mind!"

"Not so much that you couldn't arrange a fuck session with George Mathis within a couple of hours!"

"Please!"

"I bet all that good sex made you feel a lot better for a while."

Judith jerked. She stiffened, as though to get some dignity.

"I didn't come, if that's what you mean."

"Well. So all you got out of doing George was punishing me. That's so much better."

And she collapsed again.

"That's not what I meant."

"What are you going to do the next time you think I've been bad, hire a hit man? Maybe have someone go over me with a baseball bat?"

"Please! Matt. I'm so sorry. I'm so ashamed. If I could undo it I would. Please give me another chance."

"I don't want that. I don't want to go back to what we had. It wasn't that good."

"Matt…"

"Wait! There's more. I don't want to have something to hold over you. I don't like either of us like this, and after a bit you wouldn't like it either. You'd have to be oh-so-nice about everything because you sexed Mr. Dickhead. It would kill you and it would kill us."

"Not if you really forgave me."

"Maybe. But I don't know that I can. I don't know that I want to. The first things you decided when you thought you were sick. The very first! They tell me a lot about you, and about us, and none of it is any good." 

"Matt. Please. If you love me – if you ever loved me – please let me try. Try to understand. I wasn't myself! Give me a chance to make amends. I love you, and I'll do anything. I won't ever hurt you again. I promise."

How did the lines go? "And what have we got on the other side?" Sam Spade asked Brigid O'Shaughnessy, before he handed her to the police. "All we've got is that maybe you love me and maybe I love you."

"Shit. I'm sorry too. You say you love me. Well I don't know what I feel toward you, but it isn't love. And I do want to hurt you. Oh shit!"

I dumped the suitcase out and began repacking.

"Here. Let me help."

"Back off, damn it! I don't think you even believe what you're saying. I don't think you like me all that much, and I don't think you particularly like being married to me."

"Matt…"

"I won't be a sap! It turns out you're healthy. Well, you can be healthy and alone."

*****

We're apart. It's been months.

There are a lot of things I like about living alone, but being alone isn't one of them. If I'm at the apartment I sit in front of the TV or my computer, and wonder where all this started. Judith is the ghost who lives with me. Suddenly there she is, standing between me and the TV, or hovering over my bed at night, and we have long arguments that I always win. It doesn't help. It could have been worse, I guess. She could have sexed someone because she fell for him. Would that be worse? I don't know. Doesn't meanness count for something?

I don't have to be alone. Once word got out, two different woman invited me over for dinner. I didn't think I'd be much in demand, but again it doesn't matter. I'm sure they're very nice ladies, but I don't have the heart to start up dating again. Not yet anyway. I couldn't face all the little games you have to play, or stand the worry that someone could get hurt, her or me.

Judith? The real Judith, not the ghost? She's about like me, I guess, though she has the house. She's seeing a counselor and she says it's helping her. I don't think I'd do that. 

It's been an experience though. You folks who have gone through it know what I mean. I've learned some things. Like what? Like what it is to have the rug pulled out from under you. Like how to act as though everything's fine when you're quivering inside. Like what woman-hating jerks some guys are. I wonder what the bar denizens would do in a real situation, as opposed to their power fantasies? Me, I'm trying to following the bartender's advice. The font of wisdom. Don't do anything crazy. Hell, I haven't even filed for divorce. 

All this because her test was wrong. A one-percent chance of a false positive. If it had been right, we'd have kept on the direction we were going, smooth sailing or rough, happy or tired with each other, whatever. If she'd been slower to screw George, so that we saw the doc before anything happened and got the results straightened out, things would be more or less the same. If only it had been her cholesterol!

Judith's test was positive, but I'm not positive about anything. Ha-ha. My little joke. Very little.

We see each other from time to time. You find that hard to believe? There are a lot of practical matters to consider in a break-up, and her counselor suggested it. I pick her up and we go to neutral territory to talk. "Dates," she calls them and, frankly, once the uncertainty wore off and we could get away from talking about "it," they've been fine. She dresses up for them, and she wears makeup and perfume. I'd forgotten how lovely she is when she wants to be. We begin with practical matters and end up talking about everything. It's much nicer being with her than when we were together. 

A couple of weeks ago she found a leak under the bathroom sink, so I spent Saturday buying supplies and fixing it myself, because it's still my house too and, frankly, money is tight. One bit of maintenance led to another, so pretty soon it was evening. She had made a roast and insisted I stay to eat. I didn't want to be rude, and I had been fixing up her place. She surprised me by making roasted potatoes, string beans, and a Greek salad, and she brought out a bottle of Cabernet. No, she didn't stop there. She baked an apple pie.

You may think you know where this is going. If you do you're way ahead of me. 

Just last night we talked about property over a pasta dinner, then on the spur of the moment we went to an old movie at a neighborhood theatre. It was Judith's favorite chick flick: "Sleepless in Seattle." Afterward, she took my hand while we walked, just strolling under the Bradford Pear trees that line the sidewalks, talking through the still of the evening. She took my hand quietly, without fanfare, without asking, and I didn't let go. She has nice hands. We used to hold hands all the time. Sure. Wuss, wuss, wuss! She grew quiet and I asked, "What's on your mind?"

"I don't know. I just didn't think we'd ever hold hands again. That's all."

"Yeah." The monosyllabic male. I think she'd like to open doors into too many subjects I don't want to talk about. "Well, time passes."

At her door—it used to be "our" door—Judith gave me a good-night hug. 

"Would you like to come in? For a drink?" You know where that invitation was heading. 

"I don't think it would be a good idea." Big Ben, though, was standing before the hug was over, and I'm sure she could feel it. I gave her a kiss on the forehead, to get off the hook, and went home to fantasies of sex with her, sex like it was in the early years only of course even better.

Yes, I know she's trying to win me back. I'm not as much of a mope as you think. 

I don't want to think too much about us as a couple, but I'm not blind. We're both alone, and neither of us is happy that way, but what chance would we have? Even today, if I think about it too much, I feel like I'm going to explode at how nasty she was, and wish I had beaten her, and daydream about a cleansing gang rape.

It's ironic then, isn't it, that I enjoy being with her more than I did before? She seems more thoughtful and more … there. I wonder when we lost that quality to each other? So yeah, I like being with her. Next time I may accept her offer.

End.