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Thursday Night

By: AndrewKXS



"Steph is supposed to be out late tonight," Terri cooed in his ear. Having snuck up behind him, she was now massaging his broad shoulders and pressing lovingly up against his back.

"Oh really? So should we watch a movie or something?" Knowing full well her intentions, he had decided to play dumb for a while.

"Well I had something more exciting in mind..."

She stepped back and he turned to see where she was going, in the process catching a glimpse of her latest outfit.

Standing there in the front hall, she was a vision in red lace. Heels, stockings and a garter belt accented her firm, shapely legs as she stood, hands on hips. Her bra and panties were crimson like the sheer robe hanging off of her shoulders, bringing out the fire in her red hair. If his dick hadn't been hard before then certainly straining to break through his pants now. He closed the distance between them in two swift strides; desperate to taste her.

Their lips met and an electricity coursed between them. Terri pulled his shirt up as dropped down and removed her panties. Finding her pussy lips already moistened and ready he rose to caress her again. She deftly removed his belt and freed his cock as he fumbled with her bra. Moving back against the wall she let her robe flutter to the floor. He stepped out of his jeans and closed with her again, this time sliding into her slick tunnel in one quick motion. Leaning against the wall Terri raised her legs up off the ground, allowing him in deeper.

Greg had no idea how long he could last supporting the two of them, so he decided to make the best of it, plunging his thick shaft in and out of her cunt as fast as he could. He was stuck on one speed: vigorous. His sudden madness delighted Terri as he sent powerful waves through her body. Arching her back, she bit her lower lip to stifle her moans.

Just then, their roommate Stephanie came through the front door, having ditched her disappointing blind date. She hung up her jacket, too preoccupied to hear the soft, lustful sounds just outside the entryway. As she moved into the hall she noticed her friends in mid-fuck. Terri, tits shaking and legs straight up in the air; Greg, red from the strain, giving his girlfriend every inch he had, piercing her with his hard maleness. Those two always brought a smile to her face. She decided that she'd make tonight extra special for them.

Steph ran to her room, returning with a slim vibrator and some Astroglide. Kneeling down, she stroked Greg's balls and worked the toy into Terri's ass. Sensing he was nearly finished, Steph licked Greg's balls and then up to his asshole shoving her tongue in. He bucked hard and shoved deep into Terri's pussy. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, his cock sliding out of Terri's pussy and firing its load all over her stomach. Steph quickly took him between her lips and sucked out what was left of his seed.

When he had been taken care of, she turned her attention to Terri. Licking the cum up off her abs while looking straight into her friend''s eyes. Terri giggled, enjoying the attentions of her petite friend. After swallowing the last of Greg's cum, Steph lowered her head to Terri's crotch, intent on evening the score. With a flick of her wrist Steph turned on the vibrator still lodged in Terri's firm ass. She licked and tongued Terri as her red-haired friend bucked under the special treatment. Terri wrapped her legs around Steph's head and squeezed while grinding her pussy into the other woman's face.

Terri couldn't focus on either pleasure fully; Steph's tongue and the pulsating toy were sending signals of such incredible pleasure directly to her brain that she couldn't process them. With one hand Steph worked the vibrating dildo around in Terri's ass, inducing in her a state of frenzy. Terri moaned as her whole body tensed; her heels on the ground and she thrust her hips up as she came with a shudder. Steph barely slowed and the sensation of anal penetration continued along with the beautiful torture of her expert tongue. Terri's orgasm continued in successively bigger and bigger explosions, until she finally blacked out, collapsing on the floor.

Meanwhile, Greg had not been idle. He had himself visited the treasure trove that was Steph's bedroom. Returning now with a condom and a new erection, he undid her pants and pulled them just to her knees. She had no intention of fleeing, but the feeling of being restricted -trapped even- excited her. He prepared her asshole quickly, a coat or two of lube and Steph, the most anally experienced of the three, was ready to go. She was on her hands and knees facing Terri at the foot of the staircase and crawled forward to play with her nipples, sucking them and pinching lightly. Terri stirred, sighing contentedly, obviously pleased with the sensation.

Greg shoved his cock up Steph's relaxed and waiting asshole and she wiggled slightly to adjust for his girth but never stopped her work on Terri's soft breasts. As Greg stroked his dick in and out of Steph's tight little ass, Terri slowly regained consciousness. The first thing she saw upon coming to was Greg reaming her tiny girlfriend's rectum mercilessly. Steph looked so small, sandwiched between them, it really was quite a sight; Terri decided she wanted to record this moment.

First she peeled off Steph's sweater and bra; then she left to find a camera. Returning with her digital she ordered Greg to fuck Steph in a variety of positions on and around the stairs, while she captured it all. This time around Greg lasted much longer and Steph, who hadn't gotten any in weeks, was in paradise. Mumbling and moaning loudly all the while, she was fucked up, down and sideways, losing track of space-time as we know it.

As he thrust forward again, probing her anal regions for the umpteenth time, Greg marveled at the feel of Steph's butt, soft on the outside and yielding but firm on the inside. He concluded, between deep and forceful strokes, that her ass was almost as fine as Terri's.

Steph let Greg do all the work, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard cock slamming into her from behind. Sure, she'd done this before, but each time was better than the last. Her sorry love life, lack of sex and a strong, appreciative partner in Greg combined to propel her towards greater ecstasy. However, his thick cock didn't hurt either.

Locked in their carnal embrace, Greg and Stephanie were both sweating profusely and Steph grimaced from the strain, clenching her jaw tightly struggling to resist her inevitable climax. Greg began to grunt loudly and his thrusting slowed. Terri directed him to lie on his back and grind into Steph's ass from underneath; she assured him that she would finish off their friend. Steph whimpered softly as Greg moved into the final position. She bounced up and down on his shaft -moving in small circles, struggling to increase her pleasure.

Terri moved in, sliding a finger right up Steph's pussy. Surprised at Steph's slick cunt walls, she increased the number of fingers inside her friend's pussy. Curling them up she stroked into Stephanie's g-spot, Terri was rewarded with a squeal and a sharp, hard shudder. Steph convulsed and small mini-orgasms overtook her as Terri's fingers moved in and out of her vagina, rubbing against her sensitive lips.

Steph couldn't take much more of this; her eyes shut tight, she took several short breaths and began to shake erratically. Steph came hard, all her muscles contracting, squeezing Greg tightly and gushing a milky cream into Terri's hand. With a final gasp she collapsed, cunt still drooling her juice.

Upon extracting himself, Greg and Terri shared a taste of Steph's cum. They licked it out of her hand and then went back for more at the source. Steph was now sleeping and barely noticed as they took turns licking and sucking her kitty clean.

Greg then picked Stephanie up in his arms and carried her to her bed. Terri cleaned up a little and then waited for Greg on the stairs. When he reappeared in the hall she spread her legs and called to him.

Greg recalled out loud that they had unfinished business and moved hurriedly to the stair just below his girlfriend. Having thrown out his used condom, Greg's broad manhood now hung free before her and Terri, unable to wait, lowered herself onto his stiff shaft.

Her vagina was already soaked and he slid in with ease. They slipped into an instinctive rhythm, Greg stroking in and out of her swollen lips and Terri thrusting her hips to meet him. Terri writhed beneath him as his cock stretched her tight pussy repeatedly. They kept their voices low, letting their roommate sleep. The only audible sounds were Greg's grunting and the smacking sound her pussy made as it sucked his slick cock. She lowered a hand to rub her clit and let out a moan. Greg picked up the pace with his cock and Terri tried to match him with her fingers.

In seconds she was panting and breathless, her climax looming. She quivered and her cunt spasmed around Greg. Terri squirmed and bit her hand to keep from screaming as her orgasm gripped her. When she finished shaking she raised her hips off of Greg's cock, which was still up to the hilt in her sopping pussy. Terri, sliding down a few stairs, began to jack him off. He was still wet from her juices and her hand slid easily along the shaft. Terri played with his balls and licked the sensitive head, all the while stroking Greg to completion. He was nearing orgasm and the sight of her working his cock ruthlessly was all he needed.

Greg throbbed in her hands and hot semen spurted from his shaft. The gushing cum hit her face with a wet sound and strand upon strand of the thick goo followed, coating her pretty face. Terri took as much as she could into her open mouth but couldn't catch it all. When she had squeezed the last drop from him, Terri rubbed his spent cock all over her face picking up globs of creamy sperm and licking it off, savoring the salty taste.

They both sighed contentedly and went off to bed. As they lay together in bed, Terri mentioned to her boyfriend that they should do this more often. He only laughed and leaned over to turn out the light.

Thursday Night



Jenny had just stepped out of the shower when she heard her cell phone. She quickly slipped into her pink robe having barely enough time to tie the sash. She answered on the fifth ring, "Hi Ian, what's up? I wasn't expecting your call tonight."

"Hey Jenny. Bad news. Things here are more fucked up than I expected. There is bureaucratic chaos here. I'm bummed that I won't be able to come to the City tomorrow. I was looking forward to our dinner date at that Asian Fusion place you rave about."

"Oh no, what's up?" quizzed Jenny.

"Sometimes working for the government sucks. The clichés are true. We are a jumbled hot steaming pile. But never mind that. Sorry for the late notice."

"Yeah, I was really looking forward to seeing you again. We know each other so, how should I say it, intimately. I was looking forward spending a night fully clothed and deep in conversation."

"Me too. Don't get me wrong, the 'intimate' stuff is great... I'm sorry. I didn't even think to ask if I interrupted anything. It's kinda late. I hope I didn't wake you," said Ian.

"No, I just got out of the shower. I'm a night owl. I'll be up till 1 AM."

"Yeah, I'm pretty wound up. I was thinking of going to the bar and ending the day with a good friend of mine, Jack Daniels."

"I'm up for some conversation. Let's spend some quality time now. We're guaranteed not to wind up fooling around like teenagers in heat."

"Okay, I'll grab a beer from the mini fridge, kick up my feet, and learn all those things about you I've been dying to know."

"Okay, you start. What's your first question?"

"All right, I don't even know what you do for a living," said Ian. 

"Well, coincidently, I'm also in the securities industry. I'm an analyst at a boutique investment firm in Midtown. My primary responsibility is the Casino and Gaming Industry. I used to be a generalist and wrote about the consumer discretionary sector. But our firm is expanding and I was recently assigned my own industry."

"Cool, Vegas..." interjected Ian. 

"I've never even been to Vegas. Can you believe it? I've got a trip planned for some time in June. I'll spend a few days at one of the MGM properties, a few days at Wynn, Las Vegas Sands and one of the Harrah's properties. It should be a lot of work," said Jenny.

"Yeah, a lot of work? In Vegas? Right! Try selling that somewhere else. I've been to Vegas, you'll be busy, but it won't be with work."

"We'll see, I've got a lot of fundamental analysis to do before I get there. I've got meetings scheduled every day during my visit. Maybe I'll have time for the pool."

"Time for the pool, time for clubbing, time for gambling, you'll have the time of your life," said Ian jokingly.

"I'll fly out on a Monday. Maybe you can meet me on the weekend."

"If that's an invitation, count me in. I hope like hell this investigation wraps up quickly." Ian continued, "Too bad we work on opposing teams. A lot of people consider us the bad guys. But that's not fair. My job is not to stop people from making money. My job is to find and prosecute crooks."

"We're not on opposite sides, or at least we shouldn't be. Madoff's Ponzi scheme gave the entire industry a huge black eye. We find it more difficult to do business with the bad guys running around. The financial crisis, Bear Stearns and Lehman Brothers, hedge fund blowups, criminal bankers, and now, the Flash Crash. We need you guys to restore some order," pleaded Jenny.

"Madoff was bad for your business, but he was great for mine. Our budgets and staffs have been increased. There is a mandate from Congress, from the public, and as you know, from the financial industry, to eliminate fraud and make the system accountable and fair."

"Yeah," said Jenny in an uninterested tone.

"You're right, enough business," said Ian with a deep exhale. "Let's talk about you. Where are you from? Where did you go to school? Family, friends..."

Jenny had been contemplating this moment for quite a while. She knew that she had to be truthful enough so as not to get tripped up in a lie later on. But the truth? "I'm from upstate New York, went to school in Pittsburgh, and my family and friends are the most important thing to me."

Jenny spent the next forty-five minutes telling Ian about her childhood, her dreams, her accomplishments and failures. Ian was a good listener and nodded to himself and agreed often. Jenny's openness encouraged Ian to reveal himself completely. By midnight, Jenny knew Ian as if she'd known him from childhood. His guard was down and he found himself uncharacteristically candid.

"Wow, it's amazing how much we have in common. I'm glad we had a chance to do this," said Ian. "It's like I've known you my entire life."

Jenny grinned to herself. She was pleased that Ian thought he knew the real Jennifer DeBeaux. She heard keys rattling, high heels clicking on the hardwood floors and knew it was Emily returning home from a night of partying.

"Hi, are you home?" hollered Emily.

"I'm in here," replied Jenny.

Emily appeared in the bedroom doorway obviously drunk and giddy. "Hey baby, whatz up? Oh sorry, I didn't know you were on the phone."

Speaking to both Emily and Ian she said, "I'm talking to Ian, you remember that guy who slept over Monday night."

"Put him on speakerphone so I can say good night," yelled Emily.

"Ian, you're on speakerphone. Say good night to Emily."

"Hi Emily. Good night."

"Hey lover boy, you coming over tonight?"

"No," said Ian. "I'm stuck in Washington for the weekend."

"Too bad, your girlfriend is looking lonely."

"Oh yeah. I'd rather be there than here," complained Ian.

"She's reclining on the bed looking very comfy in her pink silky robe. Let me describe the scene for you so that you really know what you're missing. You were probably going to rent one of those hotel porn movies tonight, jerk off and go to bed. I'll give you a better image for your fantasies."

"O... Okay," stammered Ian.

"Close your eyes honey and picture this. Like I said, Jenny's reclining on her king-size bed and her robe is loosely tied. I can see the curve of her boobs and her nips are looking for an escape route. She has a funny smile on her face. She's enjoying the attention and her thoughts are running wild."

"She must've been in the shower when you called, because her legs are freshly shaven and silky smooth. I wonder what else is freshly polished. We'll see in a minute, I hope!"

"Jenny is wearing an early summer suntan. Her toenails are manicured pink. She looks like she just returned from the spa."

"Jenny works out, but her body still has the soft curves that I love," said Emily in her completely sexy voice. "She's slowly untying the knot that's holding her robe closed. Oh... Wow... M M M."

"Her boobs are staring straight at me, her nipples are hardening before my eyes. They are so succulent and full; everyone lusts for them. She's running her fingertips over them and playfully pulling her nipples. Her right hand is moving past her belly button and she's destined for her cleanly shaven pussy. I hope she takes a moment and indulges in her sweet nectar."

"Ian darling, are you still there?" said Emily seductively. "I want you to unzip your fly and remove that big dick of yours. It's not fair that the two of us girls are the only ones that are going to get off tonight."

"Yes ma'am," snapped Ian.

"I'm getting horny," whined Emily. "I'm unbuttoning my blouse. Ian, I'm going to set the phone down so that I have both hands free. Okay... That's better... I'm unzipping my skirt and letting it fall to the ground."

"I'm standing in front of your girlfriend wearing my lacy bra and panties. Her eyes are transfixed on me and her middle finger is pressing gently on her slit. She is silently willing me toward her. She wants to ravish me. But I'll resist for a moment longer and enjoy seeing her fingers knuckle deep."

"I've removed my bra and am slowly sliding off my panties. My tits are smaller than Jenny's, but I don't think she minds. I'm desperate for her to kiss and suckle them. My pussy is feeling ooey and gooey. I want to touch it."

"Ian, I bet you have a raging hard on. Imagine that you're getting ready to fuck Jenny. Better yet, imagine that I'm getting ready to fuck her."

"I'm now pressed against her. Our boobs are touching and I'm going to give her an open mouth kiss and our tongues will dart between us. She is so warm and lush."

"Ian," whispered Emily, "she staring into my eyes and sucking my tits. Jenny's now moving her palm over my swollen clitoris and her fingers are inside me. It feels so fucking good!"

"I'm going to go-down on her and suck her clit, and finger-fuck her until she orgasms."

The phone line is silent except for moans of love. Ian is pumping his cock up and down and he can feel his semen rising. He's holding off because he has a feeling there's more to come.

"Ian, don't come yet," ordered Emily. "Jenny is reaching toward the nightstand, oh my God, look at that. It's an 18 inch long purple translucent double headed dildo. This should be fun."

"We're now sitting across from each other with our legs spread. I am easing the dildo into me. Jenny is touching herself, patiently waiting for her turn. Her hair is ruffled, her body is glistening; she is beautiful!"

"Ian, we are scissored between each other. I'm holding Jenny's end of the dildo and she's holding my end, and we are fucking each other and rubbing ourselves toward orgasm. I'm so god damn close... Oh Oh." Waves of pleasure crashed over them.

"Ian, come for us, please come for us. Dump your load on your muscled abs," begged Emily. The unspoken grunts conveyed clearly.

Emily took a deep inhale and slowly exhaled. She and Jenny leaned toward one another and kissed sensually. They untangled, laughing and falling off each other. "Good night - Ian, said Emily. 

"Good night - Ian," said Jenny." I'll call you next week."

Emily disconnected the call, wrapped her arms around Jenny, and the roommates fell asleep satiated.



Thursday Night



The text message seemed innocent enough: "Please pick up a hand of fresh ginger on the way home from work." I knew better though. It was Thursday night, the night I offered her my senses and she overwhelmed them. On Friday morning I knew I would be tender and tired.

I won't lie. I was very nervous. I had never tried this before and I was not sure I wanted to. She had left the idea dangling for months after she had first described it. Each week I was grateful for the reprieve though I knew it was only a matter of time. She never abandoned an idea completely, only postponed it until it fully consumed my imagination. She was wet the moment she had pressed send.

My response was my surrender. "Thank you for thinking of me." 

"You're welcome my Love. Now don't delay. I am so looking forward to our evening together."

At the grocery store, my mind spun round in nervous nonsense. I wondered if the produce clerks kept an eye on the ginger display so as to catch the figgers? I picked up a couple hands and examined them for size. Apparently I wanted fingers around four inches long but what did that actually mean? Did that just include the digit or the knuckle as well. My mind was delaying. For a split second I even thought of asking for assistance. 

"I have never done this before. Could you help me? I am looking for a nice hand of ginger for figging."

I could just imagine the clerk responding. "Is this for yourself or your submissive?" 

I would blush and admit I was the submissive.

The clerk would not miss a beat. "How much anal experience have you had?"

I would demure, look around to see if there were any other customers nearby then answer honestly, "My wife has taken me a few times with a strap-on."

"So then I would recommend one with thicker fingers. You want a snug fit for maximum intensity." He would pick one out of the bin and hand it to me. "This should do nicely. Have fun!"

I instinctively looked around for help then just as quickly snapped back to reality. No one would know what the hell I was talking about. I quickly selected a large ginger hand. I carried it in my coat pocket on the train.

With meticulous detail, my wife directed as I peeled and carved the ginger. It was intoxicating. I stood in her kitchen naked, with a paring knife in hand. She stood fully clothed beside me. The prickly fragrance, exotic and intense, shivered my nose. I could not help but breath deeply. Slowly, a bulging airship emerged from our efforts, with a raw root handle curved on the end. 

"We don't want to lose it inside you." 

I clenched at her off hand explanation. "No we don't." I agreed.

Finally she pronounce my ordeal prepared. "Excellent! You have done a great job, Honey. That will work perfectly. My I have it please?"

I rotated it in my hands to inspect it one last time. The surface sweated menacingly. I paused then offered her my dignity.

"Thank you." She smiled. Her expression was bright with excitement. 

I lowered my eyes.

"Ah, don't worry." She could sense my reluctance. "It will be my absolute pleasure to watch you suffer."

Her words pulled me closer. I sighed then followed her into our bedroom where the pillows were already piled high. Without a word, I mounted them and positioned myself for her convenience. A bowl of cold water was waiting on the bed stand. She dipped my ginger airship in the water then moved around behind me.

"Offer yourself." Her words signaled we were beginning. 

They were a request for my consent and I gave it. She did not seize my invitation right away though. She let me consider her intentions until I was right on the verge of changing my mind, only then did she sink the cool tip deep inside me. My tender skin unwittingly embraced the ginger tight. She tested it was snug then sat down and actually started texting her friend. They chatted away while I laid there quietly frightened. At first there was nothing other than the odd sensation of being filled with something organic. It was a distinct feeling. I could tell it was neither silicone nor plastic. I found myself wondering what a real cock would feel like. The focus of my mind however was soon drawn around the ginger. It was at first an inkling, than a tingling and then the heat started. Each nerve ending began to warm and pull towards the source like metal filings towards a magnet. A slow simmering moan began. It grew stronger. I became light-headed as my blood rushed to nourish the reaction. It intensified. I began to whimper - a sound I have never emitted before. It was a spontaneous reaction as I wavered just below my pain threshold. It continued to build, threatening to combust.

My wife put down her phone and began stroking my hair. She was pleased with my suffering. "You are such a good boy! Shhhh. That's it. Squeeze. Hold. Work through the pain... Breath deeply... Beautiful! You are so beautiful."

I could not stop my low moan. An orgasm wavered just beyond my reach. I struggled. I floated through the intensity. The heat continued to build as it consumed more and more of me. My confidence eroded. This time she was demanding too much. "Please, I can't take any more."

"But I want you to. You're almost there. You are doing wonderfully. You can do it. I know you can."

Her expectation gave me resolve even though the burning sensation threatened to become untenable. My forehead beaded with sweat. I took quick breaths so as to focus. I could not take anymore. 

"Please!" I desperately wanted to quit.

"You've made it. I am so proud of you." And with that, as if she could predict, the burning began to hesitate and just as quickly the curve of possibilities collapsed and the root gave up. My other senses flooded back into place. The scent of fresh ginger filled my lungs. I looked at my wife amazed at the wave that had crashed over me. We both began to giggle, giddy at what we had accomplished. When she removed the spent spice, I was left refreshed. It was like the first morning frost. I was invigorated and opened. 

She kissed me and stroked my head. "I am so proud of you. You were so beautiful. Now we can begin."

She smiled as I recognized her new strap-on and cane. I melted into her mind. It was Thursday. The night had just begun.



Thursday Night Bad Movie Club Ch. 01



Part 1 of 3....

Once a month, for maybe six months now, husband goes over to Johnny’s house for “Thursday night bad movie club.” They are joined by two other women, Miranda and Deedee. It is an odd collection and I am suspicious.

First of all, they call it Thursday night bad movie club but they only meet once a month. Moreover, it’s not always on a Thursday. They watch bad movies on Johnny’s uber-sized flat screen TV entertainment tangle. Johnny is a bachelor which is why he owns these things. Bad movies – like zombie movies and sci-fi horror things – crap movies, dark and foul and cheaply made. My husband Arthur – the snooty intellectual who would spit on a Tom Clancy book and label Mozart a “superficial populist,” – he adores these horrible films. He will take me to any museum or concert or play, but he will not watch any “good” sort of movie, any normal thing that comes to the Cineplex even though I ask him to take me.

I will not watch the ugly movies at Johnny’s house, I think they are vile. But I was initially glad he found a little outlet, a little group to enjoy them with. I was happy for him, but now I am suspicious.

It is not a natural grouping. They all work at the same huge company, at the headquarters. Miranda is a director of engineering. Johnny is a manager of sales. Husband is a director of finance and Deedee is a secretary. Miranda is married; Deedee is divorced. They are in their late thirties or maybe early forties and make very good money, save for Deedee who is maybe early thirties and goes to college in the evenings and weekends. On some projects or events, a couple of them work together, but not very often. Their names are not the usual characters mentioned in Arthur’s everyday post-work harangues. 

Once a month he disappears for the evening to the movie “club” (like it’s even a club or something) and comes back after I am in bed and almost asleep. He comes back happy but not drunk, which is strange because he is usually only happy when drunk. He offers to tell me what nasty little movies they watched but I refuse to hear, leave the room when he gleefully begins to report on the BRAINSUCKING THING or the NAKED DECAPITATED GIRL or god knows what.

It is never more than once a month that they meet.

Even though I made I clear I wanted nothing to do with the Thursday night bad movie club I feel hurt that he does not invite me, even though I have insisted that he not ever invite me or tell me about it. I am his wife after all; this is how we feel things.

I am getting pissed at Miranda. We are friends, nothing to do with the big company. We met shortly after we moved here and Miranda and I hang out now and then, do volunteer work sometimes and several times a year we go to the city and shop at the expensive stores downtown and eat Mid-eastern food in curious little holes in the wall, stuff that cannot be found here in our quiet bland white suburb.

The last time we were out in the city, plopping down sacks full of clothes and doo-dads at a retro sushi bar full of shiny diner décor and old Japanese movie posters, I asked about the Thursday night bad movie club and she just shrugged. She said they sat around, ate popcorn and drank some beer and yelled shit at the screen, cheered for the zombies and the mutants and the aliens, booed at the “heroes.” That was all, nothing more.

Oooh – I am SO suspicious! I know they are up to something. And that means they are up to something naughty I just know it. There is no reason for a group of people like that to hang out together watching stupid crappy movies unless there is trouble brewing.

******

When Miranda and I go out together we are like Laurel and Hardy. I am little and short and round. Short but big round on top, big round on the bottom, but not bad in the middle. I have black black hair and a streak of blaze just like Veronica (like from Archie and Betty and Jughead). I am all circles, straight up to my round moon face. My big fat streak of blaze and my boobs are my best parts. Blaze is genetic you know. It can be faked but mine is real.

Miranda is tall for a girl, maybe six foot and she is slender and moves like a flamingo – all straight flowing lines and grace and she walks and moves her arms languid and smooth. She is topped with a thick black ball of hair, black as mine, but unruly and comical.

Like Laurel and Hardy, the two of us.

I love her like a girlfriend but she is painfully vague about the Thursday night bad movie club which makes me so suspicious like a wife should be. When a girl isn’t beautiful, and I am not, we are suspicious of all women who aren’t horribly ugly and stupid. 

******

I am thirty eight now and have dirty thoughts all the time. Even more than when I was a teenager. Arthur and I play hard in bed. We have done crazy shit, stuff with other people, with strangers. “Wendy and the Ritz” is an example, and it was true – as far as I remember. What was getting me pissed about the movie club wasn’t so much that Arthur was up to something; it was that I wasn’t included. I am an extroverted girl – I hate not being included.

******

I overheard my husband once at a dinner party, talking to some Belgians. He said, laughing, that “talkative girls put out.” 

I am a talkative girl.

******

On a Friday night in August, a night before the meeting of the (non sequitur) Thursday night bad movie club – that’s when I threw my fit. I had asked for details all week on the movie club – what they did, what they were going to watch, was Johnny trying to get in Deedee’s skirt, all that. And Arthur was just so goddamn non-responsive, except for this little smile, this little self-congratulatory smile he gets sometimes.

“I want to see this stupid movie club thing!” I was sniping. 

“You won’t like it.” 

“I don’t care I just want to go I want to see it!” I said, higher pitched, I could feel my own cheeks getting flush red and hated that I was losing my temper.

“Baby, it’s like a club, you’re not really…..” he paused, looking right at me, “invited…..you know.”

That just did it. I did the whole girl thing – slammed kitchen cabinet doors, slammed my iced tea down on the counter and started – god I’m embarrassed to say it – but I started bawling, my attempt to scream at him modulating upward, losing force and rolling into a soft squeal…..a choked breath…..and then downward into great heaving sobs, shaking my knees, bent over the counter.

His arms warm around me, trying to comfort me while I am accusing him of horrible things, of not loving me, of not caring about me, while he tries to hold me and I am sobbing into the crook of him arm, losing myself in pity and imagined fears of abandonment and destitution while he tries to hold tighter to me with love and then I am out of breath and fire now, embarrassed and wordless.

******

He holds me still and now I am steady and the tears are drying and itchy on my cheeks. We are in the kitchen and everything is so silent I can hear the low hum of the ceiling fan in the bedroom upstairs. 

“Okay,” he whispers to me, his mouth at the back of my neck, over and over “okay, okay,” his pace slowing, slowing to the tempo my own heart beat. “Okay.” His hand through my hair. A pause.

And he loosens his grip around me, and I am breathing normally again, his words behind me, in a convivial tone. “Maxine, would you like to go to the Thursday night bad movie club with me tomorrow?”

“Yes.” I whisper back, demure and helpless like a hurt helpless wife.

“Okay, Trixie.”

******

Ooops. Trixie. That’s a trigger word for us. A word that changes everything.

For better or worse, he says “Trixie.”

******

I don’t know how we got there; don’t really know how the word came to be, because we have been married a long time. But Trixie is a naughty word. A dirty word. Trixie, Trixie. Does he really mean “tricksy” when he says it? (Like as in “Hobbits is tricksy” says the little frog man in that movie). It is an action word, a code word. It is like hypnosis. He does not use that word often, and I know that its scarcity is what has kept it powerful.  When my husband calls for Trixie something happens.

Something thrilling.

I get to be a different girl.

******

“Okay, Trixie, we’ll go to the movie club together tomorrow. You’re not a member; you’ll need to be initiated.”

Mother fucker, my knees are trembling when he whispers this in his controlled voice, reminding me with tone alone who is really in control of everything when he wants to be. 

“Tomorrow Trixie sees the movie club. The Thursday night bad movie club.” He says it in that voice – that goddamn calm serene voice, full of wit and menace. This voice that his business associates here all the time which is why they dread crossing him. I just hate that with that word (Trixie Trixie Trixie) and that voice that he can get me like this. It lands like those little candies that explode on your tongue all screaming with sour and then mellow and melt quietly. Wet and hot and – yet again after fifteen years – bothered and scared and hot and jealous and nervous. Thrilling. To teeter on the edge of the sub space again.

He is not usually an evasive controlling prick. But when he is I find him sexier and that’s just so wrong and but true true true!

******

Cool and distant now. He goes up to bed early even though I want him now, want his arms around me, on top of me. I’ve hugged on him and brought him warm bread and Gouda and a scotch but nothing back from him except that Dom smile and a pat on the head. Shit! Pisses me off that I am all of a sudden trying to get his attention like a little kitty, which is exactly how he pats my head.

He leaves me to go to sleep even though I am wide awake and – this is so stupid so stupid so stupid for me to admit it – I start surfing the internet for porn. I am thirty eight and a good hot wife stuck in a big city suburb in a nice house and it’s 1:30 AM now and I am still going between writing this all down and surfing porn on the net, with one hand on the mouse and the other pulling my panties up into my pussy and pushing hard onto my clit. It’s stupid but it’s true and I will write it all down because I tell the truth.

I feel so dirty and dumb looking at porno which is fine sometimes. It’s what Trixie is; dirty and stupid, pulling up her underpants into a hard wedge into my pussy and rocking back and forth against it. But I am also relieved and self-righteous now. There has been something going on, you know, something naughty at the Thursday night bad movie club. Knew it all along, or at least for awhile now. 

Sometimes I look at lesbian porno.

Like right now.

I have to go.

******



Thursday Night Bad Movie Club Ch. 02



(This will not make any sense unless you've read part 1....)

Part two

******

On the drive over I am getting ready for disappointment. Arthur acts totally goofy, like a little kid going to see a stupid movie with his stupid friends. Not Dom at all, like he was last night. He wouldn’t let me dress up or anything – I am just wearing a denim skirt and pink simple top (3 buttons open at the top so can show a little bit of cleavage at least). He wouldn’t let me wear any kind of heels at all, just some cheap flats. He’s in jeans and rugby, totally boring.

I am trying to picture Deedee and Johnny who I do not see often at all, unlike Miranda. Deedee is pale with great big brown pretty eyeballs and a high forehead. She has dark red hair that is a waterfall of little curly ringlets. It is natural; all the boys love her hair, including Arthur. She looks like a young Elizabethan duchess, like she would look fine in a museum portrait. She is always laughing.

Johnny is big, big and tall and with the huge shoulders and pot belly of a former college jock. He has a big steam shovel jaw, the jaw of a super hero and talks loud like an ex jock, like a sales manager which he is. He is always friendly and looks at my breasts whenever I have been around him, which is not often.  Lots of boys look at my breasts, I wear stuff so that they do. I am smart and hate stupid boys but I am stupid because I still wear things so they look there instead of my big round butt or my plain happy face.

It is late summer and warm, but an early fog is out even as the sun is setting, around 8:30 by now. It’s a good one, settling thick in the dips of the landscape, and it collects at the edge of the streets, growing thicker and bolder as the sun retreats. The fog (steam?) gathering like the promise of romance…or better yet, mystery. Worse yet, like a zombie movie. Ugh.

We pull up to Johnny’s house, not too large but modern and with a generous curving driveway, in one of those newer subdivisions where you have to pay extra for them to add grass and trees. Miranda’s familiar white 330i is there, as well as a gray Subaru wagon which must be Deedee’s. 

Arthur pulls in and the Jag slows then stops quiet as mist. He won’t let me dress up for tonight, but the son of a bitch drives the Jag over even though ninety percent of the time he just slums around town in his old shitty Explorer. Show off. A show off to the Thursday night bad movie club.

Johnny comes to the door waving us inside with big huge gestures. He is even bigger than I remember, must be close to six and a half feet tall and weigh better than an eighth of a ton. I wonder what it would be like to have a man that big on top of a little woman like me. I just wonder shit like that all the time.

“Hello, hello, come on in guys!” his voice is a booming low cannon. “Come on Arthur, come on Trixie!”

******

Trixie. He called me Trixie. 

Oooh – trouble.

I have met Johnny maybe four times at company functions, and he would know my name because salesmen remember those things and he would know me as my actual name Maxine but he called me Trixie and this is very naughty.

Arthur set him up for this. 

Trixie is a private word, a secret and Arthur has set me up. Oh hell yes, baby, there has been trouble brewing all right and I knew it KNEW it all along with the Thursday night bad movie club.

But Johnny just called my Trixie and there is no practical way to show how pissed off I am right now at my wicked manipulative husband because I am suddenly, pathetically damp. Yes. Warm and damp in my underpants and I am embarrassed but I have to tell the truth. And because he called me Trixie and now there’s nothing to say I just have to listen and do what I am told.

Bastards!

God I hate it but love it when my husband is a bastard.

******

We are in the kitchen now with Miranda and Deedee. They are making popcorn the very old fashioned way – cooking and almost burning it in a big skillet with coconut oil and real butter. They talk loudly over the rattle and smell.

I am hungry.

When you are a girl with a big butt, you just hate to hungry in front of other people but the smell is warm and buttery and I am hungry for everything now, a physical sensation pulling at me.

“Hi guys,” says Miranda, jiggling the skillet, not looking up.

“Hi Arthur, Hi Trixie,” says Deedee, loud and laughing, holding one of several big stainless bowls full of popcorn.

Shit! Another jolt that she calls me this too. I am the butt of a joke maybe and want to be mad but that word…that word. My husband has planned this. She calls me that name and she is not even big or scary like Johnny and she calls me that name and I am distracted away from my empty tummy and feeling my pussy again, it’s so humiliating to say how a word can make you wet. A magic word, not benign magic.

They are chatting and I pull Miranda aside and she says all friendly like “Hey Trixie, what’s up?” 

I tell her, voice low, “That is a secret word.”

“Not if you want to join the club,” and she says it real smooth, smooth and shimmery, all stainless steel, like the girl equivalent of how Arthur talks business.

******

We are down in the basement of Johnny’s house now. It’s a beautiful and expensive home theater room, decorated much too tastefully – all warm beige and dark green accents – for Johnny to have thought up himself. A huge monitor on the wall, as wide as I am tall (although I am not tall, only a little over five feet) with lovely recessed lighting.

There are drinks in hand for everyone. Arthur is drinking expensive scotch and Johnny drinks a beer and has more of them close at hand. Deedee is drinking something pink and foamy and Miranda has something clear in a tall fluted glass – vodka I would guess. Arthur puts something in front of me, a glass as short and round as Miranda’s is tall and thin. It is amber colored and syrupy over ice. Drambuie.

I have no tolerance for Drambuie because I like it too much. Thick and honeyed and rich, like me, like how I look. I should not, I hesitate. I estimate that two out of every five bad decisions in my life involve Drambuie.

“Drink up, Trixie,” says Miranda so I just do it because she says the word Trixie and it goes down hot and sweet and already I start to relax.

Johnny is fooling with the DVD thing, and some credits come up on the screen for some horrible movie which I will hate. All that expensive equipment to render some movie made for less money than what Johnny’s TV cost him. The movie is called “Dead and Buried” and looks creepy and nasty. They – the movie club – immediately start whooping their approval for the opening credits and yelling at the screen.

I am so hungry now, I try to tune out the movie and start stuffing popcorn into my mouth, salty and hot and burnt and moist. I hope I do not look like I am trying to eat to fast like a fat girl and I purposefully stop to take another sip of Drambuie and then I am fading, fading.

“Trixie’s sleeeeepy,” I hear my husband say, but he is miles away now.

******

I fade to gray, dreamless gray but not black. There are voices in the background, some movement around me. The movie sounds are gone now, just the sound of voices.

Someone is pulling me up, up on my feet. It is a thing I feel, I observe with my eyes closed, like watching a movie without seeing it.

“Trixie,” a voice, not mean but kind. “Trixie, Trixie, baby,” a voice, light and silvery, familiar. Miranda

My eyes are fluttering open. We are in the same room, the lights still dim but the movie has stopped and it is quiet. “Up and at ‘em Trixie,” says a low booming voice, Johnny speaking. I am getting awake now, a sort of awake state. I feel woozy but not bad. Not sick or gross or anything. I feel detached a bit, ironic or something, the way I think Arthur feels all the time about life. Detached and amused.

They keep saying it, over and over, Trixie Trixie Trixie like it was my real name or something and even though I know it is stupid and manipulative, I just hear it like Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) and then just Sub sub sub sub sub. 

“Who drugged me?” I ask, quiet, not even mad.

“We all did, sweetie,” says Deedee happily.

“It’ll wear off shortly, Trixie,” affirms Johnny in a loud agreeable voice, it is he that is holding me up although now I feel okay to stand by myself.

“Initiation, Trixie,” says husband. That prick. I love guys like that. Cocky and confident like Johnny and husband are right now. I love them both. It doesn’t make sense, I don’t defend it. Maxine is a confident modern college educated woman, but Trixie is just a stupid bimbo that just does whatever, needs guys around as long as they are great big like Johnny or maybe super smart and mean like Arthur. 

*******

I am steadier now and I am walking by myself, following them down a little corridor in Johnny’s basement, to a plain white wooden door. They all go in ahead of me and close the door behind them, save husband, who is now standing behind me. He has quietly, without me really realizing it, pinned my hands behind me as I am facing the plain white door. I hear music behind it.

“I love you Maxine,” he whispers behind me, into my ear, his breath warm. “I love you so much. I love everything we’ve done and regret nothing.” I am swooning a little, I love him, I am dependent on him for everything and he called me Maxine again. 

“I love you,” I say (whimper?).

“If you step in through that door, you will step in as Trixie.”

“I know, I know”

“If you step in through that door, I will not be your husband in there, I will be your initiator.” Calm as snow, he says it.

“I know.”

“Do you know what happens behind that door?”

“Naughty stuff,” I say, almost breathless now.

“Worse,” he says calmly, “wicked stuff…might hurt.”

I just groan now, and that motherfucker’s free hand is under my skirt, pushing against my pussy, and the other hand still pins my hands behind me.

“If you step in there, I won’t help you.”

“Yes, I know.”

“If you want to leave right now, I’ll just take you home and we can forget about all of this.”

“I know.”

“What do you want to do, Maxine? What do you want to do, Trixie?” He says crisp and plain as fresh white paper.

“I want to go in there.”

“I might hurt you in there, might tease you.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want to go in there? This is the last time I ask you as your husband that loves you.”

“Let’s just GO” Trixie yells.

“When we come out, I’m your husband again.”

“Okay okay” whining now.

“So be it, Trixie,” he says, and with that he spins me around and yanks me hard through the door.  Vertigo….

******* 



Thursday Night Bad Movie Club Ch. 03



This will not make any sense unless you've read parts 1 & 2....

Part 3

It is just all crazy now. I can’t describe what it’s like, not really. This is all surreal although I am not drunk now, I am wide awake. Wide awake and on fire.

*******

I am Trixie in Wonderland. I ate something, I drank something. I got small; I fell into a rabbit hole through a white door. On one side there was a house, modern and trim and bland and perfect.

But I am on the other side, down the hole, and it is all different here.

It is a huge room, low ceiling but spreads out a long way, maybe into other rooms. It is a shit room, a nasty place. Dirty cement floor and unfinished walls, dark in most places and then punctured with harsh light overhead in others, like the one over me now. There is graffiti all over the walls. Stuff that shocks me – me who has been the good hot wife, the dirty housewife, who has happily cucked my husband 30 times or more in front of him in the bland interstate hotels near Chicago. We are a thousand miles away from there now, a million miles. That stuff seems innocent to me now, swear to God.

The graffiti, black and neon green and blood red shiny spray paint on the walls. Messages there, some piled and painted on top of each other:

JOHNNY FUCKED DEEDEE’S FACE 3/12/04

DEEDEE MADE A GIRL CUM WITH HER MOUTH – MIRANDA 3/12/04

ARTHUR FUCKED MIRANDA’S ASS 6/15/04

DEEDEE’S FIRST DP - ARTHUR AND JOHNNY 4/22/04

JOHNNY COMES WHILE WE SPANK HIM 2/03/04

All in ghetto scrawl, with little doodles and symbols I don’t understand. A partly secret language. It is dark in much of the room and I cannot see all of these crazy spray-paint diaries. I am so glad right now I am Trixie - Maxine would kind of freak if she saw this, particularly if she saw this jagged line:

MIRANDA LOSES $10 BET – ARTHUR SWALLOWS 7/12/04

*******

I say I am wide awake and on fire because there are things happening to me, stuff that would keep anyone awake.

*******

When Arthur, more or less, hurled me into that room, into wonderland, I stumbled and was falling…..then I was on my back on a dirty hard floor and Johnny’s hands were on my forearms like a vice. One of the girls had her hands up under my cheap denim skirt so fast I didn’t feel until my underpants were yanked down and off. Deedee had them in her hand and pushed them right onto my face.

“All wet Trixie, naughty!” She squealed with delight.

And it was true – my own panties betraying me, pushed onto my nose and mouth, smelled like me and wet and heavy on my face. She threw them aside and the two girls were leaning over me, pulling up my skirt from each side, exposing me. And Miranda – my friend – my friend to go shopping with and raise funds with for the local shelter – Miranda all tall and skinny – her hand pulling up my skirt (betrayer betrayer) and then she was kissing me hot and wet and I heard Johnny say to somebody “let’s fuck her up.”

*******

That was so long ago now, maybe fifteen minutes or a couple of hours. I don’t know.

*******

My hands are tied up over me, in big leather cuffs, suspended from some rope or chain or something in an exposed beam in the ceiling. Tatters of my little pink blouse are clinging to my shoulders but the skirt is long gone now. 

I am just so fucked up.

I am just so fucked up right now and they haven’t even fucked me.

*******

I am short anyway, like 5’3” when husband is about six foot, and Johnny is a head taller than him, and Miranda is girl-tall at maybe six foot and Deedee is a few inches taller than me. This is makes it worse that I am on a spreader bar – and my feet are pushed out four feet from the other and it makes me shorter still. I have too look upward at all them, even Deedee, and I feel small.

Small and stupid and dirty.

Yes! Hell yes! My pussy aches so much right now with sweet stupid sub sub love for these mean fucking crazy people. Maxine couldn’t even write this, you know. Thank god I’m in charge.

In charge of nothing.

******* It’s not like some slow romantic womanly BDSM story where there is somebody called “Master” and he is some silver fox to modulate the tempo of her undying love and she gives herself over to his seduction and education. Nothing like that horseshit. 

These people are just fucking crazy. Including my husband.

In the last hour (Minutes? Days? ) they are just chaotic and it’s hard to write this down. First, I am tied up and Johnny is behind me, rubbing his huge hot cock against my butt, up between my butt cheeks, his massive arms on my shoulders while husband is in front of me, kissing me, telling me he loves me.

Then, with no rhythm or apparent plan Deedee is on her knees in front of me, her red fake nails pulling my lips apart and her soft fat wet tongue pushing against my clit, all up and down, and then somebody – not Arthur – I see him in front of me at the far end up the room – somebody else is smacking my butt, smacking my ass really hard with a nine tails and every time I jerk from the *seriously* hard spike of pain on my butt I just end up pushing forward into Deedee’s mouth, which is warm wet heaven.

And then something else, delirious now: Miranda stands behind me, a head taller than I am and she is pushing against my back, I feel her slender high set breasts and nipples, sharp as quartz, press between my shoulder blades and she is taking her long long arms and hands, reaching around me, masturbating me, rubbing against my clit like only a girl would know how….and she is doing this while Arthur does something else to me, putting clothespins on my tits, my fat hard fat girl’s nipples.

The pins hurt, little bursts of pain. And I squeal, all the while Miranda just keeps her long fingertips pulling my lips open and pushing on my clit and I so feel this girl’s soft cleft of pussy hair rub against the small of my back.

He is staring right into my eyes, looking at me pinching me, jolts of flame spreading across my breasts, down my spine, where the baby soft hands of Miranda on my pussy are pushing waves of pleasure upward and those sensations are crossing, honey and fire together. 

I hate Miranda for forcing me to feel good in front of my husband like that. It is like they are making fun of me because that’s what I’m good for. Trixie toy in Wonderland.

With no particular cue then it is Deedee in front of me now, kneading my breasts, holding them. “If you kiss me on the mouth I’ll take these off,” she teases, and then to italicize her statement she pinches the clips together extra hard and I think I might pass out.

I am of course kissing her now, she is running her long nails through my hair and I am just so kissing her, desperate for her to love me and the clips are off now and she is running her fingers in circles around my boobs, and I just want to kiss her forever, her hot open mouth that tastes like a sweet pink drink.

Arthur is across the room; my best friend is sucking his cock while he pats her head and sips his drink. Miranda – betrayer! Betrayer! (Does her little German engineer husband know about this?).

Music is blaring, some incomprehensible violent angry rap shit popping out of a big boom box. Music that Arthur would never tolerate. Muzak for the wicked, with nothing but drum machines and bass and some crazy yelling that doesn’t sound like English, doesn’t even sound like language.

Perfect.

Someone behind me smacks my ass several more times. And I jerk too hard and yelp and lose Deedee’s kiss. 

“What a fucking dyke,” she says at me. “God Arthur, you must be embarrassed.”

And husband is kissing her now, Deedee, not a foot from my face. His hard on pushing against her curly curly curly red pubic hair.

It’s very clear to me now.

There is no one in charge.

There is no plan.

In here, in Wonderland, there is only impulse. I am starting to become part of them, part of this place, now. It makes me calmer.

I feel from behind me a large man’s hand push into my pussy, a finger as big as some guy’s cocks are, and a second one – a thumb? – push up into my ass. I immediately begin rocking against Johnny’s hand. There is no need for pride in here, just shameless I begin pushing against his hand stuck up me, greasy and fat.

They have a magic marker and take turns writing things on me. It is one of those that smell like candy, like licorice. Deedee writes “PINCH” across my breasts. Arthur writes “SMAK ME” just above my pussy hair, with an arrow pointing down. Johnny writes “FUCK” and another arrow on my lower back – the arrow going straight down to the crack of my ass.

Miranda is taking pictures of everything. Not a digital camera or anything fancy – an old Polaroid instamatic that pops out those little instant pictures. I notice as she fires them off that there a few already taped on the wall. I look again, and I see that there are in fact hundreds of them. Hundreds of them.

They are taking me down now, unhooking my bound hands and the leg spreader. My legs are sore. Johnny picks me up like a rag doll and puts me on some old work bench thing and he is on top of me, huge and hot. He stops and yells out “Johnny fucks Trixie!”

And I hear Arthur yell back an affirmative “Johnny fucks Trixie” and I hear the sound and smell of spray paint against the bare wall.

Johnny’s huge cock is in me all at once, a mile deep inside me in one push and I can feel my own walls getting pushed apart, and his cock is hitting deeper than Arthur’s (or most men) ever could. His huge hands pinning down my forearms and on his third massive thrust into I am just coming and coming and coming, I am so little and he is so big.

Coming still, not like a great rolling orgasm that spreads out and ripples, but a tight hot storm centered inside my pussy, over and over, sparkling with electricity and pain and heaven and god knows what. Honey and fire, the center of the universe there, my lovely wonderful pussy so packed and tight and I cannot think straight.

“Fuck that bitch,” someone is saying, “Fuck her.” It is my husband saying it standing close now, but here he is Arthur but not my husband. 

I am starting to fade a little now, as I feel him bottom out and come so much it is overflowing back out of me, warm on my thighs.

The flashbulb is firing again, three more times, maybe.

*******

There is no one in charge here. 

They fucked me up all right, but with no one in charge it’s not like there’s a plan or anything. No careful script. Impulse, impulse.

The THUMP THUMP of the shit music on the boom box seemed to keep us going, like a rave scene.

*******

Later, we tied Arthur and Miranda up together. I got to make her hurt and make her come, wet and hot right into my face. I would pinch her tits until she squealed and pleaded, and then I would drop to my knees and run my tongue up and down her pussy – which was long and skinny like her and also topped with black crazy hair. 

Johnny and Deedee let me, but it’s not like anyone needed permission to do anything there, in that place. 

I made her come with my mouth while Deedee spanked her ass. That was so cool, making her come like that – knowing that she was helpless and getting red stripes across her skinny little bubble butt while I pushed my fingers into her and held her clit in my mouth. When she was really bucking against me – my day time friend – my shopping girlfriend – and I knew she was going to lose it, I was looking right up into her eyes looking back at me, and we both knew my mouth was making her come – tasting like fresh salmon and victory.

When Arthur was tied up, Miranda and Deedee were pinching him, stroking him, spanking him while I kneeled down in front of Johnny and gave him a slow sub-girl’s blowjob and moaned about how Arthur would never get a blowjob like this until he had a cock like Johnny’s. Real porn star performance, and then Johnny started getting seriously into it and half gagging me, just manhandling my face and I let him and continued to look all sweet at subgirl and kept looking up at Arthur.  Arthur’s cock was hard as iron and the girls were stroking him everywhere except on his cock, leaving it pointed and helpless.

Deedee came over and started feeling me up really hard, which felt good, and eventually she slid her face underneath my thighs and I just sat down on her face. 

Girl-head just so ROCKS!

I admit this now: I am not a lesbian, but I’m not saying I’m totally straight either.

Getting head from her was just so much sweeter than from a guy – it’s true! And I was kind of bobbing my ass up and down a little bit and she was fine with that, just kept running her tongue in and out and around me, right from the tip of my clit all the way down, right across my ass, back and forth. All this time Johnny has his huge hands around my head and is truly fucking my face, shoving his cock almost all the way down even though I kind of gag, totally unladylike, and spit comes out of my mouth but it’s worth it.

When he comes (and comes and comes) I almost can’t breathe, almost suffocate and that’s when I feel that big wave coming inside– half choked and almost going black, but Deedee’s sweet mouth is still moving all around my pussy. He finally pulls his cock out and I gasp and gasp and again almost choke on sperm and spit that gets drug back out and I look at helpless Arthur and make a big show about rubbing it on my face. And that’s the moment Deedee’s tongue finds home and I am shaking, shaking and pressing all my weight down onto her face, pitching forward.

But I do not know I am pitching forward; do not know what sounds I am making. I just feel girl-mouth on my pussy and even as I burst she is still moving that sweet warm tongue around me, all I can feel, that tongue on me, I do not know where my pussy ends and her mouth begins, I just know the feeling of the tornado swirling at the center, throwing force outward across my body.

That’s what I remember before passing out for real.

*******

I wake up alone in Wonderland. The music is off and it is very quiet, like I am in a still like, or a display. I am naked except for the tatters of my blouse. It is an ugly harsh room, poorly lit, dirty. At least it is not cold. I look at the graffiti on the walls. There are new entries.

“TRIXIE IS A WORK OF ART 9/17.” And next to this scrawl are three taped pictures of me, with graffiti drawn on me when I was still tied up.

“JOHNNY FUCKS TRIXIE 9/17” painted in a signature I now recognize as Arthur’s, and another snapshot of Johnny’s big steel cock about to go into my pussy.

And on an opposite wall, “MIRANDA IS A TEAM PLAYER 9/17” and there is a particularly bad shot of Miranda, sitting on top of a cock that’s up her ass with another one in her mouth. The photo does not show the men’s faces, but I know from experience the cock in her ass is my husband’s, and the huge thing she is trying to swallow is Johnny.

I am sleepy now.

I look for my clothes and cannot find them.

I see at the far end of this dingy wonderful room a perfectly white door – out of place in this filth. The exit.

I linger a little longer, looking at the hundreds of other photographs there – all of them taken with an old fashioned instamatic camera. Nothing digital – nothing to develop – all of the records here are kept inside this place. Nothing to share or transcribe or document beyond this one big room. I understand now – nothing that happens in here leaves here. In this internet age, there is such a simple genius in this.

I open the white door, back through the rabbit hole. And I step in (naked, embarrassed) to Johnny’s beautifully decorated entertainment room. I step through and close the door behind me. Deedee throws me my skirt and a clean plain blue t-shirt which I quickly slip on.

They do not stare at me while I redress. Do not call attention to me until I have fastened the skirt on and pulled the t-shirt over my head.

They are busy watching a movie – a different one from the earlier one I think - the zombies are shambling toward the two remaining heroes locked inside a cellar, but the sound is turned low now and they are all stuffing their face with cold popcorn and soda, not talking much.

I sit down on a puffy beige leather couch next to husband. He puts his arm around me and hands me his bowl of popcorn. I look around and, seeing that everyone else is totally stuffing themselves and their lips are traced with butter I do the same, shoving a handful of popcorn in my mouth and then another before I can even get the first bite down.

“Max,” he says, almost whispering “Aren’t bad movies just awesome?”

“Hell yes,” I say, quiet as a mouse, cheeks chubby with popcorn, watching the zombies retreat, shuffling away from the heroes now, back into their squalid black lairs as the light of dawn breaks across the screen. 



Thursday Night Betty



The first thing that you should know about me is that my name isn't really Betty. Even if you were one of the men that I'd... entertained on Thursday night, you probably couldn't pick me out of a police lineup. That's because I dress and act completely different during the day. I keep my hair pulled back and don't wear a lot of makeup and wear neat but plain clothing, like the successful businesswoman that I am. I wouldn't know you, either, and we might walk past each other on Friday morning in broad daylight without a clue. And that's just the way that I like it.

My career as Thursday Night Betty started on a Wednesday night. Some friends and I went out for drinks after work, and even though we only had a couple of martinis apiece, we still got a little silly and started talking about our sex lives. They kept talking about their bedroom romps with "bad boys", and I would chime in once in a while with a sketchy, made-up story, but in fact I hadn't gotten fucked in two years. A couple of them started talking about how men let the little head think for the big head, and one insisted that most straight men would let a gay man suck them off if they were desperate. I'd heard about certain restrooms in the more distant area of public parks that were frequented by gay men, but this woman said that any adult video store had booths in the back that were supposedly for previewing videos, but were really there for men to have sex in. The rest of us feigned disbelief, and before I knew it we were in her car, driving to an adult store that was a few miles from our town, near the intersection of two interstates. If we'd gone to the adult store in our town, the one that seemed to do most of its business in flavored condoms and lube and gag gifts for bachelor and bachelorette parties, then I probably wouldn't have this story to tell.

The video store by the interstates was surprisingly clean, but definitely older than the one in our town. It had a few racks of dildoes and vibrators and the like, but there was something about them that suggested that they had been in stock for a while and that they really weren't the reason that people came there. I noticed a rack of classic Playboy magazines next to the newer ones, and wandered over to take a look at them. My friends came over, giggling, to ask if I was checking out the "hot babes", and I pointed out to them how the Playmates in the 70s and the 80s were more natural-looking, with non-surgically-modified breasts and all of their pubic hair, compared to the stick-thin, bottle-blonde centerfolds of today with their fake tits. The woman who had suggested this field trip in the first place noticed the door to the video preview booths, and asked the man behind the counter, who appeared to be in his early fifties and had the trim look of an ex-Marine, whether we would have to buy tokens first, and the man shrugged and said, "Only if you're going to watch the movies." In a group, we walked into the back of the store.

After the brightness of the front of the store, we were nearly blind as we fumbled our way around the booths. Although there had been other cars in the parking lot, the booths seemed abandoned, but soon we noticed that some of the booths had red "IN USE" signs lit up over the door. We whispered to each other, speculating as to whether the men inside were masturbating or having sex with other men. I looked around and noticed one booth that was between two others. It seemed to be relatively narrow, and I poked my head in the open door. There was a seat in the back, and a slot for tokens in the wall next to it. Peering around, I noticed that the TV screen was above the door, so that you would sit on the seat and face the door to watch videos. Then I noticed two holes, one in each side wall, opposite each other, about waist height. They were lined with some sort of smooth plastic and each was fairly large, at least ten inches in diameter. I could see the faint outlines of the seats in the booths on either side, but neither was occupied. 

My friend grabbed my arm. "Come on, let's go," she hissed. "This place is starting to give me the creeps." 

We walked out, but the woman who had suggested the trip stopped by the clerk first. "So...", she said casually, "what sort of clientele comes here? Gay or straight?"

The clerk didn't seem surprised by the question. "Oh, some of each," he said. "More couples than you might think. Thursday night is ladies' night." 

We looked at each other, then burst out laughing. The clerk arched his eyebrow and went back to his newspaper. We beat a hasty retreat, occasionally laughing again when one of us said "ladies' night." We laughed all the way back to town, although I wasn't laughing as hard as the others. I kept thinking about those two holes in the opposite walls of the narrow booth. It wasn't until I was home and undressing for bed that I realized why the walls of the booth were so close together.

I'm in the habit of masturbating before I go to sleep; it helps me relax and it's just a nice way of ending the day. That night, though, even though I masturbated to orgasm twice, it took me forever to get to sleep. I thought that the images in my mind were sick and degrading to women, but I still couldn't quite let go of them. I finally went to sleep, but I was tired and cranky the next day, and after I'd spent my lunch taking a short nap in my office, I started thinking about the booth again. I spent my afternoon coffee break in the office bathroom with the lock on the door, masturbating again, and when I went home I had yet another wank before I took a rare early evening nap. It was getting dark when I woke up, and I lay in bed for a while, thinking about what I was considering doing. It was a crazy idea--I could get arrested or catch some disease or even get hurt--but I couldn't resist the thrill I felt each time I pictured myself in the booth. I finally talked myself into it by telling myself that I'd have the pepper spray in my purse, and that I could run out of there if I chickened out.

I got dressed and drove to the video store, heart pounding the entire way. My car was a dark late-model sedan without flashy emblems or bumper stickers, but I still parked in back, out of sight of the access road. I looked at myself in the mirror before I got out of the car. I'd let my hair down for once, and even combed it so that it hung in front of my face. As an added disguise, I'd put on the eyeshadow, mascara, and bright red lipstick that I usually saved for very special occasions. Anyone who knew me would still be able to recognize me, but even they would have to look twice. I was wearing a tank top without a bra underneath, and even though it was a warm night, my nipples stood out like pencil erasers underneath the cloth. I wore jogging shorts with an elastic waistband over a thong, and flip-flops on my feet; I usually never wore flip-flops outside of the house, and it wasn't until later that I realized that, subconsciously, I'd put them on because they were easy to wash off.

I walked to the front door, hanging my head down low to hide my face even further, and went inside. The clerk looked up at me as I walked up to him, and I wondered if he'd remembered me from last night. I asked him how much the tokens were.

"Five dollars' worth minimum, but for you, they're on the house." He pressed a stack of brass tokens in my hand. I blushed and walked back to the booths; the narrow booth that I had obsessed over stood empty. Feeling like my heart was going to burst out of my ribcage at any moment, I walked inside and shut and latched the door. 

I stood there for a long minute, the tokens growing sweaty in one clenched fist, not daring to do anything else. I'm not sure what I expected to happen; maybe a bright light would come on in the booth and my friends' faces would appear at each hole, yelling "Surprise!", or maybe cops were waiting in the adjacent booths for me to do something dirty, and a badge would appear through one hole and a gun through the other. Swallowing nervously, I hung my purse on the back of the door, sat down, and slipped a few tokens in the slot. 

The screen immediately lit up, showing a blonde with more makeup on than I had, bouncing up and down on a muscular man's lap as his cock plowed into her shaved cunt. Their groans were fake-sounding and obviously dubbed in. I hit the channel changer and briefly sampled the selection of videos, which included quite a lot of gay porn, women taking it up the ass, women making love to other women, shemales fucking both men and women, and a brief shot of a lactating woman squirting her milk onto a man's face. Then I came to one that was shot from an odd angle; the camera was underneath the woman, and she had one cock thrusting into her pussy while she took the other one in her mouth. It was so close to my mental picture that I just sat there, watching, for a few seconds with my mouth open.

Out of the corner of my eyes, through the holes in the wall, I saw men entering the booths on either side of me, and heard them shut and lock their doors. They didn't put any tokens in, though, so although they could probably see me in the light from my TV screen, I couldn't really see them, just the faint outline of two faces peering around the edges of the holes. It was now or never.

Still sitting, I rubbed my nipples briefly through the cloth of the tank top, then pinched them. After a few seconds of that, I grasped the hem of the tank top, then slowly raised it over my head, and peeled the shirt off. I stood up and hung the shirt on the back of the door. I looked at the TV screen, caressing my breasts and flicking my ever harder nipples.

I turned around and bent over toward the seat. Again moving very slowly, I pulled down my shorts, then stepped out of them, and hung them on the back of the door. Again I faced the screen, although this time I moved my hand over my crotch, rubbing my cunt through my panties. The crotch of the thong was sopping wet. I stuck my hand down the front of the thong, at first cupping my hairy cunt, then curling my middle finger inwards and probing deep into my lubricated vagina. I looked down at myself, the knuckle of my middle finger pressing out against the damp cotton of the thong as I rhythmically finger-fucked myself, being watched by strangers. This was so far beyond the boundaries of my usual behavior that I felt like I was on an alien planet.

After fondling myself for a while, I took my hand out of my thong and again turned and faced the seat, this time slowly peeling off my thong. When I had lowered the thong to my ankles, I stayed there for a couple of seconds, bent over almost double, then stepped out of the underwear. I stayed bent over, though, and moved my legs a little wider than shoulder width apart. I put my hand between my legs and started finger-fucking myself again, curling my hand so that the men should be able to clearly see my glistening finger pushing in and out of my fuzzy cunt from behind.

This was a fairly uncomfortable position, so eventually I stood up and faced the screen again, rubbing my clit and wondering if I'd end up getting myself off without either man making a move. Maybe that would be for the best...

Suddenly, a man's penis appeared through the hole to my right. It was flaccid and uncircumcised. It wasn't really what I expected, but I thought that I'd check it out anyway, just for the heck of it. I faced the hole and bent over. The booth was so narrow that, as my face approached the hole on my right, I felt my ass nudge up against the hole on my left, now behind me. It felt like my cunt and asshole were neatly framed by the hole. 

I took the cock in my hand; it felt like a fat, dry, short little worm. I stroked it a little, feeling the glans slide under the foreskin, and breathed on it a little. It twitched and started to grow beneath my fingers. There, that's more like it, I thought. As I gently stroked the swelling cock, I could suddenly feel another man's breath on my cunt. I guess that the fellow behind me was getting a good look. 

The cock in my hand was almost completely hard now, and I could see the glistening tip of his glans through the opening in the foreskin. I gently peeled the foreskin back and saw how the head was smooth and moist, unlike the circumcised cocks that I'd seen and felt before. I remembered reading somewhere how the glans of an uncut cock was more sensitive, and so I licked my lips, then very gently kissed the tip of the cock, then probed the urethral slit with the tip of my tongue. Almost at the same time, I felt another tongue probe my own slit from behind. The unseen man's tongue tip slid up and down my already-wet labia.

I curled my lips over my teeth, then slowly took the cockhead in my mouth. I wasn't a big fan of fellatio, usually, but this was different. My thighs were quivering slightly with the excitement. I could feel the face of the man behind me press up against my cunt, with his nose probing my asshole, as he slid his tongue into me as far as he could. The man in front of me thrust his cock further into the glory hole, and I grasped the base of his cock so that I could regulate how deep into my mouth he went. I started bobbing my head up and down over his cock. I was afraid that he might have a smegma problem with the foreskin, but he was clean and his cock had a nice, if slightly strong, man-smell. 

The man behind me moved his face away from my cunt, and I was slightly disappointed until I felt the mushroom head of his prick nudge between my sopping cunt lips. He was bigger around than the man that I was giving head to, and I gave out a satisfied grunt as he drove his thick cock into my pussy. I braced my hips against the rear glory hole, and he started thrusting, building up a fast, even rhythm. Soon I was moaning onto the cock of the man that I was sucking, and he showed his appreciation by speeding up his own tempo, the first few inches of his cock moving in and out of my mouth while my tongue swirled around the head and my fist jacked the part of his cock near the root that I couldn't fit in my mouth. His thrusts got faster and faster, then his groin slammed up against the glory hole, and I could feel the pulsing in the underside of his cock as he shot his cum into my mouth. I had never liked the taste of semen, so even though I'd heard that men tasted different from one another, I was surprised to find out that I liked the taste of this man's cum, and swallowed it all. I milked his cock a couple of times to get the last few drops, then he pulled out of my mouth. I thought that that was going to be it for him, but to my surprise he bent over toward the glory hole so that his face was near mine, and whispered, "That was real nice, thanks." Then he kissed me!

He left the booth, and I could see another man enter almost immediately. I thought that I could see yet another man out in the corridor, and I wondered if there was a line. The new man shut the door, and I could see him drop his pants almost immediately. He had just stepped up to the glory hole when I reached through, surprising myself with my boldness, and grasped his cock, sucking it to hardness while I moaned softly due to the continued fucking from behind. My new partner fucked my face for a while, then withdrew, bent over, and whispered, "Can I fuck you in the pussy?"

I thought about it for a second, then pulled my ass away from the rear glory hole. I turned around, bent over, and grasped the large cock, still glistening with my cunt juice. I stretched my mouth wide open and took him in. I liked the taste of my own cunt on his cock, and I guess that he liked the feel of my mouth just fine, because soon he was gently rocking his hips as I gingerly accomodated his big cockhead. My new partner, instead of penetrating me right away, stroked my pussy lips and massaged my very swollen clit, and I soon had a mind-blowing orgasm. The big-cock man showed his appreciation of my impromptu hum-job by shooting his cum deep into my mouth, and he had such a big load that I couldn't swallow it all and a little dribble ran out of my mouth. Another man came into his booth just as soon as he left, and the man behind me started fucking me, and soon I was getting it from both ends again.

I lost track of how many men I sucked and fucked. I got cut and uncut cocks, thick and thin, black, white, and brown, and even though their booths were dark I could tell that some were blondes and redheads. I had no idea how old they were or whether or not they had wedding rings on. At first, I tried to have all the men finish in my mouth, but soon I got carried away and a man shot his load in my pussy. The man that came after him didn't seem to mind the sloppy seconds, but the man after him stuck his cock in for a few seconds, then withdrew and put a couple of fingers in me. He took them out, coated with cum, and as he stuck his prick back into my cunt, he probed my asshole with his slippery fingers. This was something new for me, and I rocked my ass back against the hole and pushed out with my ass a little so that first one finger, then two, then three were sawing in and out of my rosebud. After a few minutes of that, he pulled out of my cunt again, and then I felt the head of his cock pressing against my asshole. I pushed out again, and he popped his cockhead in. It hurt a little at first, but then I loosened up and enjoyed being buttfucked while I whacked off my clit with one hand. My asshole was so tight around his cock that I could feel the pulsing of his cum when he shot his load into my rectum. My ass was loose after that, and I took cocks into my ass as well as my cunt, getting loads in all three holes.

In the back of my mind, I was starting to wonder if I'd be there all night, although after I was done I figured out that I was in there for less than an hour and a half. It just seemed to go on and on, and I thought that maybe some men were coming back for seconds, or they were calling their friends and telling them that there was free head, pussy and ass at the video store, and to make excuses to their wives and girlfriends and sneak out of the house. Then I had one last guy grunt as he shot into my ass, then pull out, and there were no more men. 

I stood up, feeling a little stunned. Cum from who knew how many men ran down my thighs, and I was glad that I wore flip-flops instead of socks and my good sneakers. I burped, and tasted semen on my own breath. My asshole spasmed, and I realized that there was a mother load of jism in my rectum that had only one way out. It suddenly occurred to me that I had nothing to clean up with before I put my clothes back on, and that not only would I have to walk out of the store with cum running down my legs, but that I would get it on my car seat. God help me if I was stopped by the cops; they'd probably just assume that I was a whore and run me in. Then someone tapped on my door and I jumped a little.

"Are you OK?", a voice asked, and I knew that it was the clerk. My first impulse was to ask him to go away, but I knew that he knew exactly what I'd been doing all this time. I cracked the door open. 

"Yeah, I guess, but I forgot to bring anything to clean up with. Do you have some paper towels that I could have?"

He gestured toward the back of the video booth area. "I can do better than that. There's a bathroom back there that you can wash up in before you put your clothes on. Don't worry about anyone seeing you; they're all gone." 

I thought about it for a few moments, then decided that I might as well, and gathering up my clothes and purse I walked out of the glory hole booth. If I had felt like a slut walking in, wearing my short shorts and braless halter, I felt like the Whore of Babylon, walking across the room wearing only flip-flops and with semen running down my face, chest, and legs. But the clerk acted as if he were escorting the Queen as he motioned me into the bathroom. I was relieved to see that there was not only a drain in the bathroom floor, but also a hose attachment on the sink's faucet. He shut the door, turned on the water and tested the temperature, then had me stand in the middle of the room. I held my hair up, no longer caring if he recognized me or not, as he gently washed me off. When he got to my cunt, he adjusted the spray to a slow pulse and directed it toward my clit, giving me a quick and powerful orgasm. 




Thursday Night Betty



I realized that I had to piss as well as expel the semen from my ass, and told him that I had to use the toilet. He grinned and said, "You can pee wherever you want; it'll just go down the drain anyway. And as for your ass..." He shrugged. "You don't have to, of course, but I wouldn't mind having my own turn." 

I gave him a slow smile as I spread my feet apart a little and let my piss run down my legs. I had never gone to the bathroom in front of a man before, and it felt as dirty as all the stuff that I'd just done. Then, I bent over the sink and spread my legs. The clerk took his already-hard cock out, got a tube of lube out of his pocket, and smeared some on his cock and on my tender asshole. He very gently penetrated my rosebud and thrust slowly into me as he reached around me and first rubbed my nipples and then my clit. I had yet another orgasm as he came in my ass, and then had a sort of mini-orgasm as I squatted on the toilet and expelled a long stream of semen out of my rectum. He finished cleaning me up, then gave me a real honest-to-gosh towel to dry off with. I got dressed and walked out to the front of the store; I felt a little awkward leaving, as if I couldn't pretend to go back to a normal life after what I had done. 

"Say", the clerk said, "do you think you'll be back next Thursday?"

I hesitated. I had a successful business career, which would be instantly ruined if anyone identified me. But then I thought of how much more alive I felt now, and whether I could stand to go back to my solitary life with its perfunctory masturbation. I said, "I--I think that I will." 

He nodded. "I think that you'll be the star attraction of this store. I can cut you in on part of the token sales. And if you get tired of plain old fucking and sucking..." He gestured toward the toys on the wall. "We have plenty of things to play with afterward." 

"OK," I said. I paused, wondering how much I wanted to reveal of myself to this man who had just cornholed me in a porn store bathroom. "I'm, uh..."

"I'll call you Betty... and you can call me, uh, call me Barney." He grinned, and I smiled back. During the week that followed, I occasionally had second thoughts about going back, but something about Barney's grin--and, frankly, his skill at assfucking--brought me back. That, and the dreams that I had almost every night, of a never-ending chain of lovers, dreams that had me waking up with my cunt twitching in the aftershock of a massive orgasm and the bed soaked with my pussy juice.

I'm now a Thursday night regular. Instead of messing with all the makeup, I wear a wig and oversized tinted glasses; I don't even take my own car, but get picked up instead by Barney's cousin, who turned out to be the big-cocked man who was the first one to fuck me. I wear a simple dress with nothing underneath, and when it's cold out I wear a long coat and fake-fur-lined boots, and put my flip-flops in the coat pocket. The men draw straws for the privilege of fucking and being sucked by me first; the first ones get to watch my little strip and masturbation show. Some of the men thrust twenties through the glory holes after they're done; at first I felt slightly insulted because I thought that they assumed I was a whore, but eventually I recognized it for what it was, a spontaneous compliment. Some nights, I've gone home with more than $300 on top of my cut of the token sales. Plus, of course, I get a nice fuck from Barney afterward, sometimes including his cousin, and once an off-duty cop came in for the post-fucking cleanup and took all of his clothes off, including his back-up gun, and had me piss and expel my ass-cum all over him. I don't think that I have to worry about being arrested. 

I doubt that I could stop now even if I wanted. Sure, I could just walk away from it, but I already spend six nights a week being a boring spinster. The seventh night, though... I create anew the legend of Thursday Night Betty. 



Thursday Night Fun



Thursday night, 5:30 pm, a soft smile crosses my face as I see Master pull into the lot at work to pick me up. I still think, how did I get so lucky, so blessed with such a good man, a great Master, my best friend, the One chance so many don't ever see in a life's time.

When I get in the car and see that certain wicked grin I know He has something planned. That demon's horn in His eyebrow stands straight up, just signaling that something wicked is coming.

After planting happy kisses all over His face, I ask Him, "so what's that grin for tonight, Sir?" He just grins even bigger and purrs, "you will see my pet."

Soon I realize we aren't heading home but in a totally different direction. He refuse to tell me where we are going, That ever maddening grin that chews my patience right up and gets me so excited.

A long half hour later we pull into the lot at our favorite toy store. Now I am really excited and grinning myself as He escorts me in, always proud that I hold my head high and am not ashamed to be seen with Him there. His chest puffs out and He struts when I go right up to the toys and talk about them, comparing this point or that one, often times other guys will leave, embarrassed that I can talk so freely about the toys while they are sneaking around like thieves in the night. However I am soon pouting because He only gets a new flogger for Himself. I have to admit its a nice one, heavy, well made, 8 thick, braided, leather tails streaming from a sizeable, well balanced handle. But still, He HAD promised me some new toys too.

As we begin the long drive home, I still pout even though all it does is make Him laugh that infuriating chuckle. He says just wait my pet, you don't know what I have in store for you tonight.

We soon arrive home and He sends me into the bath, WITHOUT HIM??? Now I am really wondering what is going on. He so much loves to be bathed by me that He will rarely take a bath alone. But now I hear rustling in the outer room. I ask Him "what are You doing out there?" He just chuckles some more and instead of answering I hear a loud "whrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRrrrrrr".

"What was that?" I ask rather excitedly.

"Never you mind what that was, wash up my pet and get in bed!"

"IN BED?" I exclaim, "but, but..."

"NOW" He commands, but softer He adds, "you may pick a toy out of the toy box to amuse yourself while I shower." (Now things are definitely improving) So I pick out my favorite vibe and when I turn back the covers I see the huge new cat waiting and know that He truly has something planned for me tonight, As I play and amuse myself I am so excited I can hardly refrain from exploding but I must for He has not giving permission yet, (Damn that's a long shower)

Suddenly He is there, taking the toy from me and saying "roll over my precious" and I do, feeling His loving strokes of the cat, He knows how much I crave this from Him. But its a short flogging, He has more in store for me, pulling out that rustling bag, maniacally laughing as He whips out not one but TWO new vibe toys,, a huge new vibrator, and a dual control double toy one egg, one probe. All I can do is gasp in surprise and pleasure.

After removing the new toys from the bag, He lays beside me on the bed, stroking my back and turning the toys off and on, knowing just the sound drives me insane, deeper and deeper into the zone. Just when I think I cant handle anymore torture, the real torture begins...

Its all I can do to lay there, squirming and moaning as He strokes my thighs with the little probe , teasing at the wet, throbbing opening, and the other egg being held right on my swollen clit, I am begging Him "please Master please" He just chuckles and purrs "Please what, my pet???" all the while driving me deeper into the zone with His awesome pleasure. Then, I gasp as I hear a new sound, I know what He wants to hear but I am not sure if I can say it yet... I want that release so badly but I want to endure the pleasure/pain.

Off in the distance I hear so softly, "roll over my precious." I quickly get settled on my back but there is no chance to catch my breath as He plunges the big one deep inside, I scream in ecstasy, and beg Him finally, "Master please let me come, please I cant take it anymore!!" He laughs wildly, nothing pleases Him more than that giving me the ultimate pleasure.

But still He makes me wait a little while longer, till I hear Him whisper in my ear, "now my pet, now you may release," moaning as wave after wave of pleasure wracks my body,, exploding in my belly and washing over me, like waves of the ocean, carrying me on a pool of pleasure so intense I cry, tears of release flowing gently down as Master gathers me in His arms, stroking my hair and caressing my body, still tingling with His pleasure and then I hear Him once more whispering softly in my ear, "and now my pet, you may pleasure Me.."



Thursday Night Movie Club



Once a month, for maybe two years now, husband goes over to Neil's house for "Thursday night bad movie club." They are joined by two other women, Miranda and Deedee. It is an odd collection and I am suspicious.

First of all, they call it Thursday night bad movie club but they only meet once a month. Moreover, it's not always on a Thursday. They watch bad movies on Neil's uber-sized flat screen TV entertainment tangle. Neil is a bachelor which is why he owns these things. Bad movies – like zombie movies and sci-fi horror things – crap movies, dark and foul and cheaply made. My husband Arthur – the snooty intellectual who would spit on a Tom Clancy book and label Mozart a "superficial populist," – he adores these horrible films. He will take me to any museum or concert or play, but he will not watch any "good" sort of movie, any normal thing that comes to the Cineplex even though I ask him to take me.

I will not watch the ugly movies at Neil's house, I think they are vile. But I was initially glad he found a little outlet, a little group to enjoy them with. I was happy for him, but now I am suspicious.

It is not a natural grouping. They all work at the same huge company, at the headquarters. Miranda is a director of engineering. Neil is a manager of sales. Husband is a director of finance and Deedee is an executive secretary. Miranda is married; Deedee is divorced. On some projects or events, a couple of them work together, but not very often. Their names are not the usual characters mentioned in Arthur's everyday post-work harangues. 

Once a month he disappears for the evening to the movie "club" (like it's even a club or something) and comes back after I am in bed and almost asleep. He comes back happy but not drunk, which is strange because he is usually only happy when drunk. He offers to tell me what nasty little movies they watched but I refuse to hear, leave the room when he gleefully begins to report on the BRAINSUCKING THING or the NAKED DECAPITATED GIRL or god knows what.

It is never more than once a month that they meet.

Even though I made I clear I wanted nothing to do with the Thursday night bad movie club I feel hurt that he does not invite me, even though I have insisted that he not ever invite me or tell me about it. I am his wife after all; this is how we feel things.

I am getting pissed at Miranda. We are friends, nothing to do with the big company. We met shortly after we moved here and Miranda and I hang out now and then, do volunteer work sometimes and several times a year we go to the city and shop at the expensive stores downtown and eat Mid-eastern food in curious little holes in the wall, stuff that cannot be found here in our quiet bland white suburb.

The last time we were out in the city, plopping down sacks full of clothes and doo-dads at a retro sushi bar full of shiny diner décor and old Japanese movie posters, I asked about the Thursday night bad movie club and she just shrugged. She said they sat around, ate popcorn and drank some beer and yelled shit at the screen, cheered for the zombies and the mutants and the aliens, booed at the "heroes." That was all, nothing more.

Oooh – I am SO suspicious! I know they are up to something. And that means they are up to something naughty I just know it. There is no reason for a group of people like that to hang out together watching stupid crappy movies unless there is trouble brewing.

******

When Miranda and I go out together we are like Laurel and Hardy. I am little and short and round. Short but big round on top, big round on the bottom, but not bad in the middle. I have black black hair and a streak of blaze just like Veronica (like from Archie and Betty and Jughead). I am all circles, straight up to my round moon face. My big fat streak of blaze and my boobs are my best parts. Blaze is genetic you know. It can be faked but mine is real.

Miranda is tall for a girl, maybe six foot and she is slender and moves like a flamingo – all straight flowing lines and grace and she walks and moves her arms languid and smooth. She is topped with a thick black ball of hair, black as mine, but unruly and comical.

Like Laurel and Hardy, the two of us.

I love her like a girlfriend but she is painfully vague about the Thursday night bad movie club which makes me so suspicious like a wife should be. When a girl isn't beautiful, and I am not, we are suspicious of all women who aren't horribly ugly and stupid. 

******

I am thirty eight now and have dirty thoughts all the time. Even more than when I was a teenager. Arthur and I play hard in bed. We have done crazy shit, stuff with other people, with strangers. What was getting me pissed about the movie club wasn't so much that Arthur was up to something; it was that I wasn't included. I am an extroverted girl – I hate not being included.

******

I overheard my husband once at a dinner party, talking to some Belgians. He said, laughing, that "talkative girls put out." 

I am a talkative girl.

******

On a Friday night in August, a night before the meeting of the (non sequitur) Thursday night bad movie club – that's when I threw my fit. I had asked for details all week on the movie club – what they did, what they were going to watch, was Neil trying to get in Deedee's skirt, all that. And Arthur was just so goddamn non-responsive, except for this little smile, this little self-congratulatory smile he gets sometimes.

"I want to see this stupid movie club thing!" I was sniping. 

"You won't like it." 

"I don't care I just want to go I want to see it!" I said, higher pitched, I could feel my own cheeks getting flush red and hated that I was losing my temper.

"Baby, it's like a club, you're not really....." he paused, looking right at me, "invited.....you know."

That just did it. I did the whole girl thing – slammed kitchen cabinet doors, slammed my iced tea down on the counter and started – god I'm embarrassed to say it – but I started bawling, my attempt to scream at him modulating upward, losing force and rolling into a soft squeal.....a choked breath.....and then downward into great heaving sobs, shaking my knees, bent over the counter.

His arms warm around me, trying to comfort me while I am accusing him of horrible things, of not loving me, of not caring about me, while he tries to hold me and I am sobbing into the crook of him arm, losing myself in pity and imagined fears of abandonment and destitution while he tries to hold tighter to me with love and then I am out of breath and fire now, embarrassed and wordless.

******

He holds me still and now I am steady and the tears are drying and itchy on my cheeks. We are in the kitchen and everything is so silent I can hear the low hum of the ceiling fan in the bedroom upstairs. 

"Okay," he whispers to me, his mouth at the back of my neck, over and over "okay, okay," his pace slowing, slowing to the tempo my own heart beat. "Okay." His hand through my hair. A pause.

And he loosens his grip around me, and I am breathing normally again, his words behind me, in a convivial tone. "Maxine, would you like to go to the Thursday night bad movie club with me tomorrow?"

"Yes." I whisper back, demure and helpless like a hurt helpless wife.

"Okay, Trixie."

******

Ooops. Trixie. That's a trigger word for us. A word that changes everything.

For better or worse, he says "Trixie."

******

I don't know how we got there; don't really know how the word came to be, because we have been married a long time. But Trixie is a naughty word. A dirty word. Trixie, Trixie. Does he really mean "tricksy" when he says it? (Like as in "Hobbits is tricksy" says the little frog man in that movie). It is an action word, a code word. It is like hypnosis. He does not use that word often, and I know that its scarcity is what has kept it powerful. When my husband calls for Trixie something happens.

Something thrilling.

I get to be a different girl.

******

"Okay, Trixie, we'll go to the movie club together tomorrow. You're not a member; you'll need to be initiated."

Mother fucker, my knees are trembling when he whispers this in his controlled voice, reminding me with tone alone who is really in control of everything when he wants to be. 

"Tomorrow Trixie sees the movie club. The Thursday night bad movie club." He says it in that voice – that goddamn calm serene voice, full of wit and menace. This voice that his business associates hear all the time which is why they dread him. I just hate that with that word (Trixie Trixie Trixie) and that voice that he can get me like this. It lands like those little candies that explode on your tongue all screaming with sour and then mellow sugar and melt quietly. Wet and hot and – yet again after fifteen years – bothered and scared and hot and jealous and nervous. Thrilling. To teeter on the edge of the sub space again.

He is not usually an evasive controlling prick. But when he is I find him sexier and that's just so wrong and but true true true!

******

Cool and distant now. He goes up to bed early even though I want him now, want his arms around me, on top of me. I've hugged on him and brought him warm bread and Gouda and a scotch but nothing back from him except that Dom smile and a pat on the head. Shit! Pisses me off that I am all of a sudden trying to get his attention like a little kitty, which is exactly how he pats my head.

He leaves me to go to sleep even though I am wide awake and – this is so stupid so stupid so stupid for me to admit it – I start surfing the internet for porn. I am thirty eight and a good hot wife stuck in a big city suburb in a nice house and it's 1:30 AM now and I am still going between writing this all down and surfing porn on the net, with one hand on the mouse and the other pulling my panties up into me and pushing hard onto my clit. It's stupid but it's true and I will write it all down because I tell the truth.

I feel so dirty and dumb looking at porno which is fine sometimes. It's what Trixie is; dirty and stupid, pulling up her underpants into a hard wedge into her and rocking back and forth against it. But I am also relieved and self-righteous now. There has been something going on, you know, something naughty at the Thursday night bad movie club. Knew it all along, or at least for awhile now. 

Sometimes I look at lesbian porno.

Like right now.

I have to go

****** Part two

******

On the drive over I am getting ready for disappointment. Arthur acts totally goofy, like a little kid going to see a stupid movie with his stupid friends. Not Dom at all, like he was last night. He wouldn't let me dress up or anything – I am just wearing a denim skirt and pink simple top (3 buttons open at the top so can show a little bit of cleavage at least). He wouldn't let me wear any kind of heels at all, just some cheap flats. He's in jeans and rugby, totally boring.

I am trying to picture Deedee and Neil who I do not see often at all, unlike Miranda. Deedee is artificially brown NS with great big brown pretty eyeballs and a high forehead. She has dark red hair that is a waterfall of little curly ringlets. It is natural; all the boys love her hair, including Arthur. She looks like a young Elizabethan duchess, like she would look fine in a museum portrait. She is always laughing.

Neil is big, big and tall and with the huge shoulders and pot belly of a former college jock. He has a big steam shovel jaw, the jaw of a super hero and talks loud like an ex jock, like a sales manager which he is. He is always friendly and looks at my boobs whenever I have been around him, which is not often. Lots of boys look at my boobs, I wear stuff so that they do. I am smart and hate stupid boys but I am stupid because I still wear things so they look there instead of my big round butt or my plain happy face.

It is late summer and warm, but an early fog is out even as the sun is setting, around 8:30 by now. It's a good fog, settling thick in the dips of the landscape, and it collects at the edge of the streets, growing thicker and bolder as the sun retreats. The fog (steam?) gathering like the promise of romance...or better yet, mystery. Worse yet, like a zombie movie. Ugh.

We pull up to Neil's house, not too large but modern and with a generous curving driveway, in one of those newer subdivisions where you have to pay extra for them to add grass and trees. Miranda's familiar Grand Cherokee is there, as well as a blue Mustang which must be Deedee's. 

Arthur pulls in and the Lex slows then stops quiet as mist. He won't let me dress up for tonight, but the son of a bitch drives the Lex over even though ninety percent of the time he just slums around town in his old shitty Explorer. Show off. A show off to the Thursday night bad movie club.

Neil comes to the door waving us inside with big huge gestures. He is even bigger than I remember, must be close to six and a half feet tall and weigh better than an eighth of a ton. I wonder what it would be like to have a man that big on top of a little woman like me. I just wonder shit like that all the time.

"Hello, hello, come on in guys!" his voice is a booming low cannon. "Come on Arthur, come on Trixie!"

******

Trixie. He called me Trixie. 

Oooh – trouble.

I have met Neil maybe four times at company functions, and he would know my name because salesmen remember those things and he would know me as my actual name Maxine but he called me Trixie and this is very naughty.

Arthur set him up for this. 

Trixie is a private word, a secret and Arthur has set me up. Oh hell yes, baby, there has been trouble brewing all right and I knew it KNEW it all along with the Thursday night bad movie club.

But Neil just called me Trixie and there is no practical way to show how pissed off I am right now at my wicked manipulative husband because I am suddenly, pathetically damp. Yes. Warm and damp in my underpants and I am embarrassed but I have to tell the truth. And because he called me Trixie and now there's nothing to say I just have to listen and do what I am told.

Bastards!

God I hate it but love it when my husband is a bastard.

******

We are in the kitchen now with Miranda and Deedee. They are making popcorn the very old fashioned way – cooking and almost burning it in a big skillet with coconut oil and real butter. They talk loudly over the rattle and smell.

I am hungry.

When you are a girl with a big butt, you just hate to hungry in front of other people but the smell is warm and buttery and I am hungry for everything now, a physical sensation pulling at me.

"Hi guys," says Miranda, jiggling the skillet, not looking up.

"Hi Arthur, Hi Trixie," says Deedee, loud and laughing, holding one of several big stainless bowls full of popcorn.

Shit! Another jolt that she calls me this too. I am the butt of a joke maybe and want to be mad but that word...that word. My husband has planned this. She calls me that name and she is not even big or scary like Neil and she calls me that name and I am distracted away from my empty tummy and feeling my pussy again, it's so humiliating to say how a word can make you wet. A magic word, not benign magic.

They are chatting and I pull Miranda aside and she says all friendly like "Hey Trixie, what's up?" 

I tell her, voice low, "That is a secret word."

"Not if you want to join the club," and she says it real smooth, smooth and shimmery, all stainless steel, like the girl equivalent of how Arthur talks business.

******

We are down in the basement of Neil's house now. It's a beautiful and expensive home theater room, decorated much too tastefully – all warm beige and dark green accents – for Neil to have thought up himself. A huge monitor on the wall, as wide as I am tall (although I am not tall, only a little over five feet) with lovely recessed lighting.

There are drinks in hand for everyone. Arthur is drinking expensive scotch and Neil drinks a beer and has more of them close at hand. Deedee is drinking something pink and neon and Miranda has something clear in a tall fluted glass – vodka I would guess. Arthur puts something in front of me, a glass as short and round as Miranda's is tall and thin. It is amber colored and syrupy over ice. Drambuie.

I have no tolerance for Drambuie because I like it too much. Thick and honeyed and rich, like me, like how I look. I should not, I hesitate. I estimate that two out of every five bad decisions in my life involve Drambuie.

"Drink up, Trixie," says Miranda so I just do it because she says the word Trixie and it goes down hot and sweet and already I start to relax.

Neil is fooling with the DVD thing, and some credits come up on the screen for some horrible movie which I will hate. All that expensive equipment to render some movie made for less money than what Neil's TV cost him. The movie is called "Dead and Buried" and looks creepy and nasty. They – the movie club – immediately start whooping their approval for the opening credits and yelling at the screen.

I am so hungry now, I try to tune out the movie and start stuffing popcorn into my mouth, salty and hot and burnt and moist. I hope I do not look like I am trying to eat too fast like a fat girl and I purposefully stop to take another sip of Drambuie and then I am fading, fading.

"Trixie's sleeeeepy," I hear my husband say, but he is miles away now.

******

I fade to gray, dreamless gray but not black. There are voices in the background, some movement around me. The movie sounds are gone now, just the sound of voices.

Someone is pulling me up, up on my feet. It is a thing I feel, I observe with my eyes closed, like watching a movie without seeing it.

"Trixie," a voice, not mean but kind. "Trixie, Trixie, baby," a voice, light and silvery, familiar. Miranda

My eyes are fluttering open. We are in the same room, the lights still dim but the movie has stopped and it is quiet. "Up and at 'em Trixie," says a low booming voice, Neil speaking. I am getting awake now, a sort of awake state. I feel woozy but not bad. Not sick or gross or anything. I feel detached a bit, ironic or something, the way I think Arthur feels all the time about life. Detached and amused.

They keep saying it, over and over, Trixie Trixie Trixie like it was my real name or something and even though I know it is stupid and manipulative, I just hear it like Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) Trixie (sub) and then just Sub sub sub sub sub. 

"Who drugged me?" I ask, quiet, not even mad.

"We all did, sweetie," says Deedee happily.

"It'll wear off shortly, Trixie," affirms Neil in a loud agreeable voice, it is he that is holding me up although now I feel okay to stand by myself.

"Initiation, Trixie," says husband. That prick. I love guys like that. Cocky and confident like Neil and husband are right now. I love them both. It doesn't make sense, I don't defend it. Maxine is a confident modern college educated woman, but Trixie is just a stupid bimbo that just does whatever, needs guys around as long as they are great big like Neil or maybe super smart and mean like Arthur. 

*******

I am steadier now and I am walking by myself, following them down a little corridor in Neil's basement, to a plain white wooden door. They all go in ahead of me and close the door behind them, save husband, who is now standing behind me. He has quietly, without me really realizing it, pinned my hands behind me as I am facing the plain white door. I hear music behind it.

"I love you Maxine," he whispers behind me, into my ear, his breath warm. "I love you so much. I love everything we've done and regret nothing." I am swooning a little, I love him, I am dependent on him for everything and he called me Maxine again. 

"I love you," I say (whimper?).

"If you step in through that door, you will step in as Trixie."




Thursday Night Movie Club



"I know, I know"

"If you step in through that door, I will not be your husband in there, I will be your initiator." 

Calm as snow, he is.

"I know."

"Do you know what happens behind that door?"

"Naughty stuff," I say, almost breathless now.

"Worse," he says calmly, "wicked stuff...might hurt."

I just groan now, and that motherfucker's free hand is under my skirt, pushing against my pussy, and the other hand still pins my hands behind me.

"If you step in there, I won't help you."

"I know."

"If you want to leave right now, I'll just take you home and we can forget about all of this."

"I know."

"What do you want to do, Maxine? What do you want to do, Trixie?" He says crisp and plain as fresh white paper.

"I want to go in there."

"I might really push you in there, might tease you."

"I know."

"Are you sure you want to go in there? This is the last time I ask you as your husband that loves you."

"Let's just GO" Trixie yells.

"When we come out, I'm your husband again."

"Okay okay" whining now.

"So be it, Trixie," he says, and with that he spins me around and yanks me hard through the door. Vertigo....

******

Part 3

It is just all crazy now. I can't describe what it's like, not really. This is all surreal although I am not drunk now, I am wide awake. Wide awake and on fire.

*******

I am Trixie in Wonderland. I ate something, I drank something. I got small; I fell into a rabbit hole through a white door. On one side there was a house, modern and trim and bland and perfect.

But I am on the other side, down the hole, and it is all different here.

It is a huge room, low ceiling but spreads out a long way, maybe into other rooms. It is a shit room, a nasty place. Dirty cement floor and unfinished walls, dark in most places and then punctured with harsh light overhead in others, like the one over me now. There is graffiti all over the walls. Stuff that shocks me – me who has been the good hot wife, the dirty housewife -- in front of him in the bland interstate hotels near Chicago. We are a thousand miles away from there now, a million miles. That stuff seems innocent to me now, swear to God.

The graffiti, black and neon green and blood red shiny spray paint on the walls. Messages there, some piled and painted on top of each other:

NEIL FUCKED DEEDEE'S FACE 3/12/04

MIRANDA MADE A GIRL CUM WITH HER MOUTH – GOOD JOB MIRANDA 3/12/04

ARTHUR FUCKED MIRANDA'S ASS 6/15/04

DEEDEE'S FIRST DP - ARTHUR AND NEIL 4/22/04

NEIL COMES WHILE WE SPANK HIM 2/03/04

All in ghetto scrawl, with little doodles and symbols I don't understand. A secret language. It is dark in much of the room and I cannot see all of these crazy spray-paint diaries. I am so glad right now I am Trixie - Maxine would kind of freak if she saw this, particularly if she saw this Lexged line:

MIRANDA LOSES $2 BET – ARTHUR SWALLOWS 7/12/04

*******

I say I am wide awake and on fire because there are things happening to me, stuff that would keep anyone awake.

*******

When Arthur, more or less, hurled me into that room, into wonderland, I stumbled and was falling.....then I was on my back on a dirty hard floor and Neil's hands were on my forearms like a vice. One of the girls had her hands up under my cheap denim skirt so fast I didn't feel until my underpants were yanked down and off. Deedee had them in her hand and pushed them right onto my face.

"All wet Trixie, naughty!" She squealed with delight.

And it was true – my own panties betraying me, pushed onto my nose and mouth, smelled like me and wet and heavy on my face. She threw them aside and the two girls were leaning over me, pulling up my skirt from each side, exposing me. And Miranda – my friend – my friend to go shopping with and raise funds with for the local shelter – Miranda all tall and skinny – her hand pulling up my skirt (betrayer betrayer) and then she was kissing me hot and wet and I heard Neil say to somebody "let's fuck her up."

*******

That was so long ago now, maybe fifteen minutes or a couple of hours. I don't know.

*******

My hands are tied up over me, in big leather cuffs, suspended from some rope or chain or something in an exposed beam in the ceiling. Tatters of my little pink blouse are clinging to my shoulders but the skirt is long gone now. 

I am just so fucked up.

I am just so fucked up right now and they haven't even fucked me.

*******

I am short anyway, like 5'3" when husband is about six foot, and Neil is a head taller than him, and Miranda is girl-tall at maybe six foot and Deedee is a few inches taller than me. This is makes it worse that I am on a spreader bar – and my feet are pushed out four feet from the other and it makes me shorter still. I have to look upward at all them, even Deedee, and I feel small.

Small and stupid and dirty.

Yes! Hell yes! My pussy aches so much right now with sweet stupid sub sub love for these mean fucking crazy people. Maxine couldn't even write this, you know. Thank god I'm in charge.

In charge of nothing.

*******

It's not like some slow romantic womanly BDSM story where there is somebody called "Master" and he is some silver fox to modulate the tempo of her undying love and she gives herself over to his seduction and education. Nothing like that horseshit. 

These people are just fucking crazy. Including my husband.

In the last hour (Minutes? Days? ) they are just chaotic and it's hard to write this down. First, I am tied up and Neil is behind me, rubbing his huge hot cock against my butt, up between my butt cheeks, his massive arms on my shoulders while husband is in front of me, kissing me, telling me he loves me.

Then, with no rhythm or apparent plan Deedee is on her knees in front of me, her red fake nails pulling my lips apart and her soft fat wet tongue pushing against my clit, all up and down, and then somebody – not Arthur – I see him in front of me at the far end up the room – somebody else is smacking my butt, smacking my ass really hard with a nine tails and every time I jerk from the *seriously* hard spike of pain on my butt I just end up pushing forward into Deedee's mouth, which is warm wet heaven.

And then something else, delirious now: Miranda stands behind me, a head taller than I am and she is pushing against my back, I feel her slender high set breasts and nipples, sharp as quartz, press between my shoulder blades and she is taking her long long arms and hands, reaching around me, masturbating me, rubbing against my clit like only a girl would know how....and she is doing this while Arthur does something else to me, putting clothespins on my tits, my fat hard fat girl's nipples.

The pins hurt, little bursts of pain. And I squeal, all the while Miranda just keeps her long fingertips pulling my lips open and pushing on my clit and I so feel this girl's soft cleft of pussy hair rub against the small of my back.

He is staring right into my eyes, looking at me pinching me, jolts of flame spreading across my breasts, down my spine, where the baby soft hands of Miranda on my pussy are pushing waves of pleasure upward and those sensations are crossing, honey and fire together. 

I hate Miranda for forcing me to feel good in front of my husband like that. It is like they are making fun of me because that's what I'm good for. Trixie toy in Wonderland.

With no particular cue then it is Deedee in front of me now, kneading my breasts, holding them. "If you kiss me on the mouth I'll take these off," she teases, and then to italicize her statement she pinches the clips together extra hard and I think I might pass out.

I am of course kissing her now, she is running her long nails through my hair and I am just so kissing her, desperate for her to love me and the clips are off now and she is running her fingers in circles around my boobs, and I just want to kiss her forever, her hot open mouth that tastes like a sweet pink drink.

Arthur is across the room; my best friend is sucking his cock while he pats her head and sips his drink. Miranda – betrayer! Betrayer! (Does her little German engineer husband know about this?).

Music is blaring, some incomprehensible violent angry rap shit popping out of a big boom box. Music that Arthur would never tolerate. Muzak for the wicked, with nothing but drum machines and bass and some crazy yelling that doesn't sound like English, doesn't even sound like language.

Perfect.

Someone behind me smacks my ass several more times. And I jerk too hard and yelp and lose Deedee's kiss. 

"What a fucking dyke," she says at me. "God Arthur, you must be embarrassed."

And husband is kissing her now, Deedee, not a foot from my face. His hard on pushing against her curly curly curly red pubic hair.

It's very clear to me now.

There is no one in charge.

There is no plan.

In here, in Wonderland, there is only impulse. I am starting to become part of them, part of this place, now. It makes me calmer.

I feel from behind me a large man's hand push into my pussy, a finger as big as some guy's cocks are, and a second one – a thumb? – push up into my ass. I immediately begin rocking against Neil's hand. There is no need for pride in here, just shameless I begin pushing against his hand stuck up me, greasy and fat.

They have a magic marker and take turns writing things on me. It is one of those that smell like candy, like licorice. Deedee writes "PINCH" across my breasts. Arthur writes "SMAK ME" just above my pussy hair, with an arrow pointing down. Neil writes "FUCK" and another arrow on my lower back – the arrow going straight down to the crack of my ass.

Miranda is taking pictures of everything. Not a digital camera or anything fancy – an old Polaroid instamatic that pops out those little instant pictures. I notice as she fires them off that there a few already taped on the wall. I look again, and I see that there are in fact hundreds of them. Hundreds of them.

They are taking me down now, unhooking my bound hands and the leg spreader. My legs are sore. Neil picks me up like a rag doll and puts me on some old work bench thing and he is on top of me, huge and hot. He stops and yells out "Neil fucks Trixie!"

And I hear Arthur yell back an affirmative "Neil fucks Trixie" and I hear the sound and smell of spray paint against the bare wall.

Neil's huge cock is in me all at once, a mile deep inside me in one push and I can feel my own walls getting pushed apart, and his cock is hitting deeper than Arthur's (or most men) ever could. His huge hands pinning down my forearms and on his third massive thrust into I am just coming and coming and coming, I am so little and he is so big.

Coming still, not like a great rolling orgasm that spreads out and ripples, but a tight hot storm centered inside my pussy, over and over, sparkling with electricity and pain and heaven and god knows what. Honey and fire, the center of the universe there, my lovely wonderful pussy so packed and tight and I cannot think straight.

"Fuck that bitch," someone is saying, "Fuck her." It is my husband saying it standing close now, but here he is Arthur but not my husband. 

I am starting to fade a little now, as I feel him bottom out and come so much it is overflowing back out of me, warm on my thighs.

The flashbulb is firing again, three more times, maybe.

*******

There is no one in charge here. 

They fucked me up all right, it's not like there's a plan or anything. No careful script. Impulse, impulse.

The THUMP THUMP of the shit music on the boom box seemed to keep us going, like a rave scene.

*******

Later, we tied Arthur and Miranda up together. I got to make her hurt and make her come, wet and hot right into my face. I would pinch her tits until she squealed and pleaded, and then I would drop to my knees and run my tongue up and down her pussy – which was long and skinny like her and also topped with black crazy hair. 

Neil and Deedee let me, but it's not like anyone needed permission to do anything there, in that place. 

I made her come with my mouth while Deedee spanked her ass. That was so cool, making her come like that – knowing that she was helpless and getting red stripes across her skinny little bubble butt while I pushed my fingers into her and held her clit in my mouth. When she was really bucking against me – my day time friend – my shopping girlfriend – and I knew she was going to lose it, I was looking right up into her eyes looking back at me, and we both knew my mouth was making her come – tasting like fresh salmon and victory.

When Arthur was tied up, Miranda and Deedee were pinching him, stroking him, spanking him while I kneeled down in front of Neil and gave him a slow sub-girl's blowjob and moaned about how Arthur would never get a blowjob like this until he had a cock like Neil's. Real porn star performance, and then Neil started getting seriously into it and half gagging me, just manhandling my face and I let him and continued to look all sweet at subgirl and kept looking up at Arthur. Arthur's cock was hard as iron and the girls were stroking him everywhere except on his cock, leaving it pointed and helpless.

Miranda came over and started feeling me up really hard, which felt good, and eventually then, deedee, after smacking my ass a few times...she slid her face underneath my thighs.

Girl-head just so ROCKS!

I admit this now: I am not a lesbian, but I'm not saying I'm totally straight either.

Getting head from her was just so much sweeter than from a guy – it's true! And I was kind of bobbing my ass up and down a little bit and she was fine with that, just kept running her tongue in and out and around me, right from the tip of my clit all the way down, right across my ass, back and forth. All this time Neil has his huge hands around my head and is truly fucking my face, shoving his cock almost all the way down even though I kind of gag, totally unladylike, and spit comes out of my mouth but it's worth it.

When he comes (and comes and comes) I almost can't breathe, almost suffocate and that's when I feel that big wave coming inside– half choked and almost going black, but Deedee's sweet mouth is still moving all around my pussy. He finally pulls his cock out and I gasp and gasp and again almost choke on sperm and spit that gets drug back out and I look at helpless Arthur and make a big show about rubbing it on my face. And that's the moment Deedee's tongue finds home and I am shaking, shaking and pressing all my weight down onto her face, pitching forward.

But I do not know I am pitching forward; do not know what sounds I am making. I just feel girl-mouth on my pussy and even as I burst she is still moving that sweet warm tongue around me, all I can feel, that tongue on me, I do not know where my pussy ends and her mouth begins, I just know the feeling of the tornado swirling at the center, throwing force outward across my body.

That's what I remember before passing out for real.

*******

I wake up alone in Wonderland. The music is off and it is very quiet, like I am in a still life, or a display. I am naked except for the tatters of my blouse. It is an ugly harsh room, poorly lit, dirty. At least it is not cold. I look at the graffiti on the walls. There are new entries.

"TRIXIE IS A WORK OF ART 9/17." And next to this scrawl are three taped pictures of me, with graffiti drawn on me when I was still tied up.

"NEIL FUCKS TRIXIE 9/17" painted in a signature I now recognize as Arthur's, and another snapshot of Neil's big steel cock about to go into my pussy.

And on an opposite wall, "MIRANDA IS A TEAM PLAYER 9/17" and there is a particularly bad shot of Miranda, sitting on top of a cock that's up her ass with another one in her mouth. The photo does not show the men's faces, but I know from experience the cock in her ass is my husband's, and the huge thing she is trying to swallow is Neil.

I am sleepy now.

I look for my clothes and cannot find them.

I see at the far end of this dingy wonderful room a perfectly white door – out of place in this filth. The exit.

I linger a little longer, looking at the hundreds of other photographs there – all of them taken with an old fashioned instamatic camera. Nothing digital – nothing to develop – all of the records here are kept inside this place. Nothing to share or transcribe or document beyond this one big room. I understand now – nothing that happens in here leaves here.

In this internet age, there is such a simple genius in this.

I open the white door, back through the rabbit hole. And I step in (naked, embarrassed) to Neil's beautifully decorated entertainment room. I step through and close the door behind me. Deedee throws me my skirt and a clean plain blue t-shirt which I quickly slip on.

They do not stare at me while I redress. Do not call attention to me until I have fastened the skirt on and pulled the t-shirt over my head.

They are busy watching a movie – a different one from the earlier one I think - the zombies are shambling toward the two remaining heroes locked inside a cellar, but the sound is turned low now and they are all stuffing their face with cold popcorn and soda, not talking much.

I sit down on a puffy beige leather couch next to husband. He puts his arm around me and hands me his bowl of popcorn. I look around and, seeing that everyone else is totally stuffing themselves and their lips are traced with butter I do the same, shoving a handful of popcorn in my mouth and then another before I can even get the first bite down.

"Max," he says, almost whispering "Aren't bad movies just awesome?"

"Hell yes," I say, quiet as a mouse, cheeks chubby with popcorn, watching the zombies retreat, shuffling away from the heroes now, back into their squalid black lairs as the light of dawn breaks across the screen. 



Thursday Nights



Special thanks to Erik Thread for the great editing. His skills make the story easier for you to read, but then I changed some of it. So, any grammar mistakes, misspellings, or punctuation errors you find, I DID IT.

This is the first of a two part story. The second part is finished and will be posted in one day. If you prefer, you can wait until the second part appears and read the story in its entirety. Please vote and leave your comments. 

This story doesn't have a hot sex scene, so if that's what you are looking for, please read elsewhere. What you will find here, is a story about Jerry and Cathy Preston who had a happy, loving family until something changed. Was the seed of that change always there, just waiting for the right conditions for it to blossom? Was the change caused by neglect or inattention? Or, perhaps, promises are just too hard to keep, temptations too difficult to resist, and insecurities make a wife vulnerable.

Cathy and I were part of an ever changing group of attractive young people who spent a lot of time together. We were young and enjoyed spending our evenings at some of the local clubs, dancing, drinking, and having fun. Some weekends guys attended ballgames while the gals went shopping then the group reformed for an evening at someone's house or apartment. At one time or another, a guy and a gal paired off, and then separated and rejoined the group. Several of the females were pretty wild. They probably had sex with every one of the men. They switched partners pretty regularly. 

Cathy had dated two or three of the guys in the group but never seriously. Her sister Sherry was part of the group, too. However, Sherry was one of the wildest. They often arrived together, but Cathy went home alone. She seemed insecure when her sister wasn't around. After the first few dates Cathy and I had, we sort of drifted away from the group and eventually married. We didn't start a family right away. Cathy was just barely twenty-one and I was only five years older. She had a rather mediocre job. She declined my suggestion she go to college, thinking if she dedicated more time to her job, she might end up with a promotion. After three years, there was no promotion in sight so Cathy agreed it was time to start our family. She quit work near the time our first child was due and stayed at home until we had three children and they were all old enough for school. She missed being with adults and the excitement of doing something besides taking care of a home and our children. After a couple of part time positions, she got a pretty good job with one of the large companies in town. Her income wasn't great, but it helped out when we bought our first home.

Although I couldn't use my cell phone while I was at work, Cathy usually called me during my lunch hour, or I called her because she frequently left a message on my voice mail. She liked to ask if I needed her to do anything at home, talk about what she would do later that day, or the activities the children might spend their afternoon doing. She also liked to ask me if I had any suggestions for our dinner that night.

After several years of feeling like the walls of our tiny house were going to burst, Cathy and I were finally able to afford a larger home. Our oldest child had just turned thirteen, and with the prospect of having three teenagers, we wanted as large a house as we could afford. The house we found was huge, upstairs there was a master bedroom across the back of the house, and four smaller bedrooms down that same hall. It was a real bargain, partly because it had been vacant for a couple of years, tied up in a nasty divorce proceeding. The bank had finally foreclosed on the loan and auctioned the house to the highest bidder, a real estate investor. That investor just wanted to turn the property quickly, so he added a few thousand dollars on top of what he paid for it, which meant The Preston family could afford to live in a much better neighborhood than we expected. We were particularly attracted by the exceptionally large rear yard, which would allow our children to stay home rather than roam the neighborhood after school. It was something we were becoming more concerned about with so many homes lacking a stay-at-home parent to supervise their children's activities.

However, because the house had been vacant for a while it had been neglected, both inside and out. I'm fairly handy as a weekend carpenter so we were able to do most of the interior repairs ourselves, particularly the cosmetic damage done by the former owners. Most of the money we made from selling our smaller home, which wasn't as much as we thought it would be, went to repairs for the new house. According to the real estate investor, the husband had accused the wife of cheating and the wife made similar accusations against her husband. At separate times, the two had gone through the house doing some damage in an effort to get back at each other. The damage was pretty easy for me to repair, but it also gave Cathy and me a few opportunities to renew our promises that we wouldn't do that to each other, the same promises we had made during our wedding ceremony. We had a solid marriage and loved each other. 

Our three children learned to handle paint rollers and brushes with some skill, probably because we allowed them to select the colors for their own bedrooms, so long as it wasn't something wild. We also discovered we had to leave bedroom doors open during the day so the house would stay cool. When the weather got a little cooler, I planned to do something about the air conditioning ducts in the attic. 

It seemed like the yard was the most neglected part of the property, including a wide, irregular shaped sloping back yard full of trees. No one had ever done much work back there. I had cut down some of the smaller trees and was slowly digging up the stumps. There were also a few larger trees, but they needed some extensive pruning to make a nice rear yard where we could spend some time outdoors. As summer approached, we were still outside every few days, working in the back yard and trying to keep the grass in front of the house growing. We pulled weeds from between the grass plugs, and shaped the few small plants we'd added to hedges on either side of the front entry. 

Part of my enjoyment of working outside was having the love of my life doing her own thing outdoors, not far from me. My wife, Cathy, has a really hot body. At least I think so. Her breasts aren't really large but she often wore a brief halter top without a bra, trying to get a little bit of a tan on the exposed skin. She usually wore very short shorts when we worked in the back yard, which I loved, especially when she would squat down and I could see inside the crotch of her shorts. She seldom wore panties, which made my view even better, especially when she was bending over with her cute butt sticking up. Cathy said when she got hot and sweaty, every thing she was wearing stuck to her wet skin. She had also encouraged me to work without a shirt too, and occasionally I'd pull my shirt off and leave it by the door. Like her, I rarely wore underwear under my cutoff jeans, for the same reasons she used.

We occasionally indulged in touching and stroking, but were careful. We were aware one of the children might walk into the back yard, so our playing was pretty tame. However, it led to some intense late night lovemaking after the children had taken their baths and went to their beds.

We were very lucky with neighbors. A couple across the street and two doors down had a thirteen year old boy, Kenneth, the same age as our son, Benny. Missy, their daughter was nine, while our daughters, Becky and Tina, were eleven and eight. Most of the other families had much younger children. Although she was only eleven, our middle daughter was looking forward to earning some baby sitting money. 

One evening, just before dark I was carefully trimming the new hedges. I happened to glance up at Cathy and saw her looking down the street. She blushed, shuddered, and her nipples got hard. Then she looked down, as if she was hiding her face. I didn't understand. I knew I hadn't said anything to make her blush, although I was good at that, commenting on how sexy she looked when perspiration made her skin shine or reminding her I was interested in some more intimate action as soon as we could close our bedroom door. I also recognized the shudder as her reaction to something that caused a tingle of sexual arousal. I turned to see all three of our children walking down the street. They were coming toward our home because their playmates, the two Hanson children, were walking up the sidewalk toward their front door, but I didn't see anyone else on the street, or in their front yard.

"It's Thursday, Jerry. The kids are coming, I guess I'll go finish supper," Cathy announced as she stood and dusted off her knees.

It took a couple of hours to finish supper, clean up the kitchen, and oversee the children as they took their baths then hugs and kisses for each of them when they were finally in their beds. I hadn't been sitting in my easy chair long enough to reach for the television remote when Cathy grabbed my hand and pulled me up the stairs to our bedroom.

During the seventeen years of our marriage, sex had always been important to both of us. I'm sure as time went on our sex life wasn't as robust as when we were younger. Yet, we still had sex at least one night during the week and then again sometime over the weekend, often early Sunday morning, particularly if the kids stayed up late Saturday night and slept late the next morning. 

That night, after supper, we took a shower together, playing in the warm water as we washed each other, and then had the wildest, most intense sex we'd had in several years. I must have licked her through five or more orgasms and she wanted me to give her a rough fuck. She kept telling me, "Harder, harder, faster, faster, Jerry. Fuck me."

When she wasn't satisfied with how hard I was pounding into her, she got on her knees and had me behind her so she could slam her hips back at me every time I thrust forward. Cathy also woke me up before daylight the next morning and gave me a blow job that curled my toes.

As I was driving to work that Friday, I realized that for a few weeks we had gotten into the habit of having sex every Thursday night. When I got home that night, after we got the kids to bed, I asked Cathy what was going on.

She blushed as she tried to explain. A few days after we moved in, Sue Hanson had come over to visit. She and Cathy became pretty good friends. They found things to do Saturday or Sunday, taking all five children with them, with Sue driving their huge old Suburban. It gave Barry and me a whole day to watch a ballgame, play a round of golf, or just have a day without the family around. 

A few weeks later, Sue Hanson had walked across the street with half a chocolate cake she'd baked. Cathy tried to get her to come inside for a few minutes, but Sue said she didn't have time. It was Thursday and she needed to get back to her house to finish supper. Cathy asked her why she was in a rush, so Sue explained that she and Barry always had sex on Thursday nights. They would get the kids inside, feed them supper, and put them to bed an hour early, because they were allowed to stay up an extra hour the previous night.

It seems that Barry had complained about not getting as much sex as he wanted so Sue told him to pick a night, any night of the week. Then he had to agree to help her with supper and putting the kids to bed early. After that, she would devote the remainder of the night to him, beginning with a blow job then any position he wanted as long as he let her sleep four hours. 

While we were working in the front yard, Cathy saw the Hanson children going inside for their early supper and early bedtime, which meant Barry and Sue were going to have sex later. It turned her on and made her horny. She took me to bed where we enjoyed the best sex we'd had in a long time. 

After her explanation, I started laughing and teasing Cathy telling her I was surprised when I realized our mid-week lovemaking had become a Thursday night routine. I told her she had beaten me to the punch because about the time we moved into the house I'd thought about getting a porn video for her to watch the next time I wanted sex. I told her I'd figured I only needed to play the first minute of the video to get her in the mood but now all it took was knowing the neighborhood children were going to bed early. 

Cathy blushed and said, "All you really need to do is help get our kids to bed a little early that night."

"I'm already doing that," I said and watched her nod.

"Yeah," she agreed, "That's part of our good cop – bad cop roles." Somehow, over the years, we had gotten into the habit of Cathy asking me if I agreed or wanted things done differently, and then she issued instructions while I made sure she was obeyed. She did the same for me, but not as often as I had to do it for her. Our eleven-year-old middle child, Becky, was the ring leader. If she was told it was time for her bath, the other two just followed because they knew they were next. I often remarked that she could already think like an adult and I was looking forward to the day she really was an adult. I could sit back and never need to make another decision.

***

A few weeks after Cathy revealed the reason we had developed a habit of Thursday night sex, I was in the back yard trimming the larger limbs I'd cut off the big trees. I planned to cut the wood into smaller sections and eventually have some firewood for the fireplace. My son came outside and waited until I could hear him. When I turned off the chain saw, Benny told me supper was ready. 

I put my tools away and went inside to wash up for supper. I asked Cathy, but she said I didn't have time for a shower. By the time all three kids had taken their baths, and were in bed with their lights off, I was finally going to take my shower. Cathy was already in bed with her back to the middle of the bed. Her nightstand light was turned off. 

After my shower, I went to bed, just lying on top of the covers for a short while to cool off and get really dry before I rolled over to go to sleep. I thought Cathy was already asleep. She was breathing deeply and hadn't moved since I walked into the bathroom. Just as I pulled the sheet up to my chest, I realized it was Thursday night. The simple thought of what day of the week it was started an erection I wanted to use.

"Cathy?" I said her name quietly. I didn't want to wake her up if she was already asleep. She didn't respond and the next thing I knew it was morning.

***

"Morning, Sweetie," Cathy greeted me when she came down for breakfast and walked over to me for a kiss. She walked behind each of the children as they were eating breakfast. It had become a routine time when we all talked about our plans for the day or events that were coming up which needed a parent's attendance. 

Those early morning conversations were also when we made decisions that were important to our family. Cathy didn't want to manage the family budget, she preferred we discuss how much money she would spend or ask me to transfer money to her account if she didn't have enough for an unusual expenditure.

Most mornings I helped the children with their breakfasts while I packed my lunchbox, and Cathy cleaned up the kitchen after I left. There was at least half an hour after I left before she needed to leave for work. Her days were a lot shorter than mine were. Including travel time, I was gone about ten hours a day and she worked about five hours a day. Most days she had a very short commute, easily getting home before the children. I worked at a fixed site and Cathy's hours and location changed, depending on where she was supposed to be on any particular day during the week. The company she worked for had more than twenty stores in the city. Cathy visited each store for a few hours each week, allowing her to end her work day by two in the afternoon. She drove her personal vehicle and was paid a generous reimbursement of her automobile expense. Many days she drove over one hundred miles throughout the day. 

I could help with morning things for the children, but Cathy usually handled anything during the day and in the afternoons, which was one of the reasons for our noon telephone calls. I couldn't leave the plant during my shift, but Cathy could get off just about any hours she wanted, as long as she got her work done. She was the one who attended school functions and extra curricular activities. She took them to doctor's appointments and went shopping for their clothes. I always tried to help Cathy as much as I could. However, I also worked twice as many hours as she did and made more than three times what she did. With my employee benefits, it was about four times her salary since she had very few benefits. 

I picked up my lunchbox and stopped for a minute to hug my wife, "I missed our Thursday night," I whispered in her ear.

Some of the color drained from her face as she turned to pick up her coffee cup, almost spilling it as her hand shook. "Yeah," she said. Cathy took a deep breath and added, "I think I must have been really tired last night. I don't remember when you came to bed." She followed me out into the garage closing the kitchen door behind her. As soon as she was sure the children wouldn't hear her, Cathy said, "I'm sorry, Jerry. I'll make it up to you."

I stood beside my pickup, looking over the top of the hood at her, "It's okay, Doll. I love you. See ya this evening."

"Yeah, me too. Bye," Cathy said and turned around. She had walked back inside the house before the garage door was fully opened.

It wasn't the goodbye I usually got, but I didn't think very much about it at the time. She usually said, "I love you too, too much."

When we first married, I worked a late shift. Cathy had a little blackboard hanging beside the refrigerator for her grocery list. It's where we would leave notes or write various reminders of upcoming events. She would often leave me a note about something because she was at work when I got up in the afternoon. She would write "Luv U 2, 2 much." I usually left her some kind of sweet note, but her note was always the same. Any time I told her I loved her, she started saying what she used to write, "I love you too, too much."

***

It must have been a little over a month after the first Thursday we missed having sex when I realized it was more than five weeks in a row, when I had not made love to my wife on Thursday night, or any other weekday night. She had almost stopped coming outside to help me in the yard, too. However, it was the other nights that were really bothering me. There had been no lovemaking during the middle of the week and on three of the Saturday night/Sunday mornings Cathy had complained that she didn't feel well, was on her period, or was already gone from the bed when I woke up.

Something was wrong, very wrong, and I wasn't sure what I was going to do about it. I had just realized that our lovemaking had suddenly been reduced to less than a fourth of what it had been two months earlier.

I had mentioned the reduced frequency of sex a couple of times and Cathy seemed to have some kind of excuse, but we hadn't really talked about the problem when we had time for just the two of us to sit for a good conversation without interruption. I was determined to discuss the matter with my wife. It was a Saturday and I was also determined to finally get the largest limbs removed to the wood pile so I could finish digging up the stumps and begin clearing out the undergrowth at the rear of the house. The school year would end soon and since moving to the new house, we hadn't decided what we would do about child care for the summer. We really needed to have a good discussion about a variety of things.




Thursday Nights - Conclusion



Thank you, Erik Thread for your great editing skills. I changed it after he looked at it so any mistakes or errors are mine.

This is the second of a two part story, posted on consecutive days. You should read Part 1 before you read this conclusion. Please vote and leave your comments. 

There are no hot sex scenes in this conclusion, so if that's what you are looking for, please read elsewhere. What you will find here, is second half of the story about Jerry and Cathy Preston who had a happy, loving family until something changed. 

*

The children weren't expected home from their overnight stay with the Hanson's until around noon. I'd tried to sleep, but had given up and got up about six, but I still didn't know what I was going to do. Nor did I know how I could explain anything to my children. I just knew I was not going to live with a woman who would make a cuckold out of me. Either she was going to leave, or I was, but I didn't want my children to live with a slut either. 

I wasn't really operating on all cylinders. I knew there were things I had to do around the house, but I couldn't make myself move out of my chair. I wasn't muttering or talking to myself, but I kept hearing Cathy's voice saying, "Boss Man Wayne. Fat Cock Wayne." I don't know how long I sat there. I guess I was just staring into space, trying to process what had gone wrong with my marriage.

My middle child, Becky, came home early. She said she'd had enough of Missy Hanson. She looked around for a minute and asked, "Dad, where's Mom?"

I tried to make my voice sound normal, "She'll be home later. Go put your stuff in your room."

It probably wasn't smart to send Becky up to her room because she would see inside the master bedroom and notice Cathy's side of the bed hadn't been slept in. She was back in less than a minute. "Dad, what's wrong? Where's Mom?"

"We had a date last night. We spent the night at the hotel. I left her still sleeping so I'd be here when you all came home." I wasn't sure she believed me, but at that point, I really didn't care. 

Becky said "Okay," but from the tone of her voice, I knew she wasn't really thinking everything was okay. She finally went back to her room. I soon heard her computer speakers blasting the sounds of her favorite game. 

About half an hour later, the front doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Cathy stepped into the house, carrying our small suitcase. "Pay that damn taxi," she growled as she walked toward the stairs on her way to our bedroom. She looked rough. Her face had no color and her hair was a mess. Although she'd put on the other clothes we'd packed, she still looked like she was barely able to walk on her own.

I gave her twenty minutes before I went to our bedroom and closed the door behind me. Cathy was just coming out of the bathroom. Her hair was wet and she was beginning to look a little better.

"Why the hell did you leave me at the hotel?" She wasn't yelling, but she didn't miss it by much. 

I didn't answer her question. Instead, I asked one of my own. "You wanna tell my why Fat Cock Wayne fucked my wife's pretty little pussy?" 

Her face lost the small amount of color that had returned. Her eyes opened wide then she turned her back to me. I could see her shoulders, in fact her whole body, was shaking. 

"Is he the only one?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders, but she wouldn't turn around to answer me. I was beyond caring if someone heard me yelling at her. "Have there been others?"

She still wasn't talking. 

"Answer me, Cathy. Have there been others? How many times have you broken our marriage vows, huh?"

Cathy shook her head as she walked to her closet and dropped the towel then pulled her robe from the closet. As I was asking my last question about other men, I saw her back. In the dim light of the hotel room, I hadn't noticed two long red lines down one side of her ass. 

"And, would you care to tell my how you managed to get that scratch on your ass?"

Cathy turned around, lifted the back of her robe, and looked over her shoulder at the mirror on the inside of her closet door.

I'd never seen a person fall apart before, but Cathy crumbled into a heap on the floor. She was wailing, "Oh my God, oh my God. Jerry, I am so ... so sorry."

"Yeah, me too." I turned and walked out of the room. It might not be a good idea to be around sharp objects for a while, but I figured I'd feel a lot better if I could attack something inanimate. So, I took my chain saw out to the rear of the yard and started cutting up the last of the larger limbs I'd trimmed from the bigger trees. At first, I wasn't in very good shape, I was shaking with anger, but the chain saw required all of my attention and my nerves calmed after a little while.

I'd been working for about an hour when I noticed Cathy sitting on the tree stump. Her face was swollen from crying, but at this point, I didn't care. "I thought you would have packed up and left by now." I was disgusted and so angry I didn't care if I was yelling.

She stood, put her hands on her hips, and screamed at me, "What! You expect me to leave?"

I turned off the saw and put it on the ground before I started walking toward her. "You fucked another man, Cathy. That tells me you don't care anything about our children, our marriage, or me. You need to pack your bags and get the hell out of here." I'd said my piece. I turned back to pick up the chain saw. If I was going to cry, I wasn't going to let her see it.

I'd only taken two or three steps when I was struck from behind. I rolled over on the ground and came up prepared to swing at someone. If I hadn't checked my swing, I'd have hit Cathy with my fist.

"What are you talking about, buster?" Despite her tears, Cathy was screaming at me.

My voice was at least as loud as hers was, but I wasn't crying. "I'm not going to live with a wife who cannot be faithful and I'm not going to allow my children to live with a mother who's a slut. Get your stuff packed and get out."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jerry. We have to talk about this."

"Talk? Now you want to talk? I've tried to get you to talk to me for weeks, but you've said we didn't have a problem. You may think fucking your boss isn't a problem, but I sure as hell do."

"Jerry ..."

"No, Cathy. No more talk. You pack or I'll pack for you. You have one hour."

I turned back to the limb I was sawing into shorter lengths and started the chain saw. I worked steadily for that hour, while I also got some kind of control over my emotions. I could not afford to fall apart. I had three children I was responsible for taking care of and at that moment, they were more important than my cheating wife was. Then I went into the house and into our bedroom. There was a large gap on Cathy's side of the closet, showing she'd packed some clothes and most of her cosmetics were missing from the bathroom. It was strange how a couple of suitcases of Cathy's things, removed from our home, could make it feel so empty.

As I was walking back to the kitchen, Becky was a few steps behind me. "Dad?"

"Yeah, Beck?"

"Mom said to tell you she was going to Aunt Sherry's for a couple of nights until you get over your temper tantrum."

"Oh, so she said I had a tantrum, huh?"

"Yeah. What did Mom do to cause your tantrum?"

"Sorry, Beck, that's a parent thing."

"Oh, okay. Can I go tell Benny and Tina it's okay to come home, now?"

"Yeah, that might be a good idea."

I guess I wasn't surprised that Cathy would go to stay with her recently divorced sister. They weren't very close, but she was family. It was Sherry's second divorce. Their parents were probably in California, Florida, or maybe even Alaska. They had sold their house, moved into an apartment, and spent most of their time in a big motor home. Sherry was living in their parent's apartment until she could afford an apartment of her own. 

Sue Hanson called to say she could help with the children after school until Cathy returned home. I could not imagine what Cathy had told our neighbors about her reason for leaving home, or if Sue was making the offer based on something Becky had said. I thanked Sue and let her talk as much as she wanted, thinking Cathy might have told Sue something about her affair with her boss. When Sue said she didn't realize I had such a bad temper, I knew Cathy hadn't told Sue the truth. I was a little surprised, Cathy never had been very good about keeping a secret. She frequently talked to Sue about really personal family matters. I'd been embarrassed a number of times when someone mentioned something Cathy had told.

There was really only one option for me. I was not going to let my neighbor talk to my children every afternoon about the changes in our home. Sue would likely share what she learned with everyone else in the neighborhood. I had to call my mother. I could not take any time off work. The plant was running twenty-four hours a day, overtime was available for anyone interested, and I was a shift supervisor. If I didn't show up for work, I'd lose my job. However, calling my mother was almost as bad as losing my job. She was the nearest thing to a busy-body I'd ever known. She wanted to know everything about everyone's business. She would want to tell me how to live my life, and then watch to see that I did it her way.

It was a little easier than I thought it would be. Mother didn't really ask many questions about why Cathy was spending some time with her sister, other than how long I needed her to stay, so I just said a couple of weeks. I could probably have some solutions worked out by then. I had no earthly idea what solutions I would find, but I wasn't going to admit that to my mother. Mother promised to be at my house that night or the next morning before I left for work.

I took the kids to a buffet for supper. They put too much food on their plates, but I made sure all three of them ate a good meal. We had a long discussion about the things a child should know about their parent's personal lives and that there were things they were not allowed to know. They all agreed that as long as they had a parent who loved them, saw that they were safe, fed well, and their lives didn't change from the basics of what they were accustomed to, they should trust the parent. Each time one of them asked about their mother, I told them that I was the parent and I would keep the promises I'd made to take care of them. If they asked me a question I didn't think they needed to know the answer to, I would tell them it was something I was supposed to take care of and they didn't need to be concerned.

Cathy called a little before bedtime and talked to each of the children. I heard each of them say, in one way or another, "Dad's taking care of that." I know she questioned all three of them, but they stuck to the message. Becky was the last to talk to her mother. Before Becky hung up I told her to ask for her Aunt Sherry and I took the telephone from her. 

It didn't matter what Cathy had told Sherry, I didn't care. I told Sherry that Cathy was not to call the house or my cell phone at any time during the day or I'd have the telephones disconnected. She could call and talk to each of the children before bedtime. Any communication between my soon-to-be-ex-wife and me would be done through our lawyers. I would arrange for her to see them as soon as I learned about the minimum requirements for an absent parent's visits. The only other thing I needed to know was where did Cathy want me to deliver the rest of her clothes?

*** 

With my mother in charge of the house, I went to work a little early Monday morning. I stopped by the personnel office and changed my work schedule from a five day week, to a four day week. It would mean much longer days, but for the time being I really needed the additional day off during the week. 

I did not dare give attention to anything while I was working. Being around heavy machinery is dangerous if you allow your mind to wander. Any thoughts or considerations I was going to give to my marriage, my children, or my unfaithful wife would have to wait until I was away from the plant. 

During my lunch hour, I called my lawyer for an appointment on my first day off. I wasn't going to wait around for anything to change. Cathy couldn't un-fuck her boss. I stopped by the company credit union office and had them take Cathy's name off my accounts and cancel her credit card. They agreed to issue a check in Cathy's name for half the money in the checking account and mail it to her parent's apartment. I also called her company credit union and asked them to remove my name from that account. Cathy never had much money in the account anyway. After her car payment was deducted, she spent the rest on herself or the kids. Any other financial arrangements would have to wait until some other day. 

***

At first, the information my lawyer gave me, frightened me. He helped a little with a couple of creditors who were being difficult about taking Cathy's name off some accounts. He seemed to think that although we had owned the house for less than six months, the work we had done had probably increased the value of the house by about $30,000 and that I owed Cathy half of that. He also thought she might be able to claim half of the value of my retirement account. I began to object that because none of her income had gone into a retirement account for herself, which I could have half of, I shouldn't need to give her half of mine. He said he might be able to negotiate a lot of that in exchange for Cathy not having to pay child support.

Finances might be tight for a little while but in less than a year, I'd have twenty years with the plant. I would probably get a promotion and my income would go up substantially. It may sound like I wasn't being fair to my wife, but by that time, as a single parent with three children, I would be in the best financial position of my life. I could begin to make deposits to the tiny college accounts I'd opened when each of my children were born.

When we finally got down to discussing the smaller details, a few things started to fall on my side of the balance sheet. Every year when Cathy and I had our tax return prepared, we discussed how much she really earned, when we considered the additional expenses of a working mother. During the summer, we needed paid child care. Cathy's wardrobe costs were much higher for professional clothing. Even food costs became part of the conversation. When we looked at standards, Cathy's income actually benefited our family only a few hundred dollars a month, which I could earn with a few hours of overtime. No matter what I said, she still wanted to keep her job, thinking it would eventually lead to a promotion, although she didn't have the necessary education and wouldn't stop working long enough to go to school and she refused to take evening classes.

By the time I left my lawyer's office, I knew a lot more about what I could and could not do about visitation. I didn't like what I knew, but my lawyer talked to me about some provisions her lawyer would insist on being done before the divorce was final, particularly some kind of allowance for temporary support. I finally agreed that Cathy loved her children. I shouldn't take out my anger against the children. They wanted to see their mother. I might be trying to convince myself that I no longer loved or trusted Cathy, but that didn't mean I wanted to hurt her children, through her. 

With some difficulty, I asked my Mother to leave the house for a couple of hours while I had a family meeting with my children. I carefully explained that their mother had decided she did not want to be married to me. I may have stretched the truth a little, but in my mind, that was exactly what she had done. I answered their questions as carefully as I could, explaining that their mother and I loved them, we would just not be showing that love as a couple. I reinforced the message that I was the parent, responsible for them, and I would do everything I could to keep their lives unchanged from what it had been before their mother left.

***

The evening after I went to the lawyer's office, when Cathy called, she spoke to Becky first. While they talked, I heard Becky telling her mother they could go to supper with her one night a week, as long as she had them back home before their bedtime. They could also spend one weekend a month with her, from the time they got home from school Friday afternoon until six on Sunday evening.

While Benny talked to his mother, Becky came into the kitchen to tell her grandmother and me that they were going to supper with their mother the next Thursday night. I don't think Cathy did it on purpose, but hearing she was selecting a Thursday night gave me a chill. Thursday nights had been special nights for us, until she'd started fucking her boss on Thursday afternoons. Now, she was going to see her kids on Thursday nights. I didn't like it, but I couldn't do anything about it. Mother saw the look on my face and I held up my hand to stop her from saying anything. I went out to the garage while Tina talked to her mom. 

After the kids had calmed down from their long winded telephone conversations, I got them into their beds and returned to the kitchen. I'd put off the conversation with Mother for almost a week. I figured I'd kept her from asking questions about as long as I could. Mom even agreed to drink a beer with me, while we talked about what Cathy had done.

"You need to forgive her Jerry. You know she was just doing anything she could to keep her job."

I wasn't really surprised that my mother had talked to my wife. I had never shared very much about my marriage with my mother. The less I told her, the less she could try to manage my life. I finally told her how much money Cathy made at her job and mother was surprised she had continued to work at such a low paying job. Cathy had always let people believe she had a lot of responsibility at work, but the truth was, she delivered paperwork and picked up sealed courier packages the stores sent to the main office.

I was still refusing to have a conversation with Cathy. I was afraid I was just too angry. I also didn't think she was telling my mother the truth. "I thought the two of you have probably been talking behind my back."

"Don't be that way, son. I didn't do anything to hurt you. Cathy needs to know her children are being taken care of, that's all I did. She's been like a daughter to me for pretty close to twenty years. Don't forget that." Mother took a good swallow of her beer and continued, "Now tell me you'll talk to her."

"I can't, Mother. I just can't stand to listen to anything she wants to say. I can't tell you the number of times we talked about someone we knew, or someone she worked with, who had an affair or played around on a spouse. Every single time we mentioned the subject of being unfaithful, Cathy and I promised each other we would never do anything like that to our family."

"Jerry, marriages get stale, people grow apart, it takes a lot of effort to make a marriage work."

"Mother, all right, so maybe I didn't do it every year, but I got close. Every year I tried to take Cathy out for our anniversary. It started out as a lark, just trying to test out memory, but it got easier every year. We sort of repeated our marriage vows to each other. We got them mixed up, but we got all those "trust, honor, and obey" words in there. We even said the "forsaking each other" things."

"Your father was never faithful to me." I heard the pain in her voice, but he had been dead for more than ten years and it was obvious the pain was no longer as deep.

"I know, Mother. I guess that's why it was so important to me."

"I didn't divorce him."

I was suddenly angry with her, too. She lived with a man who screwed every woman he thought he could get. He was quiet about it, but I'm sure word got back to Mother, sometimes many years later, but also while his affair was happening. "Why the hell did you put up with it, huh? Why did you let him do that to you?"




Thursday Nights - Conclusion



"I loved your father, Jerry."

"That much? You loved him that much? So much that it didn't matter how many other women he found?"

"To him, sex with other women was a contest. He just wanted to win. Just like that next sales call. He just wanted to win the sale."

"I just can't think that way."

"No son, you can't. You're not the type to win at any cost. You're a lot stronger person than your father was. Cathy's sort of weak, you know. She's insecure. The only time she feels good about herself is when she's with you."

"Mother, I can't be strong for me, and my children, and my wife. I need Cathy to help me, not drag me down."

"You have to talk to her, Jerry. You must, for her and for you."

I dreaded asked my next question. "Mother, how much longer can you stay with us?" 

"I'll stay as long as you need me, son. But you have to promise me you will talk to Cathy. I'm not asking you to stay married to her, but you have to talk to her. You have to do that, for yourself."

I started to argue with her, but Mother held up her hand to stop me. "No, don't say anything. Your children need a father who is giving them the attention they need. You're giving too much of your attention to what Cathy did. It's not good for you, or your children."

"Okay, I know you're right. I just need a little longer to get the anger out of my system. I promise I'll talk to Cathy when I'm not so angry."

"That's all I'll ask, son. Now, let's talk about what you're going to do when I decide I need to go home."

I knew I was trying to convince myself that I could turn off more than seventeen years of loving a woman. I was using anger as my excuse, but it was more than that, I was disappointed. Why wasn't I enough for her? I thought we had a good marriage. Cathy was immature when we married, but she had grown up a lot in those first few years. I thought she had matured when we began our family, but many times it seemed like she wasn't much older than our son. 

***

Cathy picked up the children on Thursday and brought them home on time. I was working a few hours overtime and didn't see her. She also spent a little time taking the rest of her clothes and some personal things. She told my mother about everything she was taking and said if she took something I didn't want her to have, she would bring it back. I guess she figured I wasn't going to relent and let her come back home. She told mother she'd been served with divorce papers earlier in the day. Mother said she looked like she'd been crying, but was trying to put on a happy face for the children.

It was later Saturday afternoon before the children were back to their usual good humor. They finally admitted that most of the time they spent with Cathy, she was asking them to try to convince me to let her come back home. Becky said she finally asked her mother why she'd left, saying that I'd told all three of them it was a parent problem, not something a responsible parent would discuss with a child. Cathy told them we'd had a fight, like the arguments playmates have and she was waiting for me to get over being angry with her. After that, Cathy was less obvious about using the children as ammunition to get to me.

The first weekend Cathy kept the children she allowed them to stay up very late Friday and Saturday nights. Tina said they spent Saturday afternoon at an amusement park. Tina said it was a birthday party for the daughter of Mommy's boyfriend. Tina also admitted she liked that man better than the one who had gone with them to dinner the previous Thursday night.

I was so angry with Cathy I didn't watch my words the next time she called to arrange to pick the children for Thursday night dinner. "I hope you spend some time talking to your children, instead of dragging them on one of your dates."

"Jerry, I can't always afford to show them a good time."

"They don't need a good time, Cathy. They just need to know you still love them. Have you already spent this month's allowance?"

"Well, yeah. Sherry and I went out a couple of times. Do you think you could send me a check every week instead of once a month?"

Controlling my anger was still difficult. I listened to her talk about some of the things she missed about having her own house and being part of a family, but I finally couldn't stand it any longer. I ended the call before I started yelling at her that she would still be in her own house if she hadn't fucked her boss.

Mother had suggested that she look around for a middle aged woman to be our housekeeper, either as a live-in or for a few hours a day. It didn't seem like a bad idea, but I wasn't interested in someone coming in to our home, taking charge of the whole house, making us do things her way, or trying to be a substitute parent. When I met Mrs. Adams, I decided my mother was a very devious person. Mrs. Adams was the farthest thing from what I expected. She was almost sixty, but had never worked in someone's home before. She was looking forward to being around a family. She spent part of a week with Mother, in our house, and then my mother left to go home.

Mrs. Adams fed the children a snack after school then made sure they did their homework. She prepared supper and ate with us, and then she disappeared to her room. The house was clean, laundry was done, the pantry was full, food was delicious, but she never seemed to be around us for the remainder of the evening. I did not hear my children tell me that Mrs. Adams required something be done a certain way, instead I discovered the woman was asking Becky or Benny how I wanted something done, even how I wanted the towels folded or if I liked food prepared a certain way.

It took me almost two months to discover she was one of my father's old sweethearts. I about fell out of my chair when she told me she had known my father and thought I was a much better man than he had ever been. I must have sat with my mouth open for a full ten minutes when she told me that she and my mother had been friends for almost thirty years. I started getting angry when she began to tell me that her husband had divorced her after he discovered she had been unfaithful. He had had several affairs, but when he discovered she had done the same thing, he had taken their four children and never allowed them any contact with her. Nor would he discuss their problems. He simply divorced her, got custody of the children, and left town. She suspected she might have a number of grandchildren, but had no way of knowing. Her children would be in their thirties, but she had never seen or heard from any of them.

That evening I called Sherry and told her to ask Cathy to meet me the next afternoon in the city park near our home. I didn't want another argument over the telephone, but I thought we might have a few things to say to each other before the divorce was final. 

*****

I arrived at the park a little early. I didn't see Cathy's car so I walked toward the picnic tables. There were only two tables in the small park. A woman was sitting at one of the tables so I headed toward the other. I was surprised when I heard the woman call my name. To say that I was shocked when I saw it was Cathy is an understatement. She looked different. She even sounded different. She was letting her hair grow and she wasn't wearing any make-up. She'd also lost at least ten pounds.

"You look good, Jerry. I always liked that shirt."

As I sat at the picnic table across from her, I told Cathy, "Thanks, I've always liked this shirt, too. Are you okay?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders and then nodded. "I understand the divorce will be final in about ten days."

"Yes, that's what my attorney told me."

"May I ask a favor, Jerry?"

"You can ask," I told her, but I didn't promise I would answer. I was prepared to tell Cathy there was no chance of reconciliation. Almost everyone I knew had told me I should try to keep my seventeen year marriage together. Most thought the break-up was because I had found someone else that interested me. A few of the men I worked with told me to convince Cathy I wouldn't do it again so she would come home, and then they offered a variety of ways to hide my next affair from my wife.

"Will you give me a year to get my shit together? I mean, will you not get married to someone else before I've had a chance to show you how sorry I am? I need to do something good with my life."

"Why?"

"I just think that after seventeen good years and only a couple of months when I did something horrible, maybe I could ask you for that amount of time."

"I don't know if I can promise that. I'll think about it. How's that?"

"If that's all I can get, I'll take it."

"Why are you asking for a year?"

"After Sherry's divorce, she started seeing a counselor. She talked me into going to a group meeting a few times. I'm learning a lot about myself."

"Is that good?"

"Yeah, it is. It's really good. I think we weren't very good for each other. I was more like another one of your children, rather than your wife."

"Do you really believe that?" I couldn't resist the question. I'd been giving the same thing a lot of thought, but I wasn't sure how to tell Cathy she still needed to grow up.

"I didn't at first, but I do now. I was always waiting for you to tell me what to do next. I didn't like to make decisions or discuss them with you. It was just easier to listen to you and let you be my parent. I liked it that way. There were a few things I insisted on, like continuing with a dead end job, when I should have listened to you, but I was doing it the easiest way I could. The job was easy because the company always told me what to do."

"I guess both of us could have used a little better judgment."

"Maybe, but it was more of a habit we got into and it was never going to be different, because I wasn't going to change."

I looked at her as she was talking and saw she wasn't unhappy about what she was saying. "So, you think living on your own will help you grow up?"

"Yes, it's hard but I'm trying. After that confession, you're not going to keep me from seeing the kids, are you?" 

"No. I'm even willing to let you spend more time with them if you like. I know they would enjoy it."

"Thank you."

We sat and talked a while longer. Cathy eventually told me that her decision to have sex with her boss was like finally getting the toys in the department store window. She had admired all the toys for so long but had promised she would never touch any of them. She had finally taken the risk to hold one and play with it. She may not have been aware I understood when she tried to make a joke that she wanted to play with some of the other toys in the window, too. I wasn't too sure I agreed with her analogy, but I didn't tell her that. 

She could not tell me she hadn't enjoyed the sex with Wayne Westland. Part of the attraction was going behind my back to see him and me never knowing she had done it. She admitted it was childish, but it had been fun, too. She talked about when she first started wearing lipstick. She would wipe it off before she got home so her parents wouldn't know. 

Cathy asked if I would support her while she got a college education. She was asking for full support, more than just some help with tuition. I suggested that it was a little late to start renegotiating the divorce. She should have gone to college when we first married, or one of the times during the past seventeen years when I had suggested it. She also wanted to make sure I would allow her to see the children even if she needed to change the schedule because of what she had going on in her personal life. 

The longer we sat and talked, the more I wondered how Cathy had managed a home and three children. Maybe that was the whole problem. She hadn't managed. She had always asked me what to do about everything, except the part of her life she didn't want help with, her job.

As I stood to leave, I noticed Cathy's car pulling into the parking lot across the street. The windows were rolled down and loud rap music was coming from the radio. One of the front fenders had a minor dent. The man driving looked like he was in his late twenties or early thirties. I didn't recognize him and he didn't seem to know me, but he did look me over pretty good. I wondered if he was her newest toy.

I started to go back to the picnic table to ask Cathy if Fat Cock Wayne had been replaced. I really wanted to tell her, to her face, that the kids and I would just learn to get along without her. They had one stable parent. If the other one wanted to act as if she were a playmate who found other friends, they would get over it.

When I left the city park, for the first time in several months, I didn't feel like I'd been a total failure as a husband. I knew that I was still a young man with a lot of life ahead of me. I understood I now had more responsibility for my children and there were many times I would wish they still had their mother as part of their every day lives. However, I also knew what they needed to feel cared for and loved.

If Cathy did as she wanted to do, she could have a full life too. In that year she had asked me for, she could be a completely different person or she wouldn't have changed, it was entirely up to her. She knew I wasn't going to put my life on hold to see if she could grow up. I had made that clear. She admitted it had just been something to say to get my attention. I accepted it was similar to a child being naughty so they would be caught, reinforcing that their parent was giving them attention.

I had three of the most wonderful children a man could ever hope to have. I was going to enjoy every day of their lives as long as they wanted to stay near enough for me to do that. If there were any other benefits of being a single parent, I would discover them in time and enjoy each one.

THE END



Thursday Nights



About mid-morning, Cathy brought me a bottle of water. "Sit down a minute, Baby Doll," I told Cathy after she handed me the bottle of cool water. 

She sat down on a wide double tree stump I'd planned to leave in place as a seat, or a place to leave some pots to grow greenery. I started to sit down beside her, but her arms were folded across her chest and she was rubbing her palms up and down her upper arms.

"Hey, Doll, what's happening to us?"

Cathy shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know what you mean, Jerry." She wasn't looking up at me, she was watching the toe of her sneaker as she pressed it down in some soft soil, and then did it again in another spot, watching the mark the bottom of her shoe left in the dirt.

"I'm talking about you and me. Do I need to ask my mom to stay with the kids so we can go away for a long weekend? Do we need some special time to be together?"

Cathy turned her head, looking at the house as if she was trying to decide if she liked the looks of it, sort of tilting her head to one side. She shook her head before she answered. "No, I don't think so. Jerry," She turned her head back toward me, but didn't look up. "Are you unhappy?"

"I'm a little unhappy with why you aren't interested when I want to make love to you."

"I don't reject you, Jerry. I've always enjoyed sex with you. You're a very sexy man." There was a short bark of sound, not really humor just a sound that she wanted me to think was laughter. "Sue thinks you're a very sexy man."

"I could care less what Sue thinks. I want to make love to my wife, not some woman who doesn't interest me. Sue belongs to Barry. I belong to you and I want to show you how much I believe that. Don't you want me anymore?"

"No, Jerry," she paused then looked away. "It's not like that. I want you. I thought we were doing pretty good."

"Cathy, I've made love to you four times in the last six weeks. Did you know that?"

She looked up but quickly looked down again, "That's not enough for you?"

"Not hardly, it's about a fourth of what we had three months ago."

"Really? I guess I didn't realize it was that bad."

I started to ask why she hadn't noticed we'd gone from having sex twice a week to about once every two weeks. Instead, I took a deep breath, "Is there someone else you'd rather make love with?"

Cathy was on her feet, her face red, "What? Why would you ask me something like that? Jerry, how dare you?"

Before I could say anything, Cathy was stomping off, on her way back to the house. I knew she was under a lot of stress at work. Her department was being reorganized to accommodate more computerization. A new supervisor, who insisted on being called Mr. Westland, had been hired and Cathy was afraid she would lose her job or be asked to take a lesser position.

One tree stump was giving me a lot of trouble. The roots had wrapped around a large rock near the surface. I think I worked for another hour then put away my tools and went inside to take a shower. Maybe Cathy and I could have our talk after supper. When I walked back into the kitchen, there was a note on the blackboard, "Gone to the store."

I grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator and drank it down, quenching my thirst, just doing anything to put off thinking. I threw the empty bottle at the trashcan, and took a second beer, opening it as I sank into my easy chair.

I'd been sitting down for about fifteen minutes, staring at the blank screen of the television, when my middle child, Becky, came into the family room. "Hey Dad, are you done outside for today?"

"Yeah, I decided to take the rest of the day off. Where are Benny and Tina?"

"They went to the store with Mom." She sat on the couch for a full minute before she asked, "Dad, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Beck, but make it an easy one," I teased her. That I knew of, I was the only person to call her Beck. "Your ol' man is getting old. His brain doesn't work as fast as it used to."

"Give me a break," she scoffed. "I know you're only forty-two. Mr. Hanson is forty-seven. He says a man doesn't start getting old until he's over fifty."

"Oh good, then I have a few more years. What's your question?"

"What's wrong with Mom?"

"I don't know," I pretended ignorance. "Is she getting old, too?"

"That's not what I meant. You remember my tryouts were Thursday?" When I nodded, Becky said, "Mom said she was taking off Thursday afternoon to come to my tryout, but she didn't show up. Last week she didn't go to Benny's troop meeting."

"Really?" This was really strange. Cathy and I usually discussed the children's activities I couldn't attend and I just realized she hadn't mentioned either event. Becky was showing some good soccer skills, which we were encouraging. The last time I'd talked to Benny's scout master, he was really impressed with the leadership skills our son was showing. If I recalled correctly, the meeting Cathy missed was when the scout master had planned to give parents an overview of the troop's summer activities, including a two week camp Benny was looking forward to attending.

"Yeah, she said she was at the tryouts. She said I probably didn't see her, but she didn't know whether I made the team. She told Benny she got held up at one of the stores, but he told me when he called the office they said she'd already called in her time for the day."

"Tell ya what, Beck," I was prepared to strike some kind of bargain with my own daughter, just to keep her from being worried. "Don't bother your Mom about this. I'll talk to her. I know her job has been pretty tense the last couple of months. We may need to give her a little slack."

"Okay, Dad. Thanks." She stood and started to walk across the room, but turned back to tell me, "Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs. Hanson wanted me to ask if Benny, Tina, and I could spend next Saturday night at their house. We're gonna eat pizza and go to a late movie. It's a cartoon movie, but I forgot which one. She said to tell you there will be ten children and four adults. I think one of the other adults is Mr. Hanson's sister or something like that. I guess if I didn't explain it right, you can call her."

"Okay, I'll call her, or your Mom can call."

"Would you do it Dad? Will you call her? I'm afraid Mom will forget what Mrs. Hanson says."

"Okay, Beck. I'll call Mrs. Hanson."

***

Sunday was a very quiet day. I planned to find some time to discuss why Cathy missed the kid's events, plus a few other things, but we probably wouldn't have time for our conversation until the afternoon. I spent a little time across the street talking to Sue Hanson about the children's party. She said it was a rare opportunity and I should take advantage of it. I told her I was way ahead of her. I'd already called the hotel for a reservation.

Cathy took the kids to an afternoon movie and when she got home, she wanted to take a long bubble bath while I got the kids to straighten up the family room and take their baths. After the kids were finally in bed, I took my shower. When I came out of our bathroom with a towel wrapped around my waist, I found Cathy in our bed, with the covers pulled up and tucked under her shoulders. 

I walked over to her side of the bed. "Hey, Baby Doll, what are you hiding under there?"

I was playfully trying to lift the sheet, but she had a firm grasp on it. Suddenly, she kicked the covers to the foot of the bed and jerked the towel from around my waist. Every thought about a serious discussion with my wife instantly left my head.

"Oh my God." I couldn't believe it. Cathy had shaved her entire pussy. I'd teased her that I was going to catch her unaware and do it myself some day, just to see if she liked it. My cock popped up, the fastest erection I'd had in a long time. 

"Hey little boy," she used her little girl teasing voice, the one that always sent chills down my spine. "Do you wanna come play with me?"

My mind was spinning. Her nipples were already hard and I didn't know which lips I wanted to kiss first. I fell across the bed and started kissing my wife. We didn't get much sleep that night, but neither one of us seemed to care. I know she made me cum three times and I stopped counting her orgasms, I think after about the eighth one. Sometime during that night, I asked her for a date the next Saturday and told her that as part of our foreplay, I wanted to shave her before we had sex in the hotel room I'd reserved.

***

I could barely wait for the kids to leave Saturday so Cathy and I could get dressed for our special date. Even after seventeen years of marriage, when she went to the trouble, Cathy could look almost as good as the twenty year old I'd dated and she could attract the attention of every man in a room. We put a few things, including a change of clothes, in a small bag and checked into the hotel. Then we went downstairs to the club where a small live band was playing a variety of music. It was still a little early so we had a couple of drinks then went to the restaurant for a good meal. Cathy was sitting on the same side of the booth with me. All the time we were eating, she was flirting with me, giving me little touches on my hand, a slow rub along the top of my thigh, and with one leg crossed over the other her swinging foot would come over and tap against my shin. 

While we were sharing a slice of cheesecake for dessert, Cathy took my hand and put it under her dress. Good Lord, the woman wasn't wearing panties. Her pussy was bare and she was wet, but no longer smooth. There were bristles like those that a man would have if he didn't shave all weekend. However, her hair was a lot softer. I started getting hard and Cathy patted the crotch of my dress pants telling me I had to wait until later.

We went back to the club and I sat at a corner of the bar while Cathy joined the crowd on the small dance floor. She had always liked to dance a lot more than I did, but I liked to watch her dance. I must have two left feet or I would forget to move while I watched my wife twisting and turning in front of me, so I'm content to sit at the bar and watch while she dances with the crowd. Even the twenty-something guys would get close to her, rubbing on her as they danced. Most of the time she was looking at me, rather than the guys on the dance floor, sending me one of those looks that made my cock hard. That's the same thing she did when we were dating, always letting me know I was the man she wanted. For eighteen years, if she left the dance floor, she would come to the bar and back up between my legs, using my thighs as armrests, while she cooled off or got another drink. Instead of sipping her drinks, she just drank them down, so she could go back to the dance floor. I knew she was getting pretty tipsy, but that was why I was there, to take care of her when she had too much to drink. She wasn't falling down drunk, but she could be a little reckless.

Some of the people in the bar were really having a good time. For a while, the dance floor was so crowded, I lost sight of Cathy, but I was watching another couple, too. For a while they were on the dance floor, really rubbing each other, almost dry humping. She was riding his leg, the light color of his slacks showed the wet spot she left on the top of his thigh. Finally, they went to a booth behind me. I could see them in the mirror behind the bar. They ordered drinks and began making out. He had an arm around her and his other hand was under her dress. I knew what he was doing. Her head was back, her mouth was open, and then she started shaking. She finally slumped forward with her forehead on the table in front of her and rested there for a little while. They enjoyed their drinks and left the booth. They both smiled at me as they went back to the dance floor. It was a hot show and they knew I had watched them.

After that twenty minute show, I again started looking for Cathy. I left my bar stool and walked around the edge of the dance floor. I found her in a dark corner, dancing with a man a little older than the younger crowd on the floor. He was probably in his mid-to-late thirties. When Cathy saw me, she waved and went back to her dance and I returned to my barstool.

When the crowd started thinning out, I finally got Cathy off the dance floor. I had my arm around her as we rode the elevator up to our room. She was blitzed, silly drunk, giggling, and talking baby talk. She could barely help me while I was taking her clothes off. 

"I'm going to shave you, Cathy."

"Okay, baby. You just go right ahead. Shave Cathy's pretty little pussy." She giggled as she climbed on the bed and spread her legs. She giggled a little more and said, "Pretty little pussy, little pretty little pussy, pussy little pussy," getting all the words mixed up. We'd always had fun in bed when Cathy had a few drinks. It was the only time she would talk nasty. 

I got all my shaving things, including a hand towel I soaked in warm water. I started to wipe her pussy off and noticed how wet she was. I stuck a finger up inside her vagina, planning on a little tickle. I knew exactly what that slimy feeling was.

"Hey, Cathy," I tried to keep my voice neutral when I really wanted to yell at her. I moved my finger in and out of my wife, "Who fucked your pretty little pussy?"

She giggled, "Wayne." She giggled again and wiggled her hips, "Wayne fucked Cathy's shaved pussy." Cathy giggled some more and tried to hide it by putting her hand over her mouth. "Wayne's fat cock's in the pretty little pussy."

"Where did you go to fuck?" I didn't exactly growl, I still wanted to know how my wife had managed to fuck someone when I was watching her all night long.

"Fuckin' in the men's room. Fast fuck in the men's room."

"Who is Wayne?"

"Fuck buddy Wayne. Thursday fuck buddy, buck fuddy, Wayne."

I wasn't sure who Wayne was, but I had my suspicion, although I'd never met the man. So, I asked again, "Cathy, who is Wayne?"

"Boss man Wayne," she answered as my finger moved slowly in and out of her cum filled pussy. "Fat cock Wayne. Fuckin' in the men's room, Wayne."

I was no longer interested in shaving my wife's just fucked pussy. In fact, I seriously considered going back down to the bar to see if Fat Cock Wayne was still there. Instead, I pulled Cathy up to the head of the bed and got her covered up. I brewed the complimentary coffee then sat in one of the chairs and watched my unfaithful wife sleep for a couple of hours.

I wasn't sure what I was going to do, but I knew I wasn't going to be happy, no matter what happened. My wife of seventeen years, the mother of our three children, and the woman I loved, had just admitted that she'd fucked another man. From the words she used, it sounded like it wasn't the first time. 

The real reason my wife and I were no longer making love on Thursday nights was that she was fucking Fat Cock Wayne. She had broken all the promises we had made to each other. The number of times we had talked about how much we loved each other didn't seem to matter to her. It takes time for love to grow strong. It doesn't die very quickly, but I feared my love for Cathy was hemorrhaging. 

When I was sure Cathy wasn't going to start throwing up whatever was in her stomach, I walked out of the room and closed the door quietly. I wasn't really that drunk. I'd only had a few drinks and I'd eaten more of my dinner than Cathy had eaten of hers. She'd only picked at her food. In addition, I'd had several cups of coffee while I sat around for a few hours. I went down to the restaurant to order a big breakfast, regretting the club had already closed. I might have enjoyed a few minutes with Fat Cock Wayne.

 to be concluded in Part 2 ...