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My Wife, My Slut

By: Sabian316



We had discussed it several times during sex. Watching my wife Cari taking another mans cock inside of her has been a fantasy of mine for the ten years we have been married. Laying in bed, I would imagine her naked, on her knees while some stranger grabbed her short brown hair and forced his throbbing tool down her throat.

Many times in the heat of the moment, she would indulge me by talking dirty to me. Describing how she would love to bend over, take some guys rigid cock in her wet pussy and then suck her juices off his member until he shoots his hot come all over her face.

Unfortunately, reality would soon rear its ugly head. She had told me several times that she would never really go through with it. She didn't think that there was any place for group sex in a loving marriage. She felt that if I loved her as much as I claim, then I would never be willing to share her.

How does a husband explain that it has nothing to do with the way I feel for her? That's just the way I am. After about 10 years of marriage, I decided that if it was ever going to happen, it would have to be something that is unplanned. It would have to happen at the spur of the moment. 

Little did I know that the "moment" would occur that Saturday night.

Cari and I had just finished putting the kids to bed. I turned down the lights and we adjourned to the sofa for a night of movies. I had slipped into a pair of shorts and a t shirt. She stayed in her jeans and sweater.

Both of us were feeling a bit frisky. We playfully fondled each other, not really watching what was on TV. Sitting behind her, I had just slid my hands up her sweater and starting teasing her hard nipples when there was a startling knock at the door.

Cari and I both jumped and looked to the door. My best friend John was peering through the window, grinning with the knowledge that he had just interrupted us.

I slid off the couch and opened the door.

"Hey Bub," I said as he strolled in.

"So...what are you two up to tonight?" John asked.

"Nothing special, just watching movies."

I grabbed 2 beers from the refrigerator. Opening both I handed one to John. He then sat down on the couch next to my wife and teasingly put his arm around her. 

He asked how she was, and she responded with the usual "Just fine."

I stood next to the couch as they sat there. We must have spent about an hour chit chatting about whatever. Still feeling frisky, I slowly tried to stand closer to Cari. I kept inching closer to her until I was standing directly in front of her.

John and I kept talking as I started to slowly run my fingers through her silky hair. At times I would slowly try to draw her head closer to my shorts. The first few times she would pull away as if nothing was happening. 

Finally, Cari looked up at me and said, "What are you doing?"

I responded by saying, "Aw, nothing. I was hoping you would...you know..."

"Suck your dick?" she finished for me.

"Well..."

"Yeah," John spoke up. "I wouldn't mind seeing such a pretty girl giving head."

Cari smiled nervously. I could tell that she was a bit embarrassed. She slowly grabbed my cock through my shorts and started to stroke it slowly.

I broke eye contact with her, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable. Soon she had reached up with both hands, and pulled my shorts down to my knees. A few more strokes, and then she slowly started licking the shaft of my rod with her tongue. I looked down to see her saliva coating my steadily growing dick.

I saw John from the corner of my eye shifting in his seat, jockeying for a better viewing position.

It wasn't long before Cari had taken my entire cock in her mouth. I don't know if she was lost in the moment, or just showing my friend that she knew how to give good head. Whatever it was, it had caught me completely off guard. 

I motioned for John to stand next to me. He looked at me puzzled for a second or two, and then figured out what I was thinking.

John got off the couch and stood next to me. Cari looked at John and then at me. She let my cock fall out of her mouth as she reached for John's zipper. After his fly was down, she unbuttoned his jeans and reached in his pants. Soon her hand emerged with John's rigid member. 

She immediately started slurping on his cock. It was about 7" long and fairly thick, about the same size as me. Cari for the moment had completely forgotten about me. She was totally engrossed with sucking off my best friend. All I could do was stare eagerly.

After a few minutes, I decided to take this a step further. I reached around Cari as she was blowing John and unsnapped her jeans. By now I was expecting heavy resistance. Instead, she started to squirm out of her pants as I pulled them past her hips. Next I reached for her sweater. She released John's cock just long enough for me to pull the sweater over hear head and expose her perky A cup breasts.

There was my darling wife. On her knees wearing nothing but a black thong, sucking another mans dick.

John and I quickly disrobed. John sat down on the couch as Cari crawled over to him. Her mouth went back to the business at hand. 

As her head continued to bob up and down in Johns lap, I slid behind Cari, pulled down her thong and slowly put my cock into her now dripping cunt.

Slowly, I began to slide my pecker in and out of her hole, synchronizing my thrusts with her movements. Finally I was living out my fantasy of having a slut wife! But this was only the beginning. 

I pulled out my cock, and lay on my back underneath of her. I grabbed Cari by the hips and pulled her hot pussy down on my face. I began licking and sucking wildly. All the time, looking up, watching John's penis spread my wife's lips apart. By now, she was completely deep throating him.

After what seemed like an eternity, I stood back up and told John to fuck my wife. Quickly, John and I switched positions. Now I was on the couch getting a first class blowjob, while John moved behind my lovely slut wife.

He had a little trouble getting his cock in her hole. She stopped sucking me momentarily as she grabbed his cock and guided it into her cunt.

Immediately John started to fuck Cari like a madman.

"God! I've wanted to stick it in your wife for so long now!" said John.

Minutes turned into hours as we fucked and fucked. We eventually all wound up on the floor. John lay on his back with Cari squatting backwards on his cock. I crawled up to them. Supporting herself with one hand, she took her free hand and grabbed me by my hair. She forced my head between her legs and ordered my to lick her cunt while John fucked her for all she was worth.

I was a bit nervous about this. My tongue was only an inch away from another mans dick. I'm not gay or bi, so this didn't particularly turn me on. But since Cari was doing all this for me, I guess I owed her at least this much. 

I began to lick her pussy, trying to match the steady rhythm of their thrusts. I could smell the musk from John's cock as it disappeared in my wife's snatch.

Seconds later I was completely into it. Sucking and licking her clit, totally ignoring John. Then it happened. In mid thrust, John's dick slipped out of her pussy and into my mouth. I don't know if he was aware of it or not. Regardless, he kept thrusting, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth. My first instinct was to pull back, but for some reason I hesitated. Cari looked down to see why John's cock wasn't inside of her. 

For a moment, the look on her face was complete shock. Embarrassed, I was ready to spit out John's dick. Then she smiled at me and stroked my hair, encouraging me to continue. Cari moved aside and I knelt between John's legs and continued sucking him off. My wife sat next to us, rubbing her clit. 

I must have ignored her for too long. She looked up and said to me, "Are you just going to suck your best friend's dick all night or are you boys going to be men and come all over my face?

"Sounds like a challenge to me," said John. Both of us stood before her as she sat on the floor. She began to take us both in her mouth at the same time, licking and sucking as our cocks rubbed together.

It was not long before I saw John begin to tense up. I looked down to see him filling my wife's mouth with his load. I could see she was trying to swallow it all, but what seemed like a gallon of come started running down her chin and neck, quickly making its way between her small tits.

The sight of this drove me over the edge. My cock erupted, spraying her face and neck. 

After John and I had gone soft once again, she rubbed our come over her tits, as if applying lotion.

We all got dressed and went to the porch for a cigarette, laughing about what had just happened.

While John and Cari chatted, I was hoping in my mind that the old adage was true: "Once a slut, always a slut."

My Wife, My Slut



I was 15 when my father caught me early one evening smoking a cigarette out behind our barn. 

For a long second, he just stared at me with those steel-blue eyes of his. 

"Smoking, huh?" he spat finally. "Come with me, boy." 

I knew I was in for it, because the only time he'd ever addressed me as "boy" was right before I got a whipping, which hadn't happened in almost two years. 

As I pulled myself up from where I'd been sitting, I made up my mind that it wasn't going to happen this time. When you're 15, you're no longer a boy, but you're not quite a man, yet you think you are. And in the time since I'd last gotten a spanking, I'd matured, growing almost to my current height of six feet tall, and I was muscular from working on the farm and from the weight program our high school football coach had started. 

No indeed. I bowed myself up and decided that I wasn't going to take a whipping, that if Daddy tried, I'd fight him. I was pretty sure I could take him, since I had a good three inches and about 25 pounds on him. 

But he didn't go into the barn, but stalked toward the house. He looked back over his shoulder once to see if I was following, and when I kind of hesitated in uncertainty, he hollered again. 

"C'MON BOY!" he yelled in that tone that told me I'd best do as he said. I trotted up behind him until he walked in the back door, where he told me to wait outside. A few seconds later, he came out with his keys and his wallet and told me that we were going to town. I was a little puzzled, but did what I was told. We got in his pickup truck and headed off to town. 

We drove until we came to the nearest store, where he went in, then returned carrying a pack of cigarettes, Camel non-filters, and a box of matches. I started to get a little uneasy at that, because I had an inkling of what he was up to. I was right, and after it was over, I wished he had just whipped me. 

He took the pack, opened it, fished a cigarette out, handed it and the matches to me, and ordered me to light up, as he turned the truck toward the highway. I fired it up, and when I went to puff on it, he growled at me to, "inhale the damned thing." 

Now I'd been experimenting with Marlboro Lights, so you can imagine the effect the harsh smoke of the Camels had on me. That first wave of smoke attacked my lungs like a knife in the belly, and I coughed and hacked my way through that first one. When I was finished, he pulled out another one and told me to smoke it. I struggled through that one, with difficulty, and he handed me a third one and a fourth one. By that time, my head was spinning, I was dizzy and light-headed. 

I made it through a fifth one, but I had only gotten a couple of puffs into the sixth one, when I croaked for Daddy to, "pull over." He'd just gotten the truck stopped on the side of the road when I threw the door open and puked all over the place. 

I thought he'd take pity on me, but he made me struggle through six more of those Camels, during which time I got sick twice more. By the time he finally let up, I was dry-heaving and crying like a 6-year-old. Only then did he soften up. 

"Now, son, if you want to smoke, I can't stop you," he said. "But I wanted you to learn that tobacco is poison and it'll kill you." 

The lesson worked, because I never touched another cigarette. In fact, to this day, I get a little nauseous in the presence of any kind of smoke and any kind of tobacco. 

That incident kept running like a bad memory through my mind as I sat at my kitchen table that Friday night trying to come to grips with my suddenly-tattered marriage. 

A few hours earlier, I'd walked in on my wife in bed - our bed - with a young pissant loan officer from the bank where she worked. My emotions were in utter turmoil as I tried to figure out how it had happened, why it had happened and what I was going to do about it. 

I was hurt beyond belief, angry and desponent. The thing was, I still loved her, and I think she still loved me. If I didn't love her, I wouldn't have cared, and if she didn't love me, she wouldn't have dissolved into whimpering guilt when we sat down afterward to try to start piecing our lives back together. 

Let me explain. Claire was - is - the love of my life. We met the first week of school at the community college where we'd both gone. I was captivated by her looks and apparently she felt the same way about me. She's pretty, maybe not cheerleader-model pretty, but plenty good-looking, a brunette who has always worn her thick hair fairly long, usually just past her shoulders. She's a little taller than average, maybe 5-7, and nicely built, with a butt that's got just the right amount of meat and a healthy pair of tits in the 36C range. 

We were compatible with each other from the first time we went out together, and fell in love in no time. Even then, however, Claire showed a couple of character traits that would get her in trouble. One was that she was very naive, and the other was that she was pretty easily led. She came from a very small town and had lived a very sheltered life. And she's always been quite shy, although she's gotten a little less so over the years. 

On the other hand, I'd been around a little, which sounds odd for a guy who grew up on a farm. But I'd played all the sports at my high school, which kind of exposes you to a few different aspects of life. And while I may have grown up on a farm, I went to a high school that had been consolidated from the smaller schools in the county. So this was a pretty big high school, around 1,100 in grades 9-12. 

I graduated from junior college with an AA degree in business, and went on to a larger college, but my heart wasn't in it. I was tired of school and I wanted to get married, to Claire. So not long after we turned 21, we did. She continued on to get a teaching degree, while I went out looking for a job. 

Turned out, businesses weren't beating down the door for a guy with an AA degree whose grades were only so-so. When nothing good materialized, I swallowed my pride and took what I could find. Growing up on a farm, I'd learned all about machines, and I could tear down and rebuild a car engine in under an hour. So I went to work as an auto mechanic. Not very glamourous, but I quickly learned that a good, honest mechanic can make a very nice living. 

Claire went to work as an elementary school math teacher, while I worked for a succession of auto repair shops, until after about 10 years, I was managing one. After 12 years of teaching, Claire got restless, and she had a standing offer from one of the banks to work as an assistant VP, so she quit teaching and went to work for the bank. 

Along the way, we had three children, a daughter, Cindy, who's now 17, and two sons, Matthew, 14, and Alex, who's 12. They're good kids, well-behaved, and I give a lot of credit for that to Claire. 

About the same time, I began to look at myself, and realized that while I was doing well, I wanted more. I wanted to branch into other areas besides auto mechanics, and I was tired of working for the other guy. I wanted to own my own business, and six years ago, the opportunity presented itself. 

A rental business went up for sale, and I jumped on it. With Claire's help, I worked up a sound business plan and took it to her bank. We ended up getting a loan at a favorable rate to buy the company's stock, and rent on a location in a fast-growing area of our city. The business proved to be a big success. I may not have been an A student at junior college, but I absorbed a lot of knowledge on how to run a business, and I applied it to mine. We rent just about everything: wet-dry vacs, water pumps, electric generators, lawn mowers, weed-eaters, karaoke machines; you name it, and we can get it. 

I didn't think that way at the time, but looking back on it, I have to accept my share of the blame for what went wrong. I was preoccupied with work, and I've never been a particularly demonstrative person. I figured since I told Claire I loved her, helped provide for her and was a good husband and father, that that was enough. For her part, she always had a hard time articulating what she wanted out of life, and kept a lot of things inside. She'd never complained, so I figured everything was fine. 

Our sex life was OK. We made love about once a week, usually on Sunday afternoons, which was the only day I took off from work. I'd been with a few girls before I'd met Claire, but I was the only man she'd ever had. We weren't terribly adventurous, but I thought we kept each other satisfied. Turns out I was mistaken. 

Things started going wrong about six months before the Friday night I caught my wife cheating on me, which was the first week in September. Claire turned 40 in March, about six weeks after I did. Turning 40 was no big deal to me, but it seemed to devastate Claire. She insisted that we not have any kind of party, and only the minimum of acknowledgement of the date, no gifts, just a card. 

For the next two months, she was miserable, depressed and irritable. She thought she was getting old and in the way. I kept telling her that she was just the same, and to snap out of it, but she just stayed in a funk. 

Then, one night early in May, her bad mood abruptly evaporated. I mean, she did a complete 180, and was bubbly and cheerful like I hadn't seen her in a long time. That should have been my first clue. About once a month for several years, Claire and a group of girls from her office would meet for a Girls Night Out, and have a few drinks. Nothing major, just a social deal designed to improve morale. 

Well, Claire came home from this particular night out looking like a schoolgirl who'd just been asked out by the star quarterback on the football team, which wasn't too far from what had actually happened. 

From that point on, Claire's whole demeanor changed. She was upbeat and started getting fussier with her appearance, and, since it was summer, her attire began to get a little more showy. It was nothing too obvious or flashy, but it was noticeable. And she started going out, "with the girls," more often. At first, it was once a week, then once a week plus Friday or Saturday night, then it was twice a week, plus a weekend night. And she started coming home later and later. Before, she'd be home by 10, 10:30 at the latest. Suddenly, it was midnight, 12:30, sometimes as late as 1 a.m. 

I didn't quite put it together at the time, but the first time she cheated on me was on the Monday of the Fourth of July weekend. Claire was invited to a pool party at the home of a co-worker, since they had the day off. I always open the store on those long weekend holidays, because I've learned from experience that guys with a day off like to get honey-do projects done, and since it is a holiday, I like to give my people the day off. 

So Claire went to the party without me. She came home about 8 o'clock that night, looking exhausted and fairly drunk. She said very little to anyone, but went upstairs, showered and crawled in bed. The next day, she was fine, though, and I just figured she'd been bedraggled by a full day in the hot sun and lots of wine. 

Things started going downhill quickly after that. Two or three nights a week, including every Friday or Saturday night, Claire went, "out with the girls," staying out way past midnight. The bars close in our city at 2 a.m., but there were nights when she wouldn't come home until nearly 4 a.m. The first few times, I didn't wait up for her. I figured she was a big girl and could take care of herself. Plus, I usually had to get up early the next morning and open the store, so I'd go on to bed. 

But about the fourth time it happened, around the second week of August, I waited for her. Even a blind man could see that something was going on, and I decided it was time for a confrontation. She stumbled in around 3:30 that Saturday morning, and I wasn't very nice. She was drunk and looked disheveled. 

"Where in the hell have you been?" I asked sternly. 

"I dinnit feel like I could drive, so we wen' out for breffast," she slurred. I knew it was a lie, so I called her on it. 

"Where'd you go? Who went?" I demanded. 

"Wen' to IHOP, and it was all of us," she answered defensively. "Look, I'm tarred, an' I jus' wanna get a shower n' go'd bed." 

She turned and trudged upstairs without another word. I didn't want to cause a scene and wake up the whole house, so I just turned and followed. She was in the shower when I got upstairs, with the bathroom door locked, which I thought was odd. When she came out, she was already dressed for bed. She just looked at me, and I think she was actually considering spilling the beans, but then she pushed past me, flopped into the bed and was snoring within just a few minutes. 

Well, there was no way I was going to sleep after that, so I made a pot of coffee, then came back and inspected the laundry hamper. She thought she'd been clever, because she'd washed her panties, I suppose, in an attempt to remove semen stains. But the fact that she'd done it at all spoke for itself, and when I put the crotch to my nose, I thought I could still detect the faint odor of cum. 

I wasn't sure, though, so I kept quiet, and Claire was a little more her old self the next week. Funny thing, we kept up our weekly Sunday ritual sex, and it actually got a little better. She was far more active than she had been, which I now saw as another red flag. Still, she stayed home every night that next week, because that was the first week of school. 

But on Tuesday the following week, she went out, and while she was home by midnight, she had that exhausted, just-fucked look. Then she went out again that Saturday, and when she finally straggled in about 4:30 in the morning, I was waiting up for her, and we had a terrible row. I caught her before she got into the bathroom, and tried to get my hands in her pants, but she fought me off and slammed the bathroom door. As she ran the shower, I could hear her sobbing over the running water, that's how distraught she was. She was between a rock and a hard place, and it was eating her up, only I was too centered on my own pain to realize it at the time. 

Nevertheless, when she came out I was the picture of calm. The only thing I said was a question. 

"Claire, are you having an affair?" I asked, knowing the answer. She looked away and shook her head no. 

"Please don't lie to me," I said. She turned and looked at me with pleading eyes. 

"Mike, I'm tired," she said. "Let me go to bed. We can talk in the morning." 

But we didn't. I slept until noon, and she slept until almost 2:30. Several times that day, I wanted to bring up the subject, but it seemed like the kids were always around, and I just wasn't in the mood to fight. And I also wasn't in the mood to fuck. Besides, I'd decided that I was going to catch them in the act, and deal with it head-on. I was pissed that somebody was horning in on my wife, and I was pissed at Claire for falling for it. 

So I set them up, and they rose to the bait. 

The first thing I did was talk to a guy I bought electronics from. Being in the rental business, you run across people who sell all kinds of gadgets, and this fellow dabbled with surveillance equipment on the side. He had just what I needed, a telephone tap. I also bought a pair of binoculars and a digital camera with a big zoom lens. I installed the wiretap, with a tape recorder, the next day while the house was empty. 

Claire went out that Wednesday night, and after she left, I decided to follow her. She'd said they were going to Chili's for dinner and drinks, and I wanted to see if she was telling the truth. She was, but it was still an interesting evening. I saw her car parked there, so I decided it was time to be aggressive. I walked in and they were there, six of them. There was Claire, with four of her female friends and a young guy about 30. 

I knew the moment I laid eyes on him that he was the one. He was sitting quite close to Claire, and she was laughing at something clever he'd said. Just then she saw me walk in, and the whole table went silent. Claire's face turned white, and the guy looked worried. But I was acting gregarious. I pulled up a chair, wedged it in between lover boy and my wife, and plopped down. 

"Hi, y'all," I said with a big grin on my face. "I've been hearing about all the fun you've been having, so I thought I'd join you. Hope I'm not interrupting anything. Hey babe." I wrapped my arm around Claire and gave her a big kiss, then bought a round of drinks. Claire was clearly uncomfortable, but she managed to recompose herself. 

"Mike, I think you know everybody here, except Billy," she said, pointing to the guy. "This is Billy Stewart. He's a loan officer for the bank." 

"Pleased to meet you," I said as I shook his hand. I was smiling big, but it was a mirthless smile, and he knew it. And I kept my eyes right on his, until he looked away. 

After our drinks came, I looked around at the slightly-pained looks of the others at the table, and I piped up again. I was giving an Oscar-winning performance. 

"Now, don't let me ruin y'all's fun," I said. "Drink up." 

A desultory conversation ensued as the group picked at their drinks. After finishing his, Billy stood up and said he thought he'd better go, and one of the other girls decided to bug out as well. As they were leaving, Claire pulled me aside and whispered harshly in my ear. 

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. She was angry now, and that pissed me off as well. "Are you checking up on me?" 

"I sure am," I said, still smiling the same fake smile I'd had plastered on my face the whole time. "What? Are you ashamed to be seen out in public with me?" 

"No, but, well, this is supposed to be a night just for the girls," she said. 

"And, apparently, a guy," I said pointedly. Claire just looked away, so I turned back to the table, and engaged the remaining women in some conversation. I bought another round, during which time Claire and I spoke not a word, then everyone decided that the heat in the room was too high and they called it a night. 

When Claire got home, just after I did, and we were upstairs getting ready for bed, I hit her with the question. 

"So, is that the guy?" I asked. 

"What guy?" she answered, with a catch in her voice. 

"Never mind," I said.

I crawled into bed, rolled over facing the wall and tried to sleep. After awhile, Claire moved close to me and put her arm around me, trying to pull me close to her. 

"Mike?" she asked in a small voice. "Do you love me?" 

"Of course I do," I answered, still facing the wall. "The question is, do you love me?" 

"You're my husband," she said. "Yes, I love you." As I finally drifted off to sleep, I thought I heard Claire crying softly into her pillow. There would be a lot of that in the coming days. 

The next day, I broke the news that I was going to Dallas the next weekend for a major electronics show. I'd been before, so it wasn't a total fabrication. I said I'd be leaving the next Thursday and be back on Sunday. 

Nothing much happened, until Saturday, when my tape recorder picked up a call. Afterwards, I waited until Claire had gone to the store, giving me a chance to check the tape. It was quite revealing. 

"Hello," Claire said. 

"Hey," a man's voice said. 

"Billy, I've told you not to call me at home," she said. 

"Come on, honey," he said. "Your redneck husband's not home. I checked. He's at his little store." 

"That store is his life," she said. "Just because he's not a college graduate, don't put him down. He's a smart man." 

"Yeah right," he said. "Anyway, I want to see you. Tonight. I missed your hot little pussy the other night, because of your dumbass husband." 

"Billy!" she said. "Stop talking like that! Look, I can't see you tonight, or any other night. This has to end. I can't keep doing this behind Mike's back." 




My Wife, My Slut



"You mean, you don't want any more of Billy's big, fat cock, making that hot, sweet cunt purr?" he said, smoothly. I was doing a slow burn. The motherfucker was good, but he was too sharp by half. "You don't want Billy's long tongue licking your clit and making you cum over and over and over?" 

"Oh God, Billy, don't," she said, and I could tell from her voice the she was getting turned on. "You know I love how you fuck me, but I can't. He knows, Billy. You may think Mike's a country hick, but he's not stupid, and I'm telling you, he knows." 

"Listen, bitch, I don't care whether he knows or not," Billy said, now sounding threatening. "You want that raise you've been expecting?" 

"Are you threatening me?" Claire said. 

"No, no," he said, knowing he was doing just that. "But you know my father is the president of the bank, and, well, if you're not nice to me, it would probably get back to him, and, well, I know how much you need your job." 

"Look, Billy, I can't meet you tonight," she said. "But next week, he's going to Dallas for an electronics show. Maybe we can get together then." 

"Well, I guess," he said. "He'll be gone Friday? You know, you've never invited me to your house. Maybe we could christen your bed the same way we christened mine a while back. Remember?" 

"Billy, what about the kids?" she said. 

"Don't they have a football game that night?" he said. "Be the perfect opportunity..." 

"We'll talk later," she said. "Look, I've got to go." 

"OK, see you Monday," he said. "Love ya." 

"Yeah," she said, hanging up. 

This was like shooting fish in a barrel, I thought. But there were a lot of things about the call that concerned and angered me. One was his threat to hold back her raise if she didn't come across with sex, another was her reaction to his smooth patter. She was showing a carnal side that I'd never seen. Finally, it was clear that she was trying to break it off, that she didn't like cheating on me. Of course, I really didn't focus on that; I was zeroing in on the fact that they had confirmed my suspicions, and besides, it was a little late to be feeling guilty. And I was absolutely steaming at the way he'd talked about me. It was clear that he considered himself my superior. I'd cure him of that notion soon. 

Nevertheless, the next afternoon, we spent a good two hours in bed, and it was some of the best sex we'd ever had, although it served to drive home the point that Claire was cheating on me. For one thing, she was the aggressor, which was way out of character. And she spent a lot of time sucking my cock, which she'd never liked to do before, and I returned the favor, something else she hadn't particularly cared for in the past. 

Afterwards, it would worry me, but for one glorious afternoon, we put everything else aside and concentrated on the moment. I think she came about eight times, and I managed to get it up three times. We were sweaty and exhausted when we finally finished. I think if we had fucked like that all along, none of this would have ever happened. 

I left the house early Thursday, with my bag packed as if I was going out of town. In fact, I got a motel room along the interstate, then dropped my car at my old friend Carl's repair shop. I got him to drive me to a car rental place, where I rented a cheap black two-door. I had also brought along my laptop, so I could download whatever pictures I took of Claire and her boyfriend for future use. I also went to an ATM and got several hundred dollars in cash. 

I was in position to follow Claire about 6 o'clock that night. Our house sits at the end of a cul-de-sac, with woods all around. I could ease my rental car into a spot where I could see the front door of my house without my being seen. 

About 7:30, Claire came out, and my heart fell to my stomach. She was dressed in a clingy sleeveless black dress, and was heavily made up, with 4-inch high heels. As I trained my binoculars on her, I noticed something else. Her plump tits were dancing on her chest, clearly unfettered by a bra. I was hurt and angry that my wife was dressed to the nines for someone else, not me. 

I followed her into town to a popular dance club, where she strolled to the door. She hesitated for just a second as she got to the door, as if reconsidering her action, then she pulled it open and went inside. I was in luck as far as watching the door was concerned. There was a coffee shop across the street, so I sat down where I could see the front door of the club quite clearly. 

I waited... and waited. I probably went through a dozen cups of coffee, three cinnamon twists, and read and reread every newspaper they had until finally, a little before midnight, I saw her come out. I was slightly stunned when she did, because not only was she with Billy Stewart, but also with another man, and they both had their arms around her shoulders and she had her arms around both of their waists. She was clearly drunk, but she also looked almost giddy. 

I followed them all the way across town until they came to a seedy motel in a slightly-rundown part of town. It wasn't the 'hood, but it was close. I pulled up to a curb on a side street and snapped some pictures as Billy got out, went inside to rent a room, then came back and drove around to the back of the building. I waited a few minutes, to give them time to get going good, then drove to the front of the motel, parked and went inside the lobby. 

There was an older man, around 55, behind the counter. I walked up to the counter and asked him about the man that had just come in. 

"Um, maybe," he said warily. So I pulled out the roll of bills from my pocket, peeled off a hundred and slid it across the desk. "Comes in about once, maybe twice a week with this broad, good-looking brunette. They get the same room every time, number 123. They usually stay about two or three hours, and, let me tell you, he fucks her good. She's a screamer. Why'd you wanna know? 

"Oh, her old man thinks she's fucking around on him, and he paid me to follow her," I said, trying to keep a jovial tone in my voice. "Look, you think you might let me wander back there and take a peek?" 

As I asked, I slid another hundred across the desk. 

"Uh, I dunno," he said. "I don't want no trouble." 

"Oh, I won't cause any trouble,'" I said, pushing another hundred in his direction. "I'm just going to take a look around, see if I can get a few pictures, maybe listen in a little bit. 

"OK," he said, finally. "But if the cops come around, you're on your own." 

"You let me handle the cops," I said. "Thanks. Who knows, you might get something extra out of the deal." At the time, I wasn't sure why I said that, but I guess I was already subconsciously thinking about Claire's punishment. 

I walked behind the building, and as I got closer to Room 123, I could hear Claire in the throes of utter ecstasy. When she gets really hot, she gets quite vocal, and she was going through the whole songbook at that moment: cries, screams, moans, and lots of "Oh God, fuck me!" I took a few pictures of Billy's car parked at the seedy motel, including shots from behind that showed his license plate in the foreground and the motel room door in the background. 

As I looked at the room, I saw that the curtain on the window wasn't quite closed, leaving about a half-inch gap through which one could see into the room. With my heart in my throat, I crept to the window and peeked in. The sight I saw in that moment will be burned in my memory forever. 

I thought I was prepared, but nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Every light in the room was on, giving me a clear view of Claire being sandwiched between Billy and another man. Billy was on his back driving what appeared a very large cock into Claire's pussy from underneath, and the man behind her was steadily pumping a slightly-smaller dick in her ass. 

I just went numb. On several occasions through the years of our marriage, I had tried to coax Claire into anal sex. I had always liked a little anal stimulation as an enhancement to sex, and I wanted her to try it. But Claire had always adamantly refused, saying I was too big (I'm about 7 1/2 inches and quite thick) and that it was too dirty. But here she was in a sleazy motel letting some guy she'd probably never met before that night have what she'd always refused me. 

And was she ever loving it. Claire's body was a live wire of tumbling orgasms as they worked her between them. She was cumming in waves of pleasure as her two lovers worked their cocks back and forth, in and out of her clenching holes. I was mesmerized as I watched the guy in her ass pull out, revealing a solid 8-inch dick. 

Then he pulled her off Billy's cock, and I was stunned to see Billy holding up a cock of at least 9 inches, maybe more. The other man flipped her around, while she got her feet underneath her, then she slowly slid Billy's cock into her ass. I was utterly amazed as she took every bit of him, all the way to the root. She started working her body up and down on his cock, her head thrown back in absolute crashing lust, while she rolled her fingers around her clit and opened up her already-distended cunt. The other guy grabbed Claire by the hips, drove his cock into her and together they fucked her like a machine. 

Suddenly, I came to the realization that my own cock was hard, painfully so. The sight in front of me disgusted me, but it also excited the hell out of me. Then I remembered the camera, so I pressed the lens to the gap in the window and shot several shots of the trio writhing on the bed. 

I could hear the pitch of Claire's vocals climbing higher, and I could see the two men working their cocks faster and harder, and I knew they weren't far from climaxing. Sure enough, Claire went into full-body convulsions as the two men delivered their cum loads deep in her body. I could see the buttocks of the man on top clenching with each burst, and I could actually see the cum oozing from Claire's ass around Billy's pistoning stick. I took a few more pictures, then slipped away. 

I was in a daze as I drove back to my motel, my cock still twitching from what I'd seen. I stopped and bought a six-pack of beer on the way back to the room, then sucked every one of them down, one after the other, as I stared at the dark TV screen. 

I still slept fitfully, but the beer did help. I woke up the next morning with a little bit of a hangover. I'm not much of a drinker, and guzzling down six in a row had hit me pretty hard. I spent the day in the room, downloading the pictures I'd shot the night before. And as I did, my cock responded the same way it had outside the motel room. Finally, I got on the Internet, found some gangbang porn and jacked off, the first time I'd done that in years. Then I did it again. I couldn't believe I was so turned on by watching my wife act the slut, but I was. 

After an afternoon nap, I prepared for the big night. The son of a bitch was going to fuck my wife in my bed, "to christen it," as he put it, but it was going to be costliest piece of ass he'd ever had. This was the night I confronted them, and the pictures I would take would be much clearer and make it much more obvious what he'd been doing, what they had been doing. 

Because at that point, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to see Claire again after that night, other than in divorce court. I just didn't know what I was going to do. One thing I did know, however. Lover Boy was going to be lucky if I didn't beat his sorry ass to within an inch of his life. 

I was in position, ready to go at 5:30. Claire came home, looking very bedraggled, from which I got a grim sense of satisfaction. Cindy and the boys left for the football game a little after 6 o'clock, and about 6:20, Billy Stewart drove up and parked right in the driveway, like he owned the place. He swaggered to the door, carrying a box of Chinese carryout and a bottle of wine, and Claire answered it, dressed in shorts and a tight t-shirt, again with no bra. 

Billy tried to be smoochy, but I noticed that Claire was just a little standoffish, and simply ushered him in and closed the door. I shot pictures with the long lens from the time he pulled in the driveway until the door closed. 

I waited about 45 minutes, to give them time to eat, drink and be merry. I wanted to catch them in the act, and I had a feeling it was going to take them a little while to get going. Claire had looked tired and not at all enthusiastic, so I figured it would take a little cajoling and a good bit of wine for him to coax her into bed. 

Finally, I decided that it was time. I had the camera, without the big lens, around my neck as I walked through the woods to the back of the house. I quietly unlocked the kitchen door and slipped in. As I did, I was struck by how I was sneaking into my own house, and I thought that it was a good thing I didn't own any firearms. Over and over, the line from that Lynyrd Skynyrd song kept running through my mind: "Two feets a-come a-creepin', like a black cat do. Two bodies a-lyin' naked, creeper think he got nuthin' to lose." 

Their meal was strewn all over the kitchen table, along with the bottle of wine, which was two-thirds empty. As I crept into the living room and headed for the stairs, I could hear Claire already getting warmed up. 

"Oh yeah, baby, fuck me with that big fat cock," she wailed. "Unnnnnnnhhhhhh! Ahhhh yeaaaaaaah!" Bile rose in my throat as I listened to her lewd patter, and his too. 

"Oh yeah, you like Billy's big cock, don't you," he said in a low tone of voice. "You want to give it up, but you can't. Can you?" 

"No!" Claire cried. "God, just shut up and fuck me, you bastard!" 

The bedroom door was cracked a few inches wide, and I could hear everything. I had just the right moment in mind, and as I heard them hit the short strokes, him grunting furiously and Claire wailing like a banshee, I got ready to move. 

As soon as I heard Billy gasp, "I'm cumming," I burst through the door, snapping a continuous series of pictures with the motor drive. I shot for about 10 seconds, and what I got was priceless. In fact, if it hadn't been such serious business, it would have been funny. Claire screamed bloody murder, and Billy whipped his whole body around in astonishment. As he did, his dick flopped out of Claire's pussy, sending cum flying everywhere, mostly on Claire's belly, but also on the sheets and on the floor, before he stumbled off the bed and fell on his back in his haste to get away from me. And I got all of it on camera, including Claire's cum-filled, wide-open pussy. 

Then I slung the camera around my back, stalked into the room, grabbed Billy Stewart by his hair and dragged him toward the door, scooping up his clothes as I did. I stuffed his clothes under an arm, pulled him to his feet, grabbed one of his butt cheeks and frog-walked him out the door, down the hall, down the stairs until I got about six steps from the bottom. Then I planted my right foot in the small of his back and booted him the rest of the way onto the floor, where he fell hard and ended up sprawled on his back on the floor. 

I threw his clothes at him, walked right up to him, knelt down, put a choke hold on his throat and got right up in his face. I think they both thought they were going to die, especially Billy, who was so scared he peed all over himself. 

"If I ever catch you within a hundred yards of my wife again, asshole, I'm gonna cut your nuts off and feed them to you," I hissed. "And that includes that bank, which is soon to be your former employer. I'm gonna ruin you so badly you'll wish you'd never heard of me. Now get the fuck out of my house!" 

"Y-y-you got to let me get d-d-dressed!" he said in a terror-struck voice, after I let go of his throat. 

"NOW!" I yelled, and when he started fumbling with his pants, I gave a snort of disgust and stormed into the kitchen. I picked out the biggest knife I could find and stalked back into the living room. Even in my rage, I was lucid enough to know not to use it, keeping foremost in my mind that this cowardly bastard wasn't worth going to prison over. 

But it made a nice, effective threat, because when he saw me stride angrily into the living room brandishing that knife, he hobbled hurriedly to the door as he frantically tried to pull his pants up and put his shirt on. He ran out the front door, me in hot pursuit. He climbed into his Caddy, and just to give him something to remember me by, I slammed my fist onto the hood of the car, putting a huge dent in it. He drove off screeching down the street and, as it developed, out of our lives. 

Now it was time to deal with my wife. I stomped back upstairs and into our bedroom, still wielding the knife. Claire was white as a ghost, cowering in the bed with the sheet pulled over her body, and her eyes were like saucers. I just stood in the doorway and stared at her. 

"Mike, please don't hurt me," she whimpered. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said finally, putting the knife on the dresser. "I'm your husband. Remember? Get cleaned up, get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We have issues to discuss." 

When I got downstairs, I picked up the wine bottle and guzzled it down in one big gulp. It seemed to calm me down a little bit, and I sat down and thought about what I was going to say. Claire came down about 15 minutes later. Her hair was damp, and she was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I noticed too that now she was wearing a bra. She sat down at the table opposite me and just looked down at her hands, which she was twisting back and forth. She looked very tired. 

"I'm so sorry," she said finally, in almost a whisper. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Are you going to ask for a divorce?" 

"I don't know. Should I?" I said. 

"NO!" she said emphatically. "No. It may not look like it right now, but I love you. I always have." 

"Then why, Claire?" I said. "Why? What did this clown offer that I didn't. I'm your husband, damn it. That's supposed to be me up there." 

"I thought you were in Dallas," she said. 

"Claire, for someone who is supposed to be an intelligent person, you can be so stupid sometimes," I said. "I never went to Dallas, never intended to go to Dallas. I set you two up, and you walked right into it. You knew I knew, and yet you did it anyway. Why?" 

"I think maybe I wanted to get caught," she said, still speaking in hushed tones. "It may be the only way I could have gotten rid of him." 

"Hell of a way to do it," I said. This was getting us nowhere. "OK, I want the truth. I want you to tell me everything, especially why you did it." 

And she did. As I suspected, Billy had started coming onto her that night in May, when she'd been so down about being 40. He'd flattered her, told her how sexy she was, made her feel like she was 20 again. He'd put the full-court press on her, and she'd bought it, every last bit of it. In the meantime, I was spending too much quality time at the store, we weren't going out much, our sex life wasn't fulfilling, etc., etc. I wasn't giving her the kind of emotional support she needed and she wasn't equipped to ask for it. 

Again, as I suspected, he'd finally succeeded in seducing her at the pool party. She'd gotten drunk, they'd played around all day, getting hotter and hotter, then they had slipped into the host's basement, where he spent a good hour fucking her. 

"Please don't be offended, but it was the best sex of my life up to that point," she said. "He did things to me that I'd never had done to me, took me to places I'd never been. You know I didn't have any experience with men when we met. I guess I was just looking for something different. I wanted to see what other men were like." 

That was the phrase, on top of everything I'd seen those two days, that set what followed into motion. For some reason, it pissed me off. She wanted to see what other men were like, by God, she'd see what other men were like, and then some. 




My Wife, My Slut



"I wanted to end it," she said finally. "I was getting tired of being his whore. He was starting to make me do things I really didn't like." 

"You mean like fucking his friends?" I said, sarcastically. Claire's eyes widened at that. "I know all about what you did last night, and I have the pictures to prove it. I've been taping all of your phone calls for the past two weeks, so I know a lot about what you've been up to. I also know he was blackmailing you, and I know you wanted out. That's the only reason I'm even thinking about forgiving you and taking you back." 

Claire got a hopeful look in her eyes at that, but I dashed those hopes real quick. 

"But not right now," I said finally. "We may be able to get past this, but not right now. I'm not going to make any hasty decisions one way or another. My mind is in such a turmoil that if I decide anything now, I'll regret it. I need time to think things through rationally. We have three children to think about, and 19 years of marriage to consider as well. I'm not going to throw that away lightly, not like you have. But, hear me on this, Claire. If, by chance, I do decide to take you back, there will be some kind of punishment. I'm not just going to welcome you back and forget what I've seen the past two days, what I've heard the past two weeks. I don't know what it will be, but it will be something." 

"Mike, I'll do anything, anything if you'll forgive me and let me be your wife again," she said. "Please?" 

"We'll see. First, here's what we're going to do," I said. "I have some business to attend to tonight. I'll be gone about an hour. When I get back, I expect you to be gone. We need some time apart right now. I can't look at you without seeing you sandwiched between those guys, without seeing you with Billy Stewart's cum all over your body. Let me know where you'll be, and I'll be in touch. Claire, I love you, but right now I don't like you at all." 

Then I left. I walked back to the rental car, drove to the motel room, packed my things, checked out and drove back to the house. When I returned, Claire was gone and the kids were back from the game. I sat them down and told them that some things had happened between their mom and dad, and that Mom had to go away for awhile, possibly for good. The boys were shaken, but Cindy almost had a serene look on her face. 

"This wouldn't have anything to do with all that going out she's been doing lately, would it?" she said, when the boys went up to their rooms. I just nodded, so she continued. "I'm sorry, Daddy, I didn't know how to approach you about it. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't want to interfere in your lives. I'm sorry, I should have spoken up. But sometimes, you're just so hard to get to. It's like you get in your own little world and tune everything else out. I know it frustrates Mom to no end." 

"Then why didn't she say something?" I said, in exasperation. 

"Daddy, she holds everything in," Cindy said. "She's so... so shy that she doesn't know what to say, so she doesn't say anything, and she bottles everything up inside. And I think it finally just burst through in the worst possible way." 

Then she hugged my neck, kissed my cheek and went up to her room, leaving me to brood in silence. Claire had written me a short note, so I opened it and read, "Mike, please understand how truly sorry I am that this has happened. I've been unspeakably selfish, and it may cost me the only thing that has any value in my life. I love you more than you will ever know, and I will live with the pain of knowing how badly I've hurt you for the rest of my life. I will do ANYTHING if you will forgive me. Love, Claire." 

Again, there was that offer of anything if I would forgive her. That's when the images of my dad and the cigarettes kept floating through my mind, and almost before I really articulated what I was going to do, I was running over a list of people who'd be good for what I had in mind. In my anger, in my pain and in my thirst for revenge, I kept gnawing on one thing Claire had said. 

"I wanted to see what other men were like." 

Before long, I had a piece of notebook paper and was writing down the names of men I knew and could trust, men who were free of drugs and disease, men who could be counted on to keep their mouths shut. 

I was going to give Claire more other men than she could handle. I was going to give her men, sex and cum until she was sick of them, just like my father did with the cigarettes. And then, hopefully, she'd never want another one besides me again. 

Of course, there was the possibility that she wouldn't want me, either. Or, conversely, there was the possibility that she'd decide she liked being a slut so much that she'd make it her lifestyle. In either case, I told myself, I'd know one way or another, and then we could simply make a clean break of it. 

I was simply around the bend over this, and I wasn't going to let it rest until I'd extracted my revenge, regardless of the cost. 

The first thing I did the next morning was finish downloading the photos from the previous night into my computer. I put everything, the best photos and copy of the phone conversations between Claire and Billy onto a CD-ROM, then called Mr. Fenton, the president of Claire's bank and Billy's father. I told him I needed to meet with him that day on a matter of grave importance to his company. 

We met at his office, and I laid it on the line. I showed him everything and told him that if Billy Stewart showed up for work at Claire's bank on Monday, I was taking my lawyer to the EEOC and we were filing a sexual harassment claim against the bank. Apparently, he believed me, because Billy Stewart never came back to the bank. As far as I know at this point, he's vanished. Good riddance. 

Later that Saturday, I sat down with my best friend Newt to drink a few beers and watch some football. I told him what was going on with Claire and what I was considering as her punishment in the event I decided to take her back. Newt and I had lined up next to each other on the football team, me at tight end and him at right tackle, and we've watched each other's back ever since. He's also an incorrigible ladies' man who has been married twice, and he was hip to what I had planned. 

"You know, I never would have expected it from Claire," Newt said. "She's always been so quiet and nice. But... I hope you don't mind me saying this, brother, but I've always thought she was hot, and if you weren't my best friend, I'd have made a play for her a long time ago." 

The upshot was, he would help me organize Claire's gangbang, if that's what I decided to do. And over the course of the next week I mulled it over. The truth is, I wanted her back. I still loved her and I still needed her, both as wife and mother. I quickly found out that running a house with three teenagers (well, two teens and one almost-teen) was no day in the park for a single man with a business to run, and I found myself calling Claire both at work and at her sister's, where she was staying, asking about this and that. 

And yet, every time I said to myself that I wanted her back, I'd think about what she had done, and my anger and pain would flare up. In my state of mind, I couldn't just let her come back, everything forgiven like nothing had ever happened. So I made up my mind that she would have to make restitution if she was to come back. She had said she would do anything if I would forgive her, and anything is what she would have to do to earn her way back into my good graces. I would have my revenge, then we would see where we were. 

So Newt and I spent the next three weeks setting it up. I stopped by to the see the old man at the motel, and told him that the wife I'd been investigating had agreed to do, "a party," if I would keep her affair a secret from her husband, and I wanted to reserve Room 123 for the first Saturday night in October. We contacted some 35 friends and acquaintances, and 27 indicated they'd come. That wasn't enough for me, so Newt found a local swinger's website, and we put up a personal ad. 

"SLUT WIFE," was the header, and the text read, "Cheating wife needs a HARD lesson. ISO approx. 35 men 21-and-over for gangbang. Prefer 7-inches-plus, will consider fat 6-inchers. MUST be disease-free. Interested candidates should come to the Best Western Exit 125, Room 112, 9-25 from 6 p.m. until midnight. Bring current valid DL and recent blood test results." 

We ended up with almost 150 men of all ages. About half, we rejected out of hand for one reason or another. Either we didn't like their looks, they didn't have the right cock size or their blood work was questionable. We finally ended up with 33 who were clean, reasonably sober fellows with the kind of equipment we needed. 

We contacted them by e-mail that read, "Congratulations, you have been chosen to participate in slut wife's lesson. Party starts 10 p.m. next Saturday at the Kings Inn, Room 123. Beer and bottled water will be provided, no hard liquor, please. As for drugs, we can't control what you do before you arrive, but any attempt to consume illegal substances on the premises will result in immediate expulsion and possible arrest. Also, any rowdy behavior will be treated in like fashion. We will have two off-duty policemen on hand to enforce these rules. We look forward to seeing you Saturday." 

Before I sent out the e-mail, though, I had to make certain we were going to have a party. I called Claire and asked her to meet me for dinner on Tuesday. I was waiting in the bar when she arrived, and I couldn't help it; my heart did cartwheels. Although we had talked on the phone a number of times over the previous three weeks, we hadn't seen each other since the night she left. She had dressed up a little and done her makeup, and she looked good. 

She did not, however, look well. She appeared a little wan and it looked like she'd lost a little weight, like she wasn't eating or sleeping real well. Funny thing, she said the same thing about me, and I realized that I hadn't slept a night through in weeks, and that my jeans were just a little looser than before. I was OK during the day when I had work to keep me occupied, but at night, alone in bed, I could feel the weight of my pain, my anger, my responsibilities and my thirst for revenge. 

We had a few drinks and talked about how things were going, then, after dinner, I looked across the table at my wife. This was a critical moment, and we were walking a fine line. I wanted her to be agreeable to what I had planned, but not too eager, and I wanted to be forceful, but not too pushy. 

"Claire, can I ask you something?" I asked. She nodded, so I went on. "Did you enjoy being Billy's slut? Because it sure seemed like it to me." 

"Mike, I..." she began, hesitantly. "It took awhile, a lot of wine usually, to get me to the point where I could enjoy sex like that. But once I got there, once he got me drunk and started working on my libido, yes, I enjoyed it. I was like a kid in a candy store, enjoying all these new sensations, all these new experiences. With you and me, sex was nice and loving, but with him, it was wicked and mindless. He used me, and for the first time in my life, I got into that." 

"When I saw you that night at the motel, with him and his friend, had you done anything like that before?" I asked carefully. Claire looked down at the table, like she was ashamed. 

"Yes," she said quietly. "Remember the Saturday night when I stayed out almost all night, and we had a big fight? You tried to feel in my pants for cum, I guess, and I was frantic not to let you, because then you would have known what I'd done. Billy invited three of his friends to join us, and they all fucked me, more than once. The second time, they took turns filling me at the same time, and I couldn't stop cumming. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced. But when I got home, sobered up a little bit and saw the hurt on your face, it broke me. I realized that I was becoming a slave to his perverted fantasies, that he was sucking me into something I really didn't want." 

I nodded, ignoring my cock, which was stiffening in my pants at the image Claire had painted. I then told her about the incident with my dad and the cigarettes, and that afterward I'd never wanted another one. Claire looked at me funny as I got to the heart of the story. I think she knew where I was going. 

"Claire, I've about decided that I want you back," I said. "In spite of what you did, I still love you, and I still need you. But I still can't get around what you did. My pain and my anger has festered up inside me to the point where I need revenge of some sort, and I think the way for me to lance this boil on my heart and for you to get all this 'other men' business out of your system is to take my dad's cure for smoking and apply it to your new sex life." 

"What are you saying, Mike?" she said softly. "What do I have to do?" 

"You have to be my slut, for one night," I said. "In order for me to take you back, you have to do whatever I tell you to do, suck whoever I tell you to suck, and fuck whoever I tell you to fuck. You're going to get an overdose of other men's cocks, an overdose of cum, until, hopefully, you're sick of them. Then, and only then, can we purge ourselves of this mess and get on with rebuilding our relationship." 

"You're asking a lot," she whispered. 

"I know, but you said you'd do anything if I would forgive you," I said. Claire looked down at her hands, and twisted her wedding ring around as she mulled over my proposal. It was a devil's bargain, and she knew it. But she wanted to come back to me so badly, wanted to try to get things back to where they were before, that I knew she'd say yes. I could see it in her eyes. 

"Just one night?" she said. 

"One night," I said, nodding my head. "We'll start about 6 o'clock in the evening, and go as long as you hold up, for no more than 12 hours, or until I think you've had enough." 

"Mike, I don't want to get hurt doing this," she said. 

"Claire, you know I'd never do anything to hurt you physically," I said. "If I had wanted to harm you, I would have done it the night I caught you in my bed with Billy Stewart. I promise, anyone who cums in you will be screened, both for behavior and for clean blood work. There won't be anything terribly kinky, no bondage or pain or anything like that. Just sex, and lots of it. I'll make every effort to make it as pleasurable as possible for everyone." 

"I did say I'd do anything," she said, a wry smile creasing her face. "Who knows, I might enjoy completely letting myself go for one night. OK, I'll do it, but you had better keep your word." 

So it was done. As we left the restaurant, we hugged again, and this time we kissed, and even slipped each other some tongue. 

"Mike, I love you, and I trust you," she said. "I know I betrayed you by cheating with Billy. Please don't betray me by letting something bad happen to me." 

Claire was already at the house when I got home from work around noon that Saturday. Usually on Saturday, I closed the store at 2 p.m., but about a year ago, I had hired a young man to be my assistant, and since the business with my wife had arisen, I'd given him more responsibility. 

I showered and dressed, then packed the small bag of extras I planned to take along. We left the house around 2 o'clock to get some dinner and get ready for the big night. Claire kind of arched her eyes when she saw that I had borrowed Newt's convertible for us to drive around in. 

We ate a nice dinner, although we were both too nervous for a big meal. I insisted that Claire have a spinach salad, and I had pasta. She also had four glasses of wine, and was starting to get tipsy when we left the restaurant around 4:15. After a stop at a liquor store for two bottles of her favored chilled white wine, we headed across town to the motel. It was a perfect day for an orgy, hot and muggy - sultry, I believe you'd call it. A cold front was expected to come in sometime overnight, but I hoped it would hold off until morning. 

Claire sort of caught her breath when she saw me pull into the King's Inn, but I just looked at her with a serious look. We got the room key from the woman working the desk, and proceeded to Room 123. We both stood at the door for just a second before I put the key in. I think if she had said right then that she didn't want to go through with it, I'd have let her off the hook. But she didn't, and we went inside to get ready. 

The first thing I wanted Claire to do was get cleaned up, inside and out. That was one reason for the salad I'd had her eat, to give her some roughage to help clear her bowels. From the special bag I'd brought, I pulled out a Fleet's enema and told her to go into the bathroom and use it. She gave me a querulous look, so I told her how things were going to go. 

"Claire, your ass is going to get fucked tonight," I said. "By me and a lot of others. I want you clean as a whistle up in there. Just do it." 

She wasn't very happy, but she took the box and retreated to the bathroom. I think that was the point where it finally sank in to her that this was going to happen, that I was serious about treating her like a slut. As she sat on the stool doing her business, I opened a bottle of wine and poured some into one of the plastic glasses. I knocked on the bathroom door and handed it over, telling her not to get into the shower just yet. 

When she was finished with the enema, she called me in, and asked me what I wanted. I poured her another glass of wine, then I brought out a small pair of scissors and one of these new-type women's shavers. I ordered Claire to spread her legs, and when she did, I began to trim back her pubic hair. She has a thick, black bush to match her thick, dark hair, and while I didn't want it shaved, I did want it trimmed, quite a bit. I cut it back short, shaved it away from her legs, then pronounced her ready to shower. 

While Claire was in the shower, Newt showed up with two large coolers, one with beer and one with water and sodas. He also had a bag with some light snacks, chips and stuff. He gave me a big grin as he left, saying he'd be back a little before 10. After finishing her shower and drying off good, I showed Claire some of the particulars of her make-up. I wanted her done up heavily, with bright red lipstick and nail polish. 

I was stunned when she came out of the bathroom all made up. She struck a sexy pose and asked how she looked. In truth, she looked like a $200 hooker, but I didn't say that. She seemed more relaxed, more excited about what we were going to do. I walked up to her, took her into my arms and kissed her deeply. I could feel my cock growing in my jeans, and I was tempted to throw her on the bed and get a quickie. 

But I had something else I wanted to do, and that would have to wait. So I told her to sit in the chair and open her legs for me. 

"Open up your pussy for me," I ordered, and she complied without hesitation. She held her well-exposed lips open with two fingers for me to inspect her pink insides, which were already glistening with her dew. I dropped to my knees and held her legs open. I kept my mouth just inches from her pussy and softly blew on it. Claire groaned heavily and I could actually see the moisture welling up from inside her cunt. Up and down her slit I blew on her until suddenly, without warning, I dropped my lips to her pussy and swiped my tongue briskly up her furrow. 

"Ayyyyyy, God!" she exclaimed as I began to lick, suck and nibble on her pussy. I speared her depths with my tongue, took her swollen clit between my teeth, used my lips to vacuum her labia, I did it all. I worked her over with my mouth, making a meal out of my wife's hot cunt. As I glanced up, I saw her head was thrown back and she was twisting her nipples with her fingers. When she started in with the squeals, moans and cries, and began humping my face, I suddenly pulled away and stood up. 




My Wife, My Slut



"Aggggaaah!' she wailed in frustration, especially when I lightly slapped her hands away from her crotch. "God, Mike, please don't leave me hanging like that." 

"You'll have plenty of time to cum later," I said, as I turned and pulled something else out of the special bag. "Now it's time to get dressed. We're going out. Here." 

I pointed to the bed, where I'd laid out her attire for the next few hours. Claire walked to the bed, then stood there with her mouth open. 

"That's it?" she asked, when she found her voice. 

"That's it," I said, with a wicked smile on my face. The only thing lying on the bed was a new satin kimono I'd bought the day before, blood-red with a dragon pattern, and her 4-inch fuck-me heels. No panties, no bra, no stockings, nothing. 

"I can't go out in this!" Claire cried. 

"You can and you will," I said sternly. "You're going to act like a slut and you're going to look like a slut. Hell, I may just peddle your ass out on 10th Avenue, just for the fun of it." 

Tenth Avenue is our city's red-light district, a pretty dangerous place. My anger and desire for revenge was starting to surface again, and I was deliberately being cruel to her. Sure, I wanted her to get some pleasure out of this, but at that moment I felt I needed to remind her of why we were there, and I did. 

So she put on the kimono, and as expected, it just barely covered her butt. If she bent over or stooped down in any way, most everything below her waist was exposed, and the way it closed did little to hide her pendulous breasts. She could almost look me in the eye when she had her heels on, and the look in her eyes was a mixture of bewilderment and defiance. She was seeing a side of me she'd never seen before, and it had her worried. 

I grabbed the bottle, refilled Claire's glass, wrapped a towel around the bottle and herded her out the door. It was straight up 6 o'clock. Our first stop was on the way out of town, at a gas station that is the last place left in town with a full-service lane. It was an hour before closing time, and the only one working was a young fellow who was either of early-college or late-high school age. When we pulled up and he came out to pump our gas, I whispered to Claire to, "give him a show. When he comes to do the windshield, spread your legs and start playing with your pussy." 

Claire looked over at me with a curious look, then a slow smile creased her face. As the kid began to work on the windshield, she slowly spread her legs and showed her glistening pussy. She circled her clit with her forefinger, then swirled two fingers around between her lips. The poor kid's eyes practically bulged from their sockets as he watched Claire slowly, sensually masturbate. She stared at him with a hot look and pressed her finger to her lips and slowly licked her finger. 

"Call him over to the side of the car and give his cock a big squeeze," I whispered, and she did, beckoning him over and running her hands over the bulge in his jeans. Just then, we all heard the click of the pump shutting off, and the kid had to tear himself away to complete our business. After I paid for the gas, and we took off, we both got a good laugh at the disbelief in his eyes. 

"I'll bet the first thing he did when we left was go in the bathroom and beat off," Claire said. She was starting to go with the flow now, as she was really starting to let herself go. 

We drove out to the interstate and got on, headed south. The moment we got up to speed, I reached under the seat and pulled out my final surprise, a silver vibrator. I told Claire to open her kimono all the way and use the toy on her pussy. She did as she was told, and laid back, with her head back and her front exposed to the world. She started using the vibrator on the outside of her pussy, then began to slip it between her lips. 

She was starting to moan and squeal as she quickly climbed to her peak of arousal, but I cautioned her to wait, wait, wait. Then, as we passed an 18-wheeler, I got up right beside him and told Claire to let it go, and boy did she. She shuddered, screamed and twitched as her long-delayed orgasm ripped through her body. As I sped on past, I heard the blaring of the trucker's horn as he saluted Claire's performance. 

As we motored down the road, on my orders, Claire flashed her tits at a car with a couple of good-looking college students, then at a black guy in a pickup truck. Just then I saw the sign for a rest area, and I prepared to pull off the highway. As I did, I noticed that our trucker friend followed us. I parked the car and instructed Claire to come on, we had things to do. 

Claire got some weird looks from some older travelers and a dirty look from a mother with her two small children. As we stood at the entrance to the hospitality center, I saw the trucker walk up. He was a middle-aged guy, average-sized, with a little bit of a gut. 

"That was quite a show your old lady put on back there," he said, eying Claire up and down. 

"She's much better in private," I said. "How would you like to ease some of that load you got hanging between your legs there?" 

"How much?" he asked. 

"Oh, no charge," I said. "Blowjobs are free." 

Claire just stared at me, but I just ignored her, and when the coast was clear, I ushered her and the trucker into the men's room. I waited a couple of minutes, then walked in. They were in a stall with the door shut and latched, but I could hear plenty. Claire's mouth was making sloppy sounds as she worked it over the trucker's dick, and I could hear him urging her on. 

"Oh yeah, baby, that's it, suck that cock," he said panting. Just then an elderly gent came in, so I shushed them, then walked over and turned on the faucet. He had just left when the two college guys Claire had flashed came in to the use the bathroom. They did a double-take when they saw me and heard what was going on in the stall. Just then, we all heard a grunting gasp from the stall, as the man obviously shot his cum in Claire's mouth. 

The door to the stall opened, and the trucker staggered out, buckling his belt and shaking his head. Claire was on her knees, breathing hard, with a sheen of cum on her chin. I motioned for one of the college guys to go on in, and for the next five minutes his friend and I were treated to the sound of Claire sucking him off. The other guy followed, and while she was working him over, the black guy we'd seen walked in. He too gave me a funny look when he recognized me and heard what Claire was doing in the stall. 

We could hear Claire working harder and faster on the guy, then suddenly we all heard him gasp, "I'm gonna cum all over your face!" Claire squealed several times, apparently in time with the cumshots hitting her face. When the door opened and the second college guy staggered out, Claire's kimono was open, and she had a huge grin on her face, which was streaked with a half-dozen ropes of cum that were slowly dripping goo onto her naked chest. 

"I want to see this," I said as I sent the black guy in for his blowjob. Sure enough, when he opened his pants, he pulled out a long, ebony dong of at least 9 inches, with a gleaming head. Claire's eyes widened, but they also sparkled as she fed his long cock into her mouth. 

"You like what you see, honey?" the guy asked in a Barry White voice. He grinned when Claire nodded enthusiastically. "Let's see how much of this you can take in your hot little mouth." 

She couldn't quite get all of it in, but she got enough. Her cheeks bulged as she sucked that cock, then I had to pull the door closed as another stranger came in to do his business. When we were alone again, the room filled with the sounds of Claire's mouth on his long, black cock, and his voice urging her on. It went on like that for about 10 minutes before he finally came. 

When he left, Claire's chest was heaving, and she had cum dripping from her chin onto her chest. I pulled her up from the floor, and when it was clear, we slipped out of the rest room and walked back to the car. She still had drying cum on her face and on her chin and I could see redness at her knees from where she'd been kneeling on the concrete floor. Her night was just starting to get good. 

As we got back up on the highway, after pouring her a glass of wine, I reached over and felt between Claire's legs, and she was dripping wet. 

"You know, for someone who never liked to suck cock, you've gotten pretty good at it," I said. 

"I really didn't like it, but Billy just laughed at me and told me I was going to learn to be a good cocksucker, and like it," Claire said, with a slightly pained expression on her face. I knew she didn't much like talking about Billy Stewart, and I didn't much like hearing about him. However, as much as I hated his guts, I had to admit that he had found the key to unlock Claire's latent sexuality in a way that had somehow eluded me. 

"Why don't you show me," I said, glancing down at the bulge in my jeans. We exited the freeway at that point to turn back toward home, and Claire took advantage of the opportunity to reach over and unbutton my jeans. I hadn't worn underwear, and my cock flopped out of my pants already half-hard and wet at the tip. 

Claire took it in her hands and softly stroked me up to rock hardness within seconds. I watched as she licked her lips seductively before bending down to put her head in my lap. 

"You know, I never really appreciated what a pretty cock you have. It's just perfect," Claire said just before she engulfed my rod between her lips and began to slowly work her mouth up and down. It was heavenly. Her tongue swirled around the shaft as she sucked me slowly, methodically. I could feel the cum boiling to the surface, but she seemed to sense just how far she could take me without making me cum, and when I reached that point, she'd pull her mouth off my cock and squeeze the base to stem the tide. 

Claire leisurely sucked my cock as we drove all the way back to town, until we pulled off the interstate and she had to wrap me back up. 

"Now, you know what you've got to look forward to from now on," she whispered with a mischeivous grin. "So where are we headed?" 

We were headed for the medium-sized college campus that dominates one section of our city. I had made some inquiries and learned which fraternity house was rowdiest, so that's where we went. The school's football team was playing on the road that day, so there weren't many people on campus. I pulled up in front of the house I'd chosen, parked the car and we got out. 

Two young men were sitting on the front steps smoking cigarettes, and their eyes got real big when they saw Claire saunter over to stand in front of them. 

"Can you gentlemen tell me how many guys are in the house at the moment?" I said pleasantly. 

"Umm, about 10," said the one on our left, a swarthy man about 5-10. "Why?" 

"Well, you see, my wife and I are conducting an experiment," I said, looking at my watch and seeing the time as 7:55. "We want to see how many cocks she can suck off in an hour." The two men looked at each other and grinned lasciviously. 

"I think maybe we can arrange something," the man on the right said. "Why don't you folks come on in." 

The two men escorted us into the house. Several young men were watching a game on TV, but their attention was quickly diverted when they got a look at Claire. 

We went down to the basement game room with a half-dozen men in tow. Just to give the men some visual stimulation, I asked Claire to take off her kimono, and when she did, everyone oohed and ahhed. As the clock struck 8 o'clock, Claire knelt down, reached over, fished out the first man's cock that we had talked to, and went to work. He had an average-sized cock, and he filled her mouth completely. It took him about five minutes before he grunted and filled Claire's mouth with hot, creamy cum, which she swallowed completely. 

For the next hour, I played pool while I watched my wife suck off 15 young men. A few of the younger guys had pretty quick triggers, but the older guys were able to last about five minutes. Most of them came in Claire's mouth, and she was able to swallow most of them when they did. But there were a few whose cum loads were too much, and she quickly had cum that she couldn't quite swallow dribbling down her chin. And a couple of them pulled out and sprayed their cum all over her tits, giving them a slick sheen. 

We finished up right at 9 oclock. Claire was panting, with a kind of wild look in her eyes, and looking down, I could see that she was so aroused that her juices were covering the insides of her thighs almost to her knees. In fact, as we walked, I could see that she was literally dripping cunt juice onto the ground. 

As soon as we got in the car, she begged for the vibrator and I didn't make her wait. I handed it to her, and as we slowly drove toward the campus exit, she flipped it on, pressed the tip to her clit, then pushed it in and began to work it in and out. It took her all of about two minutes before she was writhing on the car seat as a powerful orgasm ripped through her body. 

"I think you're getting into this," I said. I was met by one of the most intense looks I've ever gotten from my wife. 

"You just don't know," she said in a shaky voice. "I am SO horny. When we get back to the motel, I want you to fuck me and fuck me good." 

"Oh I will," I said. But first, we had one more stop to make. 

In order to facilitate this orgy, and keep the rest of the rooms on the back side of the motel unoccupied, I'd had to make a deal with the night manager, and when we reached the motel, I pulled in and parked in front of the lobby. Claire was puzzled when I told her to get out and come inside. 

The old fellow had had a little bit of a shabby appearance about him, but he looked like he'd cleaned up for his encounter with my wife. From the way his hands trembled, I don't think he'd had any pussy in awhile. Claire looked positively mortified when I told her to come behind the counter and into the little office alcove. I tossed the old codger a condom and told him he had about 10 minutes. 

I manned the counter, taking sidelong peeks as the manager bent Claire over a table, dropped his pants, slid the rubber over his stiffie, flipped the kimono up to her waist and rammed his cock into her pussy from behind. He was a little smaller than average and really did nothing for Claire, but she was so horny that she was able to put some zip into her actions anyway. 

Five minutes later, I heard him gasp and I could see his buttocks clench as he came into the condom, and that's when Claire did something that astonished me. As soon as he pulled out, she whipped around, pulled the rubber off the guy's dick, lifted it over her head and let all of his cum drip into her mouth as she walked over to where I was standing, staring at her. Then she grabbed the back of my head and kissed me deeply, giving me a liberal taste of the man's cum. As she did, she ran her hands all over my crotch, feeling my swelling cock. 

"You want me to be a slut, baby, I'll be the baddest slut you ever saw," she said in a husky voice. That was the point when I first thought that maybe this was a mistake, but at that point, I was so horny, I couldn't think straight. 

We left the old manager sitting in a chair with a beatific smile on his face, his pants still puddled around his ankles, and drove to the back of the building. It was 9:30 and things would start hopping soon. We got in the door, and we were on each other like animals, kissing, touching and squeezing. I threw her one article of clothing off to the side, Claire kicked off her shoes and quickly got me undressed. She lay back on the bed and spread her legs wide, running both hands between her pussy, opening her wet folds. 

"Mmmmmmm, c'mon, Mike, c'mon down here and fuck me," she whispered. 

"Uh, uh," I said, as I lightly stroked my cock. "On your knees, baby." 

Obediently, Claire got up on her knees, her ass in the air. I crawled behind her and dipped two fingers into her molten pussy, circling them around as if I was stirring a boiling pot of soup. Then I took the dripping fingers and pressed them to her anus and slowly rimmed her backside until they slid in slowly, and I began to work them back and forth in her ass. Claire looked over her shoulder sharply when I started working on her ass, so again, I felt like I needed to explain what the deal was. 

"Listen, you never let me the times before when I wanted to fuck your ass," I said, in a strong, emotional voice. "But you let Billy Stewart and his friends have it, so now it's my turn. I'm gonna fuck this ass whether you like it or not." 

She just sighed and lowered her head as I pulled more of her dew onto my fingers and began to work them harder and faster in her ass. 

"Go on," she said. "I don't care. Just fuck me, Mike, fuck me anywhere you want. Just fuck me." 

And I did. Claire even helped by reaching back with her hands and pulling her butt cheeks open. I pressed the purple head of my cock to her slick opening and pushed. As soon the head popped past her sphincter, I grabbed her hips and rammed my cock into my wife's ass with all the force I could muster. 

Claire howled as I immediately set out fucking her ass like a madman. It felt like a hot velvet vise gripping and squeezing my cock as it burrowed back and forth in her butt. Claire was moaning, screaming and thrashing about in ecstasy as she quickly got up to speed, pushing her ass back to meet my incoming thrusts. She reached under her body and began to furiously strum her clit, playing it like a maestro. 

"OH FUCKING JESUS!" Claire yelled as she humped her ass back on my pistoning stick, her fingers a blur on her bloated clit. "FUCK MEEEE!" 

I bent over slightly and filled both hands with Claire's swaying tits, squeezing them in rhythm to my pounding strokes in her ass. 

From out of my peripheral vision, I saw the door open, and Newt and two other men entered the room, but I was so preoccupied, I just ignored them. My cock was in overdrive as I squeezed my eyes shut and gritted my teeth trying to hold back my cum. Claire, though, wasn't holding anything back. She was close, close, close, and with a loud scream and a gasp, I felt her whole body shudder as her climax crashed over her. 

I tried to hold it back, but when Claire's twitching caused her rectum to squeeze my cock in spastic motions, I lost it. I yelled out as I felt something like barbed wire explode out the end of my cock. I basted her bowels with about 10 hard blasts of white-hot cum, and we shimmied and shook as our orgasm slowly began to recede. 

I slowly pulled my wilting cock from Claire's ass and got a huge charge out of the way her hole stayed open for a fraction of a second before closing. And I watched as my cum dribbled out of her ass over her pussy. 

I got off the bed then and shook hands with Newt and his two cop friends, Richard and Dooley. Richard was a stocky fellow with flaming red hair, while Dooley was a tall black man with a shaved head. Both looked very muscular. I opened Claire's second bottle of wine and poured her a glass as she rolled over onto her back and greeted our guests. 

"I guess you guys get to be the first to fuck me," she drawled as she took a big gulp of wine. "Newt, you've always wanted a piece of this. Why don't you come on down here and slide that fat fucker right on in my hot, little pussy." 

As she drained her glass of wine, Claire lay back, put a hand between her legs and opened up her dripping pussy for inspection. Newt finished undressing, and his cock was like an iron rod. I'd seen his cock a few times in high school, but never hard, and it was impressive. It wasn't any longer than mine, but it was noticeably fatter. He got between Claire's wide-splayed legs, pushed the head of his cock to her pussy and slowly worked it past her lips. 




My Wife, My Slut



As soon as Newt's cock made contact with the inside of her cunt, Claire started a keening sound of pure animal pleasure, a sound that turned to a growl when he pushed the rest of it in as far as he could. He quickly established a brisk, but steady fucking pace in my wife's hot box, and she was on a fast train to another major climax. She humped her hips up to meet his inward thrusts, moaning, squealing and yelling for him to, "fuck me harder!" 

Richard and Dooley leisurely undressed, and we all sort of gasped when we saw the equipment they were packing. Richard's cock was as fat as Newt's, only an inch or so longer, but Dooley had a truly awesome cock. It wasn't nearly as fat as Newt's or Richard's but it was long, nine, maybe 10 inches. He stroked that thing a couple of times, and I could see Claire's eyes widen. 

She sort of beckoned him over with one hand, beckoned them both over. Dooley got on the bed, on her left side, while Richard got on the right. Claire stared at Dooley's cock, lightly stroking the ebony dong, then lifted her head and licked a ball of pre-cum off the end of his dick. She licked all over the head, then slid that big, black fucker past her lips until she had a little over half of him in her mouth. She sucked on Dooley's cock for awhile, then turned her attention to Richard. She had a little trouble with the fat head of his cock, but finally got it and about half of his cock in before she couldn't take any more. 

All the while, Newt was happily banging Claire's pussy with absolute abandon, and Claire was responding in kind. She had her legs wrapped around his waist and was pulling him to her with each thrust. 

Just then my attention was diverted as guests began to arrive. I served beer, water and sodas, and told the men they could strip now or wait until it was closer to their turn. Someone turned on the TV to watch a football game while they waited. 

On the bed, Newt was close to his nut strokes and he was pounding Claire's pussy hard, until he stiffened and shot his cum deep in my wife's pussy. Claire wasn't quite there, but she didn't mind, because she knew Dooley was next, and sure enough, as soon as Dooley finally got all of his snake buried in her cunt - and it took him a couple of minutes - Claire went spastic, twitching, screaming, moaning and cursing. He lifted her legs high over her head and fucked her methodically. 

I had to admit, I was feeling some pangs of jealousy and remorse as I watched Dooley's long, black cock send my wife soaring into the stratosphere. But there was also that little devil on my shoulder, my conscience, telling me it was my fault, that I was the one who set this thing up. That's when I pulled out my first beer and started working a drunk. 

I stared at Dooley's big, black cock pounding my wife's cunt. He lifted her legs by her knees and leaned over so that he was hovering over her as he fucked her. And she was rolling her hips up and down and all around, panting, gasping, moaning and begging him to fuck her harder. It was like they were in their own little world, as a half-dozen naked men stood and watched.

At long last, their eyes clenched shut at the same moment as Dooley hit his gravy strokes, jackhammering Claire's pussy like a well-oiled machine. I saw his butt tighten and could see cum foaming around her opening as he filled her pussy with hot, thick cream. Claire's body also tightened as another orgasm swept through her. 

By the time Dooley finished, Claire was a quivering mass of sweaty, heaving flesh, with cum oozing out of her wide-open cunt. Richard was next, and when he pushed his cock in, several men surrounded the bed. While Richard fucked Claire, she worked her mouth around the cocks that surrounded her. As Richard gasped and shot his cum, one of the men at her head shot a humongous load across her mouth and cheeks. 

After Richard got off the bed and got dressed, the feeding frenzy began in earnest. For the next half hour or so, about a dozen men got on the bed and fucked Claire's increasingly sloppy pussy. Several men couldn't wait, and shot loads on her face or in her mouth. I watched - fascinated, but a little disgruntled - as she opened her mouth wide and let our guests shoot hot wads of cum on her outstretched tongue.

When Claire's pussy got too sloppy, she was turned over and they started in on her ass. She was on her knees for the next half hour, taking cocks up the ass and cocks in her mouth. The whole time, her body was a live wire, as she entered a kind of dementia. Eventually, guys started alternating, some takling her ass and others her pussy. While she had one cock in her ass or pussy, she usually had a cock, or two, working in her mouth. Some of these shot their cum down her throat, a few pulled out and sprayed their loads on her face. 

After awhile, someone yelled, "let's double her." I watched as Claire was lifted bodily while a man slid onto the bed. She was lowered and her flooded pussy slipped over the man's hard cock. Then another man came up behind her and started fucking her ass. Claire responded by climbing to a real orgasmic plateau, trembling, squealing and gasping as waves of pleasure wracked her body. 

And she wasn't just being double-penetrated. She had cocks in every hole, and one each in her hands. Claire was alternating sucking each of the men in front of her, while two cocks plowed her cunt and ass at the same time. This got my attention, as my cock regained its starch. I stroked myself to absolute rock hardness as I watched my wife work on five men at once. 

As she groaned in livid lust, one of the men she was sucking pulled out and shot a huge cumload on her face, adding it to the soup that was splattered over it. He was quickly followed by the two men in her hands, who sent streaks of cum over her arms and covered her fingers with their goo. I could see the two men fucking Claire's cunt and ass in unison, filling her with hard, pounding strokes of fuck meat. Claire's orgasm reached a zenith as the two men stiffened and shot their cum in her flooded holes. 

This group fell away, replaced two well-hung black men, who had obviously done this before. I stroked my nuclear cock as they made an oreo sandwich out of my wife. They worked her in tandem, as her sweat-soaked, cum-slick body twitched and shook with an endless succession of orgasms. Sometimes, they would fill her full at the same time, and at others, they would alternate, one pulling back while the other pushed in. It was a tremendously erotic scene, and I had to slowly back off to a simmer, lest I cum too soon.

At last, these two hit a hard rhythm, then they both exploded their cum at the same time, sending rivers of cum flowing from her holes. Twice more a group of two or more eased their way onto the bed and gave Claire a double penetration. By now, a little past midnight, she had climaxed so much, and had drank so much wine in between fucks, that she was practically a zombie, fucking on autopilot. 

After the fourth group added their cum to the lake that was forming between her legs, she was returned to her back on the bed, and I took this opportunity to get a second crack at her. 

By then, I had had four beers, enough to get me feeling a little angry, but not enough to affect my sexual performance. While a young black men fucked Claire's pussy, I straddled her chest, getting my thighs right up under her arms, with my butt resting on her tits. She seemed to come to when she realized it was me, and was relieved to see me, but that relief was short-lived. I grabbed the back of her head and pushed the head of my cock into her mouth and worked it back and forth, getting deeper with each thrust. 

As one, two, three men fucked my wife's sloshing holes in succession, I lifted myself up, leaned against the wall and drove my cock into her throat, all the way to the hilt, and just kept fucking her. Occasionally, when I heard her squeal, I pulled out to let her breathe, during which time I rubbed my leaking cock all over her face. I fucked her mouth brutally, and as I did, I felt all the anger, despair and heartache of the previous months come pouring out. When I finally came, she kind of coughed, but she managed to swallow all of my cum. 

I was drained, physically and emotionally, when I pulled my cock from her mouth, and when I looked down at Claire, I saw something I'll never forget. It was a look of desperation, of pity, like she was begging for mercy, and of sadness that she had driven to such an emotional point. 

I felt so ashamed, and I knew in that moment that what I had done was a mistake. I had taken a woman I claimed to love and thrown her to a pack of wolves. At this point, all she was was a cum dump, a place for men to drop their wet, sticky loads. It would get worse before it got better. 

In fact, it got worse right then. Claire was rolled back onto her knees, and another man slid his cock easily into her gaping asshole. Another man got on the bed in front of her, but instead of offering her his cock to suck, he turned around, pulled his butt cheeks open, and pressed his open ass to her mouth. At first, Claire tried to pull away, but another man held her head still, and she was forced to kiss his asshole. I don't know if anyone else heard it, but I clearly heard a soft whimper as she submitted and began to lick the man's ass. And as a cock plowed his way into her ass and began to regenerate her arousal, she started to get into it a little. She reached around and stroked his cock, fisting his big rod, as she worked her mouth on his ass, until he shot a big wad of cum onto the wall above the bed. 

Then he staggered off the bed and remarked to someone standing by, waiting his turn, "Man, that is one nasty whore." Made me feel real small. 

For the next 20 minutes or so, Claire licked the asses of a half-dozen men, although most of them turned around after a bit and made her suck their cocks. I got a glimpse of Claire's face during all of this, and there was a dead look in her eyes, like she was awake, but not aware. 

As I fished another beer out of the cooler, I noticed that the supply was running low. A friend who hadn't been drinking offered to drive me to the nearest store so we could restock before closing time. We drove to the store in silence, bought two more cases and some ice and returned to the room. 

When we got back, I was greeted by a shocking sight. Naked men surrounded the bed, but I could see one tall man standing on the bed. Claire was on her back, on top of another man, and standing on the bed had her head pulled all the way back and was fucking her face with a sizable cock. You could actually see the impression his cock made in her throat. 

But that's not what shocked me. As the wall of bodies parted, I could see that Claire was being double-fucked in a very unconventional way. The man was on his back and another between her legs were both fucking her pussy, her lips stretched out obscenely. Just then, the man fucking her face, pulled out, and I got just a look at her face. She was as aware as she'd been in awhile, and there was a look of sheer panic on her face. She was scared, and so was I. 

Then her head was pulled back and the tall man resumed fucking her face. All three of them worked her until finally they shot their cum. They all pulled out and sprayed their loads on her body. The man at her face added more cum to her already cum-covered face, while the others covered her pubes and her stomach. 

As the trio crawled off the bed, another threesome approached, but I stopped them. 

"I think she's had enough of that," I said. The guys looked like they were going to tell me to fuck off, but Richard and Dooley stepped in and suggested that the group find their clothes and leave. 

Claire's pussy was shot by then, but there were still a dozen or so men left, late arrivals who I learned had been shouldered aside by the previous group. Claire was all but out of it, but she had enough left for a young black man to lift her left leg and push his cock into her ass, while another worked his cock in her mouth. I let two more guys fuck her ass, before the rest gathered around and stroked their cocks to the sight of my fuck-ravaged wife. She was on her back, spreadeagled as the half-dozen men, plus Newt and our cop friends, jacked off for one final anointing. 

Claire managed to open her eyes, but I don't know if she comprehended anything, and seconds later, a cum rain began to fall over her face and chest. They covered her tits, her hair, her face and her stomach, before backing away. I watched, but didn't participate. I was about as drunk as I'd ever been, and feeling about an inch tall. 

Finally, everyone was gone except for Newt, who had packed up one of the coolers into his convertable. I walked outside with him in silence. I could feel the wind starting to shift and a light rain had begun to fall. 

"I fucked up, man," I said, finally. "This was a huge mistake. I've lost her." 

"Listen, brother," Newt said. "You did what you felt like you had to do. She'll be OK. She'll be a little sore for a few days, but she wants to come back to you. She wouldn't have agreed to do it if she didn't." 

"Yeah, but I didn't think it would be this bad," I said. "I promised her she wouldn't get hurt, and, hell, I brutalized her as badly as anyone." 

"Mike, listen to me," Newt said. "She'll be all right. Work it out. Don't let this break you up. You and Claire have too much going for you, don't let anger and jealously ruin it for you. She still loves you and you still love her. I saw it in your eyes, saw it in her eyes. Yeah, you both made mistakes, but you can get over it. It won't be easy, but work it out. I gave up too quickly with Diane (his second wife), and I've regretted it ever since. Don't make the same mistake I did." 

Then he left me alone to deal with what was left of my marriage. At that moment, I wasn't sure if Claire would ever want anything more to do with me after the way I'd treated her on this night. Now that my pain and anger had been washed away, and I had satisfied my revenge, I felt nothing but remorse and self-loathing for what I'd made my Claire do. 

I went inside, shut the door and opened another beer, sat down, drank that one, opened another one, drank it, and just kept on as I stared at my wife lying on the bed in this cheap-ass motel. Her hair was wet and stringy from cum and sweat, her body was covered in semen, and her crotch... My God, her crotch, both her cunt and her asshole, were flowing with cum, so much that there was a pool of it under her butt. She even had a sheen of cum as far as her ankles. I felt like such an ass for putting her through this. 

At some point, I must have dozed off in the chair. The first thing I heard was a small, weak voice coming from the bed. 

"M-Mike, I-I'mmm c-c-cold," Claire said. 

I jumped up, kind of disoriented, then realized the room was like an icebox. The air conditioner had been left on all night, the cold front had moved in and there was a steady rain falling outside in the pale dawn light. Claire was curled up on the still-soaking wet sheets in a fetal ball. Her body was covered in goosebumps, her lips were blue and she was shivering. 

I ignored the filthy sheets, got up on the bed and took her in my arms. 

"Claire, are you all right?" I asked. She just looked at me with the same sad, desperate, pitying look I'd seen after I'd raped her mouth. She sort of shook her head, then burst into tears. I held my wife, the love of my life, as she cried hard, bitter tears. 

"Oh baby, I'm so sorry," I kept saying. "I'm so sorry I put you through this." She finally nodded her head, and regained her composure somewhat, and looked up at me with tears streaking the dried cum on her face. 

"This was a mean thing I did to you," I said. "And I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?" 

"I can forgive you, if you can forgive me," Claire squeaked. "I was the one who started it." 

"C'mon, let's get a hot shower, get dressed and go home," I said. 

"Do I have a home to go back to?" she said. 

That hurt. I couldn't answer, I was so choked up with emotion, I just nodded my head yes. I helped Claire off the bed and into the shower, then leaned her against the wall while I carefully cleaned her. It took awhile. She had dried cum everywhere, and sticky, slimy cum deep in her pussy and her ass. As she finally came clean, I noticed that she had red streaks all over her body, and bruises were strarting to come up, from where she'd been manhandled. There were hickeys on her neck, shoulders and breasts, and her genitals was extremely tender. 

She was able to move around with difficulty after we showered, and she dressed in jeans and a turtleneck sweater. As she sat on the chair, waiting for me to finish loading our stuff into the back of my pickup, she looked at me with bloodshot eyes, but a wry smile. 

"You father was a fucking genius," she said. "I don't think I'll ever want another cock that's not attached to you for as long as I live." 

Later, as we were driving home, she had one final word for me. 

"Mike, I'd say we're about even," she said. "I hurt you, and you hurt me. Now, let's see if we can do this without any more pain." 

That was all two months ago. After sleeping all day Sunday, we got up and had a long talk about our future. We decided that if we were going to rebuild our relationship, we needed professional help. Too much bitterness had passed for us to do it on our own. We had both seen the very worst of each other, and we didn't like what we'd seen. Claire had revealed a capacity for deceit and depravity that had shaken her moral core, and I had shown a capacity for vengeance and cruelty that scared me to death. 

We started seeing a marriage counselor once a week, and we have gotten some good insights on our behavior, and ways we can avoid a repeat of what happened. I cut back on my time at the store, Claire found another job, with another bank, and we started spending more time together. Our counselor urged us to do things out of our nature. I needed to express my feelings for my wife more openly, to demonstrate with actions and not just words, that I truly love her. And she was encouraged to ask for what she wanted, and not let things fester up inside. 

The bottom line was, I had taken my wife for granted, and she had felt alienated. So when someone came around who made her feel young again, who said all the right things and lavished attention on her, she fell for it. 

Another thing we did was quit drinking, especially Claire. Drunkenness had made her easy pickings for a smooth operator like Billy Stewart. And I could see I was beginning to use beer as an emotional crutch. 

We haven't gotten back to where we were, and we may never regain that level of trust we had before all this happened. But we're more aware now of what we need to make our marriage work, and that's a big step. 

It took Claire a full week to recover from her ordeal. Then the next week she was on her period, and she still had to work through some issues about sex. But two weeks after that fateful Saturday we went out on a date. We went to the same dance club where she'd gone the night I had spied on her, and she wore the same dress, even going so far as to leave the bra at home. 

We had a great time dancing and enjoying each other's company, except for one incident. We were sitting down after a fairly brisk dance when the waitress brought over a glass of wine for Claire. 

"It's from the gentleman at the bar," she said. We both looked and we both just stared, for it was Billy Stewart's friend, the one I'd seen Claire with at the motel. I started to say something angry, but Claire jumped in. 

"Please take it back," she said in a pleasant tone. "Tell him thanks, but please not to bother us again."