11 comments/ 41342 views/ 3 favorites Every Picture Tells a Story By: MarieProvost How I got here... Let me say right at the start that there is no actual sex in this story. Nothing goes on between my legs; it all takes place in my imagination, and that's probably the way it will always be, although when you're 57 year old you've seen and done enough things to realize that never is a bad word to use. 57 years old. Without question I'm the most sheltered woman that age on the planet, or at least that's the way I've felt ever since I came upon this website recently. Until my husband accidentally left this site on the computer, I didn't even know it existed. When I slipped into the computer chair that morning and touched the mouse, the screen lit up and a whole new world opened up in front of me. It was a world that, while I probably knew was out there, was never curious enough to explore on my own. There were thousands of stories there, so many that I didn't know where to start. I clicked on a title that seemed interesting, and found that was the only fascinating thing about it. I clicked on another, and then another. Some stories were better than others, and there must have been enough decent one to keep my interest. Then, I clicked on one story with the title "Pretty Anna Upon Thames" and began to read it. The author seemed to have a good grasp of the English language so I read beyond the first couple of paragraphs. There was a picture of a lovely woman in the body of the story, the woman who was the title character of the tale, and what a tale it was! She was an older woman, not my age but older than the young man who was the other star of the story. His name was Blaine, and he was a young black man - so young that at first Anna wasn't sure he was old enough to her to be thinking about in the manner she was. As the story went on, I found myself getting more and more aroused, until by the end of the tale my face was practically on top of the computer screen. The Blaine character caught my attention. So confident and charming, he had won Anna over effortlessly, and as he dazzled the woman with his lovemaking techniques, I found myself trying to imagine what it would be like to be with a young lad like Blaine. Some of the things that went on in the story - I knew they were just added to make it more erotic. The part where Blaine actually contorts himself so that he can perform fellatio on himself - that clearly was insane. No man could do anything like that. It had to be anatomically impossible. All of the references to his penis seemed to be wildly exaggerated as well. While it was true that over the last 34 years or so, my experience has been extremely limited, back in my college days I was a little wilder and had seen my share of dicks. I knew they varied in size quite a bit, but the way that this Blaine was described made him out to be some sort of Superman. As I finished the story, my mind went back to an incident many years ago, back when our marriage was on the rocks and I was beginning to wonder whether or not to divorce my husband. The past... He had been caught cheating on me. The long hours he had been putting in at work had apparently included fucking an underling on the desks and anywhere else they could find. What made it worse was the fact that I knew the woman. She and her husband had socialized with us several times, and when I found out about it I was stunned. Why would this woman be interested in my husband? She was beautiful. Blonde and vivacious, and so voluptuous that she was almost like a caricature, with breasts that seemed to perfect to be real, but were, most likely. What did she see in my husband? My husband was like me. An ordinary, white bread guy who had just turned 40 along with me, and while I found him attractive, I was prejudiced. I loved the guy, or at least I did until I found about about him and Joni. I didn't touch the man for over a year while he made every effort to make things right. The other couple had already gotten divorced and the woman had left town, and that idea was looking good to me. Just throw the bum out and be a single mother with 2 kids. I began to go out with some of my co-workers a couple of night a week while my contrite husband babysat. Mostly we would just go shopping and hit a bar for a drink or two before heading home, although once in a while our younger colleagues would drag us old fogies out to a dance club. I had stopped wearing my wedding ring about that time, putting it safely away while I decided what to do with my life, so when guys would start hitting on me in this place, it wasn't like they knew I was still attached, although I don't think that they would have given a damn one way or another. These guys just wanted to fuck. That wasn't me. I had only had intercourse with 3 men in my life, and one of them was at home with our kids, so it wasn't like I was in the habit of giving it away to anybody who looked my way. I had been completely faithful up until then, and really had no intention of changing that in some rundown dance club that seemed to be desperately hanging on to the disco era. Still, having guys hit on me again felt good, even if most of them were younger than me - considerably younger in some cases. One night, a guy asked me to dance, and I must have had enough drinks in me that I accepted. He was a good looking guy, Greek or Italian with bronze skin and a shirt open to expose a hairy chest on gold necklaces. As if that wasn't Saturday Night Fever-ish enough, this disc jockey was playing songs from that movie which had to be 20 years old. How Deep Is Your Love? Boy, sometimes the irony just clubs you in the face. The tempo of the music had stopped, which was just as well because my dancing is not much to write about, and now the Gibb Brothers were asking me how deep my love was. I was in the arms of this guy, who had been paying more attention to everybody else dancing around us than me, but now I was wrapped up in the arms of this bear. His cologne was overpowering as we danced like we needed a room, and as he ground into me I could feel his cock pressing against my stomach, and he was hard. He was leaning down and nibbling on my ear and saying something - something that didn't register until after he said it - but although the music was loud I knew what I had heard. "I wanna fuck you so bad." I guess that proved that I was where I didn't belong and doing things that I shouldn't be doing. The music stopped, I thanked him for the dance, and I scurried back to rejoin my friends, who had been watching old Marie doing something they didn't expect. I had expected, and maybe hoped, that my friends would give me a tsk-tsk of disapproval, at least the ones in my age bracket, but none of the five in my company thought what they had seen was anything but fantastic. "You two looked so hot out there," one friend remarked. "Hot? He was grinding his crotch into me!" "Duh!" retorted another. "No kidding. You were giving it back to him too." "I was?" I answered meekly. "We thought you were going to go at it right there on the dance floor!" one giggled, and that came from a woman who was even older than me. "He said," I whispered to my closest confidant in as hushed a tone as I could. "He said he wanted to fuck me." "And?" "And?" I whispered louder. "He went, I wanna fuck you so bad!" "So what are you doing here?" she asked. "I would do him anytime. He was sexy, in a sleazy way. You need to get laid more than anybody in this joint. Go out back with him." "Out back?" Apparently, it was a custom of this place that people would just go waltz out the back door and go into a car and have sex. That was nothing I knew about and certainly wasn't anything I was going to do. "No thanks," I said with a laugh, and left my dancing shoes off for the rest of the night. Marie Takes the Moral High Ground would make for a nice title to the story, but unfortunately I would be back in that very same bar with my very same friends the next week, and things would be a little different. Next week... The circumstances the next week when I staggered back to the table were my friends were gathered, were quite different. I hadn't been dirty dancing to the Bee Gees this time and my friends knew it. I suspect they knew more than I did, because I didn't remember leaving the dance club, but I had. Maybe I was drugged. That theory has gained strength in my mind over the years since that night, ever since the existence of date rape drugs became known, but to be fair I have no proof of that. I suspect it was a combination of too many vodkas, combined with sharing a joint with the girls before we went into the club (something I hadn't done since college) and my mental state at the time. In the end, it was my fault. I don't go much for the old "I did it because I was drunk" line. Alcohol is truth serum in my mind, at least up to a point. Things you do and say while drinking are things that are in your mind all along, and booze just takes the safety catch on your mouth. I remember talking to a couple of guys after dancing with one of them. He was black, which wasn't all that strange in this club, whose clientele was a potpourri of ethnic backgrounds. It also wasn't uncommon for black guys to hit on us white women. They hit on everyone and everything with a pulse, or so it seemed. They ran their lines through you, and you politely declined, or at least that was the way I saw it. I also recall walking outside with the guy I had danced with, and being led to the back of the parking lot, over by the woods that lined the area in the rear. Suddenly, I was in the back seat of some kind of big car - an Oldsmobile or something - and this big black guy was all over me. His mouth covered mine, and his tongue was forcing inside of my mouth while his hands were all over me, exploring me roughly while I was pinned against the back of the seat. The guy wasn't much bigger than me physically, but his hands were gigantic. I looked down at those long black fingers that were mauling my breast outside of my clothes, and even though the man was rude and crude, I found myself stop the minimal resisting I had been offering. This was it. All of my years of unblemished fidelity were about to end in the back seat of an Olds with a guy whose name I didn't even know and didn't even like. I felt myself weaken with every passing second. His hand - hands - he was like an octopus because his hands were everywhere; probing between my legs and clawing at my breasts. How did he know I liked my little titties treated like this? His hand had worked under my blouse, pushing the bra up and out of his way so he could knead my tits directly, and I was being crushed by this man I didn't know as he leaned over me and smothered me with kisses. "I got what you want," I heard him say, and it while it struck me that this might have been the first sentence he had used with the word motherfucker in it, what caught my attention was the fact that he had called me Mary, not Marie. That insult didn't matter much, because I didn't know his name either. What mattered is what had been going on while we had been making out. Unbeknown to me, he had taken his penis out during this flurry of activity, and I found this out when he grabbed me by the wrist and brought my hand down to his crotch while he leaned back. I looked down as my hand made contact with something very hard and very big. Even in the semi-darkness, with the back seat of the car only faintly illuminated by the parking lot lights many yards away, I could see what he had put my hand on. The man was trying to get me to wrap my hand around his manhood - my hand and their tiny fingers over-matched by the thick and ominous cock I found myself holding - and then his other hand was on the back of my neck, pushing my face down towards his penis while he graphically told me what he wanted me to do. Something that I had never done, or even considered doing to another man ever since I met my husband. Life and literotica... I haven't read all that many stories here at literotica, but had seen enough of them to know that at this point in the story, the woman is supposed to go crazy over the prospect of being with a black guy with a big cock. Her life and morality gets turned upside down at the sight of a penis that's bigger than she's ever seen, and she swears her allegiance to black men for the rest of her life. That may be literature, and may actually be true in some cases, but for me, life wasn't like that. In the seven seconds or so that I held that man's cock in my hand, my head was spinning. Aroused? Yes. Appalled? Yes. Curious? Most assuredly. Scared? Definitely. It was that fear that caused me to scramble away from the man and fly out the door, mumbling an apology while I ran back through the parking lot and back into the dance club, trying to get my clothes back in order as I did. The guy at the door smirked at me as I got there, shaking his head when I showed him my hand stamp. "Oh, I remember you," I said with a lecherous grin that said more than words could ever say, his eyes telling me and everybody in the area that he was well aware of what I had been doing ever since I had walked past him a while ago with that man. I know what you did, his eyes said. You went out to the parking lot with that black dude and sucked his cock - probably fucked him in the back seat of his car too. You pussy is probably dripping with his cum while I'm letting you back inside the club. No, I wanted to say as I passed him. I didn't do anything with that man - not really. We messed around a little but I didn't do anything, I swear. He didn't care though. He probably saw this scenario a dozen times a night. Bored white suburban broad gets a buzz on and goes out for some forbidden fruit before heading back to the unsuspecting spouse with a smile and a pussy full of another man's seed. My friends knew too, or at least they thought they did. I could see it in their eyes. I had stopped in the ladies room before rejoining them and tried to get myself together, but I knew what I looked like. Still slightly disheveled, I looked like a middle aged woman who had just gotten fucked. The co-workers were split on what they had just witnessed. A couple of them were disgusted, but not because of what they thought I had done but who they thought I had done it with. Apparently it was okay for me to play around with the John Travolta wannabe last week, but not with - you know who. As for the others, they were all ears and wanted to know all the details, despite the fact that I had no story to tell. No, I did not have sex with the man. No, I didn't go down on him. No, I did not cum. I was wet though, even if I didn't admit it. There was something about it all that had excited me despite how terrified I had been, but I kept that to myself. Being the last one let off at home by our designated driver, who happened to be my closest colleague, she parked the car and asked me to tell her the truth. "C'mon," she whined. "I was stuck not drinking and had no fun. At least you can tell me something good. Tell me what you did." So I told her every detail, and she seemed disappointed that I hadn't let myself go. "I did it once," she blurted out suddenly, her chubby cheeks turning crimson as she fiddled with the steering wheel cover. "Went out back with a black guy." I was stunned, figuring that my friend was in the most stable marriage in the world, and that proved that just liked in my house there were stories going on that nobody else knew about. "Just one guy," she said when she saw my shock. "I still don't know why. They like fat girls, you know. They think we're easy. Guess they were right - at least that one guy was. Please don't ever tell anybody." "I won't," I promised, a promise I've kept until know, but she's still anonymous to you. "I'm sorry I did it," she said. "But in a way I'm not. I was curious, and it was really good." "Oh." "It was Andre." "Who's he?" "Andre," she said with a quizzical look on her face. "The guy you went out there with." "You're kidding!" "No," she confessed. "I have to admit that when I saw you leave with him, I was a little jealous, because I knew - or thought I knew - what you were doing." I was flabbergasted. "You should have done it," she said. "He's really really good. Maybe it was because it was so wrong - the forbidden fruit and all - but even though I love my man with all my heart, he never makes me orgasm like Andre did. If he didn't hurt me that last time..." "Hurt you?" I asked. "He wanted to have me - you know - back there?" she said, and when I said I didn't understand she gave me more information than I wanted. "Anally. He put it in my ass. He likes it best that way." "Good grief," I said, but I must have used more graphic language at the time, because I was scared enough just holding him in my hand for that brief moment. The prospect of having that weapon in there make me shudder. "Hurt me," she confessed. "Hurt me really bad because he's so big and I wasn't really lubricated good. I had to go to the doctor. Talk about embarrassing." In retrospect, I guess Andre wasn't all that extraordinarily built. I've got a toy that my husband got me a while back that's about as big as Andre was, 8 or 9 inches, but that was plenty big in my book. "Well, I won't be going back to that club again," I told her, but I'm not any more certain now than I was then why that was. Was it fear of seeing Andre again and having to face a guy that had a right to be angry about someone he probably considered a cock-teaser, or fear that next time I would make a different decision? This is 2010... I've thought about that night many times in the years that have passed. In the end I think I made the right decision. Our marriage has stabilized, although it will never really be the same for me. Every time I see my husband's dick I remember, at least for a fleeting second, about where else it has been. Inside her, and who knows where else? He claims that was his only misstep, but once a cheater... So while I'm glad that I didn't end up on that back seat, getting fucked by a guy whose name I didn't know when he was putting the pressure on to have me, there's a part of me that wishes I had let him force my head onto his cock. I know there are a lot of people reading this who just said "PIG!" when they read that last sentence. I sure that there are a lot of guys that are wondering why they are reading this when they could be reading stories where there's a lot of fucking and sucking going on. I'm aware of the double standard involved here. The man, the hunter-gatherer, is considered a stud when he fucks everything in his path, where a woman, the domestic goddess, is supposed to be chaste and pure while waiting at the door with slippers in hand when her hubby gets home. That has been me in a way, although not to that extreme. I'm a successful professional woman who does not rely on her husband for survival, since we make about the same salary, but I am the traditional wife in most ways. So now I wish that I had gone down on Andre. I wish that I had let him bring my mouth to that big swollen cock of his and make me suck it. I had this coming to me. To sample that cock so different than I had ever experienced, to taste that forbidden fruit one time? To be brutally honest, while I happy that I didn't have intercourse with Andre, I wish I had given him head. My husband had done much worse as far as I'm concerned. Wasn't it a president who claimed that fellatio wasn't really sex? Anyway, I'm very glad that we didn't fuck, and I know now that if I had stayed in that back seat with Andre that would have happened, because he wasn't the type of man who was going to take no for an answer. Every Picture Tells A Story Here it was, the fifth anniversary of the first time by lover and I met face to face and I had the biggest fight of my married life because of pictures on my cell. I recently got a new cell and I am not the brightest bulb on the tree when it comes to computers so I asked my husband to take the memory card out of my old one, dump out my pictures and put it on my new cell. I know he's done it before but this time I was careless. I thought I had deleted all the "porn" shots out of my phone of me exposed my 44DD huge white titties that I sent to my lover of five years and a single shot of his huge black extra large black cock that he and I exchanged only a few weeks before on my birthday. My husband scanning thru my pics as he was about to put them on and came across my pics and asked me why I had my tits on the phone and I said I thought there was something wrong with them and then he asked who's black cock it was that was on my phone and I said it was a pic a friend sent me. She always sends me off-color things and I saved it and he said it was sent to my phone and I said I downloaded it from the computer from a porn sight and he said that he knows that I don't know how to do it and he was right. He thought it was my one black friend that he has become friendly with via the cell phone and meeting him a few times and I said it wasn't him and it was just a friend of his. He has now forbid me to contact my friend and had to delete him and my lover out of my phone and made me promise not to see, text or call. These guys don't know each other and I have lost my friendship with my friend but I still am in contact with him and my lover. Even though we have only met once since the "blow up" here, I text him every day and send pictures from a cheap pay-as-you-go phone and call my friend. My husband and I are still together but he does not forgive me. He now has my cell monitored by the text messages, phone calls and also to check where my cell is; I guess that is if I say I'm here and it says I'm there. He said he always trusted me and now he doesn't and never again will. I have my secret way of meeting and seeing my lover and talking to my friend. Hey I knew my friend long before I knew my husband. I'm playing the "good" wife to his face but our lives are strange. My best friend advises me to divorce him because she knows that he is physically and mentally abusive to me. His parents just died and left him with a nice sum of money that he says now he will not be sharing or putting my name on any of the accounts. He is monitoring our checking account and savings that I don't give me "N" friends any money. I have been having this affair now for five years and if it wasn't for those pictures, he would never know that I, his wife for almost 25 years was cheating on him. He's no angel but he claims to be and I know he isn't. He was married briefly when he was 21 and it ended in divorce after a year and a half and she cheated on him not once, but twice and then he kicker hew out. He is making my life hell and I'm about to crack. I don't know why I stay in this marriage maybe I am a little scared but I can move in with my dad and I have a few friends that will take me in. I know that I will, by law, get half of whatever he has, but I am playing right now. My lover still cares and we have to sneak even more careful now and I had to get another phone to stay in touch with both guys. Thankfully he didn't get his hands on my other chips as there are many pics and videos that would probably send him right over the edge. I even have a pic and video giving my black lover a blow job. I think he would have been upset if the guy was white, but he hates black people and having a black friend and another as a lover sent him over. He is giving me a chance but not forgiving me. I don't care as I have some plans I have to work out first before I make the move. I have to advise anyone who sends pictures or videos to your lover, etc. like I do, don't get caught. I told my lover how sorry I am and he said it isn't my fault and I said it is because I didn't delete everything. My husband has his name and number in his cell and he doesn't know I know that he does. He also has my friend in there and I have his number in my other phone but I'm playing dumb. He has had other women that he denies having but I know he has. He goes to a go-go bar during th week sometimes more that others. I'm not dumb but he gives me no confidence and he never tells me anything good about myself and tells me nothing is going on. I am at the end of my rope and I know I need help professionally. HELP!!!! Every Picture Tells a Story The email popped up all over town, to relatives, friends, housewives, professionals, factory workers, doctors, lawyers, educators, priests and preachers, even Facebook friends, all they had in common were Amy Taylor and/or Josh Long. "Hi!" it read, "I'm Ben Taylor, husband of Amy, your daughter, sister, friend, and coworker." "I know most of you don't know me, and I thank you for your time. I have information to share about my loving wife and her friend, information some of you already have, some of you suspect. I've decided to remove all doubt and share what I have. Most won't like it. Some will hate it, more will hate me, but it's a price I'm willing to pay. Please see first attachment." A picture popped up of Amy and Josh fully clothed but still kissing passionately. "A Prelude" the caption read. "This was taken at her company picnic three months ago. They thought they were being careful, but a friend of mine was looking for his kids, and saw them. He snapped several pictures and gave them to me, thinking I'd need them. What a good friend, and I'm not being facetious." "I'm ashamed that after that I was the classic insecure husband. I had to know, even if it killed me. And it did." "Killed me, I mean. Our promises to each other, and God, in front of friends and family, meaningless. Negated by lust, I hate to think it was love." "Of course, I beat myself up wondering why. Maybe it was the long periods I left her alone while my Seal team and I did covert ops for the CIA. No, wait, I've never been in the military, and the only seals I know are the ones that sun themselves in the harbor." "Maybe it was because of the time I left her alone when I traveled on business. That can't be right, I never travel on business. And I work almost no overtime, I'm home by five thirty at the latest, every night." "It must be the neglect from all my hobbies, running off and leaving her and the kids alone while I enjoy myself, missing birthdays, holidays, anniversaries... Nope, that's out. The only hobby I had was trying to make her happy. She seemed to enjoy the little surprise gifts and getaways, and she had to keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't go overboard on these occasions. And thankfully as it turns out, we hadn't gotten around to having kids." "I wasn't cruel to her mentally or physically, I didn't neglect her, always made sure she knew I loved her, spent as much time as possible with her. Luckily she had a job, or she would never had time to be with Josh. It helped tremendously that he was her boss, made their little get togethers pretty easy during the day." "I was shattered when I got proof positive. It was a little expensive, probably illegal, but I never planned to use it in a court of law. I decided to plead my case in the court of public opinion." "Ah. Proof of what you say? Why their affair, of course. The next attachments are pretty graphic, so don't open them if you think it will offend you." The next two images popped up. The first was a picture of Amy taken at a downward angle. She was looking up, lovingly, while her mouth was filled with cock. She's Really Good At This was the caption. The second was of them having sex doggy style, with a split screen leaving no doubt he was buried into her ass. Their faces portrayed lust and happiness. What She Wouldn't Do For Me was the title. "Sorry if I offended you, but I wanted to remove all doubt. Why would I show you those pictures? Because I filed for divorce using irreconcilable differences, not adultery. Now I've avoided most of the sympathetic looks, the occasional smirks from assholes of both sexes who knew already, and the inevitable conversations. You know what I mean." All her friends asking if I'm sure this is what I want, it was a mistake, get counseling, she's sorry, it will never happen again, try to get over it. Her mom, who I loved as much as my own mom, won't try to guilt me into a sit down, or her father, who I respect but never really liked, trying to talk some sense into me. I apologize to all of you for being caught in this mess. My firmest desire is that you leave me alone. This is strictly between my wife and me." "Well, not entirely. I do have Josh to consider. I have to apologize to his wife Sunny, you shouldn't have had to deal with it, or your two kids. They're what, eight and five now? Maybe he'll change, maybe you can forgive him. It's your choice." "And I apologize to his company and the upper management, for dragging through them through the upcoming lawsuit. After all, all their joining were at their office. I guess purchasing knows the reason now he had a couch put in to his office. Just a tip, if you give the couch to someone else, make sure it's thoroughly cleaned first." "I know I can't use the pictures, but all my lawyer has to do is depose their coworkers. I doubt seriously they'll take a fall for the company. All in all, and a lot of people will lead pretty miserable lives for awhile." "So, to wrap it up, this is why I did it like this. To remove all doubt, and to keep from wasting time. After all, every picture tells a story, doesn't it? Amy will be served with divorce papers. That should happen any minute now. I'm going to try a build a new life without her." "Amy, I'm sorry I wasn't enough. If you had come to me at the beginning, said you had feelings for someone else and left, it would have devastated me. But I would have respected you. Instead, you were the classic cake eater, wanting to have it while you continued to consume it. Well, the cake is gone, Amy, I'm pretty sure you're going to have a pretty bad case of indigestion." "Then again, maybe not. Maybe you're glad I found out, so your lover and you can run off into the sunset. Whatever. You and I are done. I've moved out of the house, took what I wanted. The rest is all yours." "All contact will be through my lawyer, it is my steadfast wish to never speak to me again. I don't want an explanation. I don't want to know why. I don't want to hear talk about second chances, because they're not even going to be considered. Go away, Amy, leave me alone." ................................................. The whole office heard Amy scream, before she slid out of her chair in a dead faint. Her coworkers rushed to her aid. Unfortunately, she had fainted at the image of Josh buried in her ass. Soon the buzz started, after one of the receptionists found the email and opened it. Work pretty much ground to a standstill. Josh was unaware of what was happening, and was surprised to see the Human Resources director standing in his door. "Is it true?" he asked without any preamble. "Is what true?" Josh asked, not knowing what he was talking about. The director came in, slamming the door. "Is it true that you and Amy were having an affair? Here? In the office?" Josh went pale. The director thought he might pass out. That pretty much confirmed it. Too bad, he had always liked Josh. "You idiot! Do you any idea of the damage you two have done? Most of our biggest clients are religious charities. How do you think they'll feel knowing two of our senior people were committing lewd acts on company time and property?" He paused, out of breath, before continuing. "I just left a conference with upper management. The CEO called, demanding verification. He's already had a call from the Archbishop, the President of the Baptist charities, and Rabbi Friedman. Things are not looking so good." Again he paused, looking at Josh. "I want you out of here in fifteen minutes. You're suspended, pending investigation. No, wait thirty minutes. Amy is being escorted out as we speak. And I take it you haven't seen it, go to you email, look at the one from her husband." He turned without another word, slamming the door again on the way out ................................................ His fingers trembled when he hit the button. When he got to the picture of him buried in her ass, he got physically sick, vomiting in his trash can. It was just supposed to be fun, just a one off with no one the wiser. But they both liked it so much they kept on, promising each other their spouses would never find out. Sunny must be devastated, he thought. Then it him. "Oh My God! Sunny!" he actually screamed aloud, before hitting her number. He was surprised when she actually answered. Maybe she hadn't seen it yet. She seemed calm. "is it true?" she asked, in a cold, emotionless voice. "Is what true, honey?" "Josh, you have one chance to tell me the truth. One. Deny it, or I catch you in a lie, and the lawyers will do our talking. Now, is it true?" He felt the walls closing in. He really did love her. And he also knew he had no choice. "I'm so sorry, Honey. Yes it is, but....." She cut him off. "I'm packing two suitcases for you, your favorite things. They'll be in the garage, please come and get them while I pick JJ up from school. I'd leave myself, but one of us has to be the responsible adult here. They're children involved, after all. Until I decide what I want to do, I'll tell them you had to go away on business. Understand something, if I decide not to try to salvage this, you get to tell them why daddy doesn't live here anymore. They won't really understand right now, but a few years down the road they'll get it. I hope it doesn't turn them away from you. I'm going now, don't try to contact me. If I decide, I'll call you." There was a few seconds of silence. Then the scream came. "Damn you!" she wailed, hanging up. He stared at the phone like it was a snake before dropping it. It rang immediately. He looked at the name. Amy. "Hello?" he said hesitantly. All he heard was crying and snuffling for a minute, then she spoke, in a voice so tiny he almost didn't recognize it. "Josh, Josh, what are we gonna do? He's my life. We were going to try for a baby next year. I can't lose him, I can't." He felt terrible sadness for about the twentieth time that day. What had they done? "I feel the same way about Sunny. But honestly, Amy, I don't see a happy ending for either of us. If we had been in love, we could have embraced our freedom and be together. But while we like each other, we didn't want to be together. You know our jobs are toast, if not now then soon. Sunny threw me out, I don't know if we'll ever be together again. I'm sorry about Ben. Do you think if I talked to him, tell him there was no love, that we didn't mean to it would help? I'll do it." "No! I think the best thing you can do right now is stay as far away from us a possible. Every time he looks at you he'll remember what we did. He's never been violent, but he's never been hurt this bad before. I'll talk to you later, if you think it's a good idea." He thought carefully. "No. I don't think it's a good idea. All either one of them has to do is find out we're communicating and it would undermine everything we're trying to repair. I'm sorry it came to this, Amy. You know I never wanted you hurt." "I feel the same way. I hope you can work it out with Sunny, I know how much you love her. I can't believe we were ever this stupid. Goodby Josh, and good luck. I think we're both going to need it. ................................................ Amy got home. She knew he wouldn't be there, but she hoped against all odds. It was the same house, the same furniture, the same pictures on the wall. But it seemed hollow and empty, and she knew why. A quick check of the closets revealed that all his things were gone. She looked farther, going into his storage shed and workshop. They had been stripped, all the tools removed. She wondered when he had had the time to do it, and then remembered she never went into them. They could have been gone for weeks and she would never had known. She looked for a note, any kind of message, but felt nothing. She sat down at the kitchen table, in her regular chair, and looked sadly at his empty place. She lowered her head to the table, and for the first time that day, but not the last in the days to come, she cried. ................................................ True to his word, Ben never spoke to her again. He refused conferences. He refused to go to court ordered counseling, presenting himself to the jail at the time he was to meet at their office, to serve his contempt of court charge. Confused, the police took his statement that he was willing to go to jail, and sent him home, since no warrant had been issued. The judge took a dim view and had him jailed the following weekend, letting him out on Sunday night so he could work. He spent three weekends in jail before Amy finally conceded to a lost cause and cancelled the sessions. It took almost a year for the divorce to go through. Amy still hoped against hope he would come back to her, but when her mother saw the announcement of his upcoming wedding, she gave up. The day of his wedding she got drunk, the first time in two years. Time may not heal all wounds, but it does make the pain bearable. She finally started dating again. She had two serious relationships that ended when she told them about her past, before she finally met a man that loved her enough to consider her past her past, and to concentrate on her future. She married him and they were happy. She was very careful in her dealings with other men, especially where she worked. They called her the nun, because she never went out for a social drink, and she hardly spoke to men except professionally. The only thing that marred her happiness was seeing Ben once, by accident, two years after she married. He had moved out of town, after receiving an undisclosed amount from her old company, settling, desperate that it not go to court. He was back in town for the twenty fifth anniversary party being given for his sister and her husband. She saw him by accident, sitting on a park bench. She wasn't sure at first it was him. He was thinner than she remembered, and his hair had a touch of gray. She was at a stoplight, and decided she wanted to talk to him, hopefully to finally apologize for her actions. She changed her mind when a tall woman with flaming red hair walked up, with a boy that couldn't have been more than two and a little girl about six or seven. The girl had her mothers' red locks, while the boy had dark hair. The girl jumped into his lap while she picked the smaller child up. He rose, carrying the girl, kissed the woman, and walked away. Amy was surprised to feel the tears, then realized she had looked at a future that should have been hers. She wiped the tears, and went home to fix her husband his favorite dinner. ............................................... Josh and Sunny managed to reconcile, after fifteen months of living apart. She made him go through counseling, alone and jointly, and sign a pretty harsh postnupt. He apologized so much she finally lost patience and told him if he said he was sorry one more time he was gone for good. He was a changed man. He rarely went anywhere without her or his children. He worked hard, his new job didn't pay anywhere nearly as well as his old one, but because of his hard work he received promotions and bonuses. It still took him six years to return to his old level. Sunny had to take a job to make ends meet, and she refused to quit when they reunited. It broke his heart when she sometimes went out for drinks after work, or when she left for the quarterly training seminars her job required. She never did anything remotely unseemly, but her steadfast refusal to talk about them bothered him greatly, a emotion she secretly got a lot of satisfaction from. Their life was nowhere near what it was before, but they worked towards building a better one, for them and their children. Josh figured it up once. They had had sex about twelve times, thirty to forty five minutes on average. Using the high figure, it came out to about nine hours, balanced against years of his family suffering and the destruction of Amy's marriage. Was it worth it? "HELL NO!" ................................................ As always, I thank you taking time and reading this story. It was based on two friends who pretty much did the same thing, with the same consequences. Q Every Picture Tells a Story Which is why it makes my fascination with Blaine all the interesting. Blaine - remember him? He's the male star and author of the story that had inspired me to get involved here. He writes here under the name younghungblack, and after I read his story about the lovely young woman from England, I left an anonymous comment telling him how much I liked the story. The liberating feeling of writing that mildly naughty note was heightened when Blaine left a note of his own, encouraging me to give him a way to contact me. I wasn't ready for that, but sent him another note telling him I would keep reading and commenting if I liked the stories. I went to another story of his called the Ranch Wife. Just like the earlier story, this was a woman that I could relate to. A mature woman, not a silly kid with a reckless lifestyle who'll do anything with anybody, and I was drawn just as she was to this character with the confident manner and this extraordinary endowment. Blaine's penis. I read about it before I saw it. After I had read a couple of his works, I went to his author page, where there was a picture that was intriguing. Cropped, perhaps by the management here because of the graphic nature, it's a photo that shows only the top of a young white woman's head and her hands grasping the shaft of what seems to be a rather sizable black cock. In the notes, Blaine indicates that if one wants to see the entire photo, it's available for viewing elsewhere. My curiosity now at new heights, I went to the photo. I'm sure as pornography goes, this is pretty tame stuff, but when that photo filled my computer screen my heart started racing. This wasn't just a dirty picture, but was the image of the author of a couple of stories that had moved me more than anything in recent memory. The photo - The woman, who's a lovely creature in her own right, is kneeling before Blaine, at eye level with his enormous manhood. His stories detail how large is penis is, but seeing this magnificent organ really brings it to life. One of his stories tells of a woman's inability to measure it with a standard ruler, and while that seemed crazy at the time, it didn't any more. She's holding his cock with both hands, but she's clearly needing help with this enormous penis, which seems to be flopping around like a snake because it isn't even hard yet. She needs another hand, and I find myself wishing that I was there to help. Dear Mr. Fantasy... As I looked at the picture, I fantasized about being there and offering my hand, stroking the thick shaft along with both of hers, feeding the rest of his cock into her waiting mouth as he continues to get longer and thicker and harder. I long to be there with her, kneeling and worshipping this outrageous cock too. I dream that I appear with them there, and imagine she lets me take over, and I take her place kneeling before this black Adonis and then take him into my mouth. I give good head - great head, or so they used to say - but I've never experienced anything the size of this. How naive I was. More ignorant than a schoolgirl, I realize now. I had no idea how large a man could become, but I'm finding out now in with Blaine, who clearly enjoys the awe in which I'm unable to hide. I scrape him with my teeth at first, something I'm sure he's experienced before, and tell myself to concentrate on not doing that. Blaine is fully erect now, thanks to our hands and mouths, and my jaws are opened so wide that they will ache for days afterward, providing a memory that will keep me wet for an even longer time. I want to take that entire cock into my mouth and down my throat, even though I know that's impossible, but I've managed to get 5 or 6 inches - the equivalent of my erect husband's dick - wet and slick with my saliva, and now Blaine's coming. Blaine's cum spurts out of his cock in a volume you would expect when you consider the source. More like a flow rather than bursts, his milky seed coats my throat in such a volume that I can't swallow fast enough. As much of his semen is drooling out of the sides of my mouth as is going down my throat. The mystery woman is at my side, licking the corners of my mouth in an effort not to waste a drop of Blaine's bittersweet cum, and afterward we will kiss and share my treasure even though I'm not interested in women that way. I'll do this because I understand her and she understands me, and we're both under the spell of this magic man. I keep sucking Blaine's cock, which is getting softer but very slowly. I don't want to share him right now, so I keep sucking, gasping as my enthusiasm only wanes because I'm running out of energy, not desire. My efforts are soon being rewarded, because he's getting hard again. This can't be. How virile can Blaine be? He just came moments ago and now he's getting hard again. It just dawns on me that he's turned on by me. Excited by my middle aged body and looks? I can't see how, because I'm not nearly as attractive as the others he's had, especially the woman next to me now, but maybe he finds me interesting because I do look a little like the mother on The Brady Bunch. I always wanted to look like Sophia Loren but ended up vaguely resembling Florence Henderson. That had never paid off until now. Whatever the reason is that makes Blaine turned on, I don't care because Blaine is erect again, filling my mouth with his enormity and soon (I hope) to fill my throat with his cum, and for the moment I'm not a 57 year old bored housewife with fading looks and dreams. I'm alive and on fire inside, rubbing my thighs together as I get feral. My mouth is sliding up and down all of his cock that I can manage, moving so fast that I'm getting lightheaded. The other woman's hands aren't on Blaine's member any more. Instead, she looking at me like I'm insane or something. Maybe when she looks at me she sees herself at one time. Whatever the reason, my lips are hitting the back of my left hand each time they slide down the shaft of his cock. My fists hold the rest of his weapon, spinning and milking the thick rod, and even though the bulbous head of his cock is hitting my throat I don't gag. I want it all. Blaine is laughing above me, a melodic and not demeaning chortle that tells me he's enjoying my barely restrained madness, while his hands are on my head helping me as I try to swallow him whole. The blood is surging through his cock - I can feel it with my lips - or is it cum? Don't! I cry out in my mind as Blaine suddenly pulls his manhood out of mouth, brushing my hands off of it while he pumps it with his own fist. Milky white jets of semen suddenly blast out of the parted opening, spattering all over my face in a series of spurts. I'm blinded momentarily as a wad of his spunk hits my eyes, and I'm helpless as I squint at him milking his cock, which keeps ejaculating all over my face and hair. My mouth is open, hoping to catch some of his warm nectar, but I will end up wearing most of it, the sticky ropes strung across my face like garland on a tree. The milky torrent finally ends, and now Blaine is rubbing the tip of his cock against my lips before walking away, leaving me kneeling there covered with his drying, cooling semen. He returns with a tissue - just one - even though it feels like I need a whole box, and as he dabs the seed from my eyes his voice is soothing. "Sweet Marie," his voice sings. "You're everything you said you were, and everything I thought you were." My eyes are blurry as I watch Blaine walk around the room, his flaccid cock swinging so close to his knees that it makes this seem all the more surreal. I glance down at my beige slacks, and there's a massive wet stain that covers the entire crotch of the garment. I didn't pee. I had cum sometime near the end, the combined result of me trying to rub my thighs together along with the erotic fulfillment of my fantasy, and now I still kneel, unable to find the power in my knees to stand up just yet. Blaine was right, I realized. Right about everything. I was everything I knew, and he sensed I was deep inside, even before we met. I was a teacher, a mother who used to help teach Sunday School for a time and a volunteer for the March of Dimes, just as I had claimed, but I was also what Blaine had suggested and what he had whispered to me after clearing my eyes. "Sweet Marie," Blaine had concluded. "My sweet little slut. What a naughty girl you can be." So there you are... This is the woman you at literotica will know as MarieProvost. Maybe you already know me. Who knows? Maybe you're married to me and reading this story not knowing who wrote it. You can call me whatever you want. Leave any comment you choose to make at the end here. I believe in the freedom of speech and won't edit or remove anything you write, because you're entitled to your opinion. I do hope you get it right though, because if you didn't then that means I've failed as a writer. I'm not a BBC (didn't know that was anything but a radio network before last week) and not a cheating wife. I'm a woman who has fantasies just like you do, and most likely just like your own spouse or girlfriend (and boyfriend too ladies) does. My fantasies, however, are not about an entire genre or race but instead are centered on one fascinating individual, the man who this story is dedicated to. It's not love. It's lust - lust for man who I will likely never meet, which might be the way it's supposed to be. To a man whose words and mind are even more sensuous and stimulating than his cock, and that's really saying something, I thank you. Thank you, Blaine, for making me come alive again through the magic of your mind as well as the beauty of your body, and thank you all for reading this story.