0 comments/  59418 views/  0 favorites

A New Person

By: Reecer



I thought stuff like this didn’t really happen. But I guess it does. I had been married for 7 years, and our sex life sucked. I guess it might have just been the seven year bitch, but we didn’t seem to agree on anything anymore. We only had sex on nights when she was horny, which actually was more often than one might expect. If I would go down on her that was fine, but otherwise she would just push me onto my back and ride me like a woman on a mission until she came. 

I would try to time my orgasm to coincide with hers, because when she was done, she was done, and if I came too early she would just fuck my limp cock until she got off anyway. For more sexual excitement I discovered the local video store. I would sneak out with whatever story I could come up with, and watch pornos while I jacked off and fantasized. That is, until I discovered what the other patrons could do for me. If you play with yourself long enough, some “fag” will come by and suck your dick. Most of the time they’ll even swallow, and they never want anything in return. I’d just close my eyes and imagine whatever I wanted, Claudia Schiffer blowing me was a favorite.

One hot night in August I snuck out saying I had a late night work meeting, all I could think of was blowing my load in some willing mouth. I was wearing sweat pants as usual, they are easy to pull out of the way, so I was hot and sweaty by the time I got there in my 84 Dodge. I walked up to the counter to pay my admission fee thinking five bucks is damn cheap for a blow job and a porno. My cock was already bulging under my pants, the queer at the counter glanced at it and smiled at me. I could tell it was a busy night before I walked in the theater. 

Guys were laughing and talking in low tones. I stood in the back for the few seconds it takes for your eyes to adjust to the dark, then started walking to the front row. I was quite happy with the turn out, the local college was well represented. It looked like the whole black fraternity that called themselves the “Q-Dogs” had shown up. It hadn’t occurred to me yet that they wouldn’t be sucking dick in front of their brothers. I sat down and started watching the blonde on the screen getting banged doggie style, rubbing my cock through my pants. A large black guy came over and sat next to me, and watched me for a second before he pulled his huge cock out. I don’t generally look at dick, but his massive tool caught my eye. It must have been eleven inches long and thick as my wrist (I’m not a big guy), and not even fully rigid yet. 

He wiggled it in the air and stroked it a couple times, then said “suck it.” I told him I wasn’t into that, to which he replied he wasn’t asking. He said “Suck it you little white bitch!” slapped me across the face and grabbed my head and forced it down on his cock. I was stunned, my jaw stretched painfully wide open as he pushed his massive tool between my lips. I gagged, and somehow mucous formed in my mouth, making his cock wet and slick. 

I felt another pair of hands grab my waist and spin my ass out into the floor, followed by those same hands jerking my sweat pants off. The owner of the cock I was forced to suck slammed my head all the way down his shaft and held it there. I started to choke and thrash, tears streaming down my face, sure I would suffocate with a black dick in my mouth. Then he pulled me off by my hair, and told me to relax and cooperate. I shut my mouth tightly, vowing I would not be forced to suck him again. Just then I felt a slap on my bare ass. I turned to look as three more black men stood behind me, one of them on each side. The two on the sides each grabbed an ass cheek and yanked apart so hard I thought they would split me. 

The jock in the middle held out his long cock in both hands and spit on it, needing both of his huge hands to rub his lubricant in. It looked like a flag pole sticking straight out, unable to stand more vertical by it shear weight. I said no and tried to struggle, but more hands joined in and I was unable to move. He rammed his dick straight into me all the way to his balls. The searing pain shot through me like daggers. I tried to scream, but as my jaw dropped the first guy plunged his dick back into my mouth. Through my muffled screams of terror and pain I could hear them all laughing and congratulating themselves. Slowly the pain subsided, and I became more aware of what was happening. The dick in my ass was rocking in and out rhythmically, moving my whole body on and off the huge dick in my mouth. 

The massive dick pumping my ass, stretching my until then virgin ass hole to its limit was setting the pace for the blow job I was unwillingly giving the man whose lap my face was buried in. The thrusts started getting rougher and deeper and I knew what was about to happen, I started to moan a little, trying to encourage him to cum so it would be over. When he did I was struck by the unbelievable pain as his cock swelled and he planted it firmly into my ass, as deep as possible. With each spurt of cum he pumped me, and to make it worse, the whole affair set off the guy at my head. He did exactly like the other guy, only to my face. 

His cum was hot and sticky. I gagged and tried to puke but couldn’t. His cum was filling my mouth and when I gagged again cum ran out of my nose. He jerked his cock out and said not to swallow, which I had no intention of doing anyway. His thinking became clear as a second dick replaced his in my mouth. I was told to lubricate it well, which I did trying to spit the cum out of my mouth around his cock. The cum was dripping down my chin forming a puddle under my face. The dick abruptly left my mouth, followed by the swift removal of the one plugging my ass.

Another gush of cum spilled from my ass onto the ground, followed by the dick I just wet plunging in to fill the gap. “Now clean up the mess you made on my dick!” Incoherent at this time, I didn’t know what was meant until a dick was forced to my mouth, covered in cum and shit. When the smell hit me I dry heaved, moving nothing but mucous up, but my open mouth was taken as an opportunity and the filthy dick was pushed in. “The little white whore makes a good was machine!” the guy said as he worked his dick in circles inside my mouth. The guy at my ass tensed and grabbed my hips, pounding me a few times as hard as he could before he shot his load deep inside me. When his orgasm subsided he moved quickly to my face, I didn’t fight anymore. As I opened my aching jaw another dick slid into my well worn ass. 

The men just kept laughing, and each of them grudge fucked me in turn. I tried not to keep track, tried to block it all out. But the pain had long since quit, and the stroking had become relaxing, almost pleasurable. They kept switching off, and the few times there was no dick in my mouth I moaned, and felt empty. After I had taken at least twelve of them I became aware of the sound of a female moaning in another row. I could tell she was getting what I was, but her orgasms indicated she was enjoying it more than I was. I blacked out then, drifting in and out of consciousness, dreamily being held up and rocked as if I was on a boat. S

ome time later I guess they were done with me as I was let drop. I came to with my face in a puddle of cum, my ass still up in the air, my gaping asshole letting a river of cum stream down my leg and collect on the floor. Then I smelled perfume, and was rolled on my back. I heard a girl’s voice, vaguely familiar, tell me to relax. Her soft hand fell on my cock, and she stroked it gently. I never got hard, but I spilled my cum on my own stomach, it just flowed out, no spurting, no tensing, then I blacked out again.

I awoke sometime the next day in my own bed, my wife walked into the room and smiled at me, saying good morning in a very cheery voice. I started to talk, but my throat was swollen and my jaw ached horribly. She told me to relax and gave me a cup of coffee “for my throat.” I then realized that it was her voice in the theater the night before. A panic gripped me, which she must have seen in my eyes. “It’s okay” she said, “I am happy we got this out. Maybe we can learn to satisfy each other again.” Then she walked out. I sipped some coffee and gently reached a hand under the covers to my ass. It was tender, raw, and still stretched open, gaping under the covers. Then my wife walked back in with a needle, “You poor thing, are you still sore?”

I was, every part of me ached. She gave me a shot, and I slept. I awoke I guess about dinner time. She had a cold, thick drink for me. I drank it hungrily, received another shot and fell back asleep. This pattern repeated for several days, and I soon realized that the shots were doping me up. I awoke this time to hear her voice, along with another woman’s, coming from the living room. I struggled weakly from beneath the covers and tried to stand next to the bed. I stretched my arms and felt very strange. At the edge of the bed was some of my wife’s lingerie, next to them a mirror. I looked into the mirror and almost passed out again. 

There, looking back at me, was a freak. My whole body was hairless save my head and a triangle patch above my cock. Hanging from my chest was a pair of breasts, from a guy’s estimate D cups! Beneath each was a small scar, like those made from a medical incision. I gasped, and involuntarily yelled my wife’s name. Even my voice sounded strange to me! The answer came back for me to get dressed and to come out and meet her new friend. I couldn’t believe what was happening, my head was spinning. I am sure I was still drugged. I stumbled to the closet to find some clothes, but all of mine were gone! There was a few short skirts and some very small and thin women’s shirts, but nothing else. My wife walked in then.

She came up behind me as I stared into the closet. She put her arms around me, stroking my new ‘breasts’ in her hands. The feeling was actually quite nice, it made my head float again. The drugs were still working. She whispered in my ear in a sexy voice “You don’t like what I’ve picked out for you?” She walked me over to the clothes by the mirror, “Put these on, then come out into the living room."” I started to protest, but she slapped me, hard! I fell to the floor, “You ungrateful little bitch! Put this on! Dress like the whore you are and get your sissy bitch ass into the living room!” With that she threw the clothes in my face and left.

I picked them up. Black thigh highs, matching crotchless panties, and a lace black push up bra. "My God, what do I need a push up bra for? These are huge.” I couldn’t believe those words came out of my mouth. I sat stunned for a while, holding my smooth legs against my chest. I touched my legs, rubbing them. They felt nice. I closed my eyes and felt my breasts. I was getting turned on! As a man, holding a perfect set of breasts in my hand felt good, and at the same time my stretched and engorged breasts were sensitive and the touch made my nipples stand out. I opened my eyes and grabbed the clothes she had thrown at me. I put them on, sliding my legs into the thigh highs felt strange, the material was cool and stimulating. I put everything on and adjusted the mirror not show my face. I looked at the image, the curves, the breasts heaving and trying to spill over the top. And then the bulge in the panties, as my dick, turned on and excited, strained against them.

My wife stormed back in and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me out into the living room. Her friend was beautiful, and she was staring at me. I suddenly became aware of my breasts again, of what had been done to my body, I tried to cover myself with my arms, but it wasn’t possible. I was pushed onto my knees, and told not to move.

“I thought you were cheating on me. That some slut was fucking you all those nights you left. So I followed you, never dreaming you were the slut.” I tried to protest, to tell my side. She slapped me again. Meanwhile, her friend started feeling my body, weighing my breasts in her hands, touching me all over. “I thought you were a freak initially, then I realized how much fun you were having. So I called some of your friends over and let them fuck me, too. I let them fuck my pussy and my face while I watched them fuck your face and ass. I even asked to watch them do specific things. Do you remember riding one guy while another shoved his cock in your ass with the first? You had two cocks in your ass and one in your mouth. I came instantly. I realized then how I could enjoy sex with you again. Not fucking you, but watching you get fucked!” As she spoke she put what looked like a silver choker necklace around my neck. It was a little heavy, with a bulky clasp.

By this time, her friend, who I am allowed only to call “Mistress Anne” had made it to my cock. She pulled it out roughly, twisting it and yanking, wondering aloud if it should be “left” or “removed”. I winced, and reality hit me. I tried to stand, I wanted to run away. My once loving wife laughed. I stopped and looked at her. In her hand she held a little black box. She turned a dial on it, and an electric shot jolted me from the choker. My vision burst into a bright white light and I fell heavily to the floor. “I suggest you don’t test your tolerance for that.” And it was shut off. A high heeled boot came down on my now exposed genitals, and I doubled over in renewed pain.

“He’s going to be a lot of fun! Why don’t you just sell him to me. I have a closet free at home. The rest of the boys could use a new toy anyway. I don’t allow them to pleasure themselves or each other, but they could use a reward on occasion.”

“No, Anne, I still love him, even if he is a bitch. I think I’ll keep him for a while anyway. I can have lots of fun with the little slut. But I’ll loan him to you for your slaves’ satisfaction whenever you want. I’ve had the tape running, shall we continue?”

I heard my name and looked up. They both pulled up their skirts to reveal giant strap-ons. The black box was waved at me and the strap-ons were switched on, vibrating loudly. I was pushed onto all fours and used at both ends, stuck between two moaning and wildly bucking women.

And that started my new life. I have been loaned to Mistress Anne several times. She has four slaves, all men. They are normal, unaltered men, and they fuck me eagerly whenever I am there. They slap and abuse my tits, sucking them roughly. My cock is more often than not tied up tightly or otherwise restrained. I am left to them for hours, and they take full advantage of it for the cameras. Each of them rapes me repeatedly. You might have even rented one of those tapes. After they are done, or made to stop, Mistress Anne takes me to her room. This time is the best. She bathes me, powders me, brushes my now long hair. She pampers me as long as I don’t cum before she does. If I cum too quickly she does unspeakable things to me. She has even thrown me into the alley behind a crack house and used me as payment for drugs. Once she even sprayed me with female dog piss and chained me to the back yard fence.

When I am at my Mistress Theresa’s house (my wife, who I am not allowed to call anything but Mistress Theresa) things are very strict. When I am not needed I am tied up. Sometimes to one of her many contraptions featuring a motorized dildo. Sometimes just locked in a closet, where I am allowed to play with my tits, but not my dick. Most of the rest of the time I am the maid. I have a little outfit I must wear, and I clean the house, sometimes with nothing but my tongue. She has huge parties for which I am the entertainment, and pleasure all the guests in the end, both male and female. Once I was tied in the bathroom and used as the toilet all night. Sometimes, for old times sake, she takes me to the theater and ties me to a chair with a sign taped next to me. I never get to read the sign, but I get fucked often. 

She took me to a biker bar once, and watched as my tits were clamped in a pair of handcuffs and I was spread across a pool table and raped with pool sticks and beer bottles all night long. They never fucked me because she fucked each of them on the table next to me while I was forced to watch with two balls shoved in my ass. The breasts are real now, hormone induced from the first days of shots and spiked drinks on, the implants long ago removed. My cheek bones are enhanced, my body hair is permanently gone, and my ass lubricates itself. I am writing all this down now, because tomorrow I am to be sold. I don’t know to whom, and there is no telling what will happen to me. I have no say in my life anymore, I live it for whomever I am to please.

A New Perspective



Damn, what a day. A phone call wakes me up at 4 AM, an hour earlier than I should be waking up. It's my mom, bitching about her back and how she needs more Vicodin. Hearing my mom in pain is horrifying, but so is the idea of her becoming a dope fiend. Images of crackheads roaming outside my door flash into my mind. I was in med school and needed a cheap place to stay, and addicts abound wherever "affordable" housing is available. "Affordable" is a relative term and took a new meaning for me at that point in my life. Years later, success brings new problems. Not only do I fear my poor mother becoming dependent on opiates, but the DEA has been cracking down on fellow doctors that have been a bit too carefree with painkiller 'scripts. And I mean crazy-style.

Lawsuits have been popping up like parking tickets in the Loop, and many sawbones have even gotten locked up. Hearing phone calls from patients screaming in excruciating pain makes me sick, but I can't afford the lawyer fees for yet another fling in the courtroom. And jail time... I don't want to even think about that one. Shit, nothing's easy anymore in our Modern World. Then my better half starts bitching about being woken up, as if it's an activity I thrive on. That's right, just keep calling her the better half and eventually you'll remember it's the truth, right? I sure hope so; we haven't even had a good fuck in a month or two. Well, sex is always good, but no great, mind-blowing sex. (Hell, even my thoughts sound like I'm a Cosmo editor.) Perchance she's cheating. Wouldn't that just be the icing? Working difficult fourteen-hour-days for a cunt that's just been pumped full of some asshole's competing genes. Whatever, it'll all be over sooner or later. I just wanna get to bed.

I pull up into the driveway of my cookie cutter house, get out of my regular 'ol sedan, walk up to the ordinary door, check my mail (i.e. bills), get out the keys to unlock my door, and step inside my home. There she is, my wife, sitting her lazy ass on the couch, watching the nightly news in her underwear and a baggy sweatshirt. Goddamn, is she hot! Especially in that get-up. She knows what I like. Being the Don Juan I am, I play it cool.

"Hey, honey, how was your day?" I ask as I notice the cover to a porn sitting on top of the DVD player, and a wet spot in the middle of her panties. I suppose if I come home to this, life can't be that bad.

"Okay. I did some cleaning, cooking, and gardening. Not much is new." That's good to hear-she did her half of the work, and didn't even mention Mom. Maybe things are looking up.

"You been masturbating? What's up with the porn?"

Her big brown eyes shoot towards mine, then to the stairs, then back to me. "I, uh, um... yeah you caught me. What can I say?" The lack of blushing puzzles me.

While walking into the kitchen, I loosen my tie and glance upstairs. Nothing there. I drop my bags on the table, go over to the counter, pull a joint and lighter out of the cookie jar, walk back to the couch, and collapse next to Natalie. She rolls on top of me, straddles me by kneeling over my lap, kisses me, and asks, "Sweetie, can you hold off on the herbs until later? I just want your full attention for a while. Bad day at work?."

My penis starts to wake up, and soon it'll be standing at full attention. Nevertheless, I've been thinking about this spliff for the past several weeks. I'm taking the next three days off for vacation, and that doesn't happen too often. I get every third or fourth day off because I work such long shifts, but I'm still on call those days. Even if I wasn't on call, I couldn't smoke because I require two days of "recovery" when I light up. Not that I really need them, but surgery is not something I take lightly. It's my job, and somebody's life is in my hands. I want my brain working perfectly when the scalpel is in my hand. "Natalie, I've had a long week, and my-." She pulls the jay and light from my hand, throws it on the coffee table, and starts to make out with me like a seventh-grader while ripping off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. I don't argue; she always trumps weed. Rarely does she ask me not to toke, and when she does there's usually a good reason. Plus, her body... well, it speaks for itself. Long, toned legs; a flat abdomen that still has a thin layer of baby fat on it; perfectly rounded 28C breasts that even push out of a baggy sweatshirt; an amazing ghetto booty (why she complains about it is beside me); and a ridiculously gorgeous face. Her long, light brown hair frames those big brown eyes, high cheekbones, smoothly cut jaw, and cute little nose. Her full lips are great to kiss. I lost count of how many times other guys have mentioned how hot she is. Most proposition for a threesome, but I always angrily refuse. She's mine, and I work hard to keep it that way. Even if the idea did interest me, I don't know how she would respond if I asked her. Maybe I don't want to know.

By now she's pulled off my shirt. She rubs my chest with one hand and my crotch with the other. My body's nothing to scoff at, either. I work out like a madman on my days off, but I also have to give credit to good genes. I don't eat well enough to be as ripped as I am, but then again, I shouldn't complain. She's constantly telling me how hot I am, and I suppose I have reason to believe her. Well, I guess Popeye arms and washboard abs are great, but I still never got hit on nearly as much before I finished med school and married Attie, even though I've had the same body since high school. Funny what scrubs and a ring do to the psyche of a woman.

Ahhhhhhh... she slides down to the ground and kneels in front of me. After taking off my belt and pants like a professional, her lips wrap around the head of my cock and I feel her tongue wriggle all over it. Suddenly, she shoves her head forward and traps my dick in the back of her throat. Her head pops up and down a couple more times. I'll have a hard time lasting long at this rate. My cock throbs and drips a little bit of precum onto her chin. She continues sucking a bit longer, pulls her head off my member, stands up, sticks one hand into her lavender cotton underwear, and starts playing with herself.

"Attie, can you keep sucking? You do it so well and work has been-"

"Ssshhhhhhhhhh," she replies as she takes her hand out, puts her index finger over my lips, and then sticks it into my mouth. My mouth waters like crazy; it's a conditioned response, like one of Pavlov's dogs. "Mmmmmm, you taste so g-"

"What did I just say? I shooshed you. That means be quiet, so shut your goddamn pie hole. For the rest of the night, I only want to hear uncontrollable moans. Now, take me upstairs, piggyback-style."

Her sudden change of tone throws me completely off guard. Confused and excited, I comply unquestioningly. She climbs on my back and I stand up and walk to the stairs. I can feel her warm, damp panties rubbing on my back. While walking up the stairs, I feel her fingers reach into her underwear again and wiggle around. Her horniness makes my rock-hard cock twitch. One of my hands is holding onto the banister, and I reach down to my hard-on with the other.

"Hey, hands off! That's my job!" she snaps. I pull my hand away and use it to steady ourselves on the wall.

When we get upstairs and enter our room, I'm surprised to see a long strip of ripped towel tied to each corner of the bed. Pleasantly surprised but apprehensive, I squat down to set her onto the bed.

"Now, lie down on your belly with your head at the foot of the bed," she commands after standing up off the bed. My obedience shocks even me. She pulls each my four limbs to a corner of the bed and ties them up. My head is resting at the end of the bed. I strain my neck to pick up my head and see what's going on. She takes a blindfold off the dresser and ties it over my eyes, then crumples up tissues and stuffs them between my face and the blindfold. Not a ray of light breaks through the blindfold. Each of my legs and arms is tied to a different corner of the bed so that I can't move at all.

Normally, my cock would be softening up due to the lack of physical attention, but right now it's staying as stiff as ever. The pulsing makes it rub against the sheets I'm laying on, making me grunt with delight.

I hear Natalie rustling around in the bathroom drawers for a couple minutes. Several minutes later, she comes back to the bed.

"Can you breathe through your nose?"

"Yes."

"What? I told you I only want to hear moans. Now there's going to be consequences. Open wide." I open my jaw as wide as possible, only to have a towel or rag shoved into it. Muffled moans of protest escape my mouth.

"That's much better. However, your mouth isn't the only thing you're going to open wide tonight." I hear a plastic cap open, and then jump as a cold gel is poured over my posterior.

"That's lube. Sorry if it's a bit cold," she says as she rubs it all over my butt cheeks, then starts working it around my sphincter. It feels shockingly good as she lightly circles my ass hole. She quickly sticks a finger inside me, and I jump again. 

"Oh, ho. That's just the beginning," she snorts as she keeps working the lube around and into my ass. She stops, then picks something up from what sounds like a box of objects on the dresser. Muted yelps emit from the towel in my mouth as she sticks something large inside me. I can only guess what it is. Though ass play has piqued my interest from time to time in daydreams, Natalie and I have never discussed it, let alone done anything like this before.

"This is a butt plug," she informs me, and proceeds to fuck me with it, much harder than I ever thought my sweet wife would be okay doing to me. I keep moaning. Luckily for the ears of the neighbors, the screams stay muffled. Being fucked is very humbling; perhaps this is how she feels when I bend her over and fuck her pussy like an engine piston. And the stretching. I've never felt so much pain and pleasure at the same time. The feeling of the plug reaching far inside me and rubbing my prostrate keeps my dick rigid. Not to mention the complete shock. The idea that my trusted wife of years would bring this all out of the blue is... overwhelming, to say the least. But, I'll always trust her until that fateful day I find out she's cheating on me. I'm such a hardcore pessimist that I assume it'll happen sooner or later.

"Okay, that's enough. The plug is staying in. Are you enjoying yourself?"

I nod emphatically.

"Good answer. And you learn so quickly to keep quiet. Yes, you've always learned quickly. For a reward, I'll let you kiss me." She pulls my head up by my hair, pulls the towel out of my mouth, and pushes her crotch in my face. "Lick!"

I stick my tongue out and start lapping up her wet panties like a parched dog drinking water. I still can't see anything, but the feeling of the damp cotton on my tongue and her sweet taste make my saliva glands squirt and my cock ache even more. The blurred line between pleasure and pain makes my head spin. She smells so good I can't even think.

"Mmmmmm, it feels good, but that's enough for right now," she murmurs as she uses my hair to shove my face back into the bed. My dick is so hard that it starts poking down into the sheets and pushing my ass into the air. I wriggle around to adjust my body for more comfort.

Natalie starts giggling. "Are you going to do some no-armed pushups for me, sweetie? You're such a push-under." I grin and she chuckles at her own corny joke.

"What's the matter? Don't find me funny?"

"But, I-" slips out of my mouth. Her tone changes swiftly.

"Ooooo, you didn't want to do that. You opened your mouth and now I'm going to have to fill it back up." I hear: steps to the dresser, rustling around in a box of items, several snapping noises, steps over to the closet, closet doors opening, that slick sound I hear when whacking off with Vaseline, and steps back to me.

"This is Jimmy, and you're going to suck him off."

My heart leaps into my throat. A man? This bitch has the audacity to fuck around on me? To play me like a fool? Bring over a cock and fuck him in MY OWN HOUSE? I start thrashing around like a psychiatric patient, doing my best to loosen the restraints. Given my compromised situation, I keep quiet to avoid pissing her off, even though I know trying to break free won't help.

She slaps me on the face, hard. "What the hell is wrong with you? It's a strap-on! Do you think I would fuck another guy? You've clearly stated that other men are off limits, years ago! Did you really think I would cheat on you? Just for that... STOP MOVING AROUND AND OPEN YOUR MOUTH WIDE!!"

My heart pounding, I keep my jaw clenched shut, but calm down a bit and stop moving.

"Hey, open up!" I feel another slap. But this time, instead of a hand, I feel a firm, thick, penis-shaped object hit me several times on each side of my face. And, it's wet. "I can keep slapping you all day until you open up. That's flavored lube so the medicine goes down easy but it's only wiping off. Whether you like it or not, you're going to get a taste of your own medicine, and if you don't stop it's only going to be more painful. You weren't complaining when your dick was shoving down my throat, and you weren't even lubed up. Now, OPEN YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!!!"

Reluctantly, I open up, only to feel a rubber cock immediately shoved into my mouth. Sure enough, I taste that fake cherry flavor-- the flavor red. I suck on the head for a bit before she grabs the hair on the back of my head and thrusts down my throat. I expect to gag, but it just slides right down my throat. I feel the skin on the middle of my neck push down and touch the sheets. Shockingly, the dildo that's stretching out my throat produces only slight discomfort. Air snuffs through my nostrils as I try desperately to breathe through my nose. The thought that consistently presides over all others, however, is complete astonishment at how my wife keeps fucking me... violating me. My rock-hard dick is about to burst from the idea of my sweet little Attie stuffing a butt plug deep inside me and then forcing me to suck her off. She keeps thrusting like I'm a dirty whore.

"Oh, you're a natural, just like I thought. Ohhhhh, there's a little nub... on my end... rubbing my clit," she pants between breaths. 

"Alright, you've been... somewhat obedient, and I can't bear it... any longer. I need you inside me, right now." Quickly, she pulls her dick out of my throat and rips off my blindfold, allowing my vision to return. I squint for a bit as my eyes adjust to the light. The edge of the bed and the carpeting pop into view, and with the top of my peripheral vision I see her taking off the strap-on. She steps quickly to the side of the bed, and I feel her untie my right ankle, then jump superman-style on my legs to untie my left ankle. Her soft breasts press onto my left calf. Then, with a quick yank, she pulls out the butt plug. My lubed, stretched ass hole quickly clamps up. Using both free ankles, I flip myself onto my back. I rest my head on my overlapping arms. My wrists are still tied but I pay no mind. My attention focuses on my beautiful wife, who immediately straddles me, grabs my throbbing cock, and shoves it inside her trimmed pussy.

"Oh, FUCK YEAH!" she screams as she bucks up and down, riding me like a bull. "Penetrating you... is great but... so unnatural," she gasps in ecstasy. "Being fucked is... UNHHHH... so... much... better." With her chin up, her eyes roll back in her head and her big, perky breasts bounce perfectly, all for me.

I watch as my big dick splits apart her pussy lips and rubs her red, engorged clit, then dives deep inside her. The warm, slick, tight feeling of her cunt almost drives me over the edge, and I use all my willpower to try to hold back.

"Oh, Attie! If you... keep going... gonna come... UH!" Nearing insanity, I can't fight it any longer. Wrists still tied up, I plant my feet flat on the bed, and use all my leg strength to thrust as deep as possible. She reclines until her back rests on my knees, reaches her hand down to her clit, and starts rubbing her hard knob like she's trying to start a fire.

"Ohhhhh, FUCK! Uh, Uh, Uh, AHHHHHHH" I yell as I shake uncontrollably and squirt like a supersoaker into her womb. My cock clenches over, and over, and over, and over again as I pump cum inside my woman.

"Yeah, FILL ME UP! Oh... yes... I can feel you squirt inside me! Mmmm, make me come! Oh yeah, keep going!"

After several more intermittent hip-thrusts, I relax my pelvis and let her do most of the work again. She pulls off my twitching, spent cock, crawls toward my head, and shoves her sopping wet, cum-filled pussy into my face. "Eat me! Eat my creampie now!" Without hesitation, I stick my tongue as deep as I can inside her, then shift it upwards to her clit. I moan as our juices drip down the throat my wife just got through fucking. Her sweet honey and my salty cum create a flavor that floods my mouth with saliva. I swallow it all down as I keep flicking my tongue back and forth over her swollen clit.

"Ohhhh... unnnhhhhh.... UH! FUCK YES!" she shrieks as her legs and hips shake in frenzied spasms. "Yes, lick it, lick that pussy!"

I grunt loudly while continuing to lap up our sugary cum. Eating her freshly made creampie is a trick that's old hat, but will never get old.

"Yeah... you better... I wanna come... at least... twice," she pants as she grinds her pussy all over my face, smearing the juices all over, then repositions her clit over my lips again. I keep licking her button until she starts shaking again. "Oh... yeah! Yes, yes yes, yes, yes, YES! UH!" 

After one final burst of quakes, she collapses down on top of me, her ass on my abs and head on my softening prick. She turns to look at it, gives it a little kiss, then gets up and unties my wrists. Both completely spent, we lay down next to each other. I wrap my arms tightly around her waist and she stares deep into my eyes, grinning ear to ear. Beaming with absolute joy, I stare back into her big, gorgeous, brown eyes.

"So, honey," she asks, "how was your day? You now have permission to talk again."

I answer with the only words that can possibly come to mind: "Fucking amazing."



A New Perspective



Author's note: This is a departure for me. A radical departure. As anyone who has read my other tales -- here or elsewhere -- will know, I've stuck to my female perspective at all times, no matter what the subject matter of the story. This tale, however, is something entirely new for me -- something written from the male angle. So I guess this is an apology in advance! It was an idea that was requested of me from different sources, and one that increasingly intrigued me. I've not managed to find any quick routes into the male psyche, and I've had to rely on assistance from a couple of guys. They've been very keen to point out what guys definitely wouldn't say or think in certain circumstances (thanks, sincerely), but the story is entirely mine and therefore entirely my fault. I really hope you enjoy it... 

*

There was no epiphany, no flash of light or inspiration, no trigger pull that lead to a smoking (or at least, dripping) gun. No matter how hard I think about all that has happened, I can't identify a specific time, date or event that brought about what occurred. Maybe -- and this is just a speculative maybe, you understand -- I was simply born with the potential hard-wired inside me and it simply took the passing of time to bring it to the surface. Maybe I just needed to grow up sufficiently to be able to recognise how I felt. 

My mother is a dichotomy on legs. You see a ditzy blonde and are captivated my her infectious smile and sparkling blue eyes -- and yet she is one of the shrewdest, deepest thinkers I have ever had the pleasure to meet (and I have spent the last two years at a very good university). You see a woman of average height, average build and average body shape, and yet one glimpse at her across the clichéd crowded room and you can bet your life on the fact that she is the most beautiful woman there. 

Perhaps I'm biased, but I don't think that there would be many of my wide circle of friends who would disagree too strongly. Even the openly gay ones. Or a lot of the women, come to that. My mother, Allie -- Alison -- captivates and enchants, intrigues and bemuses, and it has been a privilege to have been her son for two decades. And very much more of a privilege in the last tenth of that time. Let me explain...

I always knew that my mother was pretty, always knew that she was kind. What son -- except a very unfortunate few -- does not? My father was an absence rather than a memory, a loss -- through untimely death -- that affected my mother a lot more on a good day than it ever affected me on a bad day. But what happened between mom and me... well that could not be explained away simply as a result of her prettiness or loneliness or her engaging personality. Nor could it be explained by my age or my newfound maturity. Mainly because most of those things weren't factors in my earlier years where all of this must surely have its roots?

What I'm trying to say is that this was a two-way thing and that it started in all probability before I was even born. An inevitability, if you like, and despite the fact that an argument like that could be seen as self-serving nonsense, I genuinely believe it to be true. Put it another way, I think I fancied my mother since I could first see her.

So, as I said, there was no single moment when the world shifted, or when reality became something different. My mom had always given me a warm glow when we laughed together, played together, just shared the same planet, and that glow was maybe more than just a mother-son bond. But that day when I came home from my first term at college was a real kicker.

For all her prettiness and good nature, and the lovely clothes she always seemed to wear, my mom was always shy and innocent-seeming behind closed doors. I was two weeks beyond my eighteenth birthday when I left for college and I had never seen more than the occasional bra strap or -- shock-of-shocks -- the very, very occasional glimpse of bra-cup down the front of a particularly loose blouse. And even that took some serious neck twisting. Putting it simply, I had never had a truly sexual thought about my mom -- or at least, one that was backed up by anything more than a wild teenage imagination. And nothing seemed in any way different when I let myself back into our house that December afternoon. "Gordy! Welcome home!" Mom positively dashed through from the kitchen to greet me, arms wide and a serious hug on the agenda.

"Thanks, mom!" My gratitude was entirely genuine as I accepted the proffered hug, suddenly feeling the homesickness I hadn't actually noticed for the past three months. "I missed you."

She leaned back and looked me in the eye, "Same here, tiger. The place has been totally dead without you." She glanced down at my bags, "And so tidy, as well."

I laughed, "Sorry, but you did say that if I had any washing-"

Her finger to my lips quietened me, "And I meant it. Dump that lot in the washing hamper, the rest of your stuff in your room, and then come and have a coffee with me and tell me all about college face-to-face so you've no need to skip over the bits you didn't want anyone else to hear."

Like I said, she was always so smart about stuff. 

I guess if you forced my hand I would have to say that it was that very evening, sitting there sipping coffee across the table from mom when I could first identify a sensation that there was something directly attributable to sex in what I was feeling for my mom. It was a glimpse of -- not even an intentional look at or for -- white, shiny material between the front panels of her pale blue blouse.

It wasn't as if I'd never caught the tiniest of glimpses of 'nether garment' material before while she was wearing it, but this time it struck a chord deep inside me. Sex sharp, maybe. It didn't so much give me pause, or distract me, as fry a circuit somewhere deep inside my brain. My mom wasn't just pretty, she was sexy... Without being aware of the transition at any level, I went from a doting, slightly sappy son, to a rampant young male faced with the tiniest fraction of heaven. To this day I have no idea what conversational topics where batted around for the next half an hour or so, but I can remember exactly what I glimpsed from time to time, and even how stressed my jeans felt as a result. And through it all, mom was still mom, never 'a woman', albeit Allie, Alison or 'that cute bitch from down the road'.

The pale blue, cotton blouse was about as nondescript as they come (he said, attempting to describe it...), a traditional (I suppose) smart/casual female garment with a high collar, long, slightly loose sleeves, cut neatly but without specific emphasis on what it was covering. It had seven (visible) pale blue buttons running from the waistband of the darker blue skirt my mom was wearing, up to the collar of the garment, the top three of which were undone. This left a tantalising gap between the upper panels, revealing just an inch or so each side of the soft mounds that the blouse and its accompanying shiny white bra were otherwise covering. I couldn't recall whether my mother ever wore a blouse open quite that far before or whether it was just the first time that my libido had been separated from her for so long that it now allowed me to look. Either way, look I did -- as surreptitiously as possible, of course -- suddenly scared to be seen even glancing in that direction.

It wasn't exactly a hard-core view. It wasn't even close to soft-core. But somehow, that tiny visible sliver of my mom's breasts affected me more than my few evenings with a girl from my college, and more than all of the porn I'd ever viewed on my pc. Every time my mom changed position, twisted to refill the coffee mugs from the pot on the coffee maker, or -- be still my hummingbird heart -- bent to pluck something from her purse on the floor beside her, my heart raced as my eyes focused on how the view might have changed as she returned to her former position.

I knew, even as I was doing it, that there was something fundamentally... if not wrong, then strange, for sure... about how I was obsessing over these tiny peeks at... well at nothing very much, really, but I couldn't have stopped myself on pain of death. By the time mom said she was 'delighted to have me home, but too tired to stay awake another second' and stood up in preparation for taking herself off to bed, I was in a highly agitated state. More precisely, I was rigid in my jeans, and had to feign tiredness of my own to ensure that I wasn't made to stand up and hug her goodnight. Had I done so, I'm pretty sure you'd be able to pinpoint the exact second I did it by the records down at the local seismology centre -- the explosion would have registered comfortably.

I waited until mom was safely tucked up in her room, then headed for my own bed as quickly and quietly as I could, where a technique known as 'wanking' was used to relieve the stresses that had built up over the past few hours. I started with the intention of distracting my evidently misfiring libido by focusing on a video I had watched a few (hundred) times of a young woman being... surprised my her boyfriend, but within a few seconds the only mental image that played across the screen in my mind was of the silky smoothness of a certain bra, and what that certain bra might be covering.

Day two of my trip home, or my trip into a different dimension, began with a jolt of wonder. As in, did I really think all those things last night? I wonder how that could have happened...? Quickly followed by another mental flash of silky white smoothness which almost lifted the covers off the bed. At least I knew I hadn't dreamt the whole episode, but that left an extremely urgent question: What next?

I could hardly deny to myself that I wanted to see more of the same. And just 'more'. Sure, it occurred to me that it might be thought of as 'wrong' or 'weird' or even plain old 'depraved', but I was smart enough to know what my mind was saying it wanted. I was also smart enough to know that there was a whole internet out there where any doubts I had about my sanity (or decency) could be answered. 

I lay there quietly, checking the clock to make sure that mom would have left for work by then (I had apparently slept for ten hours straight), before pulling on a tracksuit and switching on my pc -- an old friend that had witnessed more scenes than I would be comfortable even talking about to like-minded male teens. Within an hour I had got as many answers as my fevered brain could handle, the most significant being that my newfound interest was extremely distant from being uncommon (it almost seemed like the opposite was true and that I had been a bit weird up until now to not find my own mom an object of sexual attraction). I also had an erection that felt as if it were permanent, and which alarmingly failed to significantly reduce in intensity even after a long session in the shower. 

Many of the sites I'd visited were full of ideas about which sexual positions my mother would prefer us to adopt, but I was more interested in realism than tawdry fantasy, and it was actually a voyeur site that gave me my first clues about how to proceed with my much more realistic goals. 

A visit to my mom's underwear drawer, where a particularly sheer bra delayed matters for twenty minutes while my left wrist received another workout, gave me some more clues about what I might realistically expect to see if success came my way, and after that I spent a frantic few minutes rummaging through various drawers until I found what I was looking for. Given that I'd never seen a stitch-ripper before and was working from internet illustrations, I think you will get the idea that I was a man on a mission. With the little tool safely in hand, I proceeded to the wardrobe.

Mom had been a creature of habit in terms of her modes of dress before I left for college, and nothing appeared to have changed to judge by the contents of her wardrobe. Knowing her, she would have gone to work wearing a business suit, this time of year jacket and trousers rather than skirt, over the top of a smart light blouse. She would come home and change out of the suit into the sort of skirt she'd had on the previous evening, and a clean but often worn blouse. Because of the architectural specifics of her bedroom, the wardrobe was deep rather than wide, with her clothes hung from front to back in the order that she would normally wear them. Right at the front when I opened the door was a blouse that I was almost completely certain she would change into as soon as she came home that day.

If my actions sound like those of a desperate young man, then you wouldn't be at all wrong in thinking it. I admit it. For the best part of two decades I'd lived within a breath of what I now knew I wanted to see, and I'd done nothing. I hadn't even realised! Sure I was desperate. But not dumb.

I plucked the blouse off of its hanger and laid it on the floor after first holding it against my chest and counting the buttons. I took the protective cap off the stitch-ripper and bent the third button from the collar over until the little cotton threads that held it onto the blouse were exposed. Not allowing myself to think of anything except the website's explicit and detailed instructions, I inserted the ripper between two threads and gave a light tug. With a barely audible snap, the thread broke, and I repeated the action five more times -- until three-quarters of the eight threads were broken. To finish the task, I rubbed the side of the blade against the remaining two strands, further weakening the button's hold on the material, then re-hung the doctored garment before my shaking hands could no longer manage the task. Another visit to the underwear drawer and bathroom, and I was as calm as I could reasonably expect to be.

Stage two of my new and frantic campaign saw me repeat the button weakening process on the next 'casual' blouse in case my mom skipped the normal rotation for some reason -- we all need a backup plan -- and then I turned my attentions to the bathroom door.

It was, I admit, something of a risk sabotaging both clothes and the door but trust me, desperate times call for desperate measures, and if the worst come to the worst and suspicion fell on me, I could claim almost twenty years of impeccable behaviour as a witness to my innocence. Just so long as I didn't start referring to them as those 'two stupid, fucking, wasted decades'.

The door proved much easier to doctor than the blouses with the additional bonus of me being able to test the effects of my tinkering. Even the search for the tools that I needed for the task was easier than the hunt for the stitch-ripper, plus I could actually recognise what a screwdriver looked like without recourse to half a dozen diagrams. Within fifteen minutes, I had taken off the door lock and handle mechanism, snapped a spring, and returned the metalwork ('furniture' the article called it -- you learn something new every perversion) to its original position. Now, when the door was closed and the locked turned, although it felt like an internal mechanism secured the door, a simple twist of the handle gained access to the room beyond. The bathroom beyond.

I wasn't actually certain I'd ever have the nerve to walk into the room knowing my mom was inside and quite possibly undressed, but I knew myself well enough to know that if the blouse thing failed my desperation levels would give me the courage.

I was all set to enter the world of the mega-perv and there was still five hours to go before mom was due home. Time enough for another trip to the underwear drawer...

Despite what I'm about to say, I'm not a shallow person. I didn't so much not think about what I was doing that day, as not allow myself to think. There was a part of me, deep down, that had been awakened, and I knew myself better than to try to suppress my feelings. I was mad at myself as well -- after all, I'd had countless years to enjoy things, and I'd not so much as noticed my true feelings. 

Did I wonder whether it was my time away at college that had changed my perspective? Did I consider that I had broadened my experience and tastes since I'd been away? Did I think about those and a thousand other possible causes for my new emotions?

Yes, yes and -- guess what? -- yes. But no matter how hard I tried to figure out the cause, I kept coming back to a bright, shiny, all-new, universal truth. I truly felt as I did, no matter who the object of my desire was. Also, I was now desperate. Also, I didn't actually know exactly what I wanted other than 'more'.

By the time I heard the key in the front door lock, I was all thought out and just sat staring at the kitchen table. There was no processing power left in my brain save for the mission that I had prepared so deviously for, and a big part of that mission was to appear just like normal.

"Hi, mom! Want a coffee made for you while you change?"

She appeared at the kitchen door, a fraction of a second after her smile, "Oh, I've missed this, or, roughly translated, yes please." She turned and made for the stairs, calling back over her shoulder, " You had a good day, Gordy?"

That, I thought, remains to be seen. "Not bad, mom." Not trusting myself to speak more as a fit of shivers threatened to overtake me, I switched on the coffee maker. Now that the time had arrived, I was beginning to have serious doubts about a certain doctored button.

Overhead I could hear the floorboards creaking as my mom made her way into her room, followed by the wardrobe door opening, more creaks as she changed, and yet more as she made her way back out of her room and onto the stairs. Given that there had been no moans of annoyance, I gathered that my sabotage had not yet been discovered. I was almost hoping that it would maybe not work at all. Almost.

I was pouring the coffees by the time my mom showed her face back in the kitchen after what sounded like a detour into the little room next to the living room where here computer was set up. "Good timing, mom." I handed her a cup, risking a glance at the front of her blouse. The doctored button was the last one currently done up, so any doubt I'd had about my attempted sabotage was washed away.

Mom took the mug from me and sipped, "Oh yes, I may have to keep you locked up here come the new year. I genuinely had forgotten how nice this was. Thanks."

A slurp of my own drink helped cover the embarrassed snort, "It's a pleasure," I managed, "Nice to have someone around to appreciate the gesture."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not short of company around the campus."

"Maybe I'm just fussy," I said.

"Well you can afford to be, a good-looking guy like you."

Mom's words were nothing more than a variation of her usual 'feel good about yourself' mantra that she good-naturedly trotted out to me, but their effect on this particular evening felt far from normal. "Must be the good genes from you." I turned away as blood started to race from under my collar, heading for my cheeks.

Mom laughed, "Oh very cute. I see that you're still doing well with your charm lessons, no matter that you need a credulous audience for that line to be believed."

I stayed facing away, "And you're still great at fishing for compliments!" I set my mug down.

"No fair!" Another laugh was followed by a finger poking between two of my ribs, "I am not an angler!"

I spun and poked mom just as she had done to me, "And taking advantage of my ticklishness is hardly fair, is it?"

She clattered her mug onto the counter, a giggle sending my blood pressure soaring, "Stop! Along with genes, good or bad, you get your ticklishness from me as well!"

My ears were spinning, I swear, as excitement threatened to overwhelm me. I made to prod my forefinger between her ribs once more, but mom took a quick step back, her hands rising to fend me off. The doctored button popped noiselessly from the blouse and my heart threatened to pop as well. From two hundred beats per minute, my heart-rate came close to doubling when I realised that mom hadn't noticed. And close to quadrupling when the blouse gaped wide and low.




A New Perspective



She grinned, and I ran out of numbers to describe my heart-rate, "You're slowing up with all that college time!"

I moved on autopilot, already a step beyond the heaven that I had scarcely dared dream of, "Just bluffing," I managed, lunging forward.

As mom squealed and my eyes moved to within a few inches of the heaven that was on display I saw, for the first time, the cups of her bra gently supporting her average but perfect breasts. A bra that, while not as sheer as the one in her drawer upstairs, was far from opaque. I could see my mom's nipples, hard and pink, with almost perfect clarity. Somehow, I still managed to attempt a tickle of her ribs.

"No fair!" she giggled, still seemingly unaware of the blouse's wide gape, and very, very unaware of the effect it was having on a certain part of my anatomy.

I was used to successes in my life -- in the schoolroom and even on the sports field -- but nothing I had achieved to date had brought about quite the sense of achievement that I was feeling right then. I doubt whether it sounds like very much to you, but as thrusts, blocks and tickles were swapped, all to the accompaniment of that stunning view, I was in an almost trance-like state of mega-success. 

So trance-like, I guess, that I let my gaze linger longer and longer on that flimsy bra, and the firm flesh it contained.

"Oh, god, Gordy!" she squealed as the realised how her blouse was gaping. She grabbed the front and pulled it together, backing off from the scrum, "I am so sorry! How embarrassing!"

My mind was still trance-like. "It's okay, mom, honest." I should have left it there, but that trance state was knocking sixty points off my IQ. "Really, honest. Better than okay, in fact."

Mom's gasp was full of shock but there was an odd tremor as she protested, "Gordon! I'm your mother, so less of that sort of thing, please."

"Oh mom, sorry," I managed when I realised what I'd said, "It's just... I guess it-"

"You guess it was all just a shock, right?" she tried to help, still standing there with one hand holding the rigged garment pulled shut.

"Yeah, that's it. Shock." The trance persisted, "And the fact that you've got great-"

"Gordon!"

"Sorry. Shit... I mean sorry for that too. I mean... What do I mean? Oh yeah. Just like sorry mom, but yeah, shock." So no noble prizes for that speech then.

It did however seem to placate my mom, "I guess it is rather unusual, but.. well, anyway, I'm going to go and change, and I'd use the time to get your head straight, Gordy, okay?"

"Yeah," I managed, trying not to calculate whether I would have enough time with her gone to get a little wrist exercise in.

In the end I thought that taking that sort of chance would be possibly counter-productive and so spent the time congratulating myself on achieving so much (to me -- bear with me here) at my very first attempt. I knew -- just knew -- that the sight of mom's tits inside that flimsy bra would stay with me for a long, long time, and I was still wondering vaguely about how many fantasies they would star in when mom reappeared.

Now the more sensible among you might well have realised that I had created a problem for myself here. It wasn't the monster (well, a guy can dream) erection that was threatening to drain all the blood from my vital organs, because that had been dealt with by loose track pants and some hasty rearrangement while my mom was changing. Oh, no, it was nothing that obvious to me.

Mom had changed blouses and I still didn't realise what a problem there was likely to be when she offered me a placatory smile and said, "Better now?"

"What? Oh, right, I mean yes." I paused and when she lifted an eyebrow, finally got the message, "Oh, and sorry. For staring like that I mean. It was just.. .like you said, shock."

She gave a rueful chuckle, "What? That your mom has a pair?"

"No!" She was flustering me again and knew it.

"Gordy, relax. Accidents will happen and I guess you're at the age when any pair will cause a reaction, right?" As well as flustering me, she was offering me a get-out.

"Um, yeah. I guess that's right, mom." I felt happier, more convinced that any paranoia I had about her possibly suspecting anything was just plain silly. Then she reached up for a coffee mug.

"Fancy one?" she asked me as the top button of the second doctored blouse popped off, un-noticed by her.

"Do I!" It was out before I realised it and it was only when mom took a mug and turned towards the kettle when I realised that she didn't see anything odd in my answer because to her it had an entirely different meaning.

I also realised that when she noticed what had happened with this blouse I was likely to be shot. And yet... And yet, I had to have one last peek before I tried to work out what the fuck I was going to do next. "Need a hand, mom?" 

She turned and smiled, "No you're alright there, Gordy."

If it had just been the smile I received, I might have been okay. But I also received a perfect view of mom's right, bra-clad breast, its nipple hard and oh so very obvious. What can I tell you? I stared.

"If there's any fresh coffee in the larder," mom continued, "you could go get that for..." her voice trailed off and I glanced up at her face at last.

With infinite care, mom set the mug on the counter to her right and stared down at her gaping blouse. The second gaping blouse. She didn't even cover up as her head rose and she fixed me with a stare who's look I plain couldn't interpret.

"Gordon? I... I don't know what this means, but I don't believe in coincidences as you very well know. Is this going to happen every time I put on a blouse now?" Her voice began to rise slowly. It was like one of those NASA space ships that rose just a few feet in the first few seconds before getting faster and higher... "Have you been away at college learning to be a total perv? Have you got to the point where your next step is to just rip... just look at whatever you want? Even if it's sick and disgusting? You like this view so much you'd risk alienating me forever? You want to see your little mom's tits that bad, huh, Gordon?" She took a step forward, thrusting her bra-clad breasts accusingly at me, "Is that it, Gordon, huh? You reached an age where any pair will get your rocks off, even my little ones? Even at the risk of battering down taboos and pissing me off royally? You want to see my pussy as well, huh, Gordon?" She started to fumble at the waistband of her skirt and I was truly, deeply alarmed. This was way too scary and nothing like my mom, "Hey, Gordon? You answer me now, You want to see my pussy, huh? You want to see mom's pussy..." Her fingers couldn't get the zip undone -- thankfully, by now, "You already seen my tits so that only leaves my pussy, right? You want to see that as well, huh? Mom's tits, mom's pussy. Mom's cunt, okay Gordon?"

Just as her voice reached a pitch where I was thinking that maybe the neighbors could hear -- maybe the Feds five hundred miles away -- mom gave a grunt of frustration as a nail broke on the skirt's zipper, and she dashed from the room.

In the wake of her rage and departure I just stood there. It was a full couple of minutes before I realised that I was still as hard as a rock, despite the fact that my brain was trying to tell me that I had fucked up big time. That there was no going back from this one.

If I tried to tell you that my next step was motivated entirely by my wanting to placate my mom, to comfort her, even, I would love you to believe me. I would love me to believe me. One of the few things I did right up to that point was understand that I needed to talk to mom before this thing festered -- a process that could take mere minutes -- and I needed, above all else, to apologise and come clean. The blast damage was a long way from settled -- would probably never settle -- but I just had to do that much at least.

Knowing something should be done and actually doing it are very different matters, but somehow I managed to get myself upstairs and stood outside mom's bedroom door. I blanked my mind.

"Mom? I am so sorry. Truly. Deeply. I admit it all and if I could take it all back I would, I swear. I just... I just don't know. I only did it to those two tops, but I'm not sure I even know why really. I mean other than the obvious -- I'm a total 'tard. I just... mom? You there?" A perfume bottle or similar hit the woodwork. Reassured, I bumbled on, "Mom, I just... I never expected... no, I mean I never realised just how good you look and... and what? And it was like 'You never knew, idiot' and I was all, I know it's wrong and bad and all that sh.. stuff, but it was like mom's so fit and cute and I just... oh shit, mom, I'm sorry, okay? I just didn't know and now that I did I just wanted... just wanted ain't right, I know that, but I swear, swear on anything that I never meant to upset you... I just needed to see... no... I needed you to understand that I appreciate you as more than just a mom." That last comment surprised even me, and the slightly more desultory note that sounded when the next bottle hit the door indicated that I might finally have said something that, while still crass, was at least vaguely intelligent. Of course, the moron in me came racing to the surface, "Yeah, that's it really. I needed you to know that you're not only a great mom but you're a gorgeous woman, you have the most fantastic-" The next bottle hit the door so hard I thought shards would come through.

Shards didn't but mom's voice certainly did, "Gordon! Just fuck off!"

Trance state or not, I fucked off.

It was close on twenty four hours later before I dared to return. Twenty four hours, most of which were spent wringing my hands (and both brain cells), and trying to come up with an apology worthy of the name. And trying oh so hard not to remember how that flimsy material had looked. I failed on all counts.

I had thought that mom would be out at her normal gym session when I got home, and sure enough the house was in darkness despite the gathering gloom. My plan was to dash in, re-pack the bag I'd brought home from college, and leave a hasty but heart-felt apology note for mom to find. The note was probably going to be less welcome than my corpse, but my bravery levels were at an all-time low.

I sneaked in despite the gloom and the silence, and made my way upstairs to my room. With infinite, and somewhat pointless, care, I laid the larger of my packs on the bed and pulled open my t-shirt drawer. I picked up a stack of over-colored and over-priced rock concert shirts and turned to the bed. I squealed. "Hello, Gordy."

Mom was sitting there in her usual blouse and skirt, her face a picture of neutrality.

"Before you say anything," she went on, "Or try to, at least, I just want you to know that I'm sorry about yesterday. That was a complete over-reaction, and I guess we were both in shock. Can we put it down to silly hormones and all part of growing up and mature acceptance?"

When I finally found my voice it still took a while to work out what my mom actually meant, "You're saying that... your forgive me?"

"If you want to put it like that, yes, although I would say it was closer to me coming to an acceptance of your youthful masculine traits."

"My youthful..."

"Your horniness, yes.

Could this really be happening, "But mom, what I did was like totally-"

"Unacceptable on most levels, yes, but that," mom paused and gave a wry smile, "that is not the same thing as not out of character for someone your age, or even the same as unnatural."

"But you clothes.. that was so perv-"

"Shush, Gordy. You may be many things but that's not one of them. What you did was -- method aside -- not so unusual, apparently, and I suppose it would only be fair of me to say that... for all that you got a kick out of seeing me like that... well, let's just say that no woman would ever be too upset not to appreciate a compliment on one level or another."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Mom looked hard at me for a few moments before replying, "You're not fishing for anything, are you? What I mean, Gordy, is that there's a part of me that's flattered you went to so much trouble to steal a tiny peek at me, especially as all that trouble was spent just to see me in underwear still."

"I really am sorry, mom, I-"

"Oh, shush! I'm trying to tell you here that you're off the hook. Forgiven. That if I was totally and absolutely honest about it all, that I'm feeling a little flattered, okay?"

"Well, yes, I guess."

"Good guess. All that trouble you must have gone to just for a peek of a bra."

"You're not joking, mom, are you?"

"No, Gordy, I'm not."

"So you won't scream if I say all that trouble as you put it, was just because you really are worth it"

"I'll let you off that comment this time, but no more, okay?"

"Sorry, mom."

"Good. Mom is the operative word here, right? And not the phrase 'all that trouble'."

Mr trance was making a comeback, "It was a lot of trouble, but I hope that you know - just one last comment and no more, I promise -- know that it was worth it for me. No more though, I promise." I meant it.

Mom gave me a long, hard look and then nodded, "As long as you mean it."

"I do, mom."

"Good." She walked to the hallway and then paused and looked back, "In that case can you fix the bathroom door before you come and get a coffee? I don't want you changing your mind in a day or two and bursting in to get a better look at my tits."

Far from that last remark being the start of more complaining -- justifiable, of course -- it marked the beginning of a change in mom's attitude to me that was entirely positive. During the next few days she treated me less like her 'little Gordy' and much more like a grown up. We even watched a couple of episodes of Sex in the City and talked properly about attitudes to nudity on television (with surprisingly similar views).

Here's the thing though. Every time the conversation turned towards matters sexual, or we watched re-runs of a soft-porn comedy (oh, come on girls, SitC is), I got aroused. Very. And it was because of mom. As much as 'the incident' was pushed behind us, I kept getting flashes (pun intended) wandering through my mind. I hadn't masturbated so much since I was in my mid-teens and the woman next door didn't believe in bedroom curtains (she wasn't fit, but man.. those tits...). Anyway, mom was acting entirely as usual other than treating me as a young adult rather than an old child.

So it was that a comment from her, a question rather, on the first Sunday home, blind-sided me.

"Gordy... you really don't have to answer this, but... I know it's a subject we agreed not to mention again, but it's been bugging me... I want... almost need... to know something."

"Mom?"

"Shush or I'll never manage this. Gordy.. can you tell me why you went to such lengths to sneak a peek at me? I mean -- let me finish here and apologies but I just have to work it out -- I mean is it just because you knew that it was so... taboo, or naughty or whatever. I mean, me of all people... I guess what I'm trying to ask is why me?"

I couldn't not answer honestly after all that, could I? Besides, I suddenly realised that this is what I should have said all along, "Mom, no... all that taboo stuff is just... well, okay it's there sure enough, but that's not why I felt like I had to take such a stupid chance. I wondered at first but no, it's just that... dammit mom I need to swear here so just let me have this one, right? It's just that you are so fucking cute and sure, there's all that shock-horror stuff about the whole mom-son thing, but I swear, mom, that for me, the only big thing about us being related was that I'd missed so many opportunities over the years -- like I'd missed realising just how fit you are."

Mom's mouth gaped open and I could see a hundred emotions a minute passing through her eyes. I had almost convinced myself that I had screwed up again with my big mouth when she gave a little cough and shook her head, "Gordy? I never, ever, ever, should let you hear this really, but... that's so lovely. Thank you."

She shot out of her chair and dashed from the room. And apparently out of my life for ever -- the front door slammed a couple of minutes later, shortly followed by the over-revving of the Honda's engine and a squeal of tires. It was the last I saw of mom.

More to the point it was the last I saw of that mom. I was just finishing off a paper on... no, you don't need to know that, trust me... just finishing off a paper the next day when I heard the car outside, shortly followed by the front door opening. An entirely new version of my mom, Allie, walked into the kitchen.

"Sorry I stayed out all night, Gordy, but I had to get my head clear."

"I can understand that, but I did worry."

Mom filled the kettle and switched it on, "Now there's a role-swap if ever I heard one, but in any case, I'm sorry, I should have let you know at the very least." She took two mugs down and I risked a glance at her clothes -- a normal enough summery dress -- before listening to her obviously prepared words, "So much thinking. Things have changed, haven't they, Gordy? And like me, you didn't even realise. Well that's probably a good thing because it means that our habits and normal behaviour let us keep on like the majority of the herd. But then you went away and perspectives changed. I can get that, although for me I needed to see how your perspectives had changed before I allowed my own to alter." She poured hot water and stirred the mugs. "But here's the thing. You had a while -- a day at any rate, to get used to new perspectives and new feelings. Me? I had no time at all before I'm standing there in front of the new you with my clothes gaping and the evidence of the new you staring me in the face -- in the tits, even." She handed me a mug, "And you know what, Gordy? That few seconds was just not long enough to come to terms with new perspectives and sudden sensations. So I exploded. I've already said I'm sorry about that and I've even been selfish enough to bring the matter up again and get you telling me things I maybe never should have. But... and here's where I've been getting my hear together... but, Gordy... I think -- I'm almost one hundred percent positive, in fact -- that all the time I was yelling at you for being so bad and so pervy... all that time I was standing there wishing you really could have seen it all and .. .hell, Gordy, truth is king, right? I went to bed that night and I swear I never meant to but I got to thinking what if that tickling session had gone on longer, what if you'd doctored my skirt as well, what if it had been my bra as well, and Gordy, Gordy this is so hard for me but you have every right to know..." She took a deep breath and spoke too fast for gravity to slow her, "Gordy I imagined what it would have felt like if my bra had fallen away as we tickled each other, and Gordy, so help me I realised as I lay there thinking about it all that I was aroused! Not a little bit, not an echo of the old days when I used to get a buzz out of a bit of accidental exposure -- another time I'll tell you all -- but right then and there I was shivery aroused. I don't know if you even fully understand this yet, but I was tingling and slightly swollen and very, very wet -- about as aroused as I have ever been, and even though I fought against it -- tried to focus on how naughty, how bad it was to think that way -- about you, about my own flesh and blood -- even though I fought it for ages and ages... eventually I couldn't stop myself any longer. Gordy... I touched myself.. fingered myself... Gordy... I let myself masturbate thinking of you and the tickling and.. there? Okay? I climaxed thinking of us, and you had to know that I don't hate you for what happened, don't think any less of you at all, don't think that you are in any way perverted in your desires, and when yesterday you said, what was it? That you thought I was 'fucking cute'? Well let me tell you, that justified it all to me. And you know what else? I realised just how arousing it might have all been for you, and Gordy I loved it. I had to dash out of here so fast because you'd taken me from vaguely aroused to on the verge of climax with that line, and when I thought of how aroused you might have to have been to say such a thing to me... well, I had to get out of here before I exploded."




A New Perspective



"Oh mom... how aroused I might have been? If you'd said anything like this yesterday it would have been me exploding."

"You serious?"

I nodded. If mom's color was high, mine was looking down on Everest. "I'm not sure... not sure I would have been able to stay back from you."

"You really think that much of me? Of the way I look even though I'm-"

I stood up my, chair clattering to the floor to silence my mom, I pointed at my waistband where my shorts were being pushed away from my body, "I think this much, okay?"

Mom took a few long, deep breaths, "This isn't really what I had thought of last night, but..." She pulled me towards her, "It's yours."

"What? What's mine?"

She reached up and took each half of the front of her blouse in one hand. With a wrench, she pulled it apart, her breasts leaping into full view, no bra to cover them even lightly, "I am. All of me, if that's what you want?"

My hands were on those delicious breasts before I could even find a reply. Or a thought. "On my god, mom... Allie?"

"Mom, please," she whimpered, pressing herself against me.

"Mom..." I squeezed softly, amazed at the firmness, shocked more than rigid by the very fact that I was there and touching her, "You're so beautiful!" She whimpered at me, "So fucking beautiful!" The whimper was louder, more of a groan. "My fucking beautiful mom"

The whimper/moan became a wail, oddly guttural, totally sexy. Mom's hands moved in a blur, stripping of her skirt and panties in one fluid movement, hauling my t-shirt over my head in another, ripping my shorts to the ground in a third. A fourth -- oh that glorious fourth -- has her warm palm curling around my rock hard erection, and had I not already masturbated a dozen times in the previous six hours I would surely have exploded at that moment.

Instead... oh, instead... we tumbled to the floor and within a couple of seconds, mom -- my beautiful mom -- was spread-eagled beneath me, the heat and wetness of her pussy brushing against the heat and wetness of the tip of my cock. She grasped my hips, holding me above her. 

"Listen to me, Gordy? Okay?"

I tried pushing even as I nodded frantically, "Yes."

Her hands stopped me, "You really sure?"

"Yes, totally!"

Her grip tightened, "You absolutely positive you know what this is all about?"

"Really, yes!"

She was struggling to stop me but her position gave her the advantage, "Know, Gordy, really know that I want this. And Gordy?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"You take a deep breath and make sure you understand properly and tell me so -- this, my Gordy is not a one-off. If you do this now -- if we do this -- it can only be the first time of many. Do you understand, do you agree?"

"Yes!"

"Gordy, tell me properly." Her grip tightened even more.

"Mom, yes, mom really I understand and I really, really want-"

Her sudden release took me by surprise -- and I later realised that was the perfect way to enter my mom for the first time. By surprise.

Mom's eyes widened as she gasped something which sounded a lot like 'yes', and I think shock and surprise played starring roles in that first time. I know she's my mom and that you no doubt think I'm biased, but as I explored my mom's body I was amazed at how firm and fit she really is. Oh, and how I haven't cum in my pants a thousand times in the presence of her incredible breasts. I was sucking hard on her left nipple when I realised that a dozen wanks or not, I was about to cum that first time. 

I went to pull out but mom just gripped me tighter. "Oh no you don't. If you're going to fuck me, you're going to fuck me properly."

I'd never heard mom swear like that before. And it made me do something else for the first time. I spurted my sum deep inside her. I'd never heard mom cum before.

"Gordy," she said later, "I know I genuinely wanted to hear you say you understood everything, but you finally had me as soon as you started that last answer with 'mom'".

That was hours later, though, and she laughed when her words brought a new stiffness to my erection. Especially as it was buried deep inside her still.

That was the vacation before last and if anything, we're even closer now. No one else knows, of course, but there have been more than the normal number of family emergencies that I've had to travel home for in term time (good job my grades are top of the tree), and I did let mom come and visit me at the college so the frat could see that I wasn't lying about having a youthful looking, pretty mom.

That episode led to us taking a vacation together last time around and we went a few thousand miles to a place that had never heard of us before. We weren't mom and son over there for that week, though, we were Gordon and Alison (mom in bed, but that part of the vacation was never shared). For the whole seven days we were open and obviously in love. I'd never kissed mom in public before and tongue wrestling with her in a bar in front of a wide -- and envious -- audience was such a thrill. And added to the laundry bill. We even dared a session in the hotel stock room where I discovered that mom used to love taking risks (she climaxed when a guy stopped outside of the stock-room door for a sly smoke), so I have a few plans for the next break, which starts tomorrow.

So remember this, if you see a personable twenty year-old looking all sappy over his date who appears about seven or ten years older than him (really), it could just be me and mom -- but to you, remember to call us Gordon and Allie.



A New Perspective



Tonya brushed her short black hair into place. She let her hands run down her yellow dress. She wanted to look perfect. Look perfect for him. Her mother left an hour earlier. Kevin would be here any minute. She took a deep breath and stared into her own brown eyes. She exhaled and hung her head grasping the edge of the sink. Kevin. How had she ended up acting like a school girl for Kevin? She knew better. She had just turned 30 a few months ago, she was a grown woman. She thought back to how it all started...

Tonya took another sip of wine and rubbed a hand over her newly cut hair. She had chopped it off after breaking up with Paul. It was a symbol of her being her own natural self, forget relaxers. It was finally her summer break. Being a middle school teacher was hard work and now that the school year was over and report cards done, she felt like celebrating. It was two weeks since Paul and her had gone their separate ways. She had been the one to break it off and she knew it was the right thing, but the damn loneliness. She picked up her phone and flicked through her contacts. Who could she reach out to? Spend some time with who understood her, at least tried to. Paul, no; Erica, no; Helene, hell no; Kevin. She paused and read his name again. Kevin? She sat back on the couch and bit her full bottom lip. Kevin was her older sister's friend really, not hers. He was like a close family friend. He always teased her and called her little girl. He pretended to be super protective of her being that he was 11 years her senior. He was fun to be around and she had a good time around him. She had hung out with him occasionally without her sister, Noelle.

There had been one kind of weird time when he had taken her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. She had made a face at him like he was crazy. He had done it a couple more times that night. The next time Tonya saw Kevin he acted like he didn't remember the kiss.

Tonya knew he did. She tried to wrap her head around him finding her attractive. She was cute she knew, but Kevin was 40. He was suave, knew all the right people and knew girls who were a little more conventionally beautiful. She was attracted to him of course. He was actor handsome with smooth brown skin and a bald head. Tonya had almost always dated white guys. Not for any real reason. She would've been perfectly happy to meet an intelligent, educated black man. It just hadn't happened.

Tonya clicked his name and typed quickly.

So bored. Send.

Beside that whole weird kiss thing...and the comment about her hips. It was at her birthday dinner. Noelle had organized it and invited Paul, her mom, and Kevin. He was considered a family friend. They sat talking when her sister retold the story about Kevin seeing them walking down the street near Noelle's house.

"I said I saw those hips," he grinned wolfishly at Tonya.

"Hips? Who's hips?" Tonya asked.

"Yours, Tonya," Noelle laughed.

"Do I have big hips?" Tonya whispered to Paul.

"Your hips are sexy," he kissed her ear.

She waited. Kevin was a nice guy and funny. She spaced out for a moment and pictured him naked. Stop it, she said to herself; you're in withdrawal, two weeks, no sex.

Ba-da-bum, text message.

I'm sorry. -- Kevin

I hesitated.

Hang out? Send.

Tonya took another sip of wine.

Come get you? --Kevin.

She'd been drinking; actually, she was kind of drunk. It was 10 pm on a Friday and she bet he had too. Why take the chance.

Cab. Send.

As Tonya walked up his drive she licked her lips. This was Kevin. She reminded herself, just Kevin, Noelle's friend Kevin.

"Hey baby," he greeted her at the door with a hug, "you cut your hair." He stood back and looked her over, "I like it."

"Sometimes I feel like an ugly boy," Tonya smirked.

"You? Never," he smiled and kissed her on both checks.

Kevin was like that, very friendly, touchy. It had taken Tonya time to adjust to this. She was the opposite.

"Why are you so bored huh?"

"Paul and I broke up," Tonya sat on the couch. He had already poured her a glass of wine. She took a sip.

"Eh, he was okay, but you can do better."

"Oh, here we go," Tonya rolled her eyes, "because he was white?"

"No, it has nothing to do with that. Hell, I date white girls. He was just," Kevin gestured with his head.

I took a look at him as he watched ESPN. He looked good, really good, as usual. He was fit and handsome. She watched the tightly coiled muscles in his arms. She shook herself. Stop it, this is Kevin.

"You okay?"

"Yea sure," she smiled and took another sip of wine.

"So you're out of school now? What are you going to do?"

Tonya shrugged, "Well, I'm going to La Canada to stay with my mom, and read I guess."

Kevin smirked, "You read that 50 Shades of Grey shit?"

"I just started it."

"No, are you old enough to read that?"

"Kevin, I turned 30, you were there, I'm a grown up now."

"Alright, you're right," his eyes lingered on her, "I didn't know you liked all that bondage stuff."

"I like sex."

Kevin covered his ears.

"Oh stop, don't act like I'm a little girl. Some men actually find me attractive," Tonya joked.

Kevin's face turned serious for a moment, "I know that Tonya."

He caught Tonya's eye. The moment felt heated. She smiled to lighten the mood.

The night went on. The two sat, Kevin watching TV, both drinking wine, talking about life. Tonya looked at her watch. It was past midnight.

"Thanks for having me over Kevin," Tonya felt really sleepy. Kevin turned off the TV.

"Come on little girl, you can sleep here."

He tugged her up and she walked to the bed. She sat on the edge as Kevin tugged his shirt over his head. She took in the view as he pulled off his jeans. Tonya giggled.

"What?" Kevin laughed. She shrugged and rested back on the bed and closed her eyes. She felt eyes on her. She opened her own eyes to see Kevin looking at her.

"What?" she asked softly.

He moved toward her. She thought he would touch her, but instead he lay beside her. Tonya forgot the feeling of potential when you were with someone you hadn't had sex with before. The spark of energy you feel. She felt herself getting wet.

She shifted her weight to face him. He was already facing her. He caught her chin and kissed her lips. It felt to Tonya like he was caressing her lips. His hands were strong. He felt different when he touched her. She realized why. Kevin was a man. His hands were not unsure, too slow,too fast,or shaking a little. His hands moved on her body like he knew how to touch a woman. He kissed her neck and she swooned. His hands wandered down her body.

"My big hips," Tonya laughed.

"Huh?" he looked at her.

"You said that one time, that I have big hips," she felt stupid bringing it up.

"I didn't say that," she couldn't believe he'd lie about it, "I said those hips," he grabbed her hips, "These hips catch a man's eye."

He kissed her again.

She felt his hand grab her ass. God, the way he touched her. His hands pulled down her jeans. His fingers found her expertly. She moaned. He pulled back and moved down her body, stripping her of her underwear. His mouth was on her, tasting her, exploring her. All she could think was, holy shit Kevin's mouth is on my pussy.

Just when she thought she was going to burst, he sat up and pulled her legs around him.

"Wait," Tonya put a hand to his chest, "a condom."

He leaned over her to his nightstand. She rubbed her hands up his arms. She must have been lost in the feel because suddenly she felt his cock pushing at her entrance. He felt thick and big. She tightened her pussy. He groaned and pushed all the way inside her. Tonya moaned. His hands found hers and he held her down. He fucked her hard and fast.

"Does that feel good?" his deep voice whispered in her ear. She tried to nod. He fucked her harder.

"Is this how you like it little girl?"

She shivered and moaned when he called her that. Kevin fucked her hard. He whispered to her the entire time. Tonya loved hearing his smooth voice and feeling him inside her. She could feel his breathing getting faster. He groaned.

"I'm going to cum," he pulled out and came.

Tonya bit back a frustrated sigh. She wanted to feel him explode inside of her.

That had been three weeks ago. Now here she was in La Canada trying to look perfect for him... She and Kevin had exchanged texts, some flirty some not. She had on a whim invited him to the house while her Mom and Noelle went to NYC. She had a feeling she was getting in too deep. For a guy like Kevin casual sex was commonplace, for her it could lead to feelings. She didn't care, she wanted him, and he had set something off inside her.

"What am I getting myself into?" she whispered to her mirror image.



A New Perspective



I scanned the room for my wife and found her sitting at the bar sitting beside a large well dressed black gentleman. He appeared to be about 50 and looked to be my height or better but he was significantly heavier than me with a thick neck, broad shoulders, wide hips and a bit of a belly. My 31 year old wife had always had a thing for muscular older men and I might have been in trouble if he had been white but my wife was definitely a bit of a racist. She'd been raised north of Detroit and her parents, and everyone that I'd met from the small rural town she'd grown up in, was a redneck. Her views about black guys had certainly mellowed during the six years that we'd been married but she continued to insist that she wasn't attracted to black men at all and she still sometimes used racial slurs in private.

I took an empty seat a few spots away from her and ordered a beer. She and I had arrived separately as we sometimes did when we were out of town. It was a role playing game we both enjoyed where she would arrive at a club without me and I would come in and pick her up. I usually tried to show up twenty minutes after her but there had been an accident on I94 and my arrival had been delayed by almost an hour.

The bartender returned with my beer and handed me a menu. He took my credit card to start a tab and left while I tried to make eye contact with my wife in the mirror behind the bar but she and the man beside her were engrossed in conversation. Eventually she acknowledged my presence with a discrete smile and a subtle nod but she quickly turned her attention back to him. It was a strange greeting and I wondered if she was upset because it had taken me so long to arrive and I hadn't called or text messaged her because I feared it might ruin our ruse.

I quickly finished my beer and ordered a second as well as a plate of wings and a shot of bourbon. I could tell by the look in my wife's pretty green eyes that she had a bit of a buzz but that wasn't a surprise since she'd spent part of the afternoon with her sister at a local winery while my brother and I had shot a round of golf. We were all in town for her mother's 60th birthday and my wife was, as usual, stressed about seening her family. There was often drama when they got together and my wife loathed family drama.

The well dressed black man seemed to have my wife's undivided attention and he was also very touchy feely which somewhat unnerved me but given her racial views I was sure I was just imagining the chemistry between them. 

His hand brushed against my wife's and she smiled brightly and laughed as he held her gaze. I was used to her getting hit on because it happened a lot. She always dressed sexy when she went out, with tight, low cut dresses that accentuated her generous curves and natural dd breasts. Her flirtatious, bubbly and outgoing personality was at times the bane of my existence and she loved to flirt with good looking men to try to make me jealous but she always flashed her big diamond at her admirers and sent them on their way before they felt like they had a chance at getting into her panties.

She had locked her ring in our hotel room safe as part of our role playing but even if she'd had it I doubt she'd have sent him packing. It was evident from her body langue that she was enjoying his company even though he was black. I couldn't hear most of what they were saying over the loud music in the club, though some words and phrases did make it through.

"You're bad," my wife giggled. Her bottom lip curled into her mouth and she chewed nervously on it as she teased and twirled several strands of her long auburn hair in her right hand. Her cheeks looked pink and flushed and she gazed at him with a troubling glimmer in her dazzling green eyes.

I slugged the shot of bourbon and killed my beer before ordering another of both. I'd had a few beers on the golf course and the two beers and a shot I'd imbibed at the bar in just 30 minutes had given me a buzz. I was surprised that I didn't feel jealous or upset watching my wife flirt with another man while completely ignoring me but I wasn't a particularly jealous person. Instead I was oddly excited by it and I watched them with wide eyed interest as I ate my dinner.

His fingers brushed the back of my wife's hand and then traveled slowly up her forearm. I could see goosebumps on her exposed flesh and my pulse quickened. I felt a familiar tingling between my legs and my cock grew bloated and heavy in my jeans.

My wife and I had sometimes joked about having a threesome but we were at odds with what gender the third party should be. Like most men I wanted two women while she, being very straight, preferred a two guy menage a trois and we both had agreed that it was probably best to just fantasize rather than risk our marriage on a night of passion.

"Let's dance," he said as he rose to his feet. He was taller than I'd thought and I laughed at the 15 inch difference between my curvaceous 5'2" wife and his hulking 6'6" frame. There weren't a lot of men who made me, at 6'3", feel small but he was one of them. He was built like an NFL Lineman and he had arm like my legs and his legs were like tree trunks.

"Okay," my wife said eagerly. She had alwaya loved to dance. She and I had met at a dance club when I was still technically married to my first wife and she was still dating her ex boyfriend. She'd been a 23 year old grad student at the time and I was a 38 year old engineer working for one of the big three. My first marriage had been in the toilet for years and I had moved out a month earlier but I hadn't yet started dating.

He led her onto the crowded dance floor and I watched them for a moment over my shoulder before paying my bill and heading to the bathroom to break the seal. I furtively eyed him as I walked past but I avoided eye contact with my sexy, full bodied wife. She'd been thick and curvy when we met but she'd gained 25 well placed pounds since we'd gotten married giving her an accentuated hour glass shape that I adored and he rested his ebony hands on her wide hips as they danced to the heavy bass of the trendy dance music. I'd spent most of my childhood in New England before going to college in Michigan and I had been surprised at how trendy the Motor City was when I arrived. New music and fashion trends hit Detroit long before they reached the conservative shores of Massachusetts where I'd grown up.

I walked out of the restroom and scanned the dance floor. It was easy to spot my wife's giant dance partner because his head was above the crowd. They had moved from the well lit front of the floor to a dark corner where their actions were somewhat hidden from prying eyes but I found a seat with a clear view of them and sat down.

His hands moved up and down my pretty wife's curves as they gyrated to the beat. They turned slowly as if on a turntable giving me a clear view of their raw sensual dance moves and my eyes widened. My wife's big taut nipples were clearly visible through her tight red dress. Her hands mimicked his and roamed over his strong muscular body as her hips and ass swayed and thrust to the pounding bass. They both had rhythm, something I lacked, and they danced very well together.

He spun my wife around so her ass was against his crotch and his hands moved up her body to her big beautiful breasts. Her eyes were half closed and her fat, juicy ass ground subtly against him. I felt my first pang of jealousy as he pawed at my wife's big tits. I wanted to march onto the dance floor and end her charade but I didn't. I couldn't. My legs were heavy and unwilling to move my dick was stiff, keeping me planted in my seat.

"Can I get you a drink?" A pretty young waitress asked me over the loud music. Her presence starled me and I reluctantly tore my eyes away from my wife and her new friend. My cheeks were warm and flushed and I needed to calm myself down.

"Yeah, a beer and a bourbon," I replied quickly. I felt beads of sweat run down from my forehead and my mouth was parched. My eyes were drawn to the waitress's slender but firm young ass. Her cheeks were encased in the tight black yoga pants, like the rest of the female staff, and I watched her ass sway gently when she walked away before turning my attention back to my sexy wife and her big hulking friend. 

My wife was facing him again. Her neck craned back and she looked up into his eyes as she shamelessly ground her wide body against his. Her small hands clutched at his back as his big paws openly kneaded her fleshy ass and my fists clenched to the point where they started to ache.

They continued to dance and grope while I secretly watched. My heart was racing as if I'd just finished a marathon and my eyes were wide and unblinking. I couldn't believe what I was seeing but I couldn't look away. I was acutely aware of my rigid cock straining and throbbing against the zipper of my jeans and I gasped when he bent down and pressed his lips against hers.

"Here you go," the waitress said, again snapping me from my haze. She placed the two drinks on the small round table in front of me and I handed her a twenty.

"Keep it," I croaked. I was glad that the table hid my obvious erection and I quickly downed the shot before looking back at my wife. 

Her back was pressed against the wall of the club and her legs were about shoulder width apart. Her already short skirt was hiked up almost to the point of obscenity and her open mouth was mashed tightly against his. Her fingers raked down his back and his big leg was between hers. She rubbed her panty clad pussy against his muscular thigh and I watched in a daze. It was surreal, like a dream, someplace between a nightmare and a fantasy. I had on a few occasions wondered what it would be like to watch my wife with another man but I'd never expected it to happed and watching it happen was unbelievable. 

My hand brushed across my turgid manhood and I bit my lip to stifle a low moan. My cock was as hard as it had ever been in my life and I discretely rubbed it as I watched my wife make out with a man she'd just met a few hours before.

They kissed and groped for what seemed like an eternity. My wife was clearly turned on and she rubbed her body against him like a bitch in heat. Her hands moved down between them and her smile got bigger as she grabbed and squeezed his dick through the Italian silk of his suit pants. He whispered in her ear and they walked briskly back to the bar as I sat paralyzed by my hard pulsating dick.

He dropped several big bills on the bar and then led my wife past me towards the door. Her pretty eyes met mine for a fleeting moment and a lump formed in my chest. She had a distant, far away expression on her face, and then they were gone.

I adjusted my fast wilting dick and then followed them out of the club onto the city streets. They were about 100 feet to my left and I matched their pace, keeping them in sight but out of earshot.

They turned down an alley and they were just entering a parking garage when I made the turn into the alley. My pace quickened and I trotted quickly to the door. I saw them arrive at his car, a late model BMW SUV, and I crept silently closer while staying low and out of sight. 

The sound of his zipper echoed in the mostly empty garage and I could see the back of his head over his car. His eyes were closed and I ducked behind a car and peered towards them. My wife stooped in front of him. Her mouth was agape and his cock jutted from the fly of his pants. He had a big impressive cock with a thick brown shaft and a bulbous pinkish tip.

Her eyes fluttered with excitement and she kissed her way up and down his shaft. She had always been a talented and enthusiastic cock suck. She had, in fact given me the best blow job of my life the night we met, and two weeks later I'd put in for a transfer to a job location closer to Lansing. We'd since moved across the state and didn't make it back east more than once every two months or so.

She dragged her tongue along his shaft and then slid her open mouth from the fat, circumcised head to his big balls as he moaned softly. He had impressive length and my wife opened her mouth and eased her lips down his shaft. Her pale, white hands gripped the base of his prodigious cock and she stroked him methodically as her head bobbed in time with her hands.

"Oh fuck Baby," he gasped in a deep baritone. "You suck a mean dick." He placed his hands on the sides of my wife's head and guided her movements, pushing her deeper with each stroke.

My wife choked and gagged when his cock touched the back of her throat. She gasped for air when he released his grasp and she looked up at him with a ravenous hunger in her eyes. Her mascara was smeared and tears streamed down her pretty round cheeks. Saliva dripped from her chin and her bountiful breasts heaved as she breathed deep and heavy.

"I need you to fuck me," my beautiful wife said breathlessly. She rose to her feet and kissed him hard. Her tongue plunged into his mouth and she stroked his big black dick. I'd been kissed like that by her countless times. Her kisses were even better than her blow jobs. She put everything into them and I felt like I'd just been kicked in the gut as I watched them make out like a pair of randy teenagers.

He pushed the top of her dress down and pulled out her big, heavy tits. His dark skin contrasted with her alabaster breasts and he squeezed her nipples hard making her yelp and squeal in pleasure and pain.

He turned my wife around and she grabbed hold of the back bumper of his car. My eyes widened as I realized that his was bareback but my wife pushed her juicy ass back at him, sinking his cock balls deep without hesitation. 

"Oh fuck," she hissed loudly. Her eyes closed and an expression of pure bliss danced on her full lips. He started to thrust and my wife panted wantonly. Her body pushed back to meet his powerful thrusts. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

He said nothing. His hands gripped my wife's wide hips and he fucked her hard and fast. Her head thrashed from side to side like a fish out of water and her body quivered and quaked. I'd seen her cum hundreds of times but I never thought I would see her cum at the hands of another man, much less a black man who she hardly knew. 

My wife slumped forward and continued to pant and moan. "Why am I doing this?" She cried out. "Why do I like it so much." Her tremulous voice betrayed the depths of her excitement and her body shook from another hard climax.

He said nothing. He pounded my beautiful wife relentlessly. The loud sound of his hips slapping against her big round ass echoed in the garage and drowning out her urgent please to fuck her harder.

"You love my dick don't you Baby?" He boomed. He slowed his pace and grabbed her long hair, lacing the fingers of his right hand into her reddish locks, as he squeezed her fat ass with his left.

"I do," she sighed. "I love your big black cock." Her eyes opened and she looked back at him wistfully. Her body writhed sensuously and she clutched at her huge tits.

"You always loved the dark meat," he said playfully. 

"Mmm hmmm," my wife responded. 

My head cocked to one side and I replayed his question and her reply in my head. I knew my wife as a closet racist and I'd been shocked to see her sitting at a bar talking to a black guy but suddently my world had been turned upside down. I thought back to the bar and I realized that there interactions had been far too familiar and intimate for strangers who'd just met. His fingers running up her forearm. The way she gazed into his dark eyes and hung on his words.

"I know what else you love," he said softly. His hips jerked hard and deep, feeding her every inch of his big dick, and her face contorted.

"I know you do," my wife replied in a low raspy tone. She closed her eyes and savored his deep thrusts. "You always knew what I needed and you always gave it to me. Give it to me now Baby. Give me your hot black seed. I need it. It's been too long" 

I had a deep feeling of fear and dread. A foreboding pit formed in my belly but I continued to rub my hard cock through my jeans with unabashed desire. My breathing labored and my cum began to boil despite my intense reservations. She had never been on the pill because I'd had a vasectomy years before we'd met and I wondered where she was in her cycle.

He pounded deep but slow, ramming every inch of his huge cock into my wife's pussy as he held her hair and ass tight. She grunted loudly with each thrust and her body quivered. 

"Beg for it Baby," he said loudly. His deep voice echoed off the cold concrete walls and rang inside my head. 

"Please," she moaned. Her voice trembled and dripped with unquenchable thirst. "Give me your cum Baby. Please." Her painted red nails dug hard into her doughy tits and she twisted her taut nipples as she breathed deep and steady.

"Tell me what you are Baby," he said confidently. He had a strong presence and a deep commanding tone that resonated inside of me. My hands were shaking and my balls tightened.

"I'm a black cock whore Daddy," my wife groaned. "I'm your whore Daddy. I've always been your cock whore. You know that and I'll always be yours." Her eyes closed and she slumped forward in total submission. Her legs trembled and his pace quickened.

His body slapped hard into hers and his breathing deepened. "Here it comes Baby," he hissed. "There's no turning back now." He released her hair and grabbed her hips. He buried his cock balls deep and grunted.

"Oh fuck yes Daddy," my wife moaned wantonly. Her face beamed and her eyes fluttered about. "Thank you Daddy. Thank you Baby." 

I passed the point of no return and my cock erupted into my pants. I clenched my teeth to silence my moans and emptied my balls pumping an epic load which soaked through my boxer briefs and my jeans. My head was spinning and I felt dirty, disgusting and humiliated in the aftermath of my orgasm.

My wife let his spent cock slip from her gaping fertile womb and she turned to face him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pulled him down do her. Their lips met in a warm, wet kiss and she cooed softly.

"Thank you Baby," my wife said quietly. "I'm so glad I ran into you at the club."

"That was fortuitous," he said as he tucked her big tits into her dress and smoothed it over her hips making her appearance presentable before he stuffed his big flaccid cock into his suit pants.

"I love you," she sighed. "I always have. The biggest mistake I ever made was letting my parents racism affect who I married. Thank god my husband was late for our date night or I may never have run into you." She giggled and kissed him again and again.

A tear formed in my eye and I ducked out of sight. My mind was reeling and I slipped away without notice as I fought to reconcile what I'd seen and heard. My wife had professed her love for another man and I felt devastated. I'd always felt a connection to her that was beyond anything I'd felt with anyone before or since. She was my soulmate but I likely wasn't hers.

I drove to our hotel in silence with my head spinning. I didn't want to lose her but I didn't think I had a choice. She loved him so where did that leave me?

Two hours later the door to my hotel opened and my wife sauntered in with a wide, satisfied smile on her face. She looked gorgeous. She looked radiant and what I'd seen and heard didn't change that. I'd spent the previous two hours wrestling with my thoughts and all I'd figured out was that I didn't want to lose her and I would do whatever it took to save my marriage. 

"Did you enjoy the show," she said lifting her tight dress over her head and exposing her bare nakedness to my wide, eager eyes.

"I did," I replied sheepishly. My cheeks warmed and my heart started to race anew. She had bruises on her big its and her labia looked raw and red. She reeked of sex, a mix of sperm and pussy, and my nostrils started to flare.




A New Perspective



"I knew that you would," my wife giggled as she looked hard into my eyes. Her beautiful green eyes had been the very first thing that I'd noticed about her the night that we met, even before her bodaceous body and before her tight"Clowns are Scary" tee shirt. 

"Do you want to fuck me Baby?" She asked. It was a rhetorical question. She knew my answer. She had known the answer before she asked the question. She'd known it before she had walked through the door to our room and she had likely known it before she fucked him. She'd always known me better than I knew myself.

"Yes please," I replied, welcoming her into my arms as she climbed onto the big king sized bed. She pressed her supple lips against me and pushed her tongue into my mouth. I could taste and smell him on her but I didn't care. 

My cock throbbed and I guided it to the warm frothy mouth of her well fucked sex. My hips rose from the bed and my cock brushed against her lips but she giggled and pulled back.

"Not yet," she sighed. "There's something you need to do first." I knew what she wanted and my stomach started to churn. She had started insisting that I go down on her after we fucked shortly after we were married. I'd found it repulsive at first but she liked it so I'd learned to deal with it and over time I'd started to like and even crave it.

"Okay," I said submissively. She and I had dabbled with bondage and dominance. We both identified as switch but I seemed to gravitate more towards the submissive end of the spectrum while she was right in the middle.

"Enjoy," she said in a low breathy tone. Her leg swung over my head and she lowered her still randy cunt onto my lips. My stomach wretched, not from the smell or taste but from the knowledge that I was licking another man's cum from my wife's pussy. I wasn't gay or bisexuals. I had no desire to touch a dick or taste another man's cum but I wanted, as always, to do anything and everything to please my wife.

My mouth opened wide and my tongue sank into her creamy depths. She tasted saltier and tangier than usual, even more than when I had just cum inside of her but it was an oddly pleasant flavor and I started to get into it. Her hips undulated on my mouth and drips of their combined juices drained into my eager mouth. My tongue flicked across her clit and her legs began to shake.

"Suck it Piggy," she hissed firmly. She had begun calling me her little Piggy when we first began to dabble in the BDSM lifestyle. She seemed to get off on humiliating me as much as I craved being humiliated and sometimes our games spilled from the bedroom into the real world. Like the time she put a dog collar around my neck and took me to a sex shop in the city where she had me pick out a strap on to fuck me with.. she'd only pegged me a few times but we had both liked it a lot. 

My excitement built quickly and my cock throbbed and twitched. My rough surface of my tongue worked her hard clit and her body writhed over me as she came. Her juices and his, significant and fragrant, soaked my face and she moved forward while straddling my head, getting her hypersensitive clit away from my insistent tongue as her climax ebbed. 

She reached back and pulled her big, soft and dimpled ass cheeks apart before shifting her position and letting me lap at her sensitive sphincter. She loved it when I licked her asshole and I loved doing it. I pushed my tongue inside her ass and she ground it onto my face. Her fat ass made it difficult to breathe but I liked that too.

I gasped for air and licked my lipsl0 when she climbed off my soiled face. Cum and her juices coated my flesh and soaked my hair. My head was spinning and I licked my lips savoring their taste.

She slid down my body, rubbing her soaking wet pussy on my smooth shaved flesh and leaving a snail track on my body. Her warm lips parted and I slipped effortlessly inside her recently fucked pussy. Knowing that I was getting sloppy seconds made my excitement spiral and I struggled to slow my building climax. Her ass bounced hard on me and she clutched at her big, bruised titties.

"Cum for me Piggy," she slammed her big, curvaceous body onto my cock and rubbed her needy clit. Her pretty eyes rolled back and her body quivered.

"Oh fuck yes," she groaned as she came hard. Her pussy, still tight despite his significant length and girth, clutched at my dicki, milking it until I exploded inside of her. It was an intense and powerful climax and it felt like the head of my cock had shot off while every drop of cum had emptied from my balls.

She collapsed on top of me with my spend dick still inside of her sated womb. She kissed me tenderly and looked deep into my bright blue eyes.

"Did you mean what you told him?" I asked tentatively. I didn't think I wanted to know the answer but I had to know where I stood.

"You mean do I love him?" 

"Yes," I said as my breath caught in my chest.

"I do," she said softly, "but I love you too." She smiled brightly which quelled some of my trepidation. 

"So where does that leave us?" I asked nervously.

"Same place we've always been Baby," my wife replied. She kissed me again and squeezed my hand. "But with one caveat. He and I talked before he dropped me off downstairs and he still wants me. He still loves me but I told him that I want both of you and I will not ever leave you. So we came to an understanding that I think you will be okay with. Darrell can fuck me when ever he wants. He was first and he gets dibs but other than that our marriage will be unchanged. And since he lives out here it will probably be no more than once or twice a month. Can you handle that?"

I inhaled deeply and looked at her radiant face and gorgeous eyes. My arms wrapped around her thick waist and I squeezed her tight. Our lips met in a deep wet kiss and our tongues entwined.

"I can," I answered excitedly. Like many people who dabble it fetish lifestyles I knew of the cuckold/hotwife dynamic. I'd never pictured myself as a cuckolded husband but after watching them fuck and then having wild uninhibited sex with her afterwards I was more than willing to give it a try.

"Good," she giggled. "He gets me every day until we leave on Thursday. I'm gonna take advantage of some big black dick while were here."

I rolled off of her and spooned up behind her as she turned off the lights. My head was filled with the erotic images of my wife fucking and sucking her big black lover and my cock started to stir anew.

"You'll have to wait until km she said when she felt my dick stiffen. "I'm too sore right now and I'm exhausted."