31 comments/ 56678 views/ 17 favorites Better Licking through Chemistry By: Cyanlot Oral sex is fine, Chris thinks, as long as he is the one getting. He definitely does not believe that it is more blessed to give than to receive. He's always been that way, even before we were married-even when we were having raucous, no-holds-barred sex (well, obviously, almost no holds barred sex). Chris has always been up (so to speak) for any kind of sex, straight or kinky, except licking my clitoris. In fairness to him, he did sort of try it once or twice, half-heartedly and only for a few seconds. Then he dismissed it as "not his thing". (It wasn't his thing I was worried about; it was my thing.) As our lives together progressed-he, finishing an MBA and I, a pharmacy degree-we had a pretty good life together. Even the sex was pretty good most of the time-except for that one little thing that was being neglected. But that one little thing (the issue, not my clitoris) got bigger and bigger. Things came to a head (again, I guess I should say, "so to speak") when I began refusing to suck his cock. I thought what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. Chris didn't see it that way. For the first time in our relationship, he forced himself on me. He tried to act like it was a playful forcing, but I wouldn't go along with it. When we were lying in bed one night, he began hinting that I give should give him a blowjob. I ignored the hints-pretending not to get them. When he was explicit, I mocked him by saying that oral sex "wasn't my thing." I guess he didn't like the mocking-or maybe he was just hell-bent on getting his cock sucked. He pushed me down by the shoulders and, the more I resisted, the harder he pushed-and the more serious the whole situation became. Chris is a lot bigger than I am. At 180 pounds, he has a good 75 pounds on me and none of it is fat. When he put his hands on the sides of my head, I couldn't control my head at all. He forced me down to his crotch and pressed my face against his cock. Still, he couldn't make me open my mouth. And I resolutely kept my jaw locked. He started demanding that I open my mouth and suck him. When I didn't respond, he began twisting my ears and digging his fingers into the sides of my head. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn't want to do this and that if he forced me to do it, he would be sorry. I told him I wasn't kidding. He said he didn't care and he doubted that he would be sorry. He was pretty sure that it would feel great. When the pain on my ears and head were too much to bear, finally, with tears running down my cheeks, I opened and let him enter my mouth. Never had I given him a more indifferent blowjob. In fact, all I did was let him use my mouth. He didn't care-the pig. He fucked my mouth for several minutes, progressing slowly, but inevitably, toward an orgasm. All the while, I was finding refuge in the certainty that somehow I would make him pay for this. Finally, he exploded in my mouth, filling me with his cum. His hands dropped to his side as he entered his post-orgasmic stupor. For the first time, I didn't even try to swallow his cum. I opened my mouth and let it run out over his cock-spitting out the last of it. He was too expended to stop me or even to complain. I rushed to the bathroom and gargled with mouthwash far longer than necessary to clean my mouth. But that wasn't the point, really. The point was to show him how much I detested what he had done. As with many abusers, he was deeply, profusely apologetic later. He swore that nothing like that would ever happen again-that he would never force me to do anything that I didn't want to do and that if I didn't want to have oral sex with him, that's just the way it would be. But I'm not a particularly forgiving person. Anyway, I knew that the cycle of abuse, apology and further abuse was the most likely course unless I took control of the situation. Chris was certainly right about one thing, though: nothing like what had happened that night would ever happen again-to me. I'm a planner and, so, I set about to formulate my plan-not just for revenge, but for control. I already knew what my goals were, so the first practical step was analyzing my strengths in this situation to determine how I could achieve those goals. Chris is much bigger and stronger than I am, so physical power wouldn't help me at all. He's also plenty bright enough that I couldn't control him simply by outstripping him in the smarts department. I resolved to bring my professional expertise to bear on the problem and to use a little psychological judo. Judo, of course, is a technique in which you use your opponent's strength against him: he lunges at you and, with minimal effort, you re-direct his force at himself. Chris was dominating both physically and sexually, and he was quite proud of this. But his pride would be his undoing-with a little help from modern pharmacology. ========================== It's not hard to find drugs that interfere with a man's ability to get an erection. This is a side effect-typically considered to be an unfortunate one-of several common drugs. The trick is to find a drug that will produce erectile dysfunction without producing other effects that, for my purposes, would be side effects-chief among these would be any loss of sexual appetite. I didn't want Chris impotent and sexually indifferent-what I wanted was him seething with desire but completely unable to perform. Another requirement made my homework assignment tricky. Ideally, I wanted something that could be counteracted quickly and very temporarily. So, I had to do my research carefully. But I'm a good student and it didn't take me very long to find something you can think of as anti-Viagra. Viagra works by relaxing a certain type of blood vessel so that the penis can engorge more quickly. My discovery was that there was a class of drugs, available to a pharmacist, that were known to constrict exactly these vessels. I picked the most benign form of anti-Viagra and figured out a dose that should be effective on someone Chris's size, but shouldn't produce many noticeable side effects. I decided to keep Chris on a sufficient dose of anti-Viagra so that he was completely unable to get an erection at any time of the day. This required giving him the anti-Viagra two to three times a day. Here, again, I would engage in some psychological judo-using his own psychology against him. For years, Chris-vane man that he is-had been taking a special mixture of vitamins and minerals that I mixed up for him and put in capsules. He thought it would keep him young and, no doubt, potent. Alas, for the poor dear, these pills would soon have just the opposite effect on his potency. So, less than a week after he raped my mouth, I had the poor dear on an impotency cocktail that meant that his cock wouldn't be getting any tail unless I said so. And, I could say so very selectively. Viagra can be combined with a carrier that is absorbed directly into the skin, which results in very fast, temporary reversal of the chemically induced impotence. Chris was my puppet; I controlled him, not with strings, but with I controlled him nonetheless for that. Once, several years ago, when Chris was really drunk, he tried to perform and fizzled. It rattled him until he had rebuilt a solid track record. This time, though, there would be no excuses for him, and there was to be no reestablishing of a track record. ========================== It is Friday morning when I start him on his anti-Viagra regimen. I'm home early making a special dinner. With few exceptions, I've been cold and distant to him. This is Chris's "everything's okay now" dinner. I hear the door open and he walks into the kitchen, where I'm almost finished with dinner. "What's the occasion?" he asks hopefully. "No occasion," I reply. "I just thought it was time we buried the hatchet." "How about if we just sank the spear?" Clever guy! "You won't be sinking you spear anytime soon," I think. But I just smile. Dinner goes fine. We make small talk; he touches my foot underneath the table. After dinner, we clean up and he leads me to the bedroom for an early bedtime. He grabs me masterfully and kisses me deeply. He has no hint that the evening isn't going to go as he hopes. But it won't. I let him go through the ordinary preliminaries, trying not to act differently than usual. After he has most of my clothes off, he starts taking off his clothes between kissing and fondling me. Poor, dear. I still don't think he has a clue that anything will go wrong. When he has us both undressed and I'm giving a first class show of wanton horniness, he begins stroking my clitoris. I realize that I'm really excited. In a way, it's a shame things aren't going to work as Chris is planning tonight, but maybe part of what is making me so excited is knowing that the entire evening is going according to my script. He is just a puppet in my plan. And, I'm going to cut one of his very crucial strings tonight. He is running his hand through my lips, spreading my wetness around in preparation for entering me-or so he thinks. I'm pulling his mouth to mine and opening my lips to draw his tongue into my mouth, putting a big "welcome mat" out for him. Judging from the confident way he rolls on top of me, I still don't think he has the slightest concern about his ability to perform. But once he is on top of me, I see that he realizes something is wrong. His cock, which is usually hard and throbbing between my thighs by now, lies limp and withered on my crotch. The thrusting of his hips does nothing but roll around a useless lump of soft flesh. He rolls off to my side again and begins stroking himself-trying to do it casually, as if I won't know what he is doing. But it's not working, and the harder he tries, the softer he gets. He is now in a downward spiral. What the anti-Viagra didn't do directly, it is doing indirectly by completely undermining his confidence. Now, he is not just limp, he is tiny and shrivelled. I move my hand down to touch him, but he moves my hand away. Maybe he doesn't want me to know there is something wrong. If so, this strategy doesn't last for long. He apparently decides that he might be able to get it up with a little help from my mouth. Certainly, that's never failed in the past. Part of me wants to go along with him, because for him to fail when I'm sucking him would be the ultimate failure for him. Maybe I'll do that sometime in the future. But for now I have to punish him for forcing himself on me before. When I resist, he is torn. He has promised he will never force me again-and, of course, I wouldn't let him, anyway. But, he really wants to get hard and fuck me, and he thinks that this might be the only way. Finally, the gentleman in him wins and he rolls over, frustrated, and sputtering apologies. There is nothing better to do at this point, I figure, than to pretend-but not too convincingly-that I think it might be my fault. I suggest that I was putting too much pressure on him by making the romantic dinner and making it obvious that I wanted us to have sex. He contests this whole line of thinking, and I defer to him, but in a tone that makes it clear that I now believe his manhood to be fragile. We lie in bed drifting off. After a while, I reach over and slide my hand down to his crotch. He doesn't stop me-maybe he's hoping against hope that this will work. I stroke his floppy little dick for a while, trying to appear helpful and optimistic. The anti-Viagra is working quite well, though. He remains completely flaccid despite my stroking. I hold him for a second between my first finger and my thumb. Somehow this makes me feel like I'm making him feel very small. Through out all of this, he has remained silent. Maybe he is planning to pretend that he is asleep if it doesn't work. I know he's awake though so, as I pull my hand away from his cock, I give a barely audible, disappointed sigh. Then, after a while, when it is clear he is pretending to be asleep, I reach down and begin touching myself. I'm doing it forcefully enough that he is sure to hear it but gently and quietly enough that he can think I'm trying not to wake him. He just lies there, listening to me as I stroke myself to a very satisfying climax. I might have gotten a little noisy just when I came, but I wanted him to be sure I was satisfied. I drift off to a peaceful sleep. Later, he accidentally wakes me as he is getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. I know he isn't just going to take a piss. He wants some physical relief, too. After I hear him finish pissing and flush the toilet, he's in there a good 15 minutes. Judging from his exasperated sigh when he gets back in bed, I figure he had about as much luck with his hand as he did with me. Good! He deserves it. The next few days, we don't talk about this at all. In fact, we don't talk much about anything. I keep him on his dosage of anti-Viagra so I'm pretty sure that, if he is trying to whack off, he's getting a confidence deflator every time. Still, I figure he will need a couple more failures with me before he is completely crushed. I continue to play the devoted, supportive spouse throughout his troubles. I pressure him by making a show of refusing to apply any pressure. Finally, a week after his first failure, he decides it's time to take a try again. Maybe he'll have more luck now. After all, he's never had any serious problem before. Surely, he must be thinking, this is just a passing phase. Of course, this time doesn't go any better than the last. But this time, I decide to do everything I can to be supportive. This time, I'll even suck his cock to get him hard. When he has no luck getting hard by fondling me and rubbing against me, I start to go down on him without any prompting. He is surprised at first and puts his hand on my head-maybe to stop me. If so, he thinks better of it and lets me move my head down to his crotch. I don't take him in my mouth right at first. I look as his small, limp dick first and hold it between my fingers. I figure that this reinforces for him his impotence and my awareness of it, but he can hardly complain because I'm just about to suck his dick. When I take him in my mouth, I make a big show of sucking passionately. Anyone would think, and Chris surely does, that I am encouraging him in every way I can. Indeed, I might even seem a little desperate. This, I figure is good. Let him think that I am a little desperate. It will just put more pressure on him. It's odd to suck his cock when it is limp. I've done it before, of course, but only for a few seconds as he was hardening. He doesn't harden now. He remains limp and tiny. He can tell that there is no reaction and he tries to stop me at one point. I persist. It looks more supportive-and more desperate-if I keep trying. Like a surgeon over the operating table of a dead patient, I won't give up. As if my will alone can bring Chris's cock back to life, I fight on. But, of course, it is no use. When I finally give up, I am the dejected, but valiant fighter. There is no hope. The patient is lost. I cuddle with Chris and tell him, unconvincingly, that it is okay-that it doesn't matter. I tell him this with an intensity that shows how much it does matter. I make all of the excuses for him-he's tired, he's under a lot of pressure, and all that. None of it reassures him, of course. None of it is really true. He has no excuse for his impotence-none I'm going to offer him, anyway. Before I really put my plan in action, I decide to wait for him to make another attempt and have another failure. Weeks go by and I almost give up on the plan to have a "three strikes you're out" approach. But finally, after over three weeks, he decides to try again. This time, I guess he thinks that a little alcohol will loosen him up. It does make him go at it with more self-confidence, but the self-confidence turns out to be entirely unjustified. His once proud cock, lies between his legs-a useless flap of flesh. This time, when we talk afterwards, I try to get him to talk about what we can do to fix the situation. He mentions Viagra, but I tell him that there are things we can try first. Over the next several months, we try negligee, role-playing, light bondage (both ways) and porn. Nothing works, alas, and Chris grows increasingly insecure and self-condemning. My frequent resorts to self-pleasuring leave him feeling inadequate. Finally, under the pressures of not being able to satisfy his wife any other way, Chris tries, clumsily, to go down on me. I let him kiss his way down to my pubic area, but then pull him up. He asks what's wrong and I tell him that it just doesn't feel right. He never wanted to do that before and for him to do it now just underscores the fact that he is impotent and can't satisfy me any other way. I think this is a good way to say it. I'm sacrificing the pleasure I could get from his tongue and lips. That makes me good. In so doing, I highlight the fact that he is inadequate without ever criticizing him for his inadequacy. When he asks me about Viagra again, I tell him that it is very successful for some men-especially if there is a medical cause of the impotence. He needs, of course, to get a physical and a battery of tests to make sure that it is okay. He wants me to just grab a few pills from the pharmacy, but I tell him I can't do that. He has to go to the doctor because I can't be sure that Viagra is safe for him. Going to his doctor isn't safe, either. For years Chris has gone to a family friend for all his medical check-ups. It was primarily a cost saving decision since our friend, Hal, didn't charge Chris. Now, I insisted, he had to go back to Hal because Hal had Chris's medical history. It took Chris weeks and another failure in bed with me (and no telling how many failures with his hand) before he was willing to do that. But finally Chris went to our friend Hal and spilled out his story of sudden and complete impotence. Hal was understanding, of course and ordered all of the appropriate tests. At Chris's next visit, Hal prescribed Viagra for Chris and Chris promptly asked me to fill the prescription. Now, Viagra is a wonderful drug for many men. And, Viagra, in large enough doses, would certainly counteract the effect of my anti-Viagra drug. However, the placebos I filled Chris's prescription wouldn't have helped a rock stay hard. Chris was set up for more failure-but he didn't know that yet. ========================== Hal told Chris to start with 50 mg. of Viagra first. Not wanting to take chances, Chris takes 100 mg. for his first trial. He's optimistic and ready to test himself with his new-found crutch. Alas, the crutch doesn't even begin to work and Chris limps back to his side of the bed-despondent and desperate. I tell him again that it doesn't matter. He isn't convinced of course. His belief that it does matter to me is reinforced when I quietly masturbate to a very nice orgasm while he is pretending to be asleep. Alas, for his confidence, just as my orgasm breaks, I quietly, but passionately moan, "Oh, God, yes!...Oh, fuck me hard!" Chris can't and he is beginning to believe that there will never be a time when he can. ========================== Chris tried the "Viagra" again once, but only half-heartedly. He didn't believe it would work, but he didn't want to risk missing a cure by rejecting it too early. It didn't work, of course, and with that failure we stopped even trying to have sex. Over the next few weeks, I began talking to Chris more as I would to a girlfriend. I started with little things: touching him in ways I would touch a girlfriend, telling him things I would not normally have told him. Little by little I begin talking about men with him-a new pharmacist at work, an old boy friend I ran into at the store, and so forth. Defeated as he was, he just listened without protest or the slightest show of territoriality. Better Licking through Chemistry When my old college boy friend, Rod (yeah, that's really his name), came into the store, it presented me with a terrific opportunity-one I decided to exploit. I ran into him a few days later and made a date with him for the next Friday night. ("Ran into" may not be the right words for an encounter that I hadn't left to chance.) When I told Chris about the plans, I modifed it so that the whole idea was Rod's. It was to be, of course, an innocent get together to talk about what we had been doing for the last five years, since we'd lost touch with each other. I reassured Chris that Rod was married and all he wants to do with me is talk. I tried to leave a little hint in my voice that I wouldn't mind if Rod wanted to do a little more. Friday morning, I casually mentioned that when Rod called me on Thursday to tell me the restaurant to meet him at, he mentioned that he had been separated from his wife for months now and they were in the process of getting a divorce. I told Chris that I had no idea that Rod was separated, but I felt funny backing out of the date (and I called it a date). When Chris asked me, just as was going out the door, what made Rod and his wife split, I told him that I understood Rod is quite a playboy and has trouble keeping his zipper up around beautiful women. I let that sink in and then told him not to worry-I'm a married woman. I didn't say "happily" and Chris knew I wasn't satisfied. ========================== I get home well before Chris and do the whole nine yards getting ready. I shower and shave my legs all the way up, including trimming my pubic hairs to a small triangle above my slit. I do my hair up in a kind of casual bun that Chris thinks is sexy. Then, I dress in the clothes Chris picks out when he wants me to look my sexiest: a black skirt and a purple silk blouse. The skirt is just above knee length, but it has a healthy slit up the left leg that shows the bottom of the print on my thigh-high stockings. I undo the blouse buttons until I can see that the blouse falls open pretty wide when I lean forward. Chris gets home as I'm finishing dressing and putzes around down stairs for a while. He's in the living room watching the news as I come down the stairs. I enjoy his reaction: a double-take followed by a poignant gaze. I could almost feel his heart pounding from across the room. "Are you going out looking like that?" he asks accusatorily. "What's wrong with this?" I ask innocently but with an overtone of defensiveness. "These are fine for the restaurant." "You look cheap," he says, with bitterness in his voice. "You never thought that when I wore this outfit before." "You're going out with another man!" Finally, we get to the nub of it. "Oh, don't get weird. Rod's an old friend." I know he isn't going to let this one go. I don't want him to. "A bit more than a friend, I'd say." "That was years ago." His worries aren't assuaged, or course. I don't want them to be. But he doesn't know what to say so he just sits there looking awkward. "Don't worry. I won't be late," I tell him, knowing even now it is a lie. Rod is more than attentive at dinner and it is clear that, though I had set the ball in motion, he will take the initiative. I like that. I haven't been courted-seduced-in years. I plan to be as coy as will be believable in a woman of my age who is dressed like this to go on a date she arranged. I'm guessing Rod might like the game, too, especially knowing that he will certainly score in the end. We laugh through dinner and I pull the appropriate tricks: a casual touch of his hand while we joke-a touch that lingers ambiguously long; a little seductive play with the finger-food appetizers; and, the tiny motions with my lips as I gaze into his eyes with a "you're so terrific, Rod" look (which I don't have to feign, actually). Perhaps I go a bit over the top when I cross my legs and dangle, then drop, my shoe. It makes a quiet clunk on the floor-but not loud enough that I'm certain Rod hears it. I'm sure, though, that he feels my foot start at his ankle and work up his leg, under his trousers. So, he's not really risking a bruised ego when he asks me if I want to go over to his place for a drink. I decline, of course. I promised Chris I would be home early and ...oh, gosh!...it's already 10:30. He insists, of course, and tells me it can be a short drink and it's almost on the way home for me. As we walk to the cars, his arm is around me and I do my best to sort of melt into his body. As it turns out, his car is right next to mine and we wind up standing between the two cars, kissing and groping like we did in high school. He's feeling my ass and, after holding back for a while, I slip my hand down between us to feel his crotch. His pants are kind of loose and I feel his cock-not hard yet, but solid. It reminds me how big he is and I feel a tingling in my loins and a gush in my crotch. I open my mouth to him as I stroke his cock gently. He is kneading my ass (and, I suppose, needing my ass, too) and his cock is hardening. When he's completely hard and his cock is pressing up against the bottom of his belt, I push back from him gently. "Yes...yes...I guess I will follow you to your place for a drink." The time apart driving to his place allows me to recover a bit of my veneer of virture. He's had plenty of encouragement. Now, he can play the caveman. I start with the "I don't know what I'm doing here...I really should go home...I'm a married woman" routine. He realizes that ground has been lost on the drive home and retrenches to suggest that I just have a quick drink and he'll show me around. I relent and we both have Kahluas. He has a nice place and a fantastic stereo he turns on for me. It's no coincidence, of course, that the CD that's set to play is the Roberta Flak album we used to listen to when we made love years ago. He wraps his arm around me and sweeps me up in dance. I melt into his arms like I did years ago but, when he tries to kiss me again, I pull away. He backs off and we just dance for a while. I can feel that the playing hard to get isn't cooling him off. His cock is bulging into my abdomen. I try to move my hips in such a way as to stimulate him without making it obvious that's what I'm doing. "Killing me Softly with His Kiss" is just ending and he takes the opportunity to try to kiss me again. I let him this time. But I only allow a sweet kiss-no tongue yet. There'd be time enough for that later. He begins kissing my neck, something he knows used to drive me crazy. It still does, and I let it have full rein, but don't do anything aggressive myself for a few moments. Then, as if I've forgotten myself-lost in memory and passion, I put my hand back to his cock and I begin stroking him through his pants. Just the same as years ago, he is hard almost right away and, as I trace the extension of his cock, I kind of shiver and say, "Magnificent!" He's a little startled and jokes that's it's pretty much the same as it's always been when I'm around. "Well, then, it's still magnificent." Let him wonder for a while at my fascination with his hard cock. He would know the reason for it soon enough. I continue to stroke him almost roughly-showing a desire that he is supposed to think overcomes my better judgment. The passion is real-I have to fake the "better judgment." Feeling my need to feel him, he unzips his pants, being careful not to stop kissing my neck. (He doesn't want me to have a cool moment now.) I reach in hungrily and am surprised by how much pleasure I feel as I stroke his hot, smooth cock in my small hand. "It's been a long time," I say breathlessly. "Yeah," he says, thinking he knows what I mean. "No...that's not what I ..." I cut myself off. Keep him wondering for now. It's all I can do now to keep from falling to my knees and taking his beautiful cock in my mouth. I want him so much. But, even more, I want the seduction to continue for now. I tip my face up to his and kiss him deeply, openly. He sweeps me off my feet, literally, and whisks me into the bedroom where he sets me gently, lovingly on his big bed. As he stands up, I see his cock sticking out proudly, anxiously. I sort of writhe on the bed suggestively (though I'm pretty sure that if I read the phone book right now, Rod would find it suggestive). He kicks off his shoes, tears off his shirt and lies down on top of me for a second. I love the weight of him on me and the passion I can feel in him. He doesn't realize that he doesn't have to keep me revved up, so he begins kissing me on the neck again. That's fine with me. When he rolls off to my side, he begins unbuttoning my blouse. I don't help him, but I don't stop him either. He finds immediately that my bra is a front clasp style and almost as quickly has it unhooked. When he touches my breast-when he wraps his huge warm hand around it-I do feel like I'm a school girl being undressed for the first time. It's thrilling. He unzips my skirt and pushes it down. Now I'm just in my panties and they are so sheer and wet with my juices that I feel naked. His hand brushes against my crotch as he moves to take off my panties and I feel a surge of electricity through my body. When he gets my panties off, he teases me by dragging his fingers up the insides of my thighs but just missing my throbbing clitoris. I shudder with pleasure and frustration. Then, Rod moves down till his lips are millimeters from my trembling twat. I can feel his breath on my wet clitoris. Suddenly, I'm quivering from the pleasure of his tongue flicking over my clitoris. Thank God, I think, that oral sex that way is Rod's thing. I get a wonderful licking and have an enormous orgasm-one I suspect could be heard a block away-before Rod enters me. And, then, he is so skilled in working from a gentle rhythm while I'm still recovering from my orgasm to a wild thrusting as he's building to his own, that by the time he comes, I'm coming too. We lie in the secure bubble of post-coital bliss for a long time. I sigh and say, "Oh, God, that felt good." He gives some sound of agreement and I continue, "You don't know how long it's been." Still not understanding, he says that's it's been just as long for him. Then the whole story of Chris's affliction comes out. I tell Rod how long it's been since I've been fucked or felt a cock harden in my hand. He asks questions with a concern that is intended to hide his glee. It doesn't. I guess he figures he hit a gold mine. And he's right. I tell him about some of the things we've tried to help Chris. All the time, he's stroking my body in a way that traces the border between compassion and passion. He suggests that I try waking Chris up with a blow job. This should work, if anything will, Rod thinks. As I explain to him that we've tried every conceivable type of blow job, I feel his cock start to stir against my hip. I suspect he brought this up only to get me talking about giving blow jobs. I'm sure he would like to steer things in that direction-which is to say, I'm sure he is a man. But I'll let him worry about whether things are going that direction for a few minutes. (I don't want him to think I'm easy.) "Anyway, that's why it felt so especially good to feel your cock harden in my hand-to feel you inside of me, thrusting and filling me up." And I snuggle against him in a way that could foreshadow innocent cuddling. He starts fondling me more aggressively now and he turns my face up to his to kiss me deeply. I feel his tongue thrust between my lips proprietarily. I suck his tongue and moan gently before beginning to move down his body to give him what he is asking for. I'll let him think this was his idea. As my lips reach his waistline, I grab his cock in one hand and find that it is hard again-not just sort of firm, but really hard. I like this guy. He makes me feel very powerful. I wait with my lips just millimeters from his straining cock. I'm breathing warmly on his cock and he can feel how close I am. He wants me closer and arches his back to thrust his cock to my lips. But I stay just out of reach for a second, stroking his hard cock gently to encourage him at the same time. Finally I take him into my mouth. He is covered with our drying juices, but I don't mind. I didn't do this with Chris. I never liked tasting myself on his cock. But this is different. Tonight is all about cock worship and it isn't all show for Rod's sake. I realize that making Chris impotent has taken a toll on me. I want Rod's cock in my mouth. I want to feel its hardness, its size, its heat, its need. For several minutes I suck him and lick him while I fondle his balls and stroke his cock. His hands are on my head, encouraging me and I hear him give a satisfying moan as he feels my mouth and tongue making love to his cock. I'm not really trying to work him toward an orgasm now. I just want him really hard for a second round of fucking-something it is clear he is quite capable of. "You know what I really want?" I ask between sucks. I'm pretty sure he was focused more on what he wanted, and that what he wanted was for this to go on without there being any between sucks. But Rod's a nice guy and he asks me what I really want. "All this time Chris has been having trouble, I've been fantasizing about being on my hands and knees and being fucked really hard like a bitch in heat." I pause for the image to sink in and then ask, innocently, "Can we do that?" As if that's a real question! But it is a real desire of mine and one that I'm going to have satisfied soon. Rod pulls me up to my hands and knees at the edge of the bed. He stands behind me by the bed and grabs my hips. Rod's hands hold me tightly as he thrusts into me. After a few minutes of simple thrusting, he begins to pull his cock completely out of me on every back stroke, sometimes pausing for a second of anticipation, then he plunges into me so fast and deep that it takes my breath away. I am completely lost in the moment of animalistic coupling. God, it feels great to just be fucked really hard by a really hard cock. When we finish, he collapses on top of me, still inside of me. I love the weight of him on me and the rhythm of his breathing. His cock, quickly softening, is still pulsing in my cunt and I think about how full of his cum I must be. I am very satisfied and would love to just fall asleep in his bed and wake up in his arms and do it all again. But I have to get home. I see by the alarm clock that it's after 1:30. This is certainly late enough to provoke in Chris all the images and fears I want to provoke in him. And, though I know he will be trying to stay up for me, I'm afraid that if he is drinking-a definite possibility-he might pass out before I get home. I make my apologies and, reluctantly, get up out of our warm bed to get dressed. Rod gets up and pulls his pants on, too. I guess he is planning to see me to the door. But I have a better idea. I ask him to drive me home. I make no excuses about being drunk. We'd only had one drink since we got to his apartment. I just want don't want to be alone yet. There is almost complete silence on the way to my house. But it is a completely comfortable silence. I hold his hand for a while and then reach over to feel his cock. He hadn't put on underpants, so I could get a nice feel through his trousers. As I stroke him gently, he begins to stir. He's not hard, exactly, but he's reacting. We pull up in front of my house and I see from the light trickling around the curtain that Chris has the TV on. Probably he's still awake. Without putting Chris out of my mind, I turn to Rod. He has shut off the engine and turned slightly toward me. He looks great and, not coincidentally, he looks like he thinks I look great. I pat his cock and tell him that I seem to have created a problem here. "I wouldn't want to send you home horny. Don't you guys get blueballs or something if a girl gets you all hot and doesn't take care of you?" He knows I'm joking, of course. I kind of like the reminder of high school. This does feel like he is returning me from a date. "I don't know," he plays along. "I haven't had anyone get me this hot for a very long time." "So some girl got you this hot before?" "Yeah. One did," referring, sweetly, to me. "And did she leave you hot and bothered?" "No." "Well, what if you were in a car, like this. What if there was no bed around? What would she do to take care of you?" It's nice to hear him talk about the way we ended many of our dates. "She'd unzip my pants and take out my cock with her soft, delicate hands." No sooner said than done. "Then, she'd stroke me and kiss me." Again, I follow the script. "Then, she'd take my cock in her beautiful mouth and suck me until I exploded in her mouth." I'm on his cock in a flash, and now he is hard again. God, this guy's good! I don't tease him now. Now, I'm working his cock hard with my lips, my tongue and my hand. I don't care that he's already had two orgasms tonight, I'm determined to have him spewing in minutes. He's encouraging me with strings of "Oh, migods!" and lots of nonverbal cues. I can feel his thighs tighten as he strains to shoot another load. Suddenly, with my hand tight around the base of his cock, I feel his cum shoot up his cock into my mouth. It spurts strongly into the back of my mouth and I swallow the first spurt as it spurts again. His third shot clears him out and his cock is so sensitive that he actually stops me from working his cock as it softens. I just gently hold it in my mouth and swallow. After a few seconds, I ask him if that took care of the problem. He said it did. I gently placed his cock back in his pants and zipped him up before giving him a peck on the cheek and reminding him that I'd call him tomorrow (meaning, of course, later today) about getting my car. Then I leave and he watches me as I walk slowly up to the door, my heels in my hands and my hips swaying happily. I hear his car drive off as I close the door. The house is silent and, down the hall, I see there is no light in the bedroom. Excellent! Chris had been watching TV. He must have heard Rod's car coming and turned it off. Maybe he watched through the window-not that he could see exactly what was happening at that distance and with the car windows fogged as they were, but he would know that Rod drove me home and that I didn't just jump out of the car. Chris knew how long I'd been out there and he knew it wasn't talking about old times. He'd turned off the TV and was, I suspected, pretending to be asleep. I tiptoe down the hall and slip off my clothes for the second time tonight. I crawl straight into bed-not washing up or even brushing my teeth. I want Chris to smell Rod on me. Chris is lying silently-in two senses, really. I know he is awake, but he gives no sign. Maybe he doesn't know how to react. Frankly, I don't know what to expect from him, either. I've planned for lots of reactions. If he asks questions, I'll just put him off with the excuse of being too tired to talk now. If he is aggressive, challenging me about being late, I'll still use the "too tired" line, but it will be with an edge that says "don't get ballsy with me you impotent wimp." But, in fact, he says nothing. He rolls over against me, still maintaining the ambiguity about his state of wakefulness. Before long, he begins to caress me. He can feel that I'm still clammy from sweating. His hand moves to my crotch and I push him away. He caresses me more and then moves his hand to my crotch again. This time, I let him touch me. My pubic hair is crusty with dried semen and my own fluids and the lips of my cunt are swollen and slick with juices. He confirms at once that I've been well fucked. I'm sure he is churning with emotions. He's just been openly cuckolded by my old lover. I'm obviously well satisfied in a way Chris can't satisfy me anymore. He doesn't know exactly how to respond. Better Licking through Chemistry He kisses me and then stops suddenly. I'm sure he smells the alcohol on me but I suspect that he tastes Rod's cum-I hope he does. This is part of his punishment. Chris does nothing for a while. He seems almost to go limp-I mean his whole body. Then, tentatively, he kisses me again. I feel his tongue pressing against my lips and I offer him no resistance. Gingerly, then eagerly, he explores my mouth with his tongue. He's gotten himself into such a lather that I reach down to see if he is getting hard-quite a feat given the dosage of anti-Viagra he is on. As it turns out, he's as limp as cooked spaghetti, but by every other standard, he is very hot. He breaks from my mouth and begins kissing my neck and breasts. I wonder how far he will go with this. When his lips hit my pubic hair, I stop him with my hand and pull him away. When he tries again, I say, "You don't have to do this." But he pushes past my hand and begins licking my clitoris. By now he is positioned between my legs and he spreads my lips wide to lick deep into my cunt. I can feel Rod's cum starting to flow. In the dim light coming in from through the curtain, I doubt that Chris can see it, but he must feel it running out. He must taste the distinctive, salty taste of cum. He doesn't stop, though. He licks me like a madman. Maybe this is a primitive form of sperm competition. Maybe he is "reclaiming his territory" like a dog covering another dog's scent. But Chris can't actually cover Rod's scent. The best he can do is lick it out. I thought that this would give me abstract psychological pleasure from the revenge I was taking. I expected that this would give me ordinary physical pleasure. (Who doesn't like her clitoris and cunt licked.) But I had no idea how incredibly exciting I would find it. With every touch of his tongue, I imagine him licking Rod's cum into his mouth and swallowing it. I try to push more out. I want to fill his mouth with Rod's cum. It has little to do with revenge now. It has everything to do with cuckoldry-open, unapologetic cuckoldry. I love the power I hold. I love the insatiable desire I feel in Chris to try to satisfy me. He wants to reclaim his manhood by satisfying me more fully than any other man is able to. I learn a lesson in the pleasures of cuckoldry. It isn't just having two lovers. And it isn't the secrecy-though I suppose that can be exciting. The real pleasures come when your husband knows of your lover and can't do anything to stop it. Indeed, the cuckoldry drives him to be more submissive, more compliant, more attentive to your wishes. As Chris tries futily to reclaim his respect and manhood-ironically, by licking another man's cum from my cunt-he is so completely mine. Because I have tried everything to help him overcome his inadequacy, he can't blame me. The blame is all his, he thinks, and he does ablution by licking my satisfied cunt of all of my lover's cum. The more I think of it, the hotter I get. Soon, my head is filled of images from tonight: stroking Rod's cock in the parking lot, not being able to wait long enough for his cock to completely undress, being fucked hard from behind, sucking his cock in the car. All of these thoughts mingled with images of Chris sucking Rod's cum from my cunt. Chris moves back to my clitoris, excited himself by the level of excitement he sees in me. His tongue flicking across my clitoris sends me to a crashing orgasm-maybe the most intense I've ever had. I tone down my outward response, though. I don't want him to know how excited he has gotten me. When I finish, Chris crawls up next to me. I immediately reach down for his cock-good wife that I am, trying to encourage him to fuck me. I was surprised to find that, though his cock was nowhere near hard enough to give any kind of decent fucking, it was less limp than usual. I made a mental note of this: first, I noted that he is sexually excited by licking another man's cum from my swollen cunt; second, I noted that I needed to up his dose of anti-Viagra a bit. When I touch him, Chris knows that he isn't hard enough to fuck me. Even if he could slip it in because of how wet my cunt now is, he couldn't give me any kind of fucking. I'm sure he doesn't want any comparisons made. He mutters that he is sorry. And, sensitive wife that I am, I tell him, "It's okay. I'm really sore anyway." He rolls over without replying and we drift off to sleep. We both have much to think about, but I'm betting my thoughts are a lot more pleasant to me than his are to him. ========================== I slept in very late in the morning. When I got up, Chris had clearly been up for some time. There was the alluring aroma of coffee in the air but I decided to get a shower first. In the shower, I washed slowly, with a renewed appreciation of my body derived from Rod's interest. I held the personal shower between my legs for a long time, enjoying the feeling of the warm water tingling my sensitive skin. I wondered for a minute whether there is still some of Rod's cum running out my cunt or whether Chris had gotten it all last night. After I finished shampooing my hair and shaving my legs and underarms, I wrapped in a towel and headed for the kitchen for some coffee. Chris was there with the newspaper. At first, he said nothing-didn't even look up from the paper. Then, he said, quietly, "Do you want to talk about last night?" I let the moment linger for a long time before saying simply, "No". Then, when he didn't press the issue, when he just looked hurt, I added, "What's the point?" He didn't have a good answer for that, and we drank our coffee in silence for a minute. I told him that I had to go over to Rod's to get my car, but assured him that he didn't have to take me; I could take a cab. Of course, he wanted to take me. That way he thought he would have more control over when I returned. That was fine with me. I wanted him to take me. Chris followed me back to the bedroom. Before doing anything else, I picked up the phone and called Rod. I knew the number and this probably didn't escape Chris's notice. Rod answered, not knowing that Chris was there of course. When I said 'hi' he began to tell me how wonderful last night was. Chris pretended (though not too well) not to be listening so I tried to communicate the same to him in word and tone while simultaneously sounding like I was being considerate of Chris. I didn't say anything explicit, but my tone and a slight giggle here and there made the conversation with Rod very intimate. As I talked with Rod, I unwrapped my towel slowly and rubbed my body sensuously-somewhat suggestively-with it, though I wasn't wet anymore (at least nowhere but between my legs and rubbing there might be more than suggestive). I dropped my towel on the floor and continued to talk with Rob. This had to drive Chris crazy. Not only was I speaking intimately to the man I made love with last night, but I was stripping to do it naked. Chris didn't say anything, though. Since the conversation with Rod was going on for a while, I started rummaging through my underwear drawer for panties. I pulled out some plain white cotton panties and held them in my hand absent-mindedly while I finish the conversation. When I got off the phone, I started to pull on my panties, but stopped and took a second to wipe my crotch. I tossed the towel in the hamper and then pulled on my panties. I dressed quickly in a simple summer dress and sandals. I didn't really need a bra under this dress. You can tell I'm not wearing one, but it looks more innocent than slutty. The ride over was tense. Finally, Chris asked if I had to talk to Rod naked. I told him it's not like Rod could see me over the phone and that I thought he (Chris) just wanted to get this over as soon as possible so I was hurrying. Plausible deniability. Chris was silent for the rest of the trip. When we got to Rod's place, Chris pulled in next to my car. I thought he was hoping that I would just get in my car and go. When I got out, I told him it would take me a few minutes and he shouldn't wait for me. He questioned me about why I had to go in. Now the plausible story was that when I drove over last night, I still had my keys in my hand when I went into Rod's apartment and I left them there when Rod drove me home. Fortunately, Chris wasn't bold enough to ask to see in my purse. I wouldn't have let him, anyway. I fairly bounced up the staircase to Rod's apartment door. My hair was still a little wet and the uncombed curls were, I hoped, extremely sexy. I noticed that Chris wasn't driving away. As I suspected, he was waiting for me despite my recommendation. ========================== Rod opens the door and reaches out to me. I'm not sure whether Chris can see, but I move in quickly and close the door behind me. Rod is all over me immediately and I'm open to him. He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply while groping me with his hands. When he runs his hands up my short dress and feels my crotch, I'm quite wet again. He presses the crotch of y panties deep into my cunt and I can feel the wetness soak the panties. Meanwhile, I'm stroking his beautiful hard cock through his pants. I get his zipper down and sink to my knees, taking him in my mouth as I go down. He moans and encourages me with more "ohmigods!" I'm happy sucking him but I really want to get fucked-my cunt is itching for his cock. I get up, pull up my dress so I can slide my panties down to my ankles. I kick them off my feet and let him press his fingers deep into my hot cunt while we kiss again. "You want some of this?" I ask him innocently. He starts to pick me up to take me back to the bedroom like last night but I stop him. "Chris is waiting outside. Let's be quick." With that, I turn around stretching myself over the kitchen bar. They call this 'presentation' in animals. The female presents herself for mounting. If she is attractive to a male, the male will mount her and fuck her. I'm feeling very animalistic and, apparently, Rod finds me attractive. He doesn't even wait for me to wiggle my ass. He's got his pants off and his shirt pulled up and he's lining up his cock with my waiting cunt. He's in a frenzy himself, but he has enough control to tease me a little. He just touches my hungry lips with his cock and holds there. I try to push pack on to him, but now his strong hands are holding my hips away from him. He waits until he hears me kind of whimper and beg "please." Then, with a ferocity that stuns me, he thrusts into me all the way in a single forceful stroke. If I weren't so wet, it would have hurt. As it was, it felt absolutely wonderful. I urge him to keep fucking me hard and he pounds into me over and over. I'm in ecstasy and I know he is building quickly to an orgasm. I want to cum with him so I start rubbing my clitoris faster and faster. All the time, I'm trying to tighten my cunt in rhythm with his thrusting. The combination of being fucked really hard and playing with myself, unabashedly, like this is bringing me to an orgasm quickly. But the thought that takes me over the edge is the image of Chris, waiting impatiently in the car-fearing the worst and being exactly right. That sends me over the top and I have a crashing orgasm. And my orgasm seems to trigger Rod's. I enjoy feeling his final spasmodic thrusts as he fills me with his cream. We wait, panting hard, for only a few minutes. When he pulls out of me, I stand up my dress falls in place. The only way you could tell from looking at me now that I was just given a great fucking is by the glow on my face. Rod is another story. His pants are off and his shirt doesn't cover his still semi-erect member. It is still sticking out, shiny with our fluids and there is a drop of cum forming on its tip. Gently, trying not to lose the cum in my cunt, I sink to my knees once again and clean him off with my tongue, using my fingers to squeeze out any cum that might remain. Then, I stand up quickly and head for the door. Rod spots my panties on the floor and picks them up. "You need these," he says, throwing them to me. I catch them and in one fluid movement, throw them back telling him to keep them to remember me by when I'm not here. He smiles and holds them up to his face, inhaling deeply. I leave and as I close the door behind me, I straighten my dress and then my hair. Neither really needs it, but I'm sure Chris will be watching. When I get to the car, he opens the window and asks what took me so long. "You won't believe this. We looked everywhere in the apartment for them and, as it turned out, you were right. They were in my purse all along," I reply with cruel innocence. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long. You should have just dropped me off." I get in my car and back out without looking back at Chris. As I head out of the parking lot, I see Rod looking out of his window and I wave at him out my open window. A quick look in the rearview mirror confirms that Chris saw. I pull into our driveway before Chris and quickly get out of the car and head into the house. He pulls in as I'm closing the front door and I hear him open it behind me just as I'm going into the bedroom. I quickly pull another pair of panties out of my drawer-they're blue, but they will do fine. Chris is rounding the corner into the room as I'm starting to pull them up. "You fucked him again, didn't you? While I was waiting there for you, you fucked him!" I let him know that I don't appreciate his tone. I guess he doesn't like my calm, condescending reply. He grabs me by both arms and throws me on my back on the bed. I haven't finished pulling my panties up and the bottom of my dress flies up as I hit the bed. My cunt is exposed to him. He has violence in his eyes, but he's not a hitter. I wonder what he is going to do with all his rage. He pulls off my panties forcefully and spreads my legs. "Look at you! You whore! You go over to pick up your car, make an excuse about your keys so you can go up and get a quicky. Is he paying you? He should be. You're his fucking whore!" He's on a roll, now. "Then you leave your fucking underpants there. Does he pay you extra for your dirty panties? God! I can't believe this. You're a fucking whore." Now he's shot his verbal wad. He stands there silently-looking at me sprawled on the bed with my unfaithful cunt exposed. I fear he may turn and walk out so I answer him. "Okay. Call me whatever dirty names you want. Maybe I am his fucking whore. All I know is that I need Rod. I need to feel a cock harden in my hand-to feel a rigid cock in my mouth and fucking my cunt." He was silent, crushed. I could afford to soften my line. "I'm sorry! I know this is difficult for you: your impotence, Rod and everything. But I've tried everything I know to help you. I'm not going to live my life like a nun." Now, he starts to walk away, but in pain, not in anger. I grab him by the hand and pull him down to me. He puts his head on my chest and cries, I think. At least, it feels like he is. After a long minute of consolation, I gently push his head down past my breasts. He doesn't resist. I push him down until his mouth is over my clitoris. "There," I say. "Lick me like you did last night. Lick out all of his cum. Make me clean again. Make me yours again. Make me cum like I did last night." For a moment, I don't know if this is working. Maybe I'm wrong about what I thought was motivating him last night. Maybe he is revolted by this. Probably he is, but if so, something overcomes his revulsion. I feel his tongue gently touching my clitoris. Then, tentatively at first, he begins probing my cunt with his tongue. At the angle he is lying at, he can't get very good access so he slides off the bed onto his knees and positions himself between my legs. Now, in the harsh light of day, he can see everything. He can see my red, swollen lips protruding from my wet mound. And, as I press lightly, he can see Rod's cum oozing from my cunt. He pauses for a moment, no doubt torn by conflicting emotions. Then, he spreads my lips wide and plunges his tongue into my sloppy cunt. "Oh, yes," I encourage him. "Lick my cunt. Get all of that cum out. Clean me completely. Don't leave any of Rod's cum in your wife." This all sounds very corny to me, but Chris is licking me as deeply as his tongue will reach. When he slows down I tell him to take my clitoris. "Lick it like you did last night. I want to feel the same crashing orgasm I did then." He services me as long as it takes and I have a wonderful orgasm. When he is done, I lie with him for a while. I regain my breath and then I slip down to take his dick in my mouth. He tries to stop me but I tell him not to be silly. I tell him just to let me do this and maybe it will feel good. I suck his shriveled pecker gently, trying to make it feel good, without getting him aroused. I'm not too concerned about him getting hard. But he could have an orgasm even if he isn't hard. I don't want that or he would want me sucking his limp dick all the time. There are ways of sucking a dick, I learn, that are humiliating to the man as they are pleasurable. If you hold the penis between your thumb and finger like you are picking up a soft noodle with chopsticks, it doesn't matter how good it feels to the man when you wrap your lips around it. He'll still hate the way it makes him feel to be touched that way. After a few minutes of sucking his little dick-with no response-he pulls me up and asks me to stop. I apologize, assuring him I was just trying to make him feel good. I am very much the loving wife. I drift off into an early nap. It's not surprising that I'm tired. I've been a busy beaver. I don't know what Chris does for most of the day. ========================== That night, though, he wanted to talk. I agreed, but subject to the condition that he not abuse me verbally. "We can't solve this problem if you make me out to be the bad guy here," I told him. Surprisingly, he was understanding. He didn't want to attack me or condemn me. He wanted us to try some more things to help him and he wanted me to cool it with Rod while we did that. I told him that I was willing to help him anyway I could, but I wasn't sure about not seeing Rod. He didn't insist. I guess he knew he couldn't. I told him that if I did see Rod, I'd keep it secret so he didn't have to deal with it, but he didn't like that solution. I guess it would feel like an additional infidelity if I were to be sneaking around. Over the next few weeks, we tried more of the same things we'd tried before and a few new things. Often, we rented some explicit porno movie and see if it would get Chris going. During this time-at least when I wasn't getting reamed by Rod or working on Chris's problem with him-I was formulating a way to exercise a finer level of control over Chris's sexual response. Viagra is usually ingested in pill form. But I learned that there is no reason it can't be applied in a transdermal lotion. It was easy enough for me to mix up a batch of Viagra in a lotion that I could rub into Chris's cock as I stimulated him. I also mixed up an identical looking batch of anti-Viagra. Now, I kept Chris on his regular dosage of oral anti-Viagra but I could counteract the effect quickly by rubbing some of the Viagra lotion on his cock (or anywhere, really) and, if I wanted, I could also quickly counteract the Viagra by rubbing some of the anti-Viagra lotion into his skin. This would all take a little experimentation. I knew I was in uncharted territory. There were no studies on this. But I was confident that with a little practice I would control everything about his sexuality. I would control the horizontal; I would control the vertical; I would control Chris. Not surprisingly, we found that straight movies didn't do much for Chris. Movies of straight fucking, beautiful women sucking lots of cocks, gang bangs all seemed to have no effect. We explored more exotic realms. Male dominance of women seemed to leave Chris cold, as did images where men force women to have sex with them. (I was careful to make sure he was well dosed with the anti-Viagra for these movies.) Lesbian scenes didn't rev his engine, either. It seemed that nothing would work. Then, I found a great little title, "The Country Cuckold." I took the time to preview it before we watched it together. It had great scenes and I just knew it was going to make Chris hard-the movie, together with a little transdermal Viagra.