23 comments/ 96289 views/ 45 favorites Full Page Spread By: Odeon Bethany didn't write this story and that is the greatest tragedy of all. She'd earned a scholarship to UCLA for journalism and poetry, and the one short story she allowed me to read struck me as sensual, razor-sharp and pure genius. It was frighteningly angry, but also vulnerably deep. If she wrote the story you're reading now it would've been a work of art both loved and hated, but ultimately loved, as Beth was. Hopefully I've captured a fraction of her spirit, we'll see. She stopped writing in her second semester at UCLA, deciding her teachers were full of shit and losing a scholarship. Her sister, who I always found to be jealous of Beth and quite nasty about it, suggested Beth try modeling, since no matter how badly Beth fucked up, she'd always be too pretty for her own damn good. That's roughly the same time I met Beth, and to my knowledge she hasn't written anything since. So this is Bethany as I knew her, unpredictable, sexy, opinionated, strong, poetic, passionate, and wife. About eighteen months ago, after fighting horrible Labor Day traffic leading into Santa Monica, I came home to find Beth tapping a pen on a glass desk, transfixed on my computer screen. She was dressed in her thin white sweats but had apparently skipped yoga class. "Beth? Everything cool?" "No it isn't cool. Look what Sherri just sent me." On the monitor glowed a professionally lit picture of Beth laying face down on a pool table with her ass raised in the air. She wore a pair of black lacy panties with eight-ball graphics centered over her butt. Her ass took up most of the frame with her torso hidden behind, making it impossible to tell if she wore anything else. Her head lay off to the side, her black hair hanging partially over her face, and she stared back at me with steely blue eyes and a far from innocent smile. In the background stood the out of focus mid-section of a man wearing a suit and holding a full shot glass. But the overtly sexual focal point was her gorgeous juicy ass in the tight eight-ball undies. I grew hard the instant I saw it. "I knew when I let that huge asshole talk me into this shot it would end up going to print. Brad pushes it, and I'm not the only one who says so. If I give him a little cleavage he asks to lose the whole top. So the one time I let the jerk 'try something a little more exciting' this is what happens." "What's Sherri say?" "She thinks it's great!" Beth threw the plastic pen at the monitor. "She says it's nice to see me loosening up, and that it should be a huge boost to my career." "Is she right?" "It doesn't matter––she's supposed to have my back." Sherri is my wife's lesbian agent and has continued to represent my wife despite Beth's reputation of being difficult to work with. Looks-wise, my wife is well aware she's out of everyone's league, and typically behaved icy cold towards any man bold enough to flirt, which photographers like Brad loved to do. She also got a little soapboxy whenever they nudged the shoot in a sexual direction, and I can only imagine how annoying that was. On one occasion she violently scribbled lipstick all over her own face and affectively ended the session. It's not that Beth had real issues with men­­––trust me, our sex-life was sound and there were several lovers before me––it's more or less she felt competitive with them, and hated being trivialized into a pretty face and cute tits by a masterful photographer executing his vision. "Look, Sherri loves a good ass as much as I do. Face it––you have a great ass, take pride in that." "Really? Well Sherri sent the type that goes with it. Read it!" The shot was intended for a Svedka Vodka ad, and the top line would read, 'It's you're shot!' and then continued at the bottom of the page, 'Take it!' "OK, its suggestive, but-" "Suggestive? People are going to open up a magazine and see a full page invitation to fuck me." I laughed, which didn't help the situation. "Look baby, you have the most deep seductive eyes, like a poet's, every shot of them makes me want to fuck you, too." That's not the same and you know it." "Maybe not, but I still think you're making more out of this than you need to. And like Sherri says, you're getting a bit of a reputation so this might help alleviate it and line up a little more work." "So you're totally OK with––well like Parker staring at this when it goes to print." Parker was my big macho friend and boss who really liked to talk up the ladies. "I'm fine with that." "Really?" She suddenly smiled, totally holding back laughter. "And what if he took it into the bathroom and pulled out his disgusting little worm and started jacking off and making that monkey face he makes every time he says 'Let's get it on!'" Beth could barely finish without completely cracking up. "I'm not even going to entertain that thought." "What if he tells you about it afterwards? 'Oh man, Beth's ass looked so righteous in that ad, I had to totally stroke myself!" We were both cracking up now. "This is precisely why you freak out over stuff like this––you think every man behaves like a Viagra stuffed horn-dog." "But if he did, you'd be fine with it?" "Yes, because it's my shot, not his, and I'm taking it!" I picked her up and carried her laughing into the bedroom as I took one last look over my shoulder towards her picture on the screen. Damn I wanted that ass in a bad way, and the lucky man I was, I soon had it! I quickly pulled off her jeans and tossed her on the bed. I then jumped on top of her and made out for a minute before grabbing her leg and posing her like the ad. In an effeminate voice I used the words of Brad the photographer. "Let's try something a little more exciting, shall we?" "Very funny, but Brad is more of the Parker type." I slapped my hands on her tight butt cheeks. "He's all muscle and gross, fake-baked tan, and he can barely keep it in his pants long enough not to hit on every model he works with." "Really?" I yanked her underwear down. "I guess that makes sense, only a straight man could truly grasp the beauty of your booty." I then spanked that beautiful booty to accentuate my point. "Goddamn I love your ass." I leaned down and bit it, and bit it hard enough to make her yelp. "The photo has you a little worked up, does it?" "If you only knew." I quickly buried my face between her cheeks and feasted on her creamy snatch. The thought of my feisty wife submitting for a photo drove me wild. She laid face down, ass up, and totally surrendered to a devouring of her lady parts. As I brought her towards orgasm I stopped just long enough to ask a favor––let the ad go through. And when she surprisingly agreed to it, my dick turned full-on concrete. I quickly dropped my pants and stuck my cock in her juicy little depot, making her hum like she'd sunk into a warm tub. "You really are all the same. Even my own husband sees me as nothing more than some hot piece of ass he can stick it in." I pumped her doggy style as hard as I could and teased back, "You cook a pretty good meal, too," I was always horny for my wife, but that Svedka Vodka photo turned me into a real sexual deviant. As a result we did it almost every night for two weeks straight, and then another straight week when the ad finally went to print. Full Page Spread I woke up suddenly, finding myself sweaty and hard. I went to my suitcase and pulled out the Playboy I'd packed. It fell open to the ad for Svedka Vodka, featuring my wife on the pool table. I then waited three hours for it to turn nine on the west coast so I could phone her. My dick grew hard again the instant I heard her voice. I confessed to staring at her picture at that very moment, and then to having had a dirty dream about her, although I kept the details a mystery. I was surprised to find her receptive to a little nasty talk, so I asked her to pose like she had in the picture, but totally naked. She gave me some shit about it, but she finally complied, or at least said she did, and then fingered herself towards orgasm as I jacked off, squirting come across the glossy page adorned with her eight-ball undies. I was stuck in Maine another two days, and again found her tolerating a little long distance role play, even when asked to imagine her hands tightly tied behind her back. I can't explain how exciting it was to hear her cooing into the phone as I thought of my dream. It brought on such elation to have my wife submit to my kinky desires, that on my last day I bought her a stylish green vinyl jacket and boldly purchased a pair of handcuffs. In person it was too embarrassing to even bring up our phone calls, let alone the idea of handcuffing, so I waited until after dinner, slipped them into the pocket of the green jacket, and laid it on her pillow to discover. As I said, my wife is not the submissive type, and when she found the handcuffs in the pocket she rolled her eyes and dangled them in front of her like a dirty condom. "Are you kidding me?" I smiled guiltily. "Surprise!" Luckily for me she found them more amusing than offensive and we kidded back and forth until she finally asked for the keys. "This is what I get for letting you have your fantasy phone sex, huh?" I pulled the keys from my night stand and tossed them over. She held them in front of her. "So let's try these out." She jingled them when I didn't immediately offer over my wrists. "You don't trust me?" I actually didn't trust her, she had way too much mischief in her eyes, but I also wanted to call her bluff. Quite frankly, it didn't matter who wore the handcuffs, it was turn on enough having my wife explore her sexual side. I put out my wrists, and she brought the handcuffs underneath them––then stopped. "You should remove your shirt first." I did as asked, and she openly stared at my chest. "That's better." She took hold of my wrists and I felt her hands tremble, and that slight tremble instantly transformed our roles. I felt stronger than ever. My half naked body was seriously turning on my hot model wife, and I congratulated myself for spending so much time in the gym. She decided it would work better if she cuffed me behind my back, and I tried not to smirk at her growing uncertainty. I suddenly realized it might be the first time she'd ever initiated sex between us, and openly craving cock must have been awkward after constantly mocking my gender's inability to keep it in their pants. I compliantly turned around and brought my hands together over my butt. Again she brought the cuffs up to my wrists and stopped. "Aren't you going to resist a little?" I pulled my hands away, which met zero resistance as I slipped free of her grasp. She grabbed them and tried to reposition them for cuffing, but when I lightly struggled again my hands broke free a second time. I've playfully wrestled with my wife before, and for a skinny little girl she puts up a pretty good fight, so I could only assume she'd allowed me to get free. I wrestled her arms, and only when placed on the defense did her battle grow spirited. But for a guy who benches reps of ten with two-hundred even, it didn't take much to pin her on the bed and cuff her hands behind her back. "You huge ass, you better hope I don't get free or you're sooo going to get it." I spanked her butt and then raised it enough to pull down her skirt. She fought against it, but only for show. "Oh my god, you are such a pervert. Let me go!" "Don't make me gag you." "This is totally what I get for stepping into my husband's fantasy." I striped off her blue panties in one hard yank. I then balled them up and shoved them in her mouth, cutting her off mid sentence. From then on she was all mine, and oh the terrible things I wanted to do. I spanked and kissed her bottom, and relished the idea of sticking my pinky into her ass, but feared it would genuinely upset her. After turning her over and unbuttoning her shirt, I helped myself to her precious little titties. My tongue met her lithe nipples and circled delicately. But soon her legs hung over my shoulders and I drove her pussy like a prize fighter pinning her to the ropes. She spit out her underwear, which could have been done at any point, and came hard for her man. I watched her body squirm. Her knees were trapped over my shoulders, her hands trapped under her body, her shirt flipped open so her tits jostled freely, and her black hair streaked against her sweaty face. I almost cried she was such a beautiful sight. One thing became clear, even though she couldn't admit it to me or even herself, this was now as much her fantasy as mine. I couldn't exactly call my wife submissive, but she definitely took to being restrained. The bratty bitch in her liked it rough. For all her outspoken girl-power competitiveness, being overpowered in the bed made her cream herself crazy. Full Page Spread Her pussy looked so gorgeous that I couldn't figure out what to do to it first. I started with my finger, gently circling the lips and finally breeching the gates into the warm stuffing box beneath. With my other arm I managed to get her whole ass into something like a head-lock as I fingered her harder. Her pussy was mine, and my perverse imagination crashed against the forefront of my mind like the sea into a shore line of rock. I reached over and took the pink vibrator from her night stand. I stuck it in and worked that pussy over good. Then I took notice of her precious bottom, and images from my dream brought up the biggest wave of perversion yet. With her ass high in the air and in my complete control, I slowly worked the pink plastic vibrator into her butt. What can I say, it had to be done. A third of the way in I let go and her tight sphincter held it in place, so it poked out like a flagpole on the side of a building. I stepped back and stared. It was beautiful. I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Beth was bound and gagged, her ass jutting upwards, round youthful and flawless, and vulnerably presented for my perverse mischief. Then there was the vibrator, glowing with the red evening light from the window, like a marker indicating her ass had been claimed, manhandled, desecrated. I was suddenly compelled to say something a little mean. "Betcha Brad would love to photograph this." It caused her to lose it and freak out. With her belted hands she tried to pull the other belt free from her mouth. I quickly moved beside her and unfastened it from the back. The belt fell, she spit out the balled up panties, and then she really let me have it. "That's the best you can do? Tie a girl up so you can stick a stick in her butt and stand around completely full of yourself? Is that what it takes to feel like a man?" I was stunned. Maybe I'd gone a little too far, but still. She hadn't moved, she remained on her knees with her ass in the air, vibrator and all. "Pathetic! Why don't you get it over with and just stick it in your own ass already." I lost it then, grabbed the vibrator and pushed it further in. "Shit! That's it––let me know how you really feel." I did! I began to jam the vibrator deeper, then in and out. I fucked her ass with our little plastic friend like a madman. Finally I jammed it all the way in. "Oh fuck! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" I grabbed her hair and yanked back her head as I furiously worked the pink rod in and out. Our pink friend was thin, smooth and lubricated, the flesh of her asshole was slick and oily, and welcomed the speedy trespasser with quivering solidarity. It glided through her sphincter so smoothly the flesh didn't fluctuate with the motion, it stayed as still as a hole in a wall with Pinky darting through. She was speechless, and probably coming. I was agitated, confused and totally out-of-control excited. For the first time in our marriage I understood Beth's insanity. My own heart had become that of a poet's, and sights, sounds, yearnings, pain all flowed through me in wild passionate rhythms, and satisfying the rhythms took precedence over reason, which screamed for me to stop. It dawned on me how close I'd come to recreating my dream, the dream where Beth played the hot assassin who paid dearly for her profession with her ass. And from out of nowhere I remembered the old rich man who bought the super yacht, the one with enough cash to buy anything. He played a part in this somehow. As my thoughts returned to my wife's behind and the slender pink rod inside it, I suddenly had a premonition of how my obsession would play out, in fact, it seemed to have all happened before and every detail had been seared into my brain. I feared for my wife and myself, but a torrent of passion drove me forwards. I gradually lost interest in the vibrator and flipped her over for a fuck. I trapped her bound hands over her head, and kissed her with an open mouth. Her legs locked around my butt, and I came with our cheeks pressed together, watching the last of the light fade behind our thin rose patterned curtains. Twilight left the room blue and dark and the vibrator was hidden in the shadows on the floor. I rolled off her, undid the belt around her wrists and she immediately hugged me and proceeded to curl up into my lap. I held her like a child, caressing her hair and kissing the top of her head. She wouldn't speak and wouldn't let me go. She needed to be cuddled, and so I held her for close to an hour. Our demons had been vanquished, and the sex and shouting and insanity now seemed eons ago. The entire house turned pitch black. I kept her safe as a calm peace settled over both of us, and for a moment I lost my obsession, and let go of the old rich man, Brad the photographer and my troubling dream.