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Second Wife

By: Creamer



(For the complete text of the last chapter of Bean Counter, please see my website on my profile page for details.)

*

From Mary's journal

January 14th

I arose at the crack of dawn, desperately needing to pee. 

That's not particularly unusual, these days, considering that I have an ever-growing baby tap-dancing on my ever-shrinking bladder. But my morning ritual of a hurried wobble to the toilet that every expectant mother learns by heart was followed in quick order by brushing my teeth, brushing my hair, applying the bare minimum of make-up to my face, and then preparing for a morning ritual that few, if any, other expectant mothers learn: sucking my husband's cock and drinking his cum before he goes to work.

How I got to this place is a long, strange tale -- suffice it to say that I had a moment of weakness in my otherwise-stable marriage and threw one of the best things in my life very nearly into the toilet. That's why I actually had to go upstairs to the master bedroom, where my husband slept in glorious luxury, instead of returning to my own serviceable but small bed in the unfinished addition just off the kitchen. I don't sleep with my husband -- soon to be ex -- I just suck his cock. 

A lot.

As I said, I had a moment of weakness and I am still paying for it. I'll be paying for it my entire life. If everything goes spectacularly well, I might -- might -- salvage my marriage. But it's just as likely that I'll screw up again, somehow, and find myself single, childless, broke and alone in the world. But that's the chance I'm taking in trying to atone for my crime.

I tip-toe up the stairs, even though they are covered in thick carpeting. I don't want to wake Bill before I get there, I prefer to wake him up slowly. With my lips and tongue. That way I'm the first thing he thinks about when he tumbles back into consciousness. That's important to me. It's important to know just how much I love him and want him back.

It all started about seven months ago, when I met a flirtatious young man at the bookstore where I worked. I had been suffering from a lack of Bill's attention -- he's an important CPA at a rapidly growing accounting firm -- and the young man's smile, humor, and good looks made him very, very alluring to me. So alluring, in fact, that I started seeing him after work.

Oh, it was innocent, at first -- or so I told myself. I played the married vixen for a few weeks and enjoyed the attention. But then one night he kissed me, and the forbidden nature of that kiss melted my resolve. I let him go far, that night, I let him feel my wet married pussy and tease my sensitive married tits and I enjoyed the taboo of it all. I was a good Catholic girl, after all. Breaking taboos is a vital part of my sexuality.

But I couldn't stop with a sultry fingerbang in the back seat of his car, though. No, I was hooked. The next time, I visited his home. And I sucked his cock. It was so different from Bill's -- smaller, perhaps, but attractive nonetheless. The danger of getting caught, the excitement of new dick, the fresh moans from his lips as I fellated him were precious, delicious things, and I wanted more. The next time, I let him eat me, driving me insane with orgasms. The time after that, we made love.

Scratch that: we fucked. It was simple lust covering for mediocre sex, the excitement coming almost exclusively from the clandestine nature of our coupling. Oh, I came -- I came my fucking brains out -- but in the end there wasn't a lot of love, just lust and a sense of stupid pride that neglected housewives feel when they're stepping out on their husbands.

I approach the door of the master bedroom, my stomach full of butterflies and baby, nervous that he will send me away. He has, before, when I displeased him. I vowed after that that I would never displease him again. The door squeaks just a hint when I open it and I curse myself for not oiling the hinge yesterday, when I first noticed it. The dark mass under the comforter doesn't stir, though, and I relax. Mostly.

My lover and I were . . . well, we were lovers. He read me poetry and brought me flowers and candy and he painted pictures for me that I couldn't take home. He stole me away to movies and the theater, and he flattered me incessantly the whole time he was fucking me senseless, every chance he got. It was wild, passionate sex that gave me a surge of life whenever we met -- and a bucketful of good Catholic guilt every time we parted. I was doing wrong. I knew it. I vowed to break it off, each and every time we parted . . . but when his smiling face came back through the door of my store, my nipples got hard, my pussy got wet, and I couldn't wait to feel his lips on mine.

Of course my relationship with Bill suffered. I pushed him to work harder, cultivate a better class of client, work nights and weekends, anything to keep him busy and away from my stolen moments. I thought I was falling out of love with him, and our sex life virtually died. He suspected something, obviously, but he never suspected me of infidelity. Bill is trusting, that way.

Or, actually, he used to be. I ruined all of that.

I skulk silently to the side of his bed and can't resist watching him sleep for a few moments. It is such a common, romantic, wifely thing to do, one I took for granted, once. Not now. Now that I'm forbidden from sleeping in the marital bed, I miss those sweet, silent moments more than almost anything else. My fondest hope is to have them back, someday, and I will cling to them like the breath of life itself. I watch the rise and fall of the comforter, watch his nostrils flare and his eyelids twitch in the twilight, and I sigh. I had it all, once upon a time. I had the right to call this man my husband, and I fucked it right on up.

You see, it was all fun and games until I skipped a period. Not terribly unusual for me -- I've been irregular more than regular since I started -- but three days after it was due I started to suspect. A week and I started to fear. Two weeks and I was dreadfully sure, and completely unable to keep down anything more substantial than a graham cracker. My tits were puffy and tender. I started weeping for no reason. Bill -- who already knew something was amiss -- cornered me and interrogate me, feeling as if he had somehow done something to make me angry. I pushed him away, hard. We hadn't slept together in ages, by that point. I knew the baby wasn't his -- it belonged to Tim, my lover.

Perhaps another man might have killed us both at the outrage. Or slunk off to an attorney and gotten a divorce before the pure humiliation of the fact became public knowledge. Or changed his name and moved out of state. Or any number of other things. But not my Bill. My bean counter accountant of a husband was far, far more devious than that. He did what no-one expected him to when I dropped the double bombs of divorce and pregnancy. 

He got even.

Even though I was the victim of his animosity, I still have a certain perverse wifely pride in how he got his revenge. I'll spare you the details -- he tells me they're available elsewhere -- but I will tell you the important part: the little glass piggy bank next to his bed.

It's full of beans. Almost a hundred, now. Each one represents a promise of a blowjob (made before my affair) that I did not deliver on . . . until after I broke up with him. Each bean is the fulfillment of my bargains, all done since I broke up with him. He kept track, of course, using a blind email account a few years ago to track it and time-stamp it every time I reneged on a deal. There were way over a hundred I owed to him when he imposed this ridiculous penalty on me. Now there are well over seventy beans in the piggy. And I was about to add one more.

Quietly, I lift the covers, careful not to disturb him. I'm surprised -- he's wearing pajama bottoms. Plaid ones that my mother gave him two years ago. He probably doesn't remember where they came from or who gave them to him, but he likes them because they're comfy during the thick of Winter. And they make my job a little more difficult. I'm lucky, this morning. Even though he's wearing pants, the slit is visible and I can already see the tell-tale bulge growing. He's still asleep -- I check -- but his body has gotten used to these morning exercises. It doesn't take me long to gently work the head of his prick out into the air without waking him. And then there it is, that cock I've come to know so well over the years.

It's a pretty prick, if I may say so, long and thick and meaty -- substantial, as my Mom would call it in her Good Catholic Mother way. I can't believe I gave it up, voluntarily, for an inferior model -- but hormones do strange things to a woman when loneliness and temptation collide. My lover's prick was far less impressive, but he had used it passionately -- a passion that I hadn't felt with Bill in years. I reached out and gingerly touched it with my fingertips, and it immediately responded with swelling, seeking my hand like a flower seeks the sun. I grasped it more firmly, now, beginning a gentle stroking motion that encouraged its growth. Then before it became too big, I leaned down, kissed the head, and engulfed as much of it as I could between my lips. Bill let out a soft groan in his sleep and I paused, seeing if he had awakened. A soft snore greeted me, instead. I was safe, for the moment, safe to play with my favorite toy without his guidance.

I don't know how he did it, but within the space of a few short months I went from being the neglected wife of a successful man to the soon-to-be-divorced woman carrying a love-child to the sad and abused pregnant girlfriend of a financially destitute third-rate artist. I know Bill was behind some of the problems, but I know a lot of the crisis was situational -- and I, alone, was responsible for that. Can I blame Bill for some of the heartache and suffering he caused? Certainly. But I won't. He was reacting like a wounded man, striking out at who had wounded him. He was a product of the business world, of attorneys and laws and regulations, and he was good at it. Me? I'm more of a free-spirit. Artsy, you could say. Hence my attraction to Tim. I had no idea just how devious and cruel Bill could be --even when he was helping me.

I work the bottom of his shaft with my tongue using long, languorous strokes that make it fill with desire. I can taste the sweet flavor of his pre-seminal fluid, now, and I relish it -- it is a tangible sign of me pleasing him. It is also a sign that he will soon be awake. I slow my pace, not wanting him to be. This is my time. In a moment he will grab my head or otherwise direct me to fulfill his pleasure and I will let him. But right now I am in charge.

Bill actually helped me out a lot during that ill-fated fiasco. He got me money for what I needed -- stuff Tim couldn't provide on his working-man's salary. Money for baby clothes and maternity clothes and prenatal vitamins. Of course, it didn't come free -- I had to earn it. He fucked me, coldly, cruelly. I would make it sound like he treated me as his whore, but the truth was he would have been kinder to a whore. I was his cheating wife, reluctantly fucking him behind my boyfriend's back for the pocket change from his pocket. And he never let me forget it for one instant. That's what paid for my meager Christmas gifts, and provided bail money for Tim. My pussy. I sold it back to my husband for cash. The very thought shames me and arouses me to this day.

I tag the head in long, languid circles, tasting the precum even more now and unwilling to part with it on my tongue. Bill moans a little in his sleep, now. I smile around his cock -- I am in control. Not for long, and not very much, but for this one brief moment I was sucking his cock the way I liked to, not the way he wanted me to. After the last few weeks that was a bit of a victory for me. My services were always on his schedule, to his order. When he took control I passively complied. For the moment, I had the power over his sleeping cock.

Eventually Tim found out about my liaison with my husband and pitched a fit. He was so enraged, in fact, that his true colors started to come out. He anally raped me that night, and repeated the act in the subsequent weeks. I've always hated and feared anal sex, refused to do it with Bill. It was one of the many, many things I denied him as a means of exerting power in our relationship. And then Bill took me anally, hoping to be my first, and I had to tell him. He's only done it a few times, now, and I have lost my fear of the act, now. But not my hatred. It feels degrading and abusive when he does it. But I let him do it anyway. Sometimes that's the only way I can get him to touch me.

Things came to a head around the holidays. Tim kept getting arrested for stupid stuff, the money was running out quickly, and Bill started dating again -- a fact that shocked me to my core. I knew he loved me, and I hadn't seen him so much as look at another woman since before we were married. Watching him flirt so shamelessly with a bunch of socialites at the local country club was more painful than I thought it could be. Knowing that he had fucked at least one of them that night was a dagger in my heart. I didn't think I was particularly jealous, but when I overheard a couple of bitches talking about him like he was a piece of meat in the ladies restroom, I nearly cried.

Things with Tim got worse. His art shows failed miserably. He became more abusive. He wasn't exactly a hit with my parents, who loved Bill like a son. In fact, with every passing day I knew that I had made a grave mistake, one I would pay for for the rest of my life if I stayed with him. But I had no choice. The baby in my belly was a burned bridge to the world I'd had. No way left to go but forward. The anal rapes continued, the petty bickering, the abuse . . . all the time I was trying to gain back some measure of dignity by fulfilling my promised oral duties to my husband. Compared to what I was getting at home, my "reluctant" blowjobs started being the one predictable highlight to my day. And when he fucked me, or had other sex with me, it was incredible. Tim? He was a child in comparison.

I suck now in earnest, knowing that he will awaken soon. I'm ready for it, ready to cede control of the experience back to my husband. He stirs and moans again as the friction builds in his shaft. I shamelessly flutter my tongue over his glans to enhance the effect, ensuring a tumble into consciousness. Just to make certain, I snake my hand into his pajamas and find his testicles. He loves having his balls played with. 

Finally, Tim cracked under the pressure. He hit Bill at work and got fired and arrested again. Then he burned down his own family's farmhouse (where we had been staying rent free) and took off to parts unknown, abandoning me and our child to the cruel whim of fortune. I didn't know where else to turn -- I asked my sister for advice. I asked my priest. Both told me the same thing: go back to Bill. Beg him to forgive you. Do whatever it took to get a second chance. 

He's awake, now, I can feel it. He hasn't taken control yet, but he's considering the matter as I make long slow strokes in and out of my mouth. He is thinking about grabbing my head and face-fucking me -- he enjoys that -- but he also enjoys feeling me work for his seed, using every tool I've learned to coax it out of his balls.

The terms were harsh: I could come back and live at what used to be "our" house. I would live in the unfinished section that he had built while we were apart -- a maid's quarters. He would pay for my upkeep in a minimalist fashion through the end of the pregnancy. He would keep me fed, clothed, housed. The priest lined up a nice family to adopt my bastard -- they would pay the medical expenses. After the birth, I was to leave, and the divorce would proceed. And I could not deny him sexually, in any way. He was free to see other women. I was not free to see other men. I was to be treated like a live-in maid and sex object. And I gratefully agreed to the abuse for the opportunity.

You see, in all the madness about Tim, I re-discovered that I loved Bill -- smart, funny, bean-counter Bill. And while I wanted him to take me back as his wife desperately, I knew that couldn't happen, not with my bastard around. So I had to give up my baby and still convince Bill that he didn't want to get a divorce. Giving up the baby was the hardest decision I've ever made in my life, but I know he will be going to a good and loving home. A home like I could have had for him, had I not strayed. A home like I could perhaps salvage from the ruins of my marriage to Bill.

And if that meant sucking his cock every morning and swallowing his load without complaint, well, that seemed like a small enough price to pay. 

I've always known Bill was passionate about fellatio, of course. It's one of the things he says attracted him to me, my willingness to go down on him. But what had once been an exciting bit of foreplay or a sensual indulgence or a demonstrable outpouring of my love and affection had eventually become little more than another household chore, a wifely duty to perform. I began to resent it, and my performances on my knees got further and further apart. I became reluctant to do it at all, eventually, because of what it implied to me: Bill's domination in our marriage. It was a tangible symbol of our inequality. He made all the money, I "kept up" the home (with the help of a maid service and a gardener) and I had honestly felt that when I gave him head, it was because it was expected of me. So I had stopped.

It took my affair and pregnancy -- and the bean jar -- for me to realize just how passionate he was about it. I had now sucked off my husband more in the last six months than our first years as newlyweds. I had started out doing it reluctantly -- hell, it was one step away from sexual assault. But then with repetition and practice I began to enjoy it again, even when it was obviously just a physical release for him. Now I knew that it was, perhaps, the one key I had to where we had been, once. Begging a man for forgiveness is easier when you're already on your knees.

And that was my plan. I knew he still had a gut-full of anger and revenge planned for me. He has told me as much, warned me that I could expect horrifying abuses. But I would endure it, all the humiliations and mind-fucks he could throw at me, for the chance to be his wife again. I cheated. I erred. I sinned. And if the penance I am given includes his most perverted sexual fantasies, then I shall endure all of them for the slimmest opportunity to share his life again.

And that starts with the bean jar. One bean per blowjob, and I still owed him about fifty. After all I have put the man through, the least I can do -- the very least -- is to fulfill the bargains I made when I had his trust and confidence. Bill wasn't insisting on it, but I was. He could use me freely, any way he wished, any time he wished -- or not. But I owed him those blowjobs, and he was going to get them. And with any luck my devotion would be compelling enough to keep him from divorcing me. It might not be, but it was surely my best bet.

He let me suck him all the way to completion without grabbing my head or offering any direction. I was proud of that. Any time you can make a man cum without any active participation on his part, you have proven your skill. I swallowed eagerly, licked his cock clean, and slipped back out of bed to waddle downstairs and start breakfast while he showered. 

I only stopped long enough to put a bean in the piggy. Time to begin my day.

Wow.

I read those words with a certain amount of pride and satisfaction. It was a solid vindication of my plan, a sign of success I had only dreamed about. I shut Mary's diary and pushed it back under her mattress, exactly where she had left it. She didn't know I knew about it, of course. She thought this tiny, cell-like room was her sanctuary. I mean, I had given her a lock, which she used when she wasn't there. She should expect that I'd keep a key. Indeed, I had other ways in, should I need them.


Second Wife Ch. 02



"So, how's the little wifey?" Henry Morefield asked me with a big grin on his too-wide Irish face. "Barefoot and pregnant?" He chuckled all the way to the tee. Out of respect for the game I let him complete his drive before I answered, popping open a beer as I did so. It was a warm January for our little corner of the South, which meant it was perfect weather for golf, if you didn't mind the fairways having that icky brown color and the players wearing the ugliest sweaters on the planet. Henry had joined me at the last minute when my client I'd reluctantly agreed to play with cancelled out with an emergency. Henry had had a contract signing planned, but it had fallen through, too. We hadn't spoken much since he helped me with that little contract I forced Mary to sign, and I appreciated the chance to catch up.

Even though I'm not particularly fond of golf -- a "good walk, spoiled", as the man said. But like the three-martini-lunch and the client dinner/strip club, it was a necessary part of the job. And today there wasn't any pressure, since there wasn't a client, and I found I was actually enjoying the game.

"A little of both," I sighed. "But she won't be my wife for much longer."

"Oh?" he asked, as he put his club away. "Is she fulfilling her agreement?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm getting head left and right," I assured him. "And other stuff, if I want it."

"Sounds like a good deal," he murmured, hesitantly. "Apart from the whole she's-carrying-a-bastard-in-her-belly thing."

"Yeah, that's a little hard to take on a daily basis," I sighed. "Excruciating, actually. That was supposed to be my baby, and we were supposed to share this whole experience. Now . . . well, I mostly leave her alone about the pregnancy."

"Well, she won't be pregnant forever," he said, in an attempt to sooth me. "Right. So when she's not pregnant, then what do I do?" I asked. I meant it to be rhetorical.

"My advise? Toss her ass out. Get your jollies however you need to to move on, then send her packing and start over."

"And part of me wants to do that," I agreed, as I approached the tee. 

"Desperately. Getting a lot of strange pussy after too long of a drought has been very . . . motivating."

I waited until I had put my ball in the air -- a fair shot, landing about two hundred yards in the fairway -- before I continued. "But the other part of me wants to forgive, forget, reconcile, and try to salvage our life together. We were in love, once. I could be again. With the Mary I married, not the cheating whore who lives with me now."

"Not sure that the woman you married can every come back," he grunted as I got into the cart and he took off towards our balls. "Not in any way you could trust her."

"And that's the thing," I agreed. "That's it exactly. How can I ever trust her again? I mean, I know there has to be a way. I've even found a way, I think, at least to truly test the theory."

"What? This should be interesting," he chuckled evilly.

So I told him. I'd come up with the basics of the plan when I had been shacking with Susan up in Canada, and had been refining the details in my mind ever since. It was, at various points, cunning, crude, and cruel, but it should get the job done, to my mind. When all was said and done I would know without a shadow of a doubt just how much Mary loved me and how faithful she was, and that would tell me much of what I wanted to know before I proceeded with the rest of my life.

Henry listened attentively until I wound down. Then he shook his head in amazement.

"Big, hairy brass ones you've got, Bill," he sighed admiringly. "Never would have . . . looked at it that way. Seems like an awful lot of trouble for a woman who's cheated on you. But hey, tell her that her old car drives like a fucking first-time blowjob!" he added, smiling beatifically." I had sold Henry the car I'd bought Mary for her birthday within hours of her telling me she was leaving me. 

"It'll be worth the time and trouble, just to know for certain. That way I can put it in the past one way or another."

"And in the mean time?"

"I watch her get fat and abuse the hell out of her mouth," I said, chuckling evilly. "That part, at least, is without any potential moral murkiness. At least from my point of view -- I'm sure a friendly neighborhood feminist would have all sorts of rude things to say about it."

"I still think you should just throw the bitch out," Henry sighed. "It'd make the paperwork a hell of a lot simpler. . 

"Yeah, but it would deprive me of my amusement," I countered. "Honestly, I'm just not ready to let her off the hook, yet. One way or another."

***

That first month of our new arrangement, I just wanted to make her suffer.

That's not an unusual sentiment for a husband to have about his wife, especially a soon-to-be-ex-wife. But my situation was unique -- at least, I had never heard of it happening before. Since my "wife" was now more my maid than my spouse, it seemed only natural that I would begin my campaign of mental torture by returning to habits of my bachelor-days -- habits she had spent years breaking me of. 

The obvious ones, of course: towels on the floor, toilet seat being left up, not cleaning the hair out of the tub, you name the transgression, I was all over it. I hit her pet peeves particularly hard, the minutia of daily existence that she had spent the years since our honeymoon training me out of. I left the top off the mustard bottle. I drank out of the milk carton. I threw my coat across the back of the kitchen chair when I came home -- though the proper hook for the garment was just two feet away. Every little nuisance where I had compromised in the course of our domestic habitation became a new symbol of slovenly freedom for me. And she just had to take it -- and not say a fucking word.

The mood between us had changed dramatically, of course, as our new living situation cured into place. This used to be 'our' house, remember, her home. She had had a hand in choosing every piece of furniture, had selected each color scheme -- on my dollar. Now it was clearly 'my' house and she was an underemployed maid, living here at my pleasure. And for my pleasure. I wasted no opportunity in rubbing her nose in that fact every time I caught her lapsing back into our old 'married' routine.

I used to roll out of bed, make coffee, go out and get the paper, grab a shower, and by the time I was getting on my suit she was starting to stir. An indulgent husband can put up with such bullshit. An angry employer, not so much. The first time I caught her trying to sleep in, it was cold stares for breakfast and a long list of household chores I wanted completed by the time I returned home.

I used to make dinner every Friday night, if we didn't go out, showing off my particular talent for pasta while we split two bottles of wine. That had faded as she had grown more distant -- and died completely when she started fucking someone else -- but she tried to bring it back by getting out the pasta machine out of the cupboard the first Friday she was back, and buying two bottles of red wine. She left them expectantly waiting on the kitchen counter. The doctor had approved one glass a day, for her -- and she was being careful. But the implication was there. I just looked at the stuff when I got home, looked up at her coldly inquisitive.

"I just thought . . . it would be nice," she said, in a meek tone.

"I have a date," I said, matter-of-factly. I didn't, but I didn't want to give her the satisfaction. "Why waste a perfectly good Friday night here, with you, when I could be out getting righteously laid?" That hit her hard. She nodded, tears in her eyes, and put the pasta appliances away.

But it didn't quite stop her from trying.

We used to go to the Oswald's Superbowl party every year as a couple -- it was one of those neighborhood affairs that passes for a social life in the suburbs. She told me that Melanie Oswald had called with the invitation, an expectant look in her eye. I gave her a bland stare and muttered something about having other plans. 

Then I changed my mind. If she wanted to show off her new "relationship" with her husband, how could I pass up such an opportunity? In an apparent "moment of weakness" I grudgingly agreed we could go, and so we went.

But if Mary was thinking that being out again as a "couple" would be helpful to her cause, I killed that idea quickly. Since moving out and in with Tim The Small Dicked Wonder, Mary had lost touch with the bitchy and shallow social strata she used to inhabit. If she expected our neighbors to welcome her back, she was rudely awakened. Instead of rekindling our romance, it did little more than ostracize and humiliate Mary. 

Everyone in the neighborhood knew about our situation, and the sight of her big belly trying to navigate through the crowded living room, fighting drunk football fans for snack foods while she was being pointedly ignored by just about every woman in the room, was priceless. My male neighbors leered at her like she was a slut. The women would barely speak to her. 

Me? I got sympathy from both -- and two phone numbers from recent divorcees. 

Mary tried to be stoic about it, hanging around a deserted corner of the living room drinking juice and trying to disappear. But I could tell that she felt devastated -- especially when Tammy Horner very publicly grabbed my ass and crotch after her fifth Long Island Iced Tea. I indulged her by pulling her into the bathroom for a few moments of fevered necking, during which time I felt her up while she massaged my cock through my pants. Only Mary witnessed us leaving the bathroom together, which inspired a deep blush and a downcast face from her that I found very pleasing.

I was so pleased, in fact, that I had to indulge myself. Mary was near tears by that point, but I excused myself and motioned her to follow me. She looked grateful -- obviously she thought I had signaled that it was time for us to flee the humiliation. Instead I pulled my plaything into the Oswalds' darkened garage, sat her on the top step, back to the door, and had her blow me until I unloaded a powerful stream of jizz in her cheeks. Worst yet, Melanie Oswald busted us as we were coming back inside, recognizing Mary's guilty look for what it was. If Mary's sluthood was in doubt before, by the end of the game everyone there was convinced she'd fuck a passing goat if one was handy. 

So much for trying to get us back into our "normal" Superbowl party.

But it still didn't stop her from trying. Every chance she got, Mary tried to inject some normalcy from our past into the present fucked-up situation. And every time I caught her at it, I shut her down . . . hard. I took pleasure in doing so, I won't deny it. Like I said, I wanted to make her suffer, and reminding her daily of just how big she had fucked up her own life was a grand way to do it.

That didn't mean I didn't use her -- her mouth, at least. I was enjoying the hell out of the blowjobs. She was still keeping track, of course. I wasn't. If she wanted to pin her hopes of an eventual reconciliation on the power of the piggy, that was her business -- I was taking her at her word and fucking her face any time I wanted. She bore it with a mixture of stoic resignation and eager arousal, depending upon her mood.

For example, apart from her frequent morning escapades, the first few weeks when I got home from work I'd sit there and watch Sportscenter while I had her work on me with her lips. I'd interrupt her every now and then to go get me a beer -- and I'm not a particular fan of beer. But the sight of her pulling her mouth off of my dick, waddling into the kitchen to bring me back a cold one, and then returning to sucking me off while I popped it open was so much the epitome of the American Male Dream that I went out of my way to do it. I even made her take her shoes off, which she didn't get, at first. Then realized that she was barefoot, pregnant, sucking her husband's cock while he watched sports. Mary isn't quick, but she's not stupid. 

I especially enjoyed making her blow me when she didn't feel like it -- and as that baby grew in her tummy, she didn't feel like it more and more. Still, I rarely relented, unless there was a genuine health issue involved -- like vomit. She still had very occasional morning sickness, after all, and that was someplace I just didn't want to go.

But when she was fine, physically, but just feeling a little down (not at all uncommon, considering the number her hormones were doing on her brain) I'd notice. Instead of capitulating to my visceral reaction to comfort her, I'd walk up to her, nod, and sit -- or stand -- and wait for her to unzip me. She didn't verbally complain of course, because that would violate our deal, but she frequently gave me ugly glances as she sank to her knees and did the wifely duty she had neglected for so long.

I savored those moments most of all. When her head was bobbing mechanically back and forth, my prick sliding across the surface of her unenthusiastic tongue, her lips enclosed passively around the shaft, I'd revel in her erotic reluctance. About half the time she'd garner some simple lustful interest just from the sexual act, and finish me off with a lingering aura of arousal, but the other half of the time she would placidly accept my grunted offering of sperm with all of the enthusiasm of a bored grocery store cashier. When I was finished -- and by now she knew not to pull off my cock without my permission -- I would pop my softening dick back out and spend a few moments running the sticky shaft all over her face. She bore it patiently, but I could feel the humiliation and anger roll off of her in waves.

The hardest part for me during that first month was actually disciplining myself not to spend too much time thinking about her and her on-going humiliation. She was in love with me, or thought she was, remember. She was desperately trying to get me to re-discover my love for her, any way she could. Sometimes Mary went out of her way to do something to incite me to anger. If she couldn't have my genuine affection, she would settle for my wrath.

But the opposite of love is not hate, it's disinterest. It would be all too easy to indulge in some genuine emotional abuse, scream, rant, throw things, break stuff -- but that would demonstrate I cared enough for her to be angry. But when I answered her little challenges with casual disinterest, it really broke her heart. And that's what I wanted. I wanted her to suffer, and that was the best way to do it.

By the end of January, when the weather is constantly overcast and drizzly here, a kind of desperate malaise had settled in over her. I was busy at work, getting my clients' end-of-year tax forms prepared, so Mary was left alone in her former home for long periods of time. I kept tabs on her, of course -- I could access the clandestine cameras in her room by web -- and she spent a lot of time curled up on her humble bed, reading magazines or watching television or crying. She did a lot of crying. And writing in her diary. One passage in particular is telling:

Jan 28

It's been three weeks now and Bill has been cruel. Not by punishing me, like I expected, but by totally ignoring me. Our one outing at the Oswalds' was a disaster. I'll never be able to look Melanie Oswald in the eye again. But every day he gets up and goes to work and he doesn't come home until night, and then he just uses me for a blowjob and goes to bed. I never thought that this would be this hard. Or that I would be so lonely. I keep trying to think of friends who live out of town and might not have heard about my situation, but no matter who I call, they seem to know. Mom and Dad barely speak to me. My sister is busy at work. I feel completely unloved and isolated. I know part of this is the hormones talking, but I cannot help but feel a profound sense of depression. I thought things would be different, once Tim left. Bill won, didn't he? I know he is angry, but he won. Shouldn't that mean something to him?

Even when I think about the baby, I feel sad because I know I'll have to give him up. Why is God doing this to me? I know I broke a Commandment, but . . . 

Mary frequently talked about God in her diary. She and her family were devout Catholics, and going to mass was about as social as she got these days. She also continued weekly counseling sessions with her priest. I think those are what got her through the worst times. His advice had been clear: trust God, obey the sacrament of marriage, and offer herself utterly to me as a wife -- for we would always be married in the eyes of God, no matter what. If God wanted her to suffer through this penance, that was His right, and she had to be a good little Catholic girl and just take it.

I liked her priest.

***

Two days after Groundhog Day she slipped upstairs, sucked me off, started my shower, and scampered off to fix breakfast, as usual. I started to get ready for work when I noticed a calendar entry on my laptop I had forgotten. I changed into more casual attire after sending an email to my secretary letting her know I would be late.

"Why are you so dressed down today?" she asked, politely, as I ate. She was washing dishes.

"You have an OB appointment in an hour," I mentioned. "I'm going with you."

She paused and looked at me, her eyes a bit wider. "What?"

"Your first appointment with your new obstetrician is at nine thirty," I said, slowly and deliberately. "I shall be attending."

"Why?" she asked, confused.

"Because, legally speaking, you are still my wife. You might be carrying someone else's bastard, but until we are divorced I still have some insurable interest in that womb of yours. So I'll be attending as many of your OB sessions as I can."

"That's . . . very considerate of you, Bill, but really, it's not necessary—"

"Had you not slutted yourself out," I interrupted, "and had instead gotten pregnant with me, like you were supposed to, I would be attending all of your appointments with you. It was an experience I had looked forward to, back when I loved you. Just because the situation has changed, I don't think I want to miss out. Besides, since you are living under my roof I think it's wise that I be completely aware of your medical situation.

She looked pale and embarrassed at the same time, and a tempest of emotion lay behind her furrowed brow. But after a moment of strained silence she finally cleared her throat. "Thanks," she said. "I appreciate it."

"Oh, it's not for your benefit," I reminded her.

"Still," she said, meekly. "It sucks to go to the OB alone."

Once again her hopes were raised -- I was attending an appointment with her. That was as close to showing "interest" in her life as I had gotten since she moved back in. Like any desperate woman, she grasped at that straw with both hands and held on with a deathgrip.

I wasn't being kind, as she soon found out. It was another opportunity for cruel humiliation. I drove her to the appointment, neatly deflecting all the attempts at casual conversation she tried to start. I helped her out of the car -- much easier to manage with luxury seats than her crappy economy vehicle -- and got her checked in. Much nicer office than her previous doc -- the couple who was adopting her baby were footing the bill now, so she was able to escape the Public Health system. We were soon both escorted back to an exam room where an ultrasound machine loomed near the table.

I watched with mild interest as Mary slipped out of her panties (growing tighter by the day as her butt expanded) and waited patiently while the nurse took her vitals and noted the results on her chart. Everything was normal, she said. Just before she slipped away, she apologized in advance for the wait -- Dr. Simmons had just gotten back from a delivery and was running a little late.




Second Wife Ch. 02



The moment the door clicked I stared at Mary. She stared back. She looked alone, a little scared, vulnerable in her paper dress. I guess my look drifted towards sympathetic, because she gave me a grateful look.

"Thanks for being here with me," she said in a way that was designed to melt my heart. I was wavering, perhaps more than any time since she broke up with me. I had to do something about this quickly, the revenge-obsessed asshole part of me was screaming: Red Alert!

I nodded, and then locked the door. A look of surprise and alarm crossed her face, followed by horror as she realized what I was about to do.

"Oh, Bill, no, not here," she whispered harshly. "This is my doctor's office for Christ's sake!"

"You heard the lady," I said, evilly. "We've got some time to kill. So I'll give you a choice: you can either tell me once again why and how you cheated on me and lost everything in your life you held dear, and begin your appointment by choking tears, or you can go ahead and do what you promised you would do and suck . . . my . . . cock. Your choice." I was firm. I was proud of myself. I didn't want to be, I wanted to hold her and comfort her. 

"This is about the least sexy place I can imagine," she hissed.

"I'm not overly concerned if you enjoy it," I pointed out. She was pissed, I could tell -- and in a way I respected her right to be pissed. If a woman has no peace even in the privacy of her OB-GYN's office, where can she find it? But I was here, and I was being a prick by violating that -- but she had to decide whether to follow her end of the bargain or relate to me once again the sordid details of her affair.

With a nervous sigh, she made her choice by motioning me over towards the table. "You can't fuck me," she reminded me. "Not before an exam."

"Why on earth would I want to fuck you?" I asked, amused. That stung her, hard, but she didn't reply. She tugged down my zipper and freed my dick and popped it in her mouth before beginning a desperate power-suck. She was racing with the clock to make me cum before her doctor arrived. And I could imagine she was regretting blowing me so thoroughly this morning.

There was a perverse thrill in it for me, of course -- how could there not be? This was a feminine holy-of-holies, a gynecological shrine where the penis was a distant memory. We were surrounded by diagrams of pregnant women, cut away to show the progression of pregnancy, and dozens of pamphlets on everything from cervical dysplasia to Venereal Disease to the perils of unwanted pregnancy. This was NOT a penis-friendly place.

Yet I stood on the little step, which brought my dick perfectly to her lips, and Mary was slurping away as determinedly as she could, hands on each of my hips as she face-fucked herself. I put a guiding hand on the back of her head as I encouraged her. I pushed deep, deep into her throat, deciding to enjoy the thrill of this ride as long as I could. After all, she couldn't risk making too much noise in protest, lest she invite attention from the staff. 

I was content to saw away between her lips, while her tongue went crazy trying to bring me off. She kept glancing up at me, desperately, her cheeks turning red and her chin slick with spit. That was just too much for me -- I exploded in her mouth, almost making her choke. In fact a little drop of cum fell from her lips and on to her gown, unnoticed. I let my cock sit there relaxing on her tongue while she cleaned away the last traces of sperm, and then almost got it bitten off when there was a loud knock at the door and the rattle of a doorknob.

I pulled free with a plop and quickly zipped up and unlocked the door.

"Sorry," I explained to the doctor, apologetically. "Small wardrobe malfunction."

"Happens all the time, Dr. Simmons said. He was an older doc, balding, with glasses, and he seemed pretty cheerful. He tossed Mary's chart on the counter top and washed his hands. "So, you're Mary and Bill? Nice to meet you. How are you feeling, Mary? Any pain?"

He continued to prepare for the exam by asking her several questions about her condition, which she answered hesitantly but truthfully. He palpitated her bulging tummy, let her listen to the fetal heartbeat (which almost made her cry) and then fired up the ultrasound machine, readying the long, phallic-shaped probe with a copious squirt of institutional KY Jelly.

"Just put your feet in the stirrups and relax," he ordered, in a tone that didn't seem to relax Mary in the slightest. Obediently she complied, until her bare ass was hanging off of the edge of the table, her knees pointed skyward, and her naked pussy (stubble just now taking over her mound again) in the face of the first strange man since Tim. "So, are you excited about the birth?" he asked me, as if she wasn't there.

"Not really," I answered, truthfully. I stopped there, letting him draw it out of me. That would be more painful and humiliating to Mary, I decided. 

"Why not? Fatherhood is a scary thing, I know -- three kids of my own -- but you get used to it pretty quickly."

"I'm not the father," I shrugged. He looked confused as he placed the tip of the probe against Mary's vulva. It looked cold. From the way Mary stiffened, I imagined it was.

"You . . . I thought you two were married?"

"We are. But I'm not the father."

"Oh. Fertility specialist?"

"Nope. Adultery." Mary let out a short moan as the truth was revealed to her physician at the same moment he penetrated her vagina with the ultrasound. Dr. Simmons fumbled a bit in shock.

"Hnh?" he grunted, glancing quickly at both of us.

"My . . . wife," I began, calmly but intently, "saw fit to take a lover. The bulge in her belly is his enduring gift to her. The birth will be concrete proof of her infidelity, so you can imagine my mixed emotions as it approaches."

"Oh . . ." Dr. Simmons said, distracted. "And you two are still . . . together?"

"We're still legally married," I agreed. "For now." There was enough venom in my voice to make Mary whimper. She put her arm over her eyes -- no doubt to dull the glare from the fluorescent lights above -- and her knees sagged apart as the doctor navigated the probe through her pussy. Sorry, vagina. In an OB's office, it's a vagina.

"That's an unusual story," he admitted. "Let's take a picture of the little ba—scamp. He looks good and healthy -- ten fingers, ten toes."

Mary endured the rest of the exam in quiet. I didn't mention anything else until she had gotten over both the humiliation of revealing her infidelity and the joy she had at seeing the healthy baby inside her. I allowed her that -- it wasn't my place to interfere with her emotions about motherhood. But after the doc pulled the sticky probe back out of her twat and tossed her a towel to wipe off the residue of lubricant, I felt like I could chime in again.

He went over her diet, her exercise, prescribed a pre-natal vitamin and some nausea medication, and talked about her bowel movements and mood swings. Then he asked if we had any questions. Mary had a few, which she asked in a quiet voice. Then I piped up again.

"So, what about sex?" I asked, loudly. "Can she still screw when she's like this?"

"Well, yes, as long as she's not in distress there's no reason why she can't have regular intercourse."

"How regular?" I asked.

"Well, as regular as she can stand, I suppose," he said, clearly taken aback.

"So she could get it maybe twice a day, and it wouldn't hurt the baby?"

"No, it shouldn't. If it does hurt, Mary, then stop intercourse and call my office. You might have some spotting afterwards -- perfectly normal, considering the increase in vasculature across the surface of the cervix -- but anything that persists, contact us immediately."

"Thank you, doctor, I—" she said, flushed with embarrassment.

"What about anal?" I interrupted, loudly. "Can she still have anal sex?"

"I . . . well, if she had it before the pregnancy, she shouldn't have a problem with it, now. Just be extra careful to keep the area clean -- no need to risk an infection for a transitory thrill," he said, smiling uncomfortably.

"Well, we've only done it a few times," I answered. "But I know she did it a lot with her lover. His penis was, apparently, much smaller than mine, though. I just want to make sure she wouldn't have a problem taking a much larger penis in her rectum." 

"Just use plenty of lubricant," the doctor mumbled, very uncomfortably. 

"Oh, we will, we will!" I said eagerly. "Hear that, honey? We can do it in your butt! And you thought there would be a problem!" I leaned in conspiratorially and confided to the doctor, "She isn't always thrilled about it, but the little vixen feels obligated to make it up to me, for going out and getting some strange . . . penis. I haven't done it to her in a month, though, until I checked with a doctor."

"It wouldn't be my first choice," he said, his eyes wide as he tried to figure us out. "Even under the best of circumstances, it's not advisable to abuse the ligaments around the rectum. They can stretch over time and lead to . . . anal leakage, hemorrhoids, and other unpleasantness."

"Anal leakage?" I asked, loud enough to be heard through the door. "Well, we'll just have to cut the butt-love down to a few times a week, then, honey!"

"Can we go now?" she asked, desperately.

I ignored her -- this was too much fun. "What about oral, doc? Any problems there?"

"Not as long as she's comfortable with it," he agreed. "That can't hurt the baby at all."

"And swallowing ejaculate? She loves to swallow the ejaculate," I observed. "It's her favorite part!" Her face was fire-engine red.

So was the doctor's. I pitied him. "No, actually, the additional protein might even be considered helpful," he admitted, through gritted teeth.

"Looks like we've got a busy day ahead of us, Honey!" I said, enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for your help, Dr. Simmons!" The man beat a hasty retreat. I couldn't blame him. 

Mary, for her part, merely glared hatefully at me as she wiped her crotch and put her panties back on. She didn't even speak until we were back out in the parking lot. I was prepared for her to explode at me in rage, but she resisted. I saw her lips moving, silently -- she was either cussing or praying.

"Was that," she finally said as I unlocked the car, "completely necessary? God, it's not even like you're having sex with me!"

"Just keeping my options open," I said, mildly. 

"You just enjoy humiliating me!" she spat.

"Actually . . . yes, I do," I admitted. "It brings me some solace as I contemplate the life you wasted so casually. And if you recall, you consented -- in advance -- to any such humiliations I wanted to bestow."

"Yeah, but I thought you'd want more schoolgirl outfits or maybe some bondage or some shit like that," she said, glaring at me as she got into the car. "I didn't think you'd . . ."

"Your thinking days are over," I snapped. "You were thinking six months ago, and look where it got you? You made a deal, and yes, I'm doing my best to make you break your word on this. That way I can prove to myself what a dishonest bitch you are, ensure that you are utterly beyond redemption, and can get on with my life. I told you I would put you through Hell -- and I plan to. You'll buckle, eventually. I don't know exactly what it will take, but one of these days you are going to snap, terminate our agreement, and I can finally put you far, far behind me."

She stared at me. "You are cruel," she observed.

"You made me that way," I countered, my eyes narrowing. She looked away. She didn't have any ready answer for that.

"I vowed I'd stand by my word," she said, finally.

"Well we know how seriously you take your vows. . ." I said, darkly.

"I mean it," Mary insisted. "I vowed that I would take it. This, the humiliation at the Oswald's, all of it. You want to bend me over and fuck my ass all day long? Go for it. You want to have 'whore' tattooed across my ass, you set it up, I'll get it done. You want to call up everyone in my high school class and tell them how I betrayed you? I'll gladly admit to everything, and beg your forgiveness in front of them, over and over again. You name it, I'll do it. I'm stronger than this. You want to humiliate me, Bill? Do it. Bring it on. Because I love you, and I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to fight for my husband and my marriage, and I don't care about anything else."

There were tears. My heart was stabbing me. She was sincere -- that much I knew. She might have been lying, but she wasn't insincere. Some things you just know after a few years of marriage. 

But while a part of me sang out when I heard those words, another part hardened even more. My trust in her, once complete, was blown, and it would take more than some brave words and a couple of hundred blowjobs to get it back. Had she come to me and confessed her affair, we might have worked through it conventionally, with therapy and counseling. I would have matched her determination to reclaim our marriage with my own.

But she hadn't. She had not only violated the sanctity of our marriage, she had had the temerity to "fall in love" with the human pimple, and leave me for him -- only because she was carrying his child, perhaps, but that's what she did. She left me, told me she wasn't in love with me, insulted me, destroyed my hopes of a future and a family, and humiliated me as much as you can humiliate a man. I had handled my business -- Tim no longer polluted my state -- and I had "won" that round by getting my revenge on him. But whatever fleeting animosity I'd had towards the man who had made me a cuckhold was nothing compared to the resentment I harbored towards my wife. What she had done had struck at me deeply. I was no longer the man she had married -- or even the man she had fallen out of love with. I was a new man, suspicious, paranoid, calculating, and ruthless -- and I resented that she had stripped who I was away from me. 

It is painful to re-invent yourself. I am a creature of habit, and routine comforts me. You just don't see too many "spontaneous" accountants. The debt I yet owed to Mary was profound, even if the hurt was, by and large, unintentional. Some wounds go so deep as to change the nature of your soul, and she had inflicted one upon me. That baby in her womb, which I held as an innocent bystander in all of this, was a biological result of the wound. A living, breathing lump of emotional scar tissue. Had she even told me she didn't love me, and loved another, perhaps reconciliation would be simple. 

But the day I had looked forward to most since my wedding day, my first prenatal visit with my wife, had been stolen from me because of her thoughtlessness. I recognized that Mary was in the process of reinventing herself as well, but she had chosen to do that within my purview, under my influence. There would be consequences to her actions, now, and who she would become would be partially a product of my pain. 

The urge was there. I felt a powerful desire to forget everything, let bygones live in the past, start from scratch, clean slate, all of it. I could have easily fallen into her arms and begged her for our old life back. But the cold, hardened part of me knew that if I did, our relationship would never be the same. It couldn't be, not with the baby. So I had to find another route back to sanity. And whether or not that route included Mary, and however her own reinvention turned out, was completely unknowable. 

I knew I wanted to be married -- I'm a creature of habit, remember, and until recently I put a lot of stock into the security of the marital union. I enjoyed being married. It felt good. I just didn't know if I ever wanted to be married to Mary again. As a matter of fact, I had yet to seriously date anyone since she had been back, and I knew it was time to change that. Regardless of what the future held, I knew that as of now I wasn't even remotely ready to let Mary back into my heart. Our relationship wasn't dead, yet, but it was coughing up blood and might not survive the birth of her baby.

Her baby. It should have been our baby.

Which is the thought that inspired what I did next. I reached over, stuck my hand up the skirt she was wearing, and rudely dug down into her panties. She squirmed uncomfortably and almost grabbed my hand, but resisted -- this was well within the scope of our agreement. I slipped a finger passed the leg of her panties and found the entrance to her pussy. I pushed my finger relentlessly within -- causing her to moan a little. Then I pulled it back out and smelled it. I knew she hated that.

"Smells like you didn't entirely hate the humiliation, now did you?" I sneered. "You're soaked!"

"That's the lubricant!" she protested.

"It's not all lubricant," I countered. Then without warning I pushed my finger into her mouth. That startled her, and then disgusted her, but in the end her tongue licked my finger clean. 

"Go ahead, Bill," she said, patiently, licking her lips. "Whatever you can throw at me, I can handle. Yes, that made me a little horny, getting . . . degraded like that. But just a little. But if you want me to moan like a slut and beg for more, I'm willing to do it," she said, resolutely. "I'm serious."

"You just think you are," I growled. "Like it or not, we're tied together for now . . . but it would take a miracle to heal the wounds you gave me. A miracle, Mary, and I don't believe in miracles."

"Yeah, Bill?" she said, scowling. "Well, I do. I believe in miracles. So at least I believe in something. What do you believe in, Bill?" Her tone was biting, of course -- we were having an argument -- and I don't think she expected an answer to that 'what do you believe in' question. People of faith (not necessarily religious faith, but all people who are happy throwing caution to the winds as they blunder along with their lives) almost always consider their position unassailable -- how can you argue against faith?

But I had an answer. 

"I believe in the record, Mary," I shot back. "Facts. Figures. That's what we Bean Counters do all day. We don't go into work hoping that things will be better, or fearing that they'll be worse, we look at the historical record of events and make a determination based on our experience and knowledge of what has transpired before. And while we know that past performance is not an indicator of future results . . . it's a safe way to bet. And your record, Mary, isn't particularly inspiring. Based on your record, I don't have a lot of hope. You can fight for our marriage if you want -- I'm giving you your shot -- but don't expect me to be particularly easy to win over. Because miracles are not statistically significant, honey. They just don't happen."

"I don't believe you!" she said. "I don't. I know if I can . . . if I can show you how repentant I am . . ."

I shook my head and laughed ruefully. "You go ahead and try, sweetheart. We can keep this going indefinitely. I'm game -- I know you'll fuck it up, eventually. But in the mean time, go ahead and show me. Show me how sorry you are. You know how."

She calmly nodded, and began opening my zipper. By the time I hit the highway, her nimble lips were already suckling the head of my cock. She wasn't resistant, or reluctant, this time. She was resolute. She was sucking my dick with the righteousness of a saint.

I had the little martyr right where I wanted her.



Second Wife Ch. 03



There is a certain anxiety that comes with being an accountant, a sense of excitement – or impending doom, if you suck – that comes with every turn of the calendar page. Our professional lives are filled and regulated by deadlines. April 15th was a big one, of course – my professional equivalent to Christmas – but there is always the end of the next quarter, the end of the fiscal year, the deadline for filing . . . something, somewhere. For some people this kind of constant, unrelenting pressure is too much to bear. They see deadlines like tidal waves lining up to crash down over them, and eventually break under the pressure.

For some of us, though, the prospect of an impending deadline not only provides a vital sense of stability in our lives, it adds a level of excitement as we continuously strive to accomplish the task-at-hand before the clock ticks away. I won't put it on par with the thrill a NASCAR driver gets by bumping bumpers on the last lap of Daytona, but in the bean counters world, deadlines can be exciting things. 

No, really. 

Compound that with the difficulties of breaking in both a huge new client and a new staff, and you have a level of excitement and anxiety that builds tension like a political campaign. Late hours, bad coffee, morning donuts, network issues, lunch meetings, cubicle hopping, technical issues, paper jams – every little thing in my office was adding to the stress. I was kind of glad I wasn't happily married at the moment – the stress bleeds over, and if things hadn't been so fucked up at home, I would have driven Mary crazy with the late nights and the devotion to the job.

Luckily, she was distracted by a shattered marriage and a deep depression. She was lonely and feeling sorry for herself. She moped about the house incessantly, rarely going out – her forays into public had been exercises in humiliation, so apart from the grocery store she was a pregnant homebody. She'd stay in her room reading or watching TV. She slept a lot. I checked in on her a few times a day over the web – love those hidden web-cams – but I didn't call. Neither did she, after I shut her down when she called 'just to talk'.

Was I being cruel? Perhaps. Needlessly cruel? A matter of opinion. I wasn't just being an asshole for the sake of revenge, despite what you might think. In a lot of ways, this was as hard for me as it was for her – the desire to break down, run to my wife, and beg her to return our marriage to normal was overwhelming, at times, and I'll cop to a fair amount of depression in my own right. Apart from that little sadistic part of me that was enjoying this brutal revenge, my rage had been – mostly – appeased. So why continue the farce? Why not just either cut Mary loose to begin a new life, or go ahead and reconcile and try to rebuild our marriage the way sane people might do? 

Good question. I spent many sleepless nights trying to adequately answer it. The conclusions I came up with were difficult to face, but impossible to ignore without lapsing into self-delusion. Everything kept pointing back towards the plan I had formulated, and once I have a plan I stick with it unless there was a compelling reason to alter it.

Now, I know female psychology places a premium on communication – women don't process their emotions until they've had a chance to talk about them at length. While it was a difficult hurdle for me to clear, early in our relationship, I eventually understood it for what it was, and relaxed my natural masculine instinct to recoil from those inane phone calls about someone else's relationship, what she saw on sale at the store, or what some celebrity did to some other celebrity, and why it was scandalous. I learned to do it because I loved my wife and knew that such patient indulgences on my part contributed to her mental health and well being. If I didn't always pay close attention to what she was saying, I'll plead a Y chromosome on that one: men really don't care.

But I didn't have to put up with that any more. When she called that first time – about something ostensibly "important" about groceries – I berated her for the interruption in an icy cold manner that left her cowed for days. I had work to do, I couldn't be bothered with mindless blathering from a woman I didn't need to please any longer. She took the hint, and thereafter she didn't call unless it was, indeed, an emergency. That just made her more depressed. Which made me more depressed – but I couldn't dare show it. That would violate the sanctity of the Plan.

I was content to let her mope in near-silence for a few days until I got a call from her younger sister – my sister – Susan.

Now if you are just joining us here in Bean Counter world, you should probably know that Susan has it out for Mary, in an understated way, considering that late-blooming, slightly nerdy Susan always played second-fiddle to busty, outgoing Mary growing up. In a lot of ways, Susan was more like me than her sister – she taught High School English, had excellent taste in antiques, was witty and quick with a come-back, and she had a perverted mind that enjoyed the thought of her cheating bitch of a sister suffering – though she harbored enough love not to wish any lasting ill on her. 

She had also launched a secret affair with me after I gave her the lion's share of Mary's wardrobe, shoes, and cosmetics. You can't afford that stuff on a teacher's salary, and Mary had taken every opportunity during our marriage to lord our affluence over her single, bookish little sister. Susan expressed her gratitude to me with her tight little schoolmarm pussy, and while Mary wasn't aware of our sexual liaison, she knew Susan and I had gotten closer in the wake of her affair. Later, after I used part of my annual bonus to subsidize her laser corrective eye surgery, she was so pleased with me she gave me access to her ass – and later flew to Canada to spend the New Year's holiday with me. 

Susan was largely responsible for my hunt for a second wife. You might wonder why I wanted such a thing, after the debacle with Mary, but the truth is I enjoy being married – when I don't have to worry about fidelity. There's a security and predictability I like about it. As much fun as I was having getting some strange pussy on the side, eventually, when all this was over, I wanted a wife to come home to. That might sound strange, but as sour as I was on marriage with Mary, I was still pretty positive about the institution as a whole.

Mary had no idea I was banging Susan, of course, and we were content to keep it our secret. I love Mary and Susan's parents dearly, and would never want to have them look down on me for "taking advantage" of Susan in my grief over my lost marriage. Or her taking advantage of me. So for the sake of propriety, we were, in effect, having an affair. Of course, that made it all the more exciting.

"What's up, Bill?" her sexy voice asked over the phone. Susan manages to sound alluring even when she's discussing her mother's birthday. "Haven't heard from you in a while, so I thought I'd give you a buzz."

"Well hi there," I grinned into the phone. "I've been ass-deep in alligators at work, or I would've called you."

"I know the feeling – I've got a stack of utterly mediocre essays that I just can't bring myself to read. Spring break can't get here soon enough. How's Sissy?"

"Mary? You'd have to ask her. I haven't been paying attention."

"Liar. Is she still living up to her part of the bargain?"

"So far," I admitted. "We're kind of in a holding pattern. But she hasn't tried to get out of it. If anything she's even more committed. Or so she says."

"I figured as much. Still getting it good and regular?"

"Actually, I've just enjoyed her oral talents. I haven't touched her pussy. I'm wondering how long she can go without dick."

"Well, how long can you go without pussy?"

"My freshman and half of my sophomore year. Accounting major, remember?"

"Well, how about you stop by after work for a refresher course? Besides, I have your first two victims for you. Remember? You wanted me to get you dates?"

"I didn't expect you to move so fast," I chuckled.

"Are you kidding? Most of the women I know are desperately single – or desperately married. I've been sitting on these for two weeks now," she confessed. 

"I'll be right over," I breathed. I looked at my desk while I did so. Nothing that couldn't absolutely wait until tomorrow.

"Bring dinner," she ordered. "Chinese. No MSG. Something with nuts."

I made it there by six, which wasn't bad for me. Susan was looking ravishing just by looking like the young schoolmarm she was – she would have been instant boner material, had I been a boy in her class. She's more slender than Mary (even when Mary wasn't getting pudgy from her pregnancy) and has smaller tits, and I noted that she had put some blonde streaks in her hair since the last time I had seen her. I gave her a brotherly peck on the cheek as I brought dinner inside, and she grabbed my ass as I made my way to her tiny apartment's table. Someone was feeling frisky.

"God, I'm STARVING!" she pronounced as she tore into the little white cardboard boxes. "I've been grading papers non-stop for two days, and there's nothing more exhausting than reading teenage angst rendered in mutilated English." She eagerly grabbed a pair of plastic chopsticks and proceeded to tell me far more than I ever wanted to know about the petty politics of a suburban Southern high school. I ate dinner while I listened, making the appropriate noises in all the right places. 

While I had no interest in the content of what she was saying, the monologue reminded me of the husbandly duty I once performed for her sister, patiently listening to uninteresting crap that was, nonetheless, vitally important to a woman's psychological health. The differences were interesting, though. Susan attacked the story like a starving dog attacks a bone, while Mary tried to elicit comment every sentence, which could be excruciating. It's a mystery to me why some things just aren't real for a woman until she talks about them, but it was a mystery I was willing to accept, a rule all wise husbands learn early on in their marriage. In fact, it made me more than a little nostalgic for happier times.

After about fifteen minutes, she finally ran down and realized what she had just done, and immediately apologized.

"Bill! Oh, here I am chatting along like you're my best girlfriend – sorry!"

"No, no, it's quite all right," I smiled. "You're very pretty when you're chatty."

Her eyes got just a bit narrower, and the hint of a blush rose to her cheeks. "Well, it wasn't a total waste, then. I don't hear 'pretty' much these days. Besides, now that I've given you the background, I can tell you about the two sluts I've lined up for you."

"Sluts?" I said, intrigued. "Really?"

"At least one," she amended. "And the other is definitely open to the idea. Let's start with Bachelorette A: one of my best buds, Monica Corbett. Mon and me were in school together, she lives just north of here and teaches at the absolute worst elementary school in her county. And her poor little pussy is absolutely going to waste, out there. Nothing but rednecks and old Southern ladies who still say 'tinkle', as far as the eye can see."

"How deplorable!" I said in mock horror.

"Just what I said," she agreed with a grin. "She's cute – my age, of course – and not at all ready to settle down. She called me the other night to check in and complain about her social life, and begged me to get her laid. Two birds, one stone."

"Now, is 'cute' considered innuendo for 'fat with a great personality' or 'obnoxious to the point of vomiting'?" I asked. "Just want to clarify our terms."

"She's 'cute' like 'petite' – she's tiny. Five one, maybe, but she's no girl. B cups, nice ass, just the way you like them."

"In point of fact, I like them pretty much any way," I observed.

"Good! She's got fake blonde-reddish hair, a big nose, and she's looking for someone to seriously clean out the cobwebs – she's been celibate since last summer and it's driving her mad. So I said you'd fuck her. So you'd better fuck her – she's a sure thing."

"I might insist on taking her out on a date while I'm at it."

"She won't mind – she's poorer than me. But she's also a stone-cold freak in the sack. Buy her lobster and she'll probably let you stick it in her ass. But you'd better do a thorough job – I gave you glowing remarks. I have a reputation to protect."

"I'll give it my best shot," I promised. "Set it up. Friday night would be fine, I think."

"Consider it done. Bachelorette number two is an older lady – older than me, that is, but still well within your range – and a local entrepreneur. Cate Leath. Very nicely built – C cups, curves like a mountain road, a very . . . earthy personality. But classy – a real Southern belle."

"Intriguing," I admitted. "What does she do?"

"She's a florist. 'Flowers by Cate', over in the Park. She did the flowers for my girlfriend Adel's wedding. Very sweet lady who definitely gives off the horny vibe. A little lonely, but she's hot. But she's not a sure thing, like Monica."

"Give her my card, tell her to email me," I said, chuckling. "Maybe Saturday night?"

"I'll pass it along," Susan nodded. "But whatever are you going to do for pussy between now and Friday?" she asked coquetteishly. She even batted her eyelashes. I stifled a giggle and tried to act stern. 

"I guess I'll just have to fuck whatever else is around," I said with a sigh. I suddenly looked at her. "Your pussy appears to be unoccupied at the moment . . ."

"Not for long," she giggled back. "But why not fuck the one you have at home?"

"Mary? To be honest, I'm feeling a little skittish about it," I confessed. "She's there, and eager to please, I guess, but she keeps trying to get us back in the old patterns. I'm afraid that if I just give in and fuck her, that we'll be on that slippery slope."

"Maybe," Susan conceded. "She would try to do that. She's always been far more manipulative than I. Bitch. And it is driving her crazy that you haven't made any serious overtures towards reconciliation. I keep telling her to stay the course."

"So, should I fuck her, then?" I asked. Hell, I didn't know. I needed a little perspective on this, and Susan was really the only one who knew the whole story. Well, most of it.

"Absolutely," she affirmed. "But you're right, not like she wants it. She'd see that as a victory. Can't have Sissy winning, even in her head. Let me think about it for a minute, while I suck your dick – if you don't mind, that is."

"I'm pretty much done with dinner," I agreed. "Time for the fortune nookie."

I fully deserved the egg roll she threw at my head. But then she led me into her tiny livingroom, deposited me on her couch, and sat submissively at my knees. I paused long enough to kiss her deeply, grabbing her juicy little breasts through her shirt while I was at it. I kept at it until she moaned and broke away, then pushed me back to get at my fly. My dick was already turgid, of course, straining to be touched as it exited my fly. Susan sighed beatifically and began licking it like an ice cream cone.

She gave me ten minutes of rock-solid head, playing with my cock more for her own benefit than mine – not that I cared. I could tell by her breathing how excited she was getting, and just when I started considering blowing in her mouth she got to her feet and frantically stripped off her blue jeans and panties.

"I wanted you to eat me out," she admitted breathlessly, "but honestly I really just need to get fucked!"

"Uh-huh," I said, eloquently, as she slithered her tight little twat down over my pole. Before she was fully seated I was stripping off her shirt, and then buried my face between her bra-encased titties like I was getting a hold of my first pair. Her pussy was hot, like a furnace, and delightfully slick, and the groan she gave as the last three inches forced their way past her pussy's lips was inspirational. She twisted her pelvis around until she was fully impaled, then leaned back to watch me as her hips began a gentle gyration. 

"Oh, God, yes, that's what Suzie needed!" she said, enchanted. "God, I needed to get fucked!"

I declined comment, considering the sensitive nature of the issue. But then again I was trying to stuff as much tit in my mouth as possible, too, so I probably didn't have much of substance to communicate. She began a thumpity cowgirl ride, slithering her spine around so that my dick hit all of her hard-to-reach spots, and when she found an angle she particularly liked she returned to it often.

Susan rode me like a lust-crazed nympho for nearly twenty minutes, then I decided to give her a treat. I stood up, holding on to her, and let her ride my cock in mid-air. She's not that big, so I was able to sustain the position for a good eight minutes or so, while my sister freaked out at the unique sensation. She ended up cumming twice in rapid succession while perched on my prick.

Finally I sat back down, and she twisted off my dick and spun around, re-planting her pussy on me reversed. I flicked open the catch on her bra and helped her shrug it off while she pounded her own twat silly on my pole, then reached around and cupped both of her bouncing boobies as I squirted my load explosively into her slick slit. She didn't notice at first, and kept riding through a final orgasm. Then she collapsed back on me in a heap.

"That . . . was so much better . . . than grading papers . . ."

Who was I to argue?

I got home about ten that night, having enjoyed another and much less frenetic round with Susan in her under-utilized bed. Then she threw me out so she could get her work done, and I stopped by a bar and reveled in the fact that I didn't have to call and let anyone know. I had two beers and a warm fuzzy feeling that comes with a successful booty call. 

When I came in I noted that Mary had apparently made my dinner for me – I hadn't told her not to, of course. I started to feel a little bad about that, then I remembered I just fucked the hell out of her little sister, and that she was carrying her lover's bastard child, and then a ruined dinner wasn't so important any more. I whistled to myself as I took off my coat, tie and pants and put them in the dry cleaning bag, then shuffled through my house in my socks, shorts, and shirt. 

Mary was up reading in the livingroom, and I could tell by the way her eyes looked that she had been crying not long ago. I nodded hello, and she called my name.

"Bill? Did you . . . have a good time?"

"It was just a client," I shrugged, the lie coming easily to me. "Nothing important."

"Do you . . . do you want a blowjob before bed?" she offered, hesitantly.

I considered. Why not? I still had at least one in the chamber.

"As long as I don't have to do any work," I agreed. I sat down in my recliner, and Mary scooted eagerly – but ungracefully – between my knees. 

"You don't have to do a thing," she assured me, almost gushing the words. "You just sit there and let Mary take care of this poor thing." Her hands dug into my shorts and pulled out my cock, which was starting to get hard already – and had started out more than a little sticky. There was no mistaking what that meant. She noted it at once and looked at me, eyes wide. I stared back at her as if nothing was amiss. I mentally dared her to make an issue out of it . . . even mention it . . . 

She declined, giving me a fake little smile and then bending her head to take my freshly-fucked cock into her mouth. She almost gagged a bit, at first, but she persevered like a trooper, and soon her face was tracing the length of my cock, from balls to head, in a soothing rhythm. She wasn't happy about it – I could hear the wheels turning in her brain as she tried to figure out who the hell had put their pussy on her cock tonight – but she knew better than to question it. That was progress. 




Second Wife Ch. 03



Mary does give great head, and even after losing two loads in her sister's tight twat my dick was basking in the attention. I reveled in the knowledge that she was licking up her own sister's secretions as she pleasured me, and the way she was trying to pretend to be sluttishly enjoying the process was a thrill on its own. But it was still taking a lot longer for me to blow than usual. After a full half-hour of oral caresses, she pulled her swollen lips off of my dick and looked up at me while stroking it absently with one hand.

"Am I doing it okay?" she asked, concerned. 

"Fine, fine," I replied with some disinterest. That got her – every good wife knows that anytime a man says 'fine' he's keeping something back. I watched her silently panic as she thought that her one saving grace in this fucked up relationship – her ability to suck a dick – was fading in importance in my mind. The panic lead to resolve, and shortly she was back to work, redoubling her efforts to get me off.

Another ten minutes and she took another break. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked, a note of desperation in her voice. 

I considered. There was something . . . 

"You can lick my asshole," I said, matter-of-factly.

"Huh?"

"Stick your tongue up my ass while you stroke me," I advised. "I've . . . recently discovered that I like my ass played with – who knew? So stick your tongue up there and wiggle it around some, while you're jacking me off. I'll let you know in enough time so you can swallow it." I sounded perfectly reasonable. She looked perfectly horrified. 

"I . . ."

"Yessss?" I asked, patiently.

"I'll be happy to," she said, quickly, then lifted my balls carefully as I scrunched down a little more, giving her access to my back door.

She was hesitant, of course. This was not something she had expected, at all. It wasn't even something I had particularly been fantasizing about. But when her cautious tongue made contact with my hairy, sweaty ass crack, I let out a magnificent groan and grabbed the top of her head. 

"Oh, YEAH!" I moaned, pulling her face deep into my taint. "That's incredible! Stick your tongue out, Mary – deeper! – that's it, oh, that's nice. Lick my ass, Mary. Lick it good, you filthy little slut . . ."

She started to panic as I directed her, but once I called her a 'filthy little slut' she seemed to relax and abandon herself to the depravity of the act. She twirled her tongue, licked in quick flickers, probed the center with the point, and orally caressed every section of my crack – all the while she stroked me with her dainty little hand. I continued heaping subtle abuse on her as I enjoyed her kisses – "oh, God, who knew have a slut's tongue in your butt would feel so good? You do that like you enjoy it . . . do you? Never mind, who the fuck cares . . . lick my ass, you whore . . . don't stop jacking me off, you can handle both . . . taste good, does it? You're not just a cocksucker any more, you're an asslicker now . . . hardly debutante material . . . God, if only I knew you were such a good asslicker on our honeymoon . . . oh, keep stroking . . . and . . . now, suck it, suckit, SUCK IT!" I bellowed, watching her scrambled to get the head back in her mouth while I was cumming. She got most of it, but she caught the first stray blast across the bridge of her nose, where it started to drip. She was madly trying to contain the rest, swallowing frantically. I put my hands on her head and helped keep her mouth pumping me dry until I collapsed back in my seat.

She slowly recovered from the blowjob, licking her lips and fingers and sitting back on her heels. Her belly was really showing large in her shapeless nightgown, and she looked a little miserable and humiliated. It was getting easier to stifle the urge to comfort her when she was like this. More progress.

"Was it . . . good?" she asked, shyly.

"It was all right," I agreed enthusiastically. "Gonna have to try that more often – a lot more often! I didn't know what I was missing. No telling how it will feel when you get the hang of it. You really are one hot ass-licking slut – turned you on, didn't it?"

"I – what? No, I—" she stammered, in a daze.

"Liar," I accused, leaning forward and thrusting my hand up her nightgown. No panties. My hand found her crotch and my finger found her opening, and just as I suspected her pussy was soaking wet. It spasmed around my finger as she closed her eyes in embarrassed humiliation. I kept wiggling it around, probing her G-spot with my index finger while my thumb toyed with her engorged clitoris, until she opened her eyes. Because of the way we were sitting my face was only inches from hers.

"Your pussy is dripping wet," I whispered. "Because you just sucked my cock and licked my asshole, and it made you dripping wet. The next time I inquire if you are aroused, I would recommend that you tell me honestly and without hesitation, or that violates our deal – is that understood?"

"Yes, Bill, please, don't—" she said, gasping, as I mercilessly thumbed her cunt. When she started to close her eyes again in involuntary pleasure, I relented and withdrew as savagely as I had arrived. She gave a powerful gasp in relief, but it was clear she had enjoyed the attention. "It won't happen again, I swear it!" she whispered.

"So if I ask you if you're horny, you say . . ."

"Yes! I'm so very horny! I want you, Bill, I—"

"And if I want to push you down and yank open that treacherous cunt of yours and slam it full of rock-hard cock, you say . . ."

"Oh, please, God yes, Bill, anything you want to do, any time, just do—"

"And your whole body is at my command? If I want your mouth? Your ass?"

"Just take it, Bill, whenever you want," she babbled as my tone became increasingly aggressive. "I'm here to do whatever you want me to!"

"Good," I said, finally, standing up. I took a moment to wipe the head of my dick clean on her eyebrows. Then I stepped around her as if she wasn't there, and headed up the stairs to my room, leaving her crouching on the floor of the living room, my sperm dripping from her face and nose. "Good night," I added as I went up to bed.

***

It was just before lunch the next day when I got a call from Monica, who had rung me on her cell during nap time at the Elementary school. She sounded lively enough, and she had a nice laugh and a good sense of humor. I could also tell that she was terrified of rejection and was relieved that I had been 'pre-screened' by Susan for her. We flirted good-naturedly for a while on the phone, agreed to meet Friday night. I was about to hang up when she stopped me, and took a deep breath.

"I don't know what Susan has told you about me—"

"She said you were cute," I offered. I could almost see her face wrinkled up in disgust. 

"Well, maybe," she conceded. "But I'm also short, I haven't been on a date in a long time, and if you think—"

"Don't worry," I interrupted. "I don't think you're desperate," I laughed.

"Bullshit: I am desperate," she said, quietly. "Susan said you had a big dick and that you were a sure-thing. So let's cut through the crap, Bill: are you going to fuck me? I don't know what Susan told you, but I'm not ashamed to admit it. Are you going to fuck me?"

"Wow," I said, chuckling nervously. "Susan mentioned you were forward . . . yes, Monica, I'll fuck you. At least twice. I'll make you cum so hard you'll be walking funny the next day or two. I'm getting out of a bad marriage, and I've got plenty of pent up sexual aggression I want to blow on as much strange pussy as possible. If that means taking advantage of a young and innocent elementary school teacher, waving around my gigantic cock and my general affluence, and working out my frustrations on your poor little under-utilized pussy, well, you'll just have to indulge me."

I could hear her gasp at the bluntness of my words. "Shit. Yeah, you'll work. What else did she say?"

"That you'd probably volunteer for anal if I took you someplace nice. Are you that kind of slut, Monica?" It was strange, flirting and bantering about such intimate things with a woman I had yet to lay eyes on.

"Yeah, Bill, I'm that kind of slut," she agreed, levelly. "You take me out nice, fuck me good, I'll give you the back door."

"Friday, then?"

"I'll meet you downtown at Bull's, about eight?"

"See you there, Monica."

The rest of the week passed without too much else of interest happening. Oh, I was starting to have some issues with my big new client, but nothing that would interest someone outside the profession. Mary was still sucking me off pretty much any time I wanted, but we had barely spoken otherwise. I was focused on my date with confirmed slut Monica at the end of the week. After six years of faithful marriage, I was enjoying my new-found freedom, and the prospect of getting some strange pussy is always intriguing. Mary could tell I had something on my mind, but she knew better than to inquire. But I did mention that I wouldn't be home until late on Friday night because I had a date. 

I could almost hear the wheels turning, the heart breaking, the sobbing and such. And when I recovered her diary on Thursday while she was out shopping, I found this little notation:

 Bill continues to taunt me, unknowingly, about his affairs. It's not that he's waving them in my face – that I could probably handle. But the idea that he is out with other women when I don't know about it is killing me! Who are they? A real woman with a face and a name I can compete against, but these phantoms are impossible. Still, he manages to taunt me. Having to taste another woman's juices on his cock the other night made me livid – that was just disrespectful, and he acted like it was no big deal. He didn't even mention a date; just that he had been with "a client". Oh, God, is he fucking his clients now, too? That is just too much. 

He just told me – again! – that he has a date this Friday night. We never went out that much before we split up. It tears me up to think about him preparing to meet this mystery woman – will she be the one he decides upon? Will she seduce him, lure his heart that much further from me and my fat ass? Will she be younger, prettier, sexier than me? 

I can't think straight anymore – I know it's the hormones, but it's also this situation. I expected Bill to start warming up to me once I returned, but apart from the fucking blowjobs he hasn't touched me. We've barely spoken. He will sometimes ask about the baby, but only in very laconic terms. Not only are my hormones making me outrageously horny all the time, but I feel so utterly alone being so near to him physically, yet so detached from him sexually and emotionally that every time I see him I want to hug him, lay in his arms and cry, and bend over like an animal ready to be mated. But he just stares, grunts quietly, and unzips his fly and waits for me to drop to my knees. Oh, God, how long are you going to punish me for my sins?



From there it went into a long, self-pitying tirade about how it was everyone else's fault: mine, for not paying her enough attention, her parents' for not being more strict in her upbringing, Tim's for taking advantage of her moment of weakness . . . she had plenty of people to blame. She blamed the innocent baby for cursing her with the situation. Even God, apparently, bore some responsibility for her infidelity. She blamed everyone but herself. I shook my head sadly as I put the journal back exactly where I found it. 

I was having pretty mixed emotions myself – there was still plenty of anger smoldering in my heart, but the weight of nearly a decade of intimate love was also there. Still, I could not give in to my nobler instincts. She had committed herself, and we had to see this thing through. The status quo would remain, I told myself, until the baby was born. And if her self-centered, self-pitying attitude persisted, then there was no way we could even consider a reconciliation. It was sad – not just for her lack of emotional development, but for how desperate she was feeling. As her best friend my heart was breaking for her. As her cuckholded husband I was still inconsolably angry, and the idea of her mental anguish brought me some measure of vindication.

I was waiting for her when she got home – one of the advantages of being in middle-management is more flexibility with my time – and after I carted the groceries in and helped her put away the perishables, I sat back down in the kitchen and watched while she put away the dry goods. She became a little self-conscious about my presence, and a wave of expectation built up as she balled up the plastic bags neatly. When she was done, I wordlessly unzipped my fly, and with a combination of relief and obligation she got on the linoleum and bent her head to the task she knew so well.

She was wearing an ugly orange maternity top and maternity jeans today, and had her hair up in a ponytail. She sucked with only moderate interest – this was a "business blowjob", a bean in the jar. She was methodical and uninspired, but it wasn't a bad blow. Indeed, there was something stimulating about her indifference – just doing one more household chore. I put my hand on the back of her head and started directing her, and she passively let me control the depth and intensity of her sucking until I groaned and spurted my semen down her throat. She took it obediently and without complaint, even issuing a loud, juicy belch afterwards. 

Ordinarily I would have just pulled up my pants and gone back to work, but I decided it was time I started toying with my toy. I did stand up, my cock still dangling in semi-rigid repose, and I helped her to her feet. Then I pushed down her jeans and granny panties, causing her to stiffen with alarm. To her credit, she didn't struggle one bit, just put her hands on the table in front of her and allowed me to explore her ass.

It was bigger than the last time I saw it so close. Still plenty fuckable, but decidedly larger – about 10%. I caressed it a moment, and I watched in amusement as she writhed at the touch. Then I pushed my hand between her legs from behind and my fingers found the entrance to her cunt. She was wet, hot and wet, and my cock started coming back to life as I pushed a finger inside her and pumped it a few times. My other hand stole around to her front, briefly fondled her swollen left tit, then worked its way under her baby belly to discover her bush (she had let it grow back, a process fraught with torment and itchiness) and the clitoris within. 

She spasmed suddenly as my finger found her button, and I gave it three or four minutes of concentrated stroking while I invaded her pussy. She was shaking, her knees weak as she approached orgasm, her breath coming in gasps and her eyes closed at the sensation. My cock was hard again, leaving a trail of fluid across her asscheek as I masturbated her. She began to wiggle around, as if trying to capture it in her crack, bending over to present me a better angle for fucking.

Then I stopped. 

I pulled my fingers away and licked them a little. Pungent, but not unpleasant. Her butt quivered before me, anticipating a sudden penetration – nay, begging me for it.

I zipped up my fly and jingled my keys. 

"I'll be working late tonight," I announced, and headed for the door. My estranged wife was hovering on the edge of climax, her pants and panties around her ankles, bent over the kitchen table. Her look was one of frustration and hurt feelings, as if she had been rejected. "And shave that cunt, too. Goddamn jungle down there."

And I left. And I smiled the whole way back to work.



Second Wife Ch. 04



I couldn't have married Monica, I knew that in the first five minutes after meeting her at Bull's. But I sure as hell could fuck the shit out of her. 

Bull's is a downtown sports bar with little to recommend it, except that it had a crowd of young single professionals who used it as a hook-up joint. I was probably seven years too old for the crowd, but I didn't mind. I was still wearing my usual work suit, which cost more than the combined drink tab of everyone in the room, so I was visibly out of place, too. I watched somebody else's team play on the screen while I sipped a rum and coke and ate peanuts and waited for my date. It was raining outside, and the white noise lulled me into a pleasant little stupor for a while. It kind of hit me that I was single again, and I felt both pleased and depressed by that. As I watched the casual flirtation and bad pick-up lines fly fast and furious, the growing chorus of the early-twenties mating call ("I am soooooo drunk!") I became more and more fearful by the idea of being back on the open market again. 

Monica showed up a little late, but looking yummy. She had a lovely dark red sweater and knee-length black skirt, a wide black belt over the sweater. She wasn't a particularly striking woman, save for her long nose and piercing eyes, and she had a lovely shock of reddish-brown hair that had seen one too many budget stylists – but she was short. Petite, in the classic sense. The top of her head came to my shoulders. No doubt she had students who already towered over her. And she was lithely built, too. But that just made the two B-cup beauties she was hiding under her sweater pop out all the more. 

"Bill?" she asked, checking me out like a piece of prime rib. 

"Monica, a pleasure," I said, shaking her hand and smiling. "What will you have?"

"A Blowjob," she said, bluntly. I nodded, smiling despite myself. Novelty drinks – gotta love 'em.

"Let's get a Blowjob over here!" I called out to the bartender over the crowd. There was a weak cheer from the profane, and the requisite laughter from the rest of the crowd, but before I had helped Monica off with her coat a small long-stemmed glass arrived with its creamy concoction. "Gotta get the taste of adolescent smugness out of my mouth. I always like to start my weekend off with a Blowjob," she confided in me naughtily. 

"Who doesn't?" I agreed. Then I got to enjoy the sight of her bending down, engulfing the top of the glass with her painted lips, getting a firm grip, then raising her head up quickly, allowing the drink to splash down her throat – with no hands.

When she set the drink down again, there was scattered applause and a hoot or two, and she bowed, then closed her eyes and shivered. "Damn, that was good!"

"Tough week at work?"

"Little bastards ran roughshod over me all week," she bitched. "They come back from Christmas break and it's like someone erased their tiny goddamn minds!"

"How else are they going to learn to become mindless drones for the corporate machine?" I shrugged. "In five years they'll all be in this bar, making our nation great. On behalf of American industry and commerce, I thank you for your efforts."

She slugged me playfully in the arm. "You're a funny guy," she decided. "I think I like you."

"I'm starting to take a shine to you, too," I agreed. "You hungry?"

"For dick or dinner?" she asked, bluntly.

"Lady's choice," I said, bowing deferentially.

She considered, her eyebrows making a cute little dance while she thought. "While I haven't been fucked in . . . way too long, I skipped lunch to grade papers, so now I'm famished."

"Dinner it is," I agreed, throwing a twenty on the bar and helping her put her coat back on. "Sushi okay?"

"Oh, hell yeah!" she said, her rural Southern accent popping out. As the night progressed and the drinks flowed, I would hear more and more of that accent using filthier and filthier language. 

I held the door to the Jag open for her, and she naughtily flashed me some serious thigh when she got into the passenger side. I slid into the diver's seat and was about to turn on the car when she grabbed my head and kissed me. I could taste the sweetness of the liquor on her breath, mixed with cigarettes and lust. I stopped what I was doing and returned the kiss as well as I could – I was pretty aroused myself.

"Damn!" she said, after finally breaking it. "You kiss like a dream!"

"Thanks," I said, pleased. "You, too. I thought you wanted dinner?"

"I changed my mind," she murmured into my mouth. "I caught a whiff of you when you let me in the car and I damn near grabbed your cock right there!"

"Don't let me stop you," I said with a chuckle. Her hand immediately went to my thigh, where she squeezed it like a piece of fruit she was considering purchasing, then to my hard cock so cruelly imprisoned within. She took my measure with her nimble fingers, nodding all the while she kissed me.

"Oh, HELL yeah!" she sighed, breaking away again, her hand wrapped around it from the outside. "That's a beauty, there! Suzie was right about you!"

"More than you're used to?"

"It's been so long, I'm not used to anything but my vibrator," she giggled. "Pull it out – I want to see it!"

"Here?"

"Why not?"

"That's a pretty compelling argument," I agreed, slowly pulling down my zipper. I wasn't too worried – it was raining pretty hard, now, and I couldn't see the empty car next to us. No one would be able to see across the parking lot into my crotch. My dick gently made an entrance, and Monica's eyes lit up as she saw it like a kid eyeing presents under the tree at Christmas. Her hand measured it over and over again and she started gently jacking it.

"That's so pretty," she cooed. "So big and hard and soft all at once!"

"So when was the last time you got to touch a real dick?" I asked, trying to be casual as she was stroking my rampant boner. 

She groaned softly. "Last June. My ex. Got drunk and did it standing up in a bathroom at a party. Didn't even cum," she complained.

"That's terrible!" I said, chuckling quietly. "So when you see a big juicy cock like this—"

"Oh, God, it makes me do this," she said, her head descending of its own volition.

She devoured me hungrily. You've probably heard the expression "cock-starved" – she actually did seem to be starving for the taste of dick, the way she went down on me.

This wasn't first-date-slut head, or even thanks-for-the-wonderful-time head, or even I'm-desperate-won't-you-please-cater-to-my-low-self-esteem head. This was "I-haven't-seen-a-cock-in-almost-a-year" head, and her sexual frustration unleashed itself with every insistent swab of her tongue.

"Oh, MAMA!" I moaned, clutching at her soft hair while I leaned back in the seat. "Damn, woman, you're inhaling me!"

"You complaining?" she asked, popping her head up and looking me in the eye for an instant.

"Oh, hell, no!" I said, mocking her accent as I pushed her head back where it belonged. Her greedy lips encircled me immediately, and she started jiggling her tongue across the head like a fiddler's elbow.

She moaned softly to herself while she explored my grateful dick with her mouth, taking him just to the back of her throat – about two thirds of the shaft – and then pulling back to let her tongue tickle the head again. I was oozing pre-cum pretty heavily, and every time she encountered another sweet drop she wiggled her mouth eagerly.

As much as I enjoyed the dalliance, I wasn't in the mood to mess around. I grabbed the back of her head and began directing her efforts, pushing my cock as far into her throat as possible. She didn't seem to mind. SO much so that I eventually abandoned the tactic and let her pump me with her plump schoolmarm lips.

"You keep that up, I'm gonna cum," I warned, politely, as I felt my sap start to rise. "And for the record, I prefer a swallower."

She chose that moment to break contact, which was maddening. "Then you lucked out," she agreed. "I've never let a load go to waste in my life!"

"Good girl," I moaned, and pushed her back to work.

Within five minutes I was shifting wildly in my seat and pumping spurt after spurt across her tongue. As promised, she swallowed every drop and worried my deflating penis with her mouth while I squirmed in my seat. She milked every bit of sperm from me and only reluctantly put away my cock. Then she sat up and gave a very satisfied sigh.

"That was nice," she breathed. "I love sucking cock."

"Hope you like getting fucked off your feet, too," I murmured. "Because after dinner, I'm going to lay you like a roll of linoleum!"

That cracked Monica up, and she laughed all the way to the sushi place.

She was funny, a crude, quasi-redneck sort of way. She delighted me with the tawdry gossip only an insular rural school can generate, including creative character assassinations of most of her older peers. I ordered a nice bottle of wine and a couple of rolls to get us started. I included the lobster roll, one of the most expensive, and a curiosity I hadn't sampled before, sushi with strips of ultra-rare prime rib layered over it. It was surprisingly good.

Monica thought so, too, and she made cum-noises all the way through dinner as one tasty morsel after another passed her talented lips. I could tell that she was used to a much baser establishment than Sushi Love, but I didn't mind. I admit it: a well-delivered blowjob clouds my judgment.

I can live with that.

"Wow," she said, when the waiter brought the big wooden boat. "You must really want to do me in the rear."

"It's crossed my mind," I agreed, picking up some wasabi and mixing it in to the soy sauce. "You like it there?"

"Yeah, that was my orifice-of-choice when I was young and stupid and thought I wanted to be a virgin when I got married. That lasted until the end of freshman year . . . but your sister made sure that everyone knew I liked anal for the rest of college."

"That's a lot of ass," I admitted. "Here, try the lobster."

She did, and her eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise. "Oh, man," she moaned as the delicate flavors washed over her tongue. "This is definitely worth a buggering!"

I love it when my dates take the planning out of the rest of the evening.

When we had finally finished, I offered to drive her home. She was a little sleepy and lethargic, due to the wine, but she consented happily and I headed north up the highway while she toyed with my expanding cock again. We made it to her apartment – if anything, it was even more seedy than Susan's economy special. But it was clean, and quiet. She opened the door with a lurch and ushered me inside.

"Can I fix you a drink?" she asked, settling on the sofa beside me.

"I'm good," I said, reaching out and pulling her mouth to mine. I kissed her insistently, and let my hand wander around her boobs, enjoying the texture of them through her sweater.

"God, I'm soaked," she whispered when I finally broke it. "Care to check?"

"Love to," I grunted, pushing my hand up her skirt. I took the time to feel her legs and thighs thoroughly before I went further north, and that made her squirm. But when my hand found her bare, shaven twat hanging in the breeze, leaking fluids like a busted engine. I burrowed a finger between her lips and found her entrance. 

Nothing compares to feeling a new pussy for the first time – I don't think that ever gets old, at least not for me. Monica was tight – very tight – but oh so very wet and hot, a tightly grasping vise of a twat. It took a little effort, but before long I had two fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, my thumb on her clit making firm, sharp little circles around it and causing her to writhe like a cat. She made noises like a feline, too, from purring to yowling, as my fingers made her squirm. Just before I pulled my hand totally away, I withdrew my finger and traced the outline of her asshole with her juices in a provocatively suggestive way. Her eyes shot open and a profoundly lustful look crossed her face. 

Her hands were wandering all over my body, too, but seemed drawn back to my cock again and again. When I pulled my hand out from her skirt her head was in my lap in a shot, her fingers tearing down my fly and pulling my pecker back into her hot little mouth. I pushed her head down a few times suggestively, and she gave a splendid three-minute power sucking demonstration that had my dick throbbing. But she needed to be fucked, and she pulled her lips away with an urgency that had to be respected.

"GOD, I'm hot!" she moaned, shrugging off her sweater, revealing a lacy black bra that perfectly encased her boobs as she crawled into my lap. I could feel her bare labia press engagingly on my dick under her skirt, and so could Monica – she took the time to press the length of my cock against her pussy as if measuring it out. "Give me that goddamn big cock," she insisted lustfully, maneuvering around until she lined up the correct parts in the correct fashion. With one long groan she impaled her lithe little body on me, enveloping my sensitive, spit-slick prick with her molten pussy. Then she clasped her arms around me and whimpered as her tight twat got used to the intrusion. She hadn't quite calmed down when I began sliding her back and forth along the length of it, and then she went nuts.

I mean, I've fucked a few women in my time, and each was special in her own way, but the combination of her incredible lust and her diminutive stature made that first fuck with Monica an intensely primal experience. She had a child-like body (her lovely tits notwithstanding) but moved with the erotic fervor of a grown woman. She rode my cock effortlessly after a moment, and every plunge down the shaft lit up her eyes like lightning. 

I wasn't passive, either. It was all too easy for me to sit there and let her do all the work, and ordinarily I might have been content with that. But her small, lightweight frame convinced me to try something I've always wanted to, but never had a partner who had made it convenient. I stood up, hoisting my date up on my cock, and for five glorious minutes I completely supported her, my big hands on her small, tight ass, while she fucked herself into oblivion. I even captured one of her nipples through her bra and chewed on it playfully, which helped her get to her third or fourth orgasm.

"Do me . . . doggie . . ." she breathed huskily as my ass finally plopped down on the couch. "I need it deep, really deep!"

"Bend over, Teach," I drawled. "I'll do you deep!"

She grinned and scrambled to lean over the arm of the sofa, presenting her trim ass, still framed by her black miniskirt, to my devouring eyes. Her delightful little pussy was winking at me sideways, swollen and red with excitement. She looked back over her shoulder (upon which I noted a hummingbird tattoo for the first time), her eyes partially obscured by a long shock of wildly flung hair. "Fuck me – hard!"

So I did. I lined up my sticky dick to the slick entrance of her candy-red twat and pushed in, and then started a ferocious pounding that threw Monica around like a rag doll. She loved it, tossing her hair wildly and screaming encouragement while I plundered her pussy with my tool. Having already came once, I made this one last a good, long time, even sitting down and bouncing her on my dick in the vaunted reverse cowgirl position. She loved that – apparently my cock was hitting her G-spot from just the perfect angle. She came at least twice that way. And that gave me the opportunity to thoroughly feel up her tits. 

"You ready . . . for my ass?" she said after she shuddered to yet another climax. "If I wait too much longer, I'll lose my nerve," she explained.

"Never had one as big as me?"

She shook her head nervously. "You're the biggest," she confessed. "I can't believe Sarah was keeping you all to herself!"

"I'm like a doorknob, honey," I assured her as she pulled off my cock reluctantly and trotted off to find some lube. "Everyone gets a turn eventually."

"She said something about your ex . . . her sister . . . still living with you?"

"Yeah, it's temporary," I replied, lazily stripping off my pants. "She's pregnant. With another man's child."

"OUCH!" Monica said. "That's fucked up! And you didn't kick her out?"

"Long story," I sighed. "But a divorce is in the works."

"Then it sounds like you dearly need to buttfuck a woman," she said nastily, returning with a bottle of something. She poured a little on her palms and worked it on to my dick, engaging it anew. 

"I try not to take out my feelings for my ex on my dates," I said as she backed her tight little asshole up to the head, then paused as she felt it touch her pucker. 

"Don't sweat it," she sighed. "I love it in the ass. Fuck the gentle shit. If you're gonna get cornholed, damn it, get really cornholed!" And with that she sat her butt down on my dick burying half of it in her tight rectum with one push. A second found her completely seated on me, and I could catch a glimpse of her startled expression in the reflection in a nearby picture frame. Of her parents, I saw. Hi mom. Just fucking your daughter the schoolteacher up the butt. Nothin' to see here.

"Goddamnit, goddamnit, godDAMNit that's a big one!" she hissed. "I've never had that much cock in my ass all at once"

I was silent, waiting for her to set the pace, and in a few moments she did just that – slow and gingerly, at first, moving just a couple of centimeters on the shaft. But it didn't take long for her to relax a little and move with more alacrity. Soon she was taking almost the entire length up her butt while her hands took turns playing with her clit and steadying her between my knees.

"Holy . . . SHIT!" she bellowed and came as her movements sped up to a blur. "Oh, God, that hurts so good! Fuck my ass! Fuck my ass! Fuck my motherfucking ASS!" she chanted as she bounced. "Oh, shit I'm cumming AGAIN!"

It only took about ten minutes of this to send my sperm spurting deep into her bowels as I convulsed in orgasm. She felt ever droplet, too, and wiggled her ass fetchingly as she laid back on my chest. I idly toyed with her nipples, my cock deflating in her sphincter, until she finally stumbled to her feet and did the ubiquitous "walk of shame" to the bathroom.

"That . . . was nice," I sighed contentedly, laying back on the unfamiliar couch. The air suddenly felt cool on my skin, and I realized I was sweating profusely with the effort. "Remind me to buy you lobster again."

"In a month," she called out. "It's gonna take at least that long for my tiny little butt-hole to heal."

"Deal," I groaned. 

"And that was goddamn HOT, you pulling me up into the air," she added as she flushed. "I mean, a lot of guys try it, but it takes a strong one to pull it off. Of course I was fucking nailed by that spike so I couldn't really get away . . ."

"You like the dick?"

"I love the dick," she agreed, washing her hands. "Love the dick a lot. Want to see dick again."

"I'm up for it," I agreed. "Hope you had a good time."

"Oh yeah," she said, snuggling up next to me. "You are excused from cuddling, if you so choose."

"Only if you want me to leave," I offered.

"Nah," she sighed. "Be nice to catch a nap with a big fuzzy man for a change. And that way we can do it again when we wake up."

And darn, she was pretty cuddly, too.

***

I dragged my ass home about four in the morning. The lights were all off, and I started to sneak in on reflex when I remembered that this was my fucking house. I came in casting aside all pretense aside, tossing my keys on the table and heading upstairs without concern about the noise. Let her wake up. That would actually be fun.

But she didn't, and Monica had so exhausted me that I stripped naked and rolled into bed and was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I didn't wake up until I heard Mary slip in and move my covers aside. I was expecting the usual morning hummer, but she paused. I recalled I hadn't cleaned up much last night. No doubt the sticky results of my fun-filled evening were evident. She paused for a while, as I pretended to be asleep, then got up and went to the bathroom. A moment later I startled when I felt a warm, wet washcloth cover my rising dick and Mary gently washed away another woman's juices. 




Second Wife Ch. 04



She didn't do a terribly thorough job, I could tell, but the worst of the secretions had been taken care of when she finally tossed the washcloth aside and bent to take me into her mouth. 

It was a strange blowjob. I couldn't see her face or eyes in the darkness, but she fellated me slowly and deliberately, almost carefully, almost certainly smelling the scent of a strange pussy – and ass – in my pubic hair. It took a few moments for me to realize through my sexual haze that she was crying while she sucked. I was plagued by a stab of guilt at the exact same time that I was thrilled with a charge of pure vengeance. Such mixed emotions were a heady thing. I let her work on it as long as she could, and as long as I could hold out. The sadistic part of me wanted her to wallow in the misery of her husband's affair with every stroke through her lips. And, of course, there was that smallest part of me that hated to see her suffer. So I very mercifully kept my eyes shut so that it wouldn't have to – but I enjoyed the blowjob.

It took her a while to coax a load from me, after my busy night. Monica had come back for seconds after a half-hour nap, and had rode me cowgirl for a deliciously long, ball-draining fuck before I drove home. It must have taken Mary almost forty minutes to convince my dick to spurt before she silently swallowed and retreated.

I fell back asleep, it being a Saturday, and stayed in bed until almost 10. I finally stumbled down to the kitchen where the coffee was just starting to make that smell that tells you you'd rather have a fresh pot. Mary was folding laundry in the laundry room and nodded politely to me while I sat at the kitchen table and sipped the morning brew.

"Late night last night," she finally ventured, after a few moments of silence. 

"Yeah," I finally sighed. "She was a hottie."

"I hope she was a good lay." Hmm. This was a new approach.

"She was," I said, after a few moments. "Really small girl. I was able to stand up and fuck her in mid-air. Always wanted to do that."

"Good!" she said, as cheerfully as if I had told her I'd scored well at golf. The false enthusiasm she mustered was obvious. I didn't challenge her on it, as was instinctual, but I considered the change in her tactics. So Mary was encouraging my dates, now, it seemed. "I always wanted to do that, too, but I haven't been thin enough since . . . well, High School, I guess," she admitted. "You do it more than once?"

"Oh, yeah!" I said. Well, if she wanted details, I was ready to give them to her. "She sucked me off in the car before dinner, then I did her standing up at her place afterwards. But she spread her cheeks and took a pretty righteous butt-fuck too, so it was pretty damn sweet."

"It sounds like it!" she said, encouragingly. "Any time you want a good butt f-fucking, let me know!" I could tell by the way she stammered that she was really faking it, here. But I pretended to take her at face value. I raised my eyebrows in surprise.

"Really?" I asked, my cock suddenly paying attention. "I thought you weren't a fan."

"Well, I've only done it a few times," she admitted. "But I can see the potential." 

What a liar. She hadn't liked taking a pounding in the pooper at all, from me or Tim. 

But she persisted. "I mean, I did say I'd do anything. That includes . . . sodomy."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, nodding thoughtfully. "You still dripping juices all over the house?"

"I . . . I'm still pretty worked up," she agreed after a few uncomfortable moments of thought. 

"So come here," I said, impishly. I watched her eyes go wide as she pulled herself upright. She waddled over to where I was sitting and waited expectantly. "Grab the olive oil," I chuckled as I pulled my cock out. She swallowed nervously but obediently went over the cupboard and took out the bottle of EVOO. "Now get me nice and slick," I commanded.

She never took her eyes off mine, as if she was challenging whether or not I would go through with it. She should have known better. She poured a few tablespoons of the amber liquid into her palms and then started to slowly work it on to my rising cock. Her hands were firm and nimble, but they were trembling with the anticipation of the moment.

"That's it," I crooned, "get it nice and hard, nice and slippery. You're gonna want every drop if I'm going to push it up your tight little ass." She was looking resigned but frightened again, but her hands were plying my cock deliciously. She started doing the two-hand stroke, where one works the shaft and the other tickles the head – always an express ride to ejaculation land. I looked her dead in the eyes, my gaze intense. "You ready to get your ass fucked, Mary?"

"I said I was, didn't I?" she asked softly and defensively.

"Go ahead," I nodded. She slowed her stroking and looked puzzled.

"Huh?"

"Fuck your ass. I want you to drop your pants and sit your asshole down on my cock."

"Wouldn't it be easier . . . if I just . . . bent over?" she reasoned, swallowing nervously.

"Probably not, considering Junior, there. Go ahead: sit on my cock."

She was silent, but after a few more wonderful hand strokes she straightened and then carefully slipped her maternity pants down. She was wearing what was supposed to be a "sexy thong", but such things are relative this late in her pregnancy. She didn't bother to even remove it, just turned around and began to squat. She had to hold the table to steady herself, but in a moment I could feel the excited head of my prick snuggled up to her tight little rosebud.

"Ready?" she whispered.

"Do it," I commanded. She nodded, swallowed again, and then I felt the most delicious sensation as she backed her big butt down on my dick.

It was tight – almost as tight as Monica's had been the night before. The slickness of the oil allowed for a divine friction to favor my cock, and I moaned out in appreciation.

"Yeah," I finally grunted when a third of my dick was sheathed in my wife's ass. "That's what I like. Fuck your own asshole, honey!"

"Oh, baby," she said, continuing to fake her enthusiasm. I could feel her body tighten up all over the place as my dick invaded her bowels more and more deeply. She paused when she was two thirds of the way down, then took a deep breath and essentially fell backwards into my lap. She gave out a yelp as the remainder of my shaft impaled her tight asshole.

Junior was loving this. I could feel him contort inside her body.

"Does it hurt, Darling?" I asked, lightly and sarcastically.

"Yessssss," she hissed. "Ow, ow, ow!" she added for emphasis.

"Good," I replied, bluntly. Then I took her hips in my hands and started forcefully drawing her back and forth on my dick. It wasn't a particularly fast pace, but it was much faster than Mary would have preferred. She moaned and writhed as her bowels sought to accommodate me. I'm no giant, as I've said, but you put eight inches of anything suddenly up your ass, there's going to be some slight discomfort, minimum. She was showing it. She leaned her head forward, chin on chest, and began driving her big ass back to me, allowing me to enjoy the sight of my dick being swallowed by the entrance forbidden to me for so long.

"Are you . . . enjoying your assfuck?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"It's a great way to start the day," I quipped, holding her down and moving her ass around in my lap. The wiggled my dick through her innards, and Junior was doing backflips.

"I'm finding I don't mind the friction," she said, trying to conceal her pain. "It's actually kind of . . . stimulating."

"Is it?" I asked, idly, going back to deep powerthrusts that made her moan every time she bounced back on me. "I think so, too. Too bad you had to wait until the end of our marriage to realize that you were a butt slut."

She paused her motions as my words sunk in, but I wasn't having that. I continued to push and pull my dick into Mary's butt even as she reacted to the acknowledgement that our marriage was over.

She kept the drama to herself, though, gritting her teeth and increasing the speed. "I guess . . . I just needed . . . the right circumstances," she gasped.

"And then the unfaithful ass slut just came tumbling out," I growled back, letting her squeeze my dick for a few moments before I got down to the final butt-fucking that would lead me to climax. For that moment I did stand, startling my pregnant wife. She staggered but to her credit my dick didn't fall from her sphincter. She automatically bent forward, her hands on the table, her ass presented to me.

"That's it," I moaned as I re-seated my dick into her tight confines and began the rhythm again. "Where's my cock?" I asked playfully as I bottomed out in her.

"In m-my ass!" she shuddered.

"What's it doing there?"

"Fucking my ass!" she whined.

"Does it hurt?"

"Yes!"

Do you . . . want me to stop?"

"No! Fuck my ass!"

"Your pregnant ass?"

"Fuck my pregnant ass!"

"Your pregnant, cheating ass?"

"Fuck my pregnant cheating ass!" she begged, tears starting to form at the corners of her eyes. "Fuck it! It's yours!"

"I can fuck it anytime I want?"

"Yes! Yes! You can fuck my ass! Any time!"

I was curious – I stole my hand around her thigh and burrowed under her belly, to where her pussy was hiding. It took a minute but she didn't object as my fingers found her clitoris – and a very, very wet pussy.

"You fucking horny cunt!" I accused her, cruelly. "You really DO like sodomy, don't you?"

"If you do, Darling!" she cried.

"Oh, I do, I do," I said, evilly, as I sodomized her ruthlessly. My finger played with her clit without too much purpose, but she really was so torqued up that she came in my hand, her tight as spasming delightfully around my dick.

"You fucking whore!" I swore in her ear. "You just came – again – with my dick up your ass!"

"Yes! Yes!" she said, crying.

I didn't really need to say more. She was in pain, humiliated, forced by her own twisted mind to submit to my cock in her ass. The part of Bill the Bean Counter who once loved his wife was nowhere to be seen. All I had eyes for was the bitch who wronged me writhing as my dick skewered her tightest hole, only technically consensual. And she was getting off on it. I stood straighter, abandoning her pussy before a second climax, and spent the next ten minutes plundering her back door like a seasoned butt-pirate. By the time I was ready to spurt my juice in her booty, it was all nice and slick and warmed up and not nearly as tight.

"AH!" I announced as I felt my cock convulse inside her. "That was a first-rate assfucking." I sighed again, closing my eyes. Mary whimpered, having not come close to orgasm again – that was a new thing for her. My cock was still buried inside her butt. I left it there, leaving her pinned against the table. I waited a moment until it had deflated by half before I pulled it out of her but with a greasy plop.

"Oh, God!" she exclaimed, and wobbled off to the bathroom to clean up. I chuckled after her, and then went upstairs for a shower. We saw each other a couple more times that day, but didn't really speak.

But that night I heard her sob herself to sleep, and I have to confess that I delighted in her torment. The journal entry I sneaked a peak at the next day while she was in the bath was almost as satisfying.

 That bastard raped my ass! Not really, but he made me have anal sex with him. OK, maybe I volunteered for it, but I never thought he'd be so eager to take me up on it. But this morning I was minding my business, folding laundry like a good little wife, when he announced that he had sex with his "date" last night. Apparently the whore likes sushi and took it in the ass. I casually said I was curious about it, after last time he did it to me, and the SOB has the nerve to tell me to grab the olive oil. Well, I couldn't say no, now, could I? So I called his bluff. I oiled up his dick and then fucked my own asshole on it, just like he asked. He came hard, and so did I, but it hurt a LOT! As bad as the pain was, though, I would endure a thousand hard assfucks to see us reconciled again. Ten thousand. The number doesn't matter. If Bill wants my ass, all he has to do is ask for it.

What man wouldn't love to hear those words?



Second Wife Ch. 05



While my date with Monica was fun -- especially when I used it as leverage to get Mary to humiliate herself later -- I didn't have a lot of time to pursue it the way I would have enjoyed. Things were getting pretty busy at work. April 15th was fast approaching and my new client had sprouted problems I hadn't foreseen. That meant a lot of long nights at the office, or busy periods in my home office. 

It was a stressful time, but luckily I had Mary The Blowjob Queen at my disposal. On more than one occasion I summoned her to my office at lunch time and had her fellate me to completion behind closed doors -- which earned her a leering sneer from my secretary every time she waddled out, guiding her increasingly large belly while licking her lips clean of my sperm. 

Or, if I elected to work at home, a simple shout would bring Mary running to my office, where I would just whip out my hardening cock and let her do the rest. She was still reluctant to capitulate so easily, of course, but I ignored her attempts at wheedling more delicate affectations and used her like a whore. She was on the clock. 

She'd scoot between my knees and suck me slowly for half an hour, maybe forty five minutes or so, and then I'd cum in her mouth and she'd go back to work on the house. Then a few hours later I'd repeat. Or I'd decide I wanted to be entertained, and would make her sit in the other office chair and masturbate with a vibrator until she came explosively. Those were lovely -- and the cameras I had hidden to tape it were perfectly positioned to record her pregnant solo pleasure for posterity.

But despite the frequent finger-walks, I knew Mary was getting increasingly frustrated, and increasingly desperate. I knew it because her diary said so.

I find myself getting increasingly frustrated, and yes, increasingly desperate. Having Bill's cock in my mouth so often is tantalizing, and I still haven't gotten him to fuck me since before Christmas. I'm starting to have perverted fantasies, now, wishing he was still dressing me in silly costumes and forcing me to humiliate myself before fucking me. At least it was contact, and I was getting off. Now I feel more like a thing, an appliance. I find myself thinking about misbehaving just to get his attention . . . and then I remember what a precarious position I'm in. If I want to win him back, I must be patient, and persistent, and accept the penance for my sins that God has ordained for me. 

That was music to my ears, when I read that. And I realized that the desperation could play well into my hands, if I arranged things properly. There wasn't any need to crush her spirit and her hopes -- not yet. Best to give her a little more line, provide a little whiff of hope to keep her involved. 

The day after I read that passage in her diary I made a few calls and did a little research. My new assistant was getting things ready for a big mailing, and after I looked it over I decided to give myself the rest of the day off and meet my private detective. We couldn't really do anything more until we got responses back from the banks anyway, so there wasn't much harm. 

I met Andy at Bull's, near his office downtown. He's a nice guy, a professional who works magic when you need him to. He had bugged Tim's place for me, and had let me know to come to him if I needed any more "special" (and not particularly legal) professional services. I welcomed him warmly, bought him a drink, and we stole away to a dark booth in the back to plot some nefarious deeds.

I outlined to him what I needed from him for the Plan to work. He considered silently and thoughtfully for a while, sipping his drink and looking off into space. Then he instantly refocused. 

"I think I got just the guy for the job," he agreed with a sigh. "But it won't be cheap."

"How much?"

"Ten grand, probably. More, if it takes longer. That doesn't include my commission."

"Done," I said, instantly. "Call him and prep him. I'll get you more details as I have them."

"If you don't mind me saying it, Bill," he said with a sigh, "I think it's a waste of money. I mean, it's your business, but I've seen a lot of divorce cases -- caused a lot of divorce cases -- and this sort of thing almost never ends well."

"That's the risk I'm taking," I agreed. "And it has already not ended well. This is . . . well, I'm either trying to salvage the relationship or put a stake through its heart. One way or the other, I'm going to be able to have some closure."

"Seems a pretty bizarre way to get closure," he grumbled. "And expensive."

"It's only money. I'll make more. It's the peace of mind I'm after."

"I don't know, Bill," he sighed, shaking his head doubtfully. "Wouldn't just buying a boat and getting a twenty-two year old nympho girlfriend be easier?"

"Probably," I conceded. "I just know myself enough to know that if I don't do this now, I'll spend the rest of my life . . . wondering. And wandering."

"I still think it's pretty fucked up -- for the record."

"So noted. But the whole thing has been fucked up since this began with me getting told I'm getting a divorce. She's the one who started the circus -- I just brought the elephants."

I made a quick stop on the way home -- art supplies. There was an idea I'd been toying with for a while I wanted to try, and today seemed like a perfect day to do so. I pulled into the driveway and honked -- it took a while, but Mary eventually waddled out, and came to my window.

"What is it?" she asked, confused.

"Go throw your coat on," I said, quietly. "And put on your tennis shoes. I think today is a gorgeous day for a picnic."

She looked at the overcast skies skeptically, then saw the serious look in my eye and nodded. She returned a few minutes later with coat, hat and scarf -- the latter two being totally unnecessary. It was cool, and a little breezy, but not really cold. Gotta love the South for the climate.

When Mary climbed in the passenger side I could tell she was excited, but trying hard not to show it. "A picnic, Bill?" she asked again.

"Unless you feel like staying home and folding my underwear," I said with a sigh. "Look, I had a free afternoon and felt like being outside. I stopped at Larner's and picked up a couple of box lunches. Figured you wouldn't mind the outdoors, either."

"No, no, this is great!" she said enthusiastically. 

"Good," I said, pulling into Kingswood Gardens. It's the local university's gardens, world famous for its botanical collection. It's also a favorite haunt of horny freshman looking to hook up -- in the summer time. In the winter it was nearly deserted. The flowers and the freshmen were equally discouraged by the cold. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot.

"Wow, this brings back memories," she sighed, longingly. I nodded -- we'd done a fair amount of courting at this park, when we first met. That made this a romantic memory. One I couldn't wait to sully.

"Wait," I called out as she started to slowly walk over to big iron gates that led majestically into the park. "Come here, first."

"Huh?"

"I have a present for you." I beckoned her to join me around the back of the car, and she did. I tugged out the backpack I'd packed our lunch into, and then opened one of the items I'd picked up on the way home. Mary looked at me quizzically when I pulled out a smooth, chrome-colored sphere. Well, oblate spheroid, if you want to be technical. It trailed a single short wire.

"What's that?"

I reached out and pulled down the stretchy top of her maternity pants, then dug into the waistband of her panties. She looked at me strangely, eyes wide in alarm as my fingers sought the entrance of her cunt. I found it -- warm, wet and inviting -- and pushed the sphere within, deep enough to keep it secure. Her back arched and she hissed.

"Damn, that's cold!" she complained.

I didn't reply -- but I did take a few moments to stroke her erect clit. She wobbled a little when I did that, but she didn't pull away. I could feel the little wire hanging out with the back of my hand. I kept teasing her clit until she closed her eyes, then pulled my hand out of her pants.

"What is that? Ben Wa balls?" she asked, trying to sound sophisticated. I had been the one to tell her about Ben Wa balls, years ago, and she had insisted she had no interest in trying them. 

"No," I said, digging my hand in my pocket and retrieving a small little device. I thumbed the button 'on' and watched Mary lose her damn mind.

"UUUuuhnnh!" she groaned as the little wireless vibrator hummed up against her G-spot. "Bill! Stop it!"

"Sorry, you don't get to say that anymore," I remarked, casually. "But I don't want you to cum just yet." I flicked the switch off and she looked relieved.

"This is . . . distracting," she said as she began walking towards the gate again -- albeit more gingerly this time. I smiled to myself and followed her, the picnic basket in one hand, blanket over my shoulder, and the remote in my pocket. The thing had a range of about fifteen feet, which I established as I tagged the button again as Mary was walking through the gate. The sudden onslaught of sensation made her pause and tremble, and she shot me a dirty look -- but she kept walking. I caught up with her and took her arm. We looked for all the world like a happily married couple playing hooky and enjoying ourselves. 

I buzzed Mary sporadically several times as we made our way through the park. It was pretty deserted -- we only saw two or three people the whole time we walked back towards the Arboretum section of the park, through the Asian gardens. 

That's when we ran into Mr. Sholen and his wife. They were old family friends of Mary's, fellow attendees at her church and had known her since she was a child. She looked a little pale when they approached us, and I could almost hear her mentally beg me not to embarrass her. While her adultery was being whispered about pretty heavily in her congregation, the Sholens were older, less prone to gossip, and I knew she was hoping they hadn't heard about it.

I'll spare you the excruciating details. I kept buzzing her in fifteen second bursts throughout her conversation, making her squirm and moan at inappropriate times. I ended with a good one-minute long buzz that made her close her eyes and clutch at her tummy. Mrs. Sholen, of course, was concerned and asked if the baby was all right. Mary played it off admirably, saying that she was having a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions and the baby was restless if she ate spicy foods. Mrs. Sholen took the opportunity to pull her aside and dispense a good five minutes of pregnancy advice, thirty years out of date. 

That's when Mr. Sholen took me aside. I barely knew him, but he apparently knew me -- knew of me, I should say -- from Mary's dad.

"It's a hard thing you're doing, Son," he said, simply. "I don't know how you can take it. If I were you, I'd throw the bitch out on the street, but you taking her back in after everything . . . well, that's as much Christian charity as a man could be expected to give and more."

"After the baby's here, things will . . . change," I confided, quietly, as I glanced at Mary. She was uncomfortably trying to keep up with Mrs. Sholen's meandering advice, and just to keep her honest I gave her a little thirty-second buzz. "I can't see much of a future together, but I'm at least inclined to try to work things out. What happens then will largely be up to her."

"It's a hard thing, Son, but you're being pretty noble about it," he sighed, clapping me on the shoulder. I took the opportunity to rescue Mary from his missus, and we took our leave.

"God damn it, you almost made me cum in front of Mrs. Sholen!" she whispered harshly. "Dammit, Bill, do you know how—"

"Shut up," I ordered quietly. She started to say something and then thought better of it. "That's better. That amused me. And that's enough reason to do it. And I'm really starting to feel a need for amusement, today."

"Oh, God!" she whispered, as I gave her another jolt of the vibrator. "Dammit! That thing is strong!" she whimpered. 

"It's supposed to be," I agreed, smugly. "C'mon. I think I know a good spot." She followed me, meekly, trying to maintain her composure as I stimulated her pussy with erratic frequency. By the time we got fairly deep into the arboretum she was trembling.

I gave her a break as I spread out the blanket just off the path and began laying out our lunch. Then I helped her get to the ground -- not easy when you're that pregnant.

"Thanks," she said, picking up a sandwich from her box and biting into it. "I'm starving."

We ate in silence, more or less, breaking it only to exchange idle comments. Finally, she could take the bullshit small talk no more.

"Bill, why did you bring me here?" she asked, sighing heavily.

"Why do you think?"

"So you can . . . sexually humiliate me."

"I prefer to think of it as an object lesson, or an amusement, but that works too." I turned the wireless remote on and left it on. Mary's bottom lip started trembling.

"Oh . . . God . . . if you keep that . . . up . . ."

"Yes, you're going to cum," I agreed. "That's kind of the point."

"I-if-f th-that's wh-what you wa-want," she agreed, squirming mightily. "I'll cum my brains out for you!"

"Yes, Mary," I whispered to her. "I want you to cum your brains out. For me. Because for much of our marriage you couldn't be bothered to work yourself up -- and now it's time to pay for that. So you're going to cum a lot, today. Right here, out in public, where anyone could happen by and see you."

"Oh God!" she whimpered, her eyes wide. Her hips were squirming around of their own volition, and she was biting her lip.

"And for my viewing pleasure, I want you to talk dirty while you're cumming."

"What? I can't -- OH! I can't . . . even . . . I can't even think right now --OH!"

"You will start talking dirty, right now. I want to hear what a filthy little slut you are."

"Bill, I—OH my God . . . I—" She was struggling visibly, now, leaning back on her hands, her coat open slightly, her heavy breasts peaking out from it. Her nipples were obscenely hard. She tossed her head back and pressed her thighs together as the mindless little toy hummed away next to her G-spot.

"Now, Mary," I said, calmly. "Start with how wet you are."

"Jesus, my panties are soaked! I can't stop . . . I'm a horny little slut, Bill, and I've got a goddamn vibrator driving me fucking insane!"

"A decent start," I admitted. "Continue."

"I . . . I want your cock in me so bad I could scream," she said, haltingly. "I want to feel it pumping in and out of my pussy and—oh God -- and hammering my clit!" She took a moment to shudder prettily, throwing her head back and showing me her neck. She forced herself back to coherency, but couldn't bring herself to look at me. "I want sex, Bill, I want your big dick pounding away at my pussy, I want it in my ass, and I want to suck your cock all day!"

"Now we're talking," I said, raising my can of diet soda in salute. "Tell me, Mary, how does it make you feel to know that your husband -- who you claim to love -- is going out and fucking other women?"

"B-b-bad-d," she stuttered, confused. "But if if that's what you want to do, then . . . then . . . you des-deserve it, Bill!" she said, ending her sentence by turning my name into a squeal. "Oh, damn, this thing is getting warm . . . and it won't . . . quite . . . let me . . . cum . . ."

I took pity on her and clicked off her tormentor for a few minutes. She still hadn't cum, she was just highly aroused, now. She looked at me with grateful relief, and tried to straighten herself. But she had that smoldering, horny look in her eye that I had sought to inspire for most of my adult life. 

"I deserve it?" I said. "Perhaps. More importantly, you deserve it, Mary. You had a sweet thing and you fucked that right on up. So me fucking other women is part of your punishment for that. Your atonement. How does that make you feel . . . really? And be honest, now."

"I hate it," she whispered. "I love you, and every time you go on a date I spend the night crying myself to sleep, thinking about you with . . . another woman."

"Well, for my part, it's been invigorating," I said, smiling. "All that fresh, eager pussy, just waiting for my cock. Willing to do anything for it. And I get to let them, because you, Mary, you couldn't keep up your end of the marriage."

"I'm sorry I cheated on you, Bill," she said, sullenly. "I'm really sorry."

"Oh, the problems were there long before you met Dickless," I observed. "You were dragging in the bedroom for a year or more before you got distracted by a new, more exciting dick. You had a perfect life. All you had to do was fuck your husband, suck him off regular, and you were too self-absorbed to do even that. What kind of piss-poor excuse for a wife are you, Mary?" I demanded. "I never made you work. Your only real job was to keep me happy, and you couldn't even manage that. All those nights falling asleep because you were 'exhausted' from your strenuous day, all those headaches, all those bullshit excuses add up to one thing: you were being a lazy bitch, Mary."

"I -- I guess I was," she said, a few tears starting to pool in the corners of her eyes. 

"Damn right you were. And now you get to stay at home, barefoot and pregnant, while I take out other women and fuck them, and you have to lick their pussy juice off my cock and think about it. All of which could have been avoided by the simple expedient of taking care of my needs."

"I'm s-s-sorry, Bill."

"Shut up," I said in a low voice -- something I never would have said before her infidelity. She had lost my respect with that. "I'm still furious with you. I still love you. I still hate you. But while I'm dealing with this tangled web of psychological issues, I'm going to fuck as many other women as possible. Young, cute . . . skinny," I added, knowing she was starting to really become depressed about her weight gain. "And they do all sorts of things my wife would never dream of doing, once-upon-a-time. Can you think of any reason at all why I should give up all that prime pussy for your sorry fat ass again? When all you're likely going to do is go back to your old habits?"

"I won't!" she insisted, a tear falling from her left eye. "I swear!"

"Bullshit," I growled. "If I took you back right here, right now, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to death do us part -- If I made that commitment the sad, pathetic truth is that you would get bitchy and frigid all over again in just a few short months -- because you feel like I somehow owe you for the meager pussy you'd let me have."

"No, Bill! No, I'll fuck you anytime you want, I'll suck your dick, you can fuck my ass, you—"

"Liar!" I spat. "Six months. I give it six months before you'd have an attack of 'headaches' and 'exhaustion' again. First you'll prey on my sympathy, then you'll lower expectations with poor performance, and eventually you'll do as little as you can get away with when you bed your boring old accountant husband. And then we'd have to do this all over again, because as God is my witness, I will NOT go back to being a fucking money-dispensing appliance whose sole purpose is to provide you with a roof and a credit card." 

I tagged the wireless remote again, unexpectedly, and she jumped with a start. "I will not let some bitch put me in the position of whacking off in the den at two in the morning because she won't give me some pussy -- or a little head -- when the mood strikes me. I will NOT be taken advantage of again. The next woman I marry will be far, far more compliant and eager than the pathetic excuse for pussy in front of me now. She'll gladly cater to my needs, not treat them as a burden or a chore."




Second Wife Ch. 05



"I can do that, Bill," Mary promised, starting to tremble again. 

"Bullshit. No you can't, Mary. At least not now. Maybe you can change. Maybe not. But if you don't, well, then we're at an impasse. Even if you do, I'm starting to see that maybe I settled for a B-grade piece of ass when I can get A-grade for far less effort. I know I can do better, now. That puts you in a tough position."

"I'll do it, Bill, I swear! You'll see!" she said, squirming. "I -- oh! -- I'll be the perfect wife, Bill -- the perf-erfect wife . . ."

"I seriously doubt it," I sighed. "I think it's pretty hopeless. Oh, sure, you're putting out now -- but not because it's your nature. You're doing it because you're desperate." I leaned back on my elbows, my legs spread out in front of me. "And I'm going to enjoy watching you try and fail. I don't think you can do it. But I'm amused that you think you can. So crawl over here, you little slut, take out my cock and start sucking. Slowly. I don't want to cum for a while -- this is a pretty day and I want to enjoy it."

"But Bill! Someone might see!" she complained.

"So?" I asked with a grunt. "Then that will give you an opportunity to explain what you're doing . . . and why." She was still trembling, but the potential of me making her recount her sinful tale drained all the cover from her face. The encounter with the Sholens was still fresh on her mind, and the idea of her confessing her infidelity -- and resulting punishment -- was horrific to her. Still, she nodded her head once and then slowly crawled over to my side of the blanket. Looking around nervously she began to paw at my fly.

My cock emerged from my pants like a vibrant daffodil on a late winter day, and Mary wasted no time plunging the stalk deep into her warm, buttery mouth. Her once superior fellatio skills had been honed over the last few months to an exceptional level, and she knew just which areas of my dick to tantalize to produce instant results. Her lips suctioned the head while she bobbed ever-so-slightly in her attempt to be subtle. I didn't mind -- it would take me longer to get off that way, and I wasn't in any hurry.

I lay back on the blanket and stared at the cloudy sky, feeling the chill of the day on my face and hands and just around my balls. But Mary's mouth and hair were doing a nice job of keeping me warm, and if there's a better way to blow an afternoon than getting lazily blown in a park by your humiliated wife, I haven't encountered it. 

It's even better when she's constantly stopping and glancing at every little snapped twig and noisy bird. That was what made this hummer particularly exquisite, her terror at being discovered by, say, a couple of college kids. Or an elderly neighbor. Or a university cop. Or a field trip of kindergarteners. Then she'd have to explain why a married, pregnant lady was fellating a gentleman in the middle of the park in the middle of the day. That kept her off her game, which extended my fun. 

She soon realized her dilemma, and after ten minutes of start-and-stop sucking she began focusing more on sucking and less on getting busted. Only then did I start to make the climb towards orgasm.

I could smell her shampoo from here, I realized, and that made me happy, for some reason. It was a clean, innocent scent, and it made me think all the more about the way her hair was tickling my thighs. 

She took a brief break and stroked me with one hand while she looked up at me. 

"Bill, are you close?" she whispered.

"I'm getting there," I agreed. "I'm certainly enjoying the ride."

"My knees are starting to cramp up," she confided. "If you could finish soon, I'd be grateful."

"Sounds like a personal problem," I drawled, lazily. "You just do what you do, and when I'm ready you'll know. Better hurry, though -- I hear this is a popular picnic spot for the lunch crowd at the university."

Her eyes opened a little wider, and she quickly bent her head back to her diligent task. Her lips clamped down even tighter, and she ringed the base with her fingers and was jerking frantically.

It felt good -- really good. Too good. She had been working away for fifteen minutes, now, and I wasn't ready to end my fun. A distraction was called for. I slowly stuck my hand in my jacket pocket, found the little controller, and tagged the button.

Instant reaction! Her mouth on my dick slackened as she moaned involuntarily around it. I could feel her entire body shake as the remote vibe went postal on her G-spot. She clenched her legs together and struggled in vain to keep her rhythm going on my dick, but to no avail. She shuddered through a drenching orgasm in short order, and when she did get back to work it was a little on the sloppy side. I didn't mind one bit.

"Ohmygod, Bill, you can't keep—"

"Yeah, I pretty much can," I interrupted, softly. "I've got all day. And an extra set of batteries in my pocket."

I left the device on while she tried to finish, but it was hard for her. She was already worked up pretty badly, and she went from one climax to the next. It didn't help that her knees and arms were tired from being in this position far too long. That gave me the additional sadistic pleasure of feeling her whimper in discomfort as well as pleasure around my cock.

"Oh, yeah!" I groaned. "That's a good little wifey bitch, Mary. Suck that cock like it's got the antidote in it. Suck it like it's the best piece of chocolate in the world. Suck it like it matters . . . that's good! Ahhhhh, yeah, that's sweet . . ."

When she finally came out of the series of climaxes she had been forced to endure, I cut off the vibe and she relaxed, gratefully, and focused far more on getting me to cum. I was getting close, too, when I realized that my ass was cold, laying their on the ground, and I wanted to extend this blissful humiliation out a little more. I pushed her head away and helped her to her feet, my cock still exposed -- and suddenly cold, considering how much spit she'd slobbered on it during her blowjob. I mean, my boxers were soaked with it.

"What?" she whimpered. "Wasn't I good enough? I can keep going," she assured me, anxiously.

"I know," I agreed. "But I'm getting a little cold, here. Let's head over to that magnolia grove," I nodded. "I want to change positions."

"Okay," she said, accepting. "As long as I was a good slut for you."

"I'm giving you a passing grade, at the moment," I said, gently. "Let's finish up in style." I casually covered my exposed cock with the blanket, thrilled by the possibility of accidentally being discovered with my freshly-sucked wang out. 

I led her by the hand to the grove, and took a quick look around -- anyone who saw us would be able to tell what we were up to. Adults don't usually go ducking into the concealing interior of magnolia trees to discuss current events.

If you aren't from the South, you might not understand the role magnolia trees often play in your sex life. From the exterior, they have large, shiny greed leaves, waxy to the touch, with large fragrant white blooms in season that draw the eye. On the inside, though, it's like they're hollow, with a tangle of easy-to-navigate branches that turn into a kind of dark magical cave. From inside a magnolia you can see out pretty easily, while outside a mature specimen it's very hard to see in. Southern kids learn this as children, because magnolias are so much fun and easy to climb, and they remember well into adolescence because they also make a great place to duck into for a little sexual experimentation. I kissed the second girl I ever kissed in a magnolia.

Mary looked around nervously and shivered, then glanced at me expectantly. I dropped the blanket to the ground at my feet, exposing my still-hard cock, and nodded. "On your knees."

She complied without comment, although I had to help her down. Once situated, though, she immediately went back to work sucking me, a lot less nervous about being spotted. Her hot mouth on my cold hard dick was electrifying. She closed her eyes and put her best effort into it, taking long slow sensual sucks while her hands cupped my balls. I started getting excited again, and decided to share the experience by flipping on the remote again.

Her back immediately arched as she groaned at the unexpected sensation. I let her pant and suck and groan some, then put my hand on her head and began guiding her movements. She looked up at me with a mixture of fear, excitement, expectation and devotion, and despite my constant state of ire I felt a surprising surge of the love that had attracted me to her in the first place.

Can't have that, not while I'm humiliating her. She had been getting off more and more on the humiliation, even while she protested it. So I started calling her a filthy whore, a cum-sucking slut, a cheating bitch with a golden tongue -- I forget exactly where I went with it, because the excitement of the vibe, the verbal abuse, and the precariously exposed location were pushing Mary over the edge to another hard orgasm and I was only seconds behind, filling her mouth with my seed as she struggled to keep from screaming around my cock.

She swallowed, though, and perhaps with a bit of satisfaction. She was licking her lips clean as I helped her up, and I was perversely proud of her enough to give her a kiss on the cheek -- the first act of genuine affection I'd shown her in months. It was very much out of my recent character and it surprised her. Despite the fact that I had just treated her like a crack whore, she took that simple little kiss as a sign of hope. She was smart enough not to mention it, though.

The next morning while she went to her parent's house I checked her diary to verify if I was correct -- and I was.

Today was intense! Bill took me on a picnic lunch at the Gardens today, and of course what I ate was his dick. He found this wicked little remote control wireless vibe and forced it into my cunt. He kept turning it on while we walked around, and I even had to keep a straight face when we met the Shoens. I couldn't believe hot wet it made me to struggle not to cum right in front of Mrs. S! By the time he made me suck his dick in the meadow, I would have done anything he asked. Then he took me inside a magnolia tree to finish him off, and made me cum with the vibe.

The great thing about it all was the kiss: yes, he finally kissed me! An appreciative peck on the cheek, more brotherly than anything else, but I'm thrilled at this small sign -- could it be that he's considering a reconciliation somewhere deep in his heart? I bit my lip before I called attention to it. If he is having these feelings, they're buried under a pile of anger and hate and rage. Still, like a tiny flower growing out of a crack in a lifeless parking lot, this is a sign of hope. I guess he likes it when I really slut-out like I did today. Of course he did, who am I kidding? I'll ask Mom's advice when I see her tomorrow. She's been married for over thirty years. I'm sure she'll have a good perspective on this. And I know she wants me to salvage this miserable marriage I destroyed as much as I do.

But can I melt Bill's icy heart once again just by being some kind of perverted sex kitten? Is that what the rest of our life is going to be like, me a helpless cum-slut catering to his every whim? Of course not. Once I get him good and melty, I think we can return to the way things were, more or less. Because this perverted, dysfunctional sexual shit can't last. He's got to get tired of it eventually and crave affection and love from me again. If I can just hold on -- wait, what am I thinking? Of course I can hold on! I can put up with the indignities and the humiliations and bizarre sex games. I can suck other women's juices off his dick and smile like I like it. I can hold out as long as I need to for him to forget about my sins and remember he loves me again. I just know I can! 

That thought got me through the day. She can put up with the humiliations? We'd see about that.



Second Wife Ch. 06



"Wake up!" I demanded, shaking Mary awake. She had two pillows under her knees to help her back -- the baby belly was putting more and more strain on it every day -- and I pulled them out from under her to encourage her to wake up.

"Wah--?" she said, eyes blurry. "Bill? What time is it?"

"Time for my little cocksucking wife to get on her knees and suck some cock," I said, matter-of-factly. Actually, it was about three a.m. I had set my alarm for the occasion.

"What? You want . . . Bill, it's still dark -- it's three in the morning!" she said, accusingly.

"So it is. Which means it's time for a blowjob," I said, smiling serenely. "C'mon, let's do this."

"I . . . can I pee first?"

"If you need to. I'm a reasonable man."

"Who wants a blowjob at three in the morning?"

"Seems pretty reasonable to me. I had a craving. Surely you can relate."

"I . . . let me just pee," she said, defeated. "I'll be right back."

I hauled my erect cock out of my boxers as she waddled to the bathroom. Then I followed her in.

"Jesus, Bill, I'm almost—mmmpf!" she said as I stuffed my cock into her open mouth.

"You know, you talk too much sometimes," I mused as she sputtered around my dick. I didn't let her pull away, but neither did I start madly pumping her throat. She glared up at me in tired confusion, but after a moment she let out a sigh (through her nostrils) and started to hesitantly suck me. That was fine -- the longer she took to get me off the better. 

"This is the life," I crooned as her tongue began to bathe my shaft. "This is the life we should have had, before . . . well, you know," I said with a chuckle. She moaned the tiniest bit in protest around my cock. "Yes, it's a little inconvenient for you . . . I know you value your sleep . . . but honestly, do you have anything better to do?" I asked, pulling from her mouth with a pop and asking her directly.

She stared up at me, still half-asleep. "What? No, no, of course not." Sigh. "If you want a blow job, honey, I'm here for you."

Utterly unconvincing. But at least the words were coming out of her mouth. I shoved my dick back between her lips and leaned forward a bit, pushing more of it into her mouth than she was comfortable taking like that. 

"Oh, that's so good to hear," I chuckled. "I know you don't mean a word of it, not with your heart, and you're only playing along right now, but it still does my heart good to hear that. Because of all the things you do, Mary, of all the talents you possess, dick sucking is probably on the top ten list. Probably at number one. Apart from your skills as a fellatrix, you really don't have much to offer a man. Or a woman. Anyone, really."

She moaned a little more as she sucked, not a happy noise at all. It was a cheap shot, but that was the point. I reached down and roughly pawed her sensitive breasts, seeking out the nipple through her flannel nightgown and tugging on it. It was already hard when I got there. That also elicited more moans, which always feels good when your dick is in the mouth that's moaning.

"A little more tongue, please. That's better. You really do have a good mouth, when you're using it properly." I pulled away again and kissed her -- I'm not as squeamish as some men, I guess. "And I do love blowjob-soft kisses. You're a decent kisser." While I was crouched, I pushed my hand under her overhanging belly and sought out her pussy -- freshly shaven, I noted. Her clit was engorged, both by her excitement and by her position. I frigged it ruthlessly and she hissed involuntarily into my ear. "This has you hot, doesn't it dear? Answer me!"

"Y-y-essssss," she sighed as I captured her button between two fingers and wiggled provocatively. Then I slid my fingertips into the opening over her bare pussy, where they were instantly bathed in her warm juices. 

"Does it turn you on when I do this to you? Answer -- honestly."

"S-sometimes," she shuddered. "Most of the time."

"You like for me to use you like a slut? Like a live-in whore?"

"Yess! It turns me on. Most of the time."

"I don't know whether to be happy or sad about that," I said, straightening, plugging my throbbing dick back between her lips. "I mean, I like the fact that I'm turning you on, on the one hand, but on the other I really don't want you to enjoy this. I'm still plenty pissed at you, Mary. Plenty pissed. And part of the reason I'm pissed is that I should have known about your sexual dark side a long time ago, and you withheld it. Got angry at me for not being able to guess, and 'give you what you want'. So you had to go searching elsewhere, instead of giving me, your loving husband, the least fucking clue. No, no, I'm not looking for an argument, hon," I said as she started to reflexively pull away and defend herself or apologize. "I'm just soliloquizing. Venting. While my good little pregnant wifey sucks my cock in an unfinished bathroom at three a.m. Humor me."

She sighed in frustration around my cock, but kept sucking. I pumped my hips a little to encourage her while I continued berating her.

"And after talking with sweet little Susan, I now know about your sordid cheerleader past -- that would have been nice to know up-front. You were a hot little slut back then, by all accounts. Even dined at the Y a few times, rumor has it." That produced a startled squeak -- a very interesting sensation. "So I'm curious -- who was the first girl? The first pussy you ever touched? Licked?"

I let her pull away for this. "Is this really necessary, Bill?" she asked, hesitantly. "Humor me," I repeated, a little more sternly. "Confession is good for the soul -- and it's making me even hotter to think about it. So tell me who was the first pussy you ever ate?"

"C-Carla Dawes," she admitted, hesitantly. "My first year on the team. She was a total slut, for boys and girls, and she . . . she seduced me at our second 'away' game. Got me drunk on Goldschlager and we had sex at the hotel. She was a senior," she said, as if that somehow excused it.

"Back to work," I said with an amused sigh, pushing my dick back between her lips. "That's fascinating -- I'll have to look her up on Facebook, see what ol' Carla is doing these days. But that's something I would have liked to have heard about during our long and happy marriage."

I let her suck in silence for a while, continuing to maul her boobs. I could tell that sitting on the john for such an extended period was making her uncomfortable, but I kept going for at least five minutes while she suffered. I even grabbed her head and started face-fucking her lips, and she bore it stoically, merely groaning slightly every now and then.

Just when I felt on the edge of spewing my seed across her tongue, I backed off and pulled her unceremoniously to her feet. She chirped in surprise, and again when I whipped her nightgown over her head. "Get in the bedroom," I ordered. She complied, quickly, and turned around expectantly.

"Sit on the side of the bed," I said, pushing her shoulders gently down. She sat and immediately started sucking my dick again. I let her take it until I was close again, then pulled away and dropped to my knees, pushing her knees apart until I was face to face with her twat. She looked down at me with a mixture of surprise and pleasure on her face.

"My God," I said, in awed tones. "This thing is enormous, now!"

She winced as if I had slapped her. All women are self-conscious about their genitalia, and Mary was no exception. Even though I've always thought it as pretty as a porn star, she's always been touchy about how her pussy presents itself. Size, of course, is included in that. "I mean, it's about double in size from before! Damn!" I was exaggerating -- but the vasculature in the labia had definitely increased the blood flow, and it was far puffier than it had been six months ago. I made a point of visibly shrugging. "Not really a problem, just . . . damn!"

She blushed and tried very hard not to glare at me. I stopped her ire by suddenly blowing a steady breath across her twat, inspiring a shiver. Her hips squirmed accordingly.

"Wow, you must be really, really horny," I observed. "You're leaking lube, you're so wet!"

"Yes, Bill!" she whispered. "I'm very, very aroused!" To her credit she didn't ask me to do anything about it. "I'm very horny right now. I've been horny for days!"

"Have you masturbated?" I inquired, with all the warmth of a gynecologist during an exam. "Yes," she admitted. "A lot. But it isn't the same as your big thick cock!"

Flattery -- it was another step in the right direction. "I'm sure. I bet you could really take a hard, pounding fucking right now. The kind of claw-the-sheets ass slapping dicking that makes you stupid for three days."

"Oh, God, yes!" she said, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, that really sucks for you. Still . . . I bet you'd do anything for a good licking, too. Although you never seemed particularly impressed by my technique."

"What are you talking about?" she said, seriously. "You eat my pussy great!"

"Then why didn't you ask for me to do it more?" I asked, eyebrows raised. "If I was that good -- and as eager as you know I am -- then why didn't you ask me to?"

"That's not something . . . I mean, you're great at it, but I didn't feel right asking you if you didn't—"

"Never mind, never mind, not important any more, I suppose. You had your chance. I would have dove in head first every night, if you had let me. I bet you're really wishing you'd let me know," I said, making a point of breathing on her excited crotch. She writhed a bit more.

"Jesus, Bill, you're driving me crazy!" she moaned, leaning her head back. 

"Yeah," I said, pleased with myself. "I wonder what you'd do for me for just one lick . . ."

"I'll suck your dick!" she promised.

"You do that anyway, remember?"

"I'll . . . I'll . . ."

"Yeah, you really don't have much else to offer," I observed, brushing the tip of my nose across her clit, my mouth so close to her tingling labia she could feel the vibration. "I mean, it's not like you can deny me that, right now. So what else you got?"

"You can fuck me!"

"Throw you in the Briar Patch? Why would I want to do that? I ain't Brer Fox, Miss Mary. Your pussy is not the pristine gift it once was. It's not even the fairest in the land any more. It's another middle-aged pussy with a few too many miles, and now it's got a passenger. Next?"

"I'll . . . I'll . . ."

"I'm waiting," I breathed, my face close enough so that she could feel its heat. I dragged my chin lightly across her labia, my midnight stubble making a little scratchy noise. Her spine buckled.

"Oh, Jesus, Bill! I'll dress up like a fucking nun and put a banana up my ass if you want me to, just . . . please . . . just . . ."

"And you still can't bring yourself to say it, can you?" I jeered. "So hot you're squirming and leaking, and you still can't ask me to do it? Although the nun with the banana thing is interesting -- we may have to revisit that." "Whatever you want, Bill!" she moaned, her hips thrashing around like a wild animal. "I'll give you whatever you want, just . . ."

"There you go, Mary," I said, snapping my fingers. "That's what you can do to earn a licking: I want something interesting. Original. And I want you to think it up. Think of it as a replacement for my cold, lonely birthday this year. You know how we grant each other one birthday wish? I think that's what I want from you: something interesting. After all, we did promise we'd always do that -- that's how you got that cute little car last year that my attorney so enjoys driving now, remember? Tomorrow night -- no, that doesn't give you enough time, I'll give you until Friday night, and we'll make a date of it. So Friday night I want you to actually have a fucking original thought about fucking and execute it. Not just trashy lingerie and some tingly lube, but something interesting. Something intriguing. Because as much as I loved you, Mary," I said, earning a whimper in response to the past tense, "the truth is that our sex-life was getting boring. Not boring enough for me to cheat with the first loser who showed me some attention, perhaps," I said, rolling my eyes, "but you had me so distracted by the utter lack of head in my life that I didn't realize how boring sex with you was getting. So give me something -- show me some spark of passion and creativity -- and I'll give you a few little licks. Can you do that, Mary?"

"God, yes, yes, I'll do it!" she assured me, her head rocking from side to side as my fingers danced lightly over her thighs. 

"I'm not sure you can," I mused, patting her labia lightly. "As a matter of fact, I'm thinking you're going to be all boring and stupid and predictable, but I'd at least like to see what kind of pathetic attempt you can make of yourself. It'll be amusing, if nothing else. Given the opportunity, what passes in your tiny little mind for sexually innovative? That's gotta be a hoot."

"Just . . . just . . . I promise, okay?" she said, fervently. "I'll make you proud of me Bill, just give me the chance, that's all I've ever wanted was the chance—"

"I'll give it to you. Like I said," I chuckled, giving her labia a long, hard lick from bottom to top, "it'll be amusing to watch you fail!"

"GOD!" she moaned, forcing her pussy at my face. My hands clamped on to her thighs to hold her in place, and I dazzled her clit with thirty seconds of intense tongue play. She writhed so hard on the bed I had to exert myself to keep her there -- and it was odd, at that angle, with her pregnant belly looming overhead. "That was fun!" I giggled boyishly. "I do love eating pussy -- that's usually the first thing I do with my dates these days. I've eaten more pussy in the last few months than in the last few years of our marriage. Strange pussy, sweet pussy, juicy pussy, tart pussy, silky smooth and full and hairy. It's been refreshing. They all asked for more. Not one of them pulled the 'I don't feel fresh' bullshit, when it came down to it. I love eating pussy!" I said, giving her a solid two minutes of inspired clit-licking.

Mary thrashed as I did, moaning and screaming like she was being attacked. Her thighs were sticky with her juices, though, and it was as if every additional humiliation I heaped on her got her hotter. I broke away again, and she moaned in despair.

"OH, shit, I was so close!" she whined.

"Yeah, that sucks. Still, I'll tell you what: talk dirty for a few minutes and I'll continue -- until I get bored. And I'm easily bored these days," I added wryly. "And don't spare the self-deprecation, 'kay? I love hearing about what a total loser you are."

"Oh, God, oh, Bill, I . . . I'm such a slut, Bill, such a fucking whore. I'm horny all the time now," she began, and I slowly started licking her again. A total change in pace from the frenetic tonguing of a moment before. I wanted this -- and her -- to last. "I can't believe I'm such a slut that I slept with that idiot. I couldn't help it. I wanted you to eat me out and fuck me like you meant it, but I was a bad little whore and didn't ask. I wanted you to eat me out, Bill, darling, I wanted your big dick in my tight pussy, banging a-way-way, oh, shit, I wanted your finger up my ass but I didn't k-know h-how to as-ask for it-t!" she stuttered, as she neared her orgasm. I backed off, licking towards the bottom of her engorged slit, instead. 

"I was such a whore in High School, Bill, I sucked so many cocks and l-licked some pussies . . . I was so ashamed about eating pussy, Bill, so ashamed, but it was so g-good that I . . . well, some of the girls were into that, so . . . Carla almost raped me, Bill, she pushed my drunk whore ass down and hiked my tiny skirt up and and and buried her face in my pussy and ate me, ate me, ate me . . . OH! God, she ate me so well, and then she sat on my f-face bef-fore I could move and she made me s-suck her clit, and I was such a lezzie whore and I wanted to be popular and she was so popular so I became her secret little slit-licker and then the other girls . . . oh, it was-s SHIT! It wasn't that we didn't-like boys but SHIT! But it was a kind of cheerleader thing-g—"

She stopped and came there, really really hard -- and my dick was hard as steel.

Sure, pulling her up and sinking my dick in her face would have been easy, and gratifying, but I had a face full of pussy juice now, and so I leaned forward and slid my cock suddenly into her pussy for the first time in a while. It surprised her, to say the least -- her eyes shot open with wonder as I hoisted her knees up on my elbows and really plowed her fertile valley like the thunderclouds were coming.

"Oh, Jesus, shit, Bill, Oh, thank you, thank you, I've needed a big dick in me, thank you, Bill, Darling, please, Jesus, thank you, thank you for fucking me, thank you for fucking my worthless cunt, Bill, thank you, oh, thank you thank you thankyou!" she begged as my hips slapped in and out of her pussy. She started cumming almost instantly, and I was surprised at just how spry she was in her condition. I reveled in the warmth and wetness of the pussy I knew so well, even as I bumped against a belly full of betrayal.

It briefly turned into a grudging powerfuck, and I slammed into her viciously. Then I realized just how much release she was getting from it, and as I pumped her towards another climax, I made a decision and pulled out.

"Flip over and put your big whore ass in the air!" I commanded, getting to my feet. "Do it!"

She scrambled slowly into position, eyes wide with the sudden change in play. But she obediently put her butt in the air and cradled her head between her arms and then glanced over her shoulder at me, a worried look on her face.

"Damn right you should be worried," I growled as I slapped her right cheek, hard enough to leave a brief print in her pink skin. "That wasn't for your fucking benefit, you cheating cunt."

"Fuck me, Bill!" she begged. "Keep fucking me, fuck me hard, fuck me like you mean it, just fuck me, Bill!" 

"Play with yourself," I commanded, stroking my cock at the lewed sight of her fingers trying to maneuver around her belly before the started frigging her clit madly. "Tell me again what you are."

"I'm a whore, Bill, a slut and a whore! I want your dick in me so bad . . ."

"What do you aspire to be?"

"Your sweet little wife," she gasped as my fingers probed her pussy from behind, occasionally meeting hers. I dove my middle finger inside and sawed it across her G-spot. "I want to be your sweet little wife who loves you and takes care of you and sucks your cock every day . . ."

"You want me to have a whore for a wife?" I asked, incredulously. "Outrageous. But since you're a whore, no reason I shouldn't treat you like one," I said, pulling my finger out of her pussy and plunging it deeply in her winking ass hole. She leapt off the bed, but then came back into position and continued to stroke her own clit while I finger-fucked her ass.

"Please fuck me in the ass, Bill!" she said, unconvincingly.

"You're just saying that because you think that's what I want to hear," I chided. "I don't think you really mean it."

"Oh, I do, please fuck me in the ass," she said. She still wasn't selling it. 

"I will -- but not because you say you want to. I will because I think you don't want to but are trying to appease me. Okay, I can take a little appeasement," I said, pulling my finger out of her butt. I fucked her pussy for a dozen strokes or so to get my cock properly wet, then pushed the head against her sphincter and shoved my dick unceremoniously into her ass.

"See, now that your pussy is blown," I whispered in her ear as I bent over her back, "your ass is about all you have left. And everyone has an asshole. So you'd better think up something pretty fucking creative for Friday night," I gasped, as her tight bottom spasmed around me, "or I'm just going to have to say to hell with it and spend all night long punishing your asshole, Mary. All night long, buried in your butt while you cry and beg and plead."




Second Wife Ch. 06



She shuddered in orgasm despite herself, and that was my cue. I mercilessly fucked her ass, reamed her, unconscionably used her tight butt for my bestial pleasure. She didn't like it. She didn't enjoy it. But she came her brains out. I pumped a powerful load up her butt, then without a further word I pulled free and left her, face down on the bed, my sperm leaking out of her not-quite-so-tight ass, and went upstairs to bed. 

And yes, she was crying when I left, big juicy tears of self-pity, self-loathing, or just plain misery. But the journal entry for that night read like this:

 Bill and I just had the most amazing sex ever. Better than our honeymoon. He came to my room and woke me up in the middle of the night and then he used me, used every hole, until he came while sodomizing me. He started fucking my face while I was sitting on the toilet, then he ate me out, then he fucked me hard before he put it in my ass. The entire time he berated me, called me names, made me feel ashamed, made me feel used.

I loved it.

I can't admit that to him, but it was the kind of thing I secretly craved since we were married but couldn't bring myself to admit. I felt so dirty, so humiliated, so used . . . and so unbelievably aroused. What is wrong with me? What makes a woman develop a need like that? I came harder with him fucking my ass and insulting me than I ever did making sweet, tender love with him. That can't be normal. I know it's not normal, and it scares me that I have that . . . unrepentant slut somewhere deep down in me. I'm about to be somebody's mother! 

Sure, I felt humiliated. He insulted my character. He told me that all I was good for was sucking his cock. He said my pussy had gotten huge and ugly. He forced me to reveal my first same-sex experience. He made me call myself a slut and a whore while he fucked me. He did everything but rub dogshit into my face -- and I loved every second of it. I'm such a fucked-up person. And when he pushed his dick into my butt, it was as if the physical pain of entry was hooked directly into my brain. It hurt, but it felt so good -- who knew anal sex could be so fantastic? It wasn't even the sensation of the heat and friction, or the stimulation of my clit that did it, just the utter humiliation of being forced to give him my ass. Nay, beg for him to take my ass.

And then there was the promise. He made me promise that I'd try to think up something original and creative, in return for him licking my pussy. He gave me few guidelines, merely suggested that it had better be good and original or . . . well, now I'm wracking my brain for something creative. In the old days I'd just buy some new lingerie and let him spend a few minutes looking at me in it before we got busy, but I know for a fact that that won't cut it this time. Bill has upped the ante to the point where even a schoolgirl outfit is passé. I don't know where he's found these reserves of perversion, but I have to admit that I apparently didn't know my husband as well as I thought I did. Or myself, for that matter. 

All I know is that I spent most of last night masturbating after he had made me cum and fucked my ass. Masturbating and crying. It was that good. And now I've got to really impress him. How the hell am I supposed to do that? 

There was a little more, mostly about her conflicted feelings about her baby and assorted self-pity, but that was the good part. And I honestly was looking forward to Friday. Just what could my horny, desperate whore of a wife dream up? That would be an important test. Maybe it would make up for my birthday -- ordinarily, Mary and I gave each other one unfettered wish for our birthdays as a special indulgence, but this year had been a little odd on my birthday in early January, what with my marriage shattering and all. 

That reminded me that Mary's birthday was coming up, and I played out all sorts of bizarre fantasies in my head about that. Should I honor our long-standing custom, even though we were technically split? Should I indulge her one last time, out of nostalgia? Was there a way I could turn it around and make it work for me? I would have to think about it, but it did raise some interesting possibilities.

And then there were my other dates. Susan didn't have anything set up for Friday night, luckily, but I had made a date -- on my own -- with an attractive colleague from a competing firm across town, a tall and striking redhead named Dana Adams. We had flirted good-naturedly at last-year's continuing education seminar, and she had lamented the fact I was married during collegial drinks afterwards. While I had considered the possibility that she was just kissing my ass in the name of networking, I had called her on a whim when I came across her business card a few weeks before, and she had pounced pretty eagerly when I mentioned I was splitting with my wife. She actually had proposed a lunch meeting, ostensibly to talk shop and exchange gossip, when I converted it to dinner and drinks at Ledbetters. 

We were on for Thursday, and while I didn't have the anticipation of getting laid the way I did with Susan's "sure things", it would be a good opportunity to dust off my good dating behavior. And it would drive Mary crazy. She hated it when I got around my colleagues and spent the evening talking shop, leaving her bored and alone. She was also highly aware of the fact that some of my female colleagues not only had fine accountant's minds but tits, pussies, and overly liberal views on marriage vows. Before the split it was more her insecurity speaking than any real threat on my fidelity -- I wouldn't have strayed if they'd stripped naked during the keynote speech -- but now I was off the chain and had something to prove.

And that would be a problem for Mary. She knows how much I respect brains and how much I enjoy pussy -- and putting them both in one shapely package was a threat that she would find challenging to counter. 

She was trying, though. She was putting out like a submissive little whore, and was getting off on the humiliation enough that it got me off. I'm not a natural sadist, usually -- before my marriage broke up I was always sweet and considerate and loving in the sack. But Mary had aroused a previously hidden side to my sexual subconscious that enjoyed the control and the humiliation I heaped upon her in ways that old Bill never would have dreamt of. I was a different man than the one who had married her. And she was a different woman, now, too. 

I wondered just how much longer she could go before she cracked. Or if she would go the distance. I was hesitant to think of the repercussions either way, more out of concern for my own mental health than hers. But from the whorish way she put out in the middle of the night, she was clearly committed to this course of action, at least for the moment. 

That suited me just fine. But maybe I could up the ante . . . really put her to the test. A lot would depend upon just what she came up with for my "birthday".



Second Wife Ch. 07



Dana Adams was about two years my junior, an up-and-coming accountant with serious business development credentials. That meant, for my industry, that she was very attractive, knew how to sell, and knew her shit. You can wave a piece of ass under an accountant's nose and they're every bit as willing to overlook a few details as anyone else -- but when it comes to doing business, you have to know your stuff. No over-stuffed bra could overcome a deficit in ability, when the rubber met the road. You can't wave titties at the IRS and expect results.

Dana had done quite well for herself. She had taken the same entry-level positions I had taken when I'd started out, but her charm and her ability had put her into the fast-track in record time. Professionally I would have said that I was more concerned with the possibility of there being too much style and not enough substance, but then I wasn't looking to hire her. I was looking to bed her. For that she was eminently qualified.

She was about five-four or five-five, with dirty blonde hair that was always impeccably styled and perfect make-up and wardrobe. She went a little overboard on the accessories for my tastes, but all women have a few weak spots like that. Mary's had been cosmetics, for instance. She was attractive -- even "business hot" -- at work, and I was curious how she'd approach a clearly "fun" date. I had low expectations, of course. This wasn't one of Susan's "sure things", this was something I'd set up on my own to take advantage of a long-standing flirtation between the two of us. And while I was the slightest bit nervous about making a play for someone in my industry -- who technically worked for one of my competitors -- I'd had enough sexual successes in the last six months to not worry so much. I was here to get into her panties.

We met at the restaurant at the same time, and I was pleased at her punctuality. She'd cut back on her accessories to one elegant gold watch and one simple necklace that matched her earrings. She wore a black cocktail dress and a clutch purse, just a little dressier than the blazer-and-no-tie look I was sporting. Her eyes lit up when she saw me in the lobby, and she didn't hesitate to give me the double kiss that passes for a casual greeting among professionals of opposite gender.

"Thank you so much for asking me out!" Dana said, after I'd led her to our table. "I had no idea that your interest extended to me . . . personally," she said, a little nervously.

"I've always found you very attractive," I acknowledged. "Of course, I've been married up to now . . . "

"Yes, I've heard rumors about that situation," she said, again a little nervously.

"Put them behind us," I dismissed. "It's an ugly divorce, and I'd rather not dwell on it. But it has opened up my social schedule. When I realized that I was back on the dating market," I added, "I naturally wanted to give you a call."

"I'm so flattered!" Dana said, genuinely, tossing her hair over her shoulder flirtatiously. "I've always admired your work . . . and I have to agree, there's always been a little attraction there." The admission came with delightful dimples that framed her smile. Nice.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," I smiled, warmly, opening the menu.

That's when things started to go downhill.

"So," Dana began, "just how well are they treating you over there?" she asked, casually. "I hear you made partner already. So young!" I flinched inwardly -- I wasn't interested in talking about work -- but then I realized that she wasn't really talking about work. She was talking about me.

What followed were a number of questions that seemed innocuous -- but I started to get a suspicion that something was not quite right. Most of the questions seemed innocent, but I soon realized that they were each designed to get me to admit to how well I was doing. "How well" meaning "how much money". On top of that, there were a few that seemed borderline nosey, particularly about what I wanted to do with my professional future.

After I cautiously answered her inquiries, being as non-committal as possible while remaining talkative, she relaxed just a bit and began asking me about my social life. Or, more accurately, my social position. Then she started digging about my desire for family . . . 

It dawned on me that I wasn't on a date. I was on a job interview for the position of her husband. I was being run down a checklist of answers to see if I fit her criteria for a potential mate.

Okay, it might seem unfair of me to judge a woman for that, considering my primary concern was how easy it would be to get between her legs -- assuming it was worth the effort. But from the questions she kept asking it became clear that she not only wanted to see if I fit her "dream guy" image, but that she had already done some considerable research on me. That made me a little irritated. She didn't seem to catch that, however, since I was also polite and gracious, and she was getting more and more enthusiastic about things with every "correct" question I answered.

I don't mind being a "success object" -- Mary had trained me well for that. And I make a good trophy husband. But Dana, despite her lovely looks and intelligence, was taking the checklist too far by half for a mere first date. I know I've been out of the dating scene for a while, but instead of a pleasant and relaxing evening I felt subtly on display. Having made the leap from "professional colleague" to "potential romantic interest" in Dana's mind, she had given me both barrels of her husband-hunting checklist even before the waiter delivered the bread basket. 

"Wine or beer?" she asked, when the waiter returned to get our drink order. It was a direct and friendly question, but there was no doubt what the "correct" answer was in Dana's mind. I smiled inwardly and very deliberately ordered red wine. The most expensive bottle on the list. She was curious about how extravagant I might be -- no one likes a cheapskate -- and I'm sure I came through with flying colors. The fact that she seemed so pleased with my extravagant selection further irritated me, however. I mean, I like a woman to appreciate the little things I do for her on a date -- it's part of the mating ritual -- but not gloat about them. And Dana had a lousy poker face when it came to that sort of thing.

That's when I realized that this dating thing wasn't just about whether to sleep with someone -- at least not to the women. I suppose my recent history has made me jaded when it comes to romance in general, but while sex was the primary thing on my mind, it was just barely in the running for Dana. She had automatically assumed the protective attitude in regards to sharing her genitalia with me. I could respect that, to a point -- but her attitude increasingly told me that the only way I'd get into her panties was if I continued to perform to her expectations, and even then she was going to make me wait for it.

Don't ask me why that pissed me off. Or what specific question or comment cinched it. I should have expected it -- hell, I'm surprised I hadn't run smack into the checklist before this. I'd done so often enough back before I'd met Mary, I guess, but back then we were young and unrealistic -- and I admit, I was stupid about that sort of thing back then. But since I'd been choosing my dates based largely on sexual availability, not suitability for a long-term relationship, the whole am I Mr. Right? question just hadn't been an issue -- especially not with Mary in the background still. 

Now Dana was, subtly, making it an issue, and the more she probed my past, including my college career and preferences for vacation destinations, the more I resented being put in that position. On a first date, at least. A woman shouldn't spring that on a man until at least the third date, probably after they've had sex, and he's a little more comfortable with the relationship. Or at least that's my opinion. I was starting to get a glimmer of why Dana was still single, and it had little to do with her devotion to her career. She came on way too strong, without subtlety. And then she wasn't sensitive enough to pick up on my cues. She should have realized it bothered me and focused on enjoying our evening instead of flipping to the next page of the interview. 

I made a point of not letting that resentment show, however -- dealing with Mary's shenanigans had given me an outstanding poker face. I had, after all, wanted to try out my "good dating behavior", and this was a great way to do it. But I did so at the risk of feeling "played" by Dana, and while I let the resentment build I countered with a few personal -- even intimate -- questions of my own. The other thing that Mary's infidelity had gifted me with was a far better understanding of female psychology -- especially what buttons to push to get a reaction. 

"So, when was your last relationship?" I asked, casually, when she broke her inquisition for a sip of wine. There was a startled look in her eye, as if I'd touched upon a taboo subject, and then I realized that her reluctance was based in part on how long it had been. I considered that a hit.

"I . . . dated a couple of guys in the last year," she admitted. "But none of them were really 'boyfriend' material. One was a drummer, I'm ashamed to say. A good one, but still a drummer. The other was a non-profit administrator. Nice guy but . . . well, he just didn't do it for me." That was her polite way of saying "he just didn't make enough money for me."  That's one thing I've always disliked about my industry -- while some of us are into it for the pure joy of bean counting, for others it was all about the money and success. Dana had a good professional rep, but she was only good because she had a goal that really didn't have much to do with accounting. She wore her ambition like the expensive mink stole her future husband would give her on their one-year anniversary. Dana sloshed wine around in her glass uncomfortably. "I guess my last serious relationship was with Jeff, and that was . . . three years ago?" she said, wrinkling her nose while trying to recall.

That was bullshit. She knew, probably to the day, when the last time she got laid was -- and when the last time she had a "real" boyfriend, however un-ambitious. The truth was she hadn't been able to attract or hold on to a real boyfriend, which, with her knock-out looks, was a significant warning sign. 

"Well, work does keep us busy," I said, trying to be gracious. "Hard to work in a social schedule. Or find a great guy who doesn't mind late hours at the office."

"And there just aren't that many great guys out there!" she confessed, suddenly. "I mean, you're fantastic, Bill. But you're the exception. Trying to find a man who is ambitious, secure, health-conscious, and willing to put in the time to build a good relationship is . . . well, it's hard to find that kind of guy. They're all married or gay."

"I can see that," I said, affably, although now I was starting to really resent her attitude. I threw in a stray dig, just for fun. "And we're not exactly at the age where we can hang around in bars all night, either, are we?" I chuckled -- because it was clear that ambitious Dana was wrapped up enough in herself to think she was still that kind of girl, and pointing it out to her stung. But I continued on, changing the subject lightly, before she could respond to the sleight. "Finding a worthy woman is pretty difficult, too. And one that is trustworthy . . . well, not to dwell on my wife, but I'm a big fan of marital fidelity, at the very least. And there is the matter of sharing a common background, common goals and aspirations . . . " I said, baiting her.

Maybe she'd just had a little too much wine too quickly to properly guard her words, or perhaps she'd just decided that I'd given her the proper opening, but she took the bait and ran with it. "Oh, you're so right about that! There are so many complete and utter losers out there who talk a good game, but when you come down to it, they're just posing. I mean, you either know you want Waterford crystal, or you don't. You either know you want to honeymoon in Tahiti, or you don't. There's no sense of commitment with guys these days, no standards."

While the flirtation officially continued while we were eating, my enthusiasm for Dana's company had waned considerably by the time we jointly refused dessert. Still, I wasn't eager to end the date prematurely. I invited her to join me on the observation deck of the Kerr Tower, a monstrous office building that dominated the skyline, and take in the cool spring evening. She giggled excitedly and agreed. At the very least I wanted a chance to get her alone. Casual golddigging was something I could put up with (as I had with Mary) but only if there were other considerations. This was Dana's chance to show me some "other considerations".

We stood and looked out over the night skyline for half an hour, pointing out places where we'd worked, where we'd dated, where we'd like to build a house or something someday. Just idle date speculation, but it gave me enough of an opening to put my hand protectively on Dana's hip and draw her in for a kiss. We were alone on the observation deck and could have loudly fucked all night long up there without being disturbed.

She started to return the kiss, at first, the taste of expensive zinfandel on her painted lips inviting me to explore further, but half-way through the act she stiffened and backed off. I tried to press her a little, but it was clear that a little smooching was all that Dana was willing to venture on a first date. Every time I tried to pull her too me after that she resisted playfully. She was playing "hard to get", a classic female move designed to inspire interest. I'm not a fan.

From my perspective, at that point, the date was over. I quit trying to advance my play, and at the earliest possible convenient time I took her home.

"Come in for a drink?" she asked, a little seductively, as I pulled up to her luxury apartment complex. While I was a bit disillusioned with her at that point, I still saw some potential in her invitation. I was a little reluctant before I agreed, but I admit that some women just aren't ready to get physical until they feel more comfortable. Maybe she was waiting for the home turf advantage before she unleashed her inner vixen -- assuming it was part of the equation. So I nodded and followed her in, where she poured another glass of red wine for us while we sat on the couch.

Things went a little better from there -- I managed to pull her into a kiss again, and we macked for ten minutes or so. Quite enjoyable -- Dana was a good kisser. But the moment my hand tried to cup her boob, it was "GAME OVER". She pulled back, and calmly steered the conversation towards getting me out of there. The message was clear: you have potential, Bill, but I want to make you work for it.

Re-jected. And I wasn't particularly happy about it. Nor was I willing to work that hard for pussy when I had it for the asking at home.

I thanked her for a lovely evening, and assured her I had a good time. But I didn't mention a second date. Nor calling her again. The lack of follow-up was so obvious, actually, that she tried to steer me into asking her by mentioning a number of upcoming social events at which we'd make a stunning pair. But I wasn't falling for the bait. When, at last, I was about to head back out to the car with a hard cock and a resentful mind, she finally stopped me one last time.

"So, Bill . . . when would you like to do this again?" she asked, her lip trembling expectantly. I'm sure she was pissed I wasn't taking her hints. I didn't mind. She hadn't done me the courtesy of taking mine.

I considered. "It was lovely, but . . . in all honestly, probably not. Good night, Dana," I said, leaving her alone and speechless at the top of the stairs. I didn't even look back afterwards. I went home. It was already eleven-thirty, but unlike my college dating days, I wasn't concerned with blue balls after a strikeout. I went into the house, threw my keys on the table, went straight to her room, woke up Mary, had her blow me sleepily in frustration.

"Did you have a good time, hon?" she asked, sleepily as she sat up on her bed and fumbled for my fly.

"Well . . . kind of," I admitted. "She looked hot enough, was pleasant to be around, but . . . I felt like a pair of expensive Italian designer pumps she was contemplating buying. But I didn't ask to go out again." I was surprised that Mary took an interest -- you'd think she'd be completely antithetic to my dates, since they were a direct threat to what was left of her marriage. But she merely nodded and sighed as her hands firmly stroked my cock between them.

"It was Dana, right? I've met her before at a few of your work functions. Total manhunting cunt," she explained, tossing around the word she'd always considered obscene like she did so every day. "I mean, she's pretty -- even hot -- and she spends enough on the right designers, but . . . well, if you gave up on me for the likes of her, Bill, I'd be disappointed in you. She's so not worth the effort," she said, with a bitter laugh before she leaned forward to engulf the head of a prick impatient for relief. Mary gave me a little tongue action on the head, swirling around deliciously, before taking me deep into her mouth for six or seven long strokes. I was reveling in the glory that is fellatio-on-demand when she stopped her sucking -- though her hand never left my joint. 

"Not to put too fine a point on it," she offered, "but she's going to stalk you now. Especially if you didn't ask for a second date. You've made her feel like there's something wrong with her, and that's going to mess with her head." She pushed her mouth back over my dick and continued with the hard long strokes -- just what I needed after a frustrating date.

"I know," I sighed, distractedly. "But that's because there is something wrong with . . . oh, my . . . with her. Not my . . . type," I grunted out as she pulled back off with a powerful suction. Her hand kept pumping the base of my shaft, and she started to palm my balls with the other one. 

"She's not going to take 'no' for an answer," Mary warned me, clearly amused about the situation. "She's going to hound you until you give her a reason for not dating her. Then she's going to try to prove herself to you, only so she can dump you later, salvage her self-esteem and improve her reputation for having gone out with you. Because once you've rejected her, she's not going to be happy until she's re-claimed you, then rejected you." Mary's head bent back to her task, and I gasped at the sudden warmth. 

"Well, she gets a total fail when it comes to maintaining my interest," I said between shallow breaths. "I could have . . . put up with . . . the interrogation," I said, my eyes closed, "if she had . . . put out a little . . . at the end . . . of the evening."

Once again Mary popped off my prick and turned into Ann Landers. 

"She's just a golddigging whore, Bill," she said, reasonably, as she wanked me. "And you already have an in-house whore. If you're going to leave me, for God's sake don't leave me for the likes of her. You're better than that," she said, sympathetically. "You deserve better than that. Especially after . . ." she said, trailing off. 

I saved her the trouble of finishing the sentence by grabbing her head with my hand and pulling her mouth back to my dick. I didn't mind the surprise commentary -- as startling as it was -- but I didn't need to be reminded of the circumstances. Mary looked up at me gratefully as she made a show of power-sucking me to a titanic explosion that challenged her ability to swallow it all. She gagged for a second, choked, coughed, but stopped like a pro while I enjoyed the pure and unique satisfaction of cumming in your wife's mouth after an unsuccessful date with another woman. 




Second Wife Ch. 07



After she recovered, she smiled and put my cock back in my trousers, patting it fondly once it was stowed away.

I startled myself by giving her a kiss on the forehead and actually thanking her, as I left her small room.

"For what?" she asked, confused. 

I smirked. "For letting me unload."

She got the joke, even snorted. That made me happy, for some twisted reason.

***

Call Mary prescient, if you want. The next morning there were two emails in my inbox and two voice messages on my voicemail at work, all from Dana. All expressing various levels of disbelief and confusion.

Dear Bill, ran the first email. I really enjoyed our date last night, and hope we might be able to do it again sometime soon. I really felt like we hit it off, and I could see great things in our future! Thanks, Dana.  Her cell number followed.

Dear Bill, read the second email. I'm a little confused about what you said last night. I thought we had a really good time. I felt there was a little chemistry there. So I'm not sure why you don't want to go out again. It might just be me, but is there any way you could clarify that? Thanks! Dana.

It sounded needy and more than a little neurotic. My lack of follow-through had completely hit Dana where it hurt her most: her desirability and suitability as a mate.

The phone messages were likewise confusing. The first one was time-stamped ten minutes after I'd left her place last night. The other one followed an hour later. 

"Bill, this is Dana. Thanks again for a wonderful time! I really enjoyed dinner. I hope we can do it again sometime soon. I really like you. Call me!" she sang before hanging up. A little too cheerful, I thought grimly.

The second voicemail sounded a little more hurt and just the slightest bit more desperate.

"Hi, Bill, this is Dana again. I'm sorry for disturbing you, but I can't help thinking over what you said to me last night. Um, what did you mean by 'probably not'?" she asked the phone, a hint of shrillness in her voice. "Did I offend you somehow? I'm sorry, if I did. I just thought it was a good time, and I wanted to do it again, so . . . look, just call me, could you?"

Four messages within two hours. I chuckled to myself as I deleted them. I had work to do -- Friday is not a slack day for me this time of year -- and I buried myself in work and tried to forget about my disastrous date with Dana. 

But Dana had clearly not forgotten about me. As a matter of fact, she was in my office about ten minutes before noon, dressed in an attractive but severe gray business suit with a smart pleated skirt. Her dirty blonde hair was done up in a tight bun. And she had a gleam in her eye that I couldn't quite place but, honestly, made me a little afraid.

"About last night," she began, a little aggressively as she pushed her way into my office past my secretary's desk -- Donna had gone to lunch early today. "Look, maybe I came on a little strong," she began, as soon as the door closed behind her. "But I thought we had a really good time—"

"We did," I agreed, reasonably, if reluctantly.

"Then . . . well, then why don't you want to go out with me again?" she asked, sounding hurt. Her eyes were big, and her lip quivered just the tiniest bit. Pretty -- very pretty. But . . . 

I considered. This wasn't just some chick in a bar, after all, this was a professional colleague that traveled in the same circles I did. Pissing her off might be detrimental to my career. Pissing me off could definitely be detrimental to hers. So this called for a delicate touch, under normal circumstances. 

But then I swallowed my doubts and sighed. I didn't really care as much about my career at the moment. 

"Remember what you said about there not being enough quality guys out there?" I asked, hesitantly.

'Well, yeah," she agreed. "I thought that was obvious!"

"It does seem to be the consensus opinion," I nodded. "Well, it just so happens that I am one of those good ones. One of the very, very few. And I know that, so I can afford to be choosy. I just had my heart broken by my wife, and I'll be honest: I'm looking to remarry again, eventually. But after my last relationship, well, I promised myself I wouldn't get involved with anyone I didn't think was worthy. Now, you're a great woman, no doubt, but Dana we just didn't . . . click." I made the pronouncement a little sadly. Dana wasn't sad -- she was shocked.

"You don't think we clicked?" she asked, a hint of shrillness in her voice that I found alarming. "I thought we clicked. I thought we got along great -- we like all the same things, we like the same types of . . . things, and we know all of the same people. I felt clicking. Why don't you think we clicked?" she demanded.

"Well," I said, after some thoughtful hesitation, "I tend to judge a date's level of interest in me by just how she reacts to me by the end of the night. If we had 'clicked', then I figure we probably would have had breakfast together -- or at least an amusing encounter we could giggle about later, and perhaps even a foundation for romance. But when I tried to make a move, you shot me down. You were nice about it, but you let me know that you were content with how far things had progressed. I took the hint and backed off. So . . . .no clicking. If you thought there was clicking, you must have been hearing things." I was trying to be diplomatic about it, and blame the situation, not her. I was willing to let her salvage her bruised pride.

"What do you mean, exactly . . .?" she asked, unsure of whether to bite my head off or whether I might be salvageable.

"May I be candid?" I asked with a sigh.

"Of course!" she said shrilly, still trying to sort me out.

"I'm still kind of new at doing this, so maybe it's me. But I've got my dating rituals, my checklist, just like I'm sure you do. So I mean that if I go home with a lump in my pants at the end of the night," I said, my voice low enough she had to lean in to hear me, "I naturally draw the conclusion that I wasn't . . . inspiring enough for my dates, and that indicates a low probability of finding what I'm looking for." Like I said, I was trying to be diplomatic, avoiding rudeness without feeding her a line of complete bullshit. 

"So," she said, taking a deep breath. I prepared for a shout, but she kept her voice agreeably low. "Let me get the facts straight: we had a good time last night."

"Correct," I nodded.

"We have a lot in common and share some interests," she said, ticking the points off on her well-manicured fingers.

"Yes, yes we do."

"You are definitely looking to remarry, and I'm starting to look around for a husband, so we're both on the market and ready to buy."

"Also correct," I agreed. Again with the financial metaphors.

"You do think I'm attractive, and I do think you are attractive," she said, evenly.

"That's certainly the case on my part," I agreed. "I was ready to ravish you."

She stumbled a little bit with that admission, but ignored it and kept going. "But even though we had a great time, and made out, because we didn't have sex you don't think we have a potential relationship, so a second date would be fruitless."

"In a nutshell," I said, not trying to be an asshole. Or, not much. Again, I waited for the feminine squall to overwhelm me. But, honestly, if felt uniquely good to tell a date why I wasn't interested. You rarely get to do a post-mortem together.

I was shocked when the outburst I expected didn't arrive on schedule. She sighed, almost defeated, and looked around my office, anywhere but at me. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice still low and even. "I wanted to -- I was interested -- but I didn't think it was . . . prudent to dive into a physical relationship so early."

"I can see your reasoning," I agreed. "But without that spark, well . . ."

"Sleeping with you on the first date constitutes a 'spark'?" she asked in disbelief.

"It's usually at least a pre-requisite," I nodded. "My reasoning is, if you want me so badly that you can overcome your inhibitions and cross some boundaries, then there's potential for passion and romance. If I didn't impress you that much, then . . . well, then I didn't do my job right. So."

"So." Dana looked at me, There was a long, pregnant and uncomfortable silence after that. I looked at her. She looked at me. I could only imagine what was going on in her head.

Finally, she broke. "Will you let me think about this?" she asked, a little dazed. "It's . . . a lot to process, actually. I'm not particularly good at the whole dating thing myself, obviously, or I wouldn't still be doing it, but . . . you've given me some food for thought. Um, how about I call you next week, and we consider a 'do-over'?"

I shrugged. "I don't know," I said, doubtfully. "If there wasn't any spark the first time— "

"Fuck the spark," she hissed. "Like I said, I'll call you next week, after I've had a chance to think about this. I'm sure I could win you over," she explained. It sounded less kittenish and more desperate than she probably intended. Looks like Dana didn't take rejection very well.

"Maybe," I shrugged. "But really, Dana, if it didn't happen last night—"

"Do you have any idea how horny I was when you left?" she whispered. "I was dripping. I wanted you so bad . . . when you touched my tits, it took everything I had to resist."

"And that's kind of my point," I said, "all of that and . . . and you stopped me at second base. If it was meant to be, then everything you had wouldn't be enough to resist. If we had really clicked, there wouldn't be a thing in the world that would have kept you from fucking me last night." I guess I was trying to let her down gently, using the lack of sex as an excuse for my general disinterest in her for other reasons, but I was a guy and I could get away with that. She might think me a complete pig for saying so, but I could live with that. That was easier than coming out and saying 'Dana, I think you're a golddigging, manipulative social climber who will ensure a miserable ten-year marriage before another messy divorce and I'm not interested.'

"That's not fair!" she whispered harshly. "I said I wanted to! And you didn't even try again, after that! I could tell there was something wrong, but—"

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dana. I don't have the time to play games." I said, tiredly, but I was secretly amused to see her twist in the wind a little. I suppose I've cultivated a bit of a sadistic streak, again thanks to my unfaithful wife. Maybe I could put this in a metaphor she could understand. "If you can't close me faster than that, well—" I shrugged again.

That made her mad, which was kind of cute. She gave me an intense glare, then turned on her heel and stalked to my door. There it was -- the outburst. Once her hand hit the doorknob, though, she surprised me. Instead of opening it and storming out, she locked it with a decisive click. The deadbolt, even. Then she turned on her heel again and stalked over to me, slowly.

"Dana?" I asked, as calmly as I could manage, "what are you doing...?" Was there room in that suit for a gun? one part of my brain speculated unhelpfully.

"I'm going to do what I should have done last night," she said in a growl. "What I wanted to do last night. No, shhh," she said, laying a long finger against my lips. "No obligation, I promise. It's a freebie. I was pretty worked up last night, too, so just consider it a temporary continuation of our date. One I owe you."

"Come on, Dana," I said, shaking my head, "you don't owe me anything."

"Then I owe myself," she said, unbuttoning her blouse. "But give me twenty minutes to prove to you that I might be worth a second chance. Twenty minutes? Please?" she said, nearly begging. A woman's self-esteem is a powerful thing when it's been freshly wounded.

I sighed one last time. "If you think you can convince me otherwise," I said, doubtfully, "then I'll give you thirty." Donna wouldn't be back from lunch until after one-o'clock.

She smiled, a little bit relieved. "I don't know what it is about you that does it for me, Bill," she said, kissing me and pushing her glorious bra-clad boobs out against my chest. "Maybe it's because you told me 'no' -- and nobody tells me 'no'. Or maybe because you're so damn self-assured, and that's always sexy. But let me make up for last night, and then you can decide whether or not to call me next week on your own."

"You make a compelling argument," I gasped between aggressive kisses. Her hand found my pants and the resurgent cock within that was straining to get out. She smiled a little more broadly. 

"You just get that thing out," she instructed, turning to face away from me as she slowly hiked up her skirt and slip. She was wearing garters and no panties, and her gorgeously round ass was perfectly framed. I'm not the lingerie freak some of my friends are, but I had to admit that, as cliché as it was, seeing her naughty black stockings under her severe business suit was intensely sexual, especially under the circumstances. "And then you fuck me from behind over your desk, as hard as you want, Bill. I want to really feel it. Then you just think about that sweet little hot, wet pussy all weekend, and decide whether or not to call me next week. Okay?"

I didn't respond, except to free my cock, nestle it between her legs, and sink it deep into her cunt -- which was just as wet and hot as promised. She groaned as my dick pushed apart her slick walls and bottomed out. Dana raised her head like she had a bridle in her open mouth as her pussy stretched around me, then gave me a slow, seductive look over her shoulder and wiggled her ass to seat me firmly inside of her.

"Okay?" I asked, a little concerned. She nodded, and added an involuntary whimper. 

"You're . . . bigger than I expected," she admitted.

"Hope you're enjoying it," I said, giving her a little extra thrust. Her eyes glazed over for a moment, then she nodded firmly and put her head down over my desk, wiggling her ass around to entice my cock.

Then I fucked her violently. I don't mean I hit her or anything, but considering that this was likely the only time I would be in this particular pussy, I decided to make the most of it. I grabbed her ass by her garters and began pounding her pussy -- shaved for the occasion, I guessed -- with a relentless force. Every time I pulled back she gasped for air, and every time I thrust manfully into her, she issued a cute little whimper. The novelty of boning a colleague over my desk was enchanting, especially one whom I had developed an attraction to. And despite her off-putting ways, Dana was a hot babe. I enjoyed fucking her tremendously.

So did she. While I didn't last more than ten, fifteen minutes inside her tight depths, the more I hammered away at her defenseless cervix with the head of my cock, the more wound-up she became. I was so intent on my own climax that I almost missed hers -- right up to the point where she failed to stifle an orgasmic yelp and crunched the weekly earnings report in her hand like it was a silk sheet. That got my attention -- as did the suddenly tight grip her cunt had on my dick. Spurt after spurt of my cum coated her pussy as I collapsed over her back, pinning her to my desk. If my rejection of her had torpedoed her self-esteem, this heated quickie had helped restore it. And it had also ensured me the use of her pussy on our next date, should I ask her out -- after this little number, it would be difficult for her to deny me, despite the fact that I'd already written her off as long-term material. But that didn't mean Dana couldn't be of use to me.

Gotcha, you golddigging bitch! I thought savagely with a satisfied sigh as the last of my seed dribbled inside her. Which made it a pretty memorable second date. She might even get a third.



Second Wife Ch. 08



I'd almost forgotten about Mary's promise to me, from our 3 am session of nasty the other night. But the moment I walked into the house and Mary met me at the door with a drink and a smile, dressed to maim, it all came back to me in a flash. Mary had promised to make our Friday night "date" something original. Sexually original. I had challenged my mundane-minded wife to come up with something entertaining.  I honestly had low expectations of the event, but I was also determined to let her take her best shot without premature criticism. I wanted to see what she was made of, sexually speaking, when her brain was challenged.

Mary had gotten on her usual date-night make-up – the abbreviated version, since I'd given all of her high-dollar stuff to her sister. Her hair was attractively swept up. She was wearing a dark, somewhat flattering maternity outfit, bereft of the usual horrible bow around the neck that is supposed to "distract the eye" from the fact a woman is waddling around like a watermelon on legs. It was a dark blue dress that almost could have passed for a cocktail gown. I had no idea where or how she had acquired it, but work had kept me too busy to micromanage Mary's life the last few days. Work and the distraction of Dana. That now behind me, I wondered just what my wife had set up for me.

"I thought we'd start the evening with a couple of drinks," she said, smoothly, seductively, even. "Well, you'll have a couple of drinks – I'll have a virgin banana daiquiri, if you don't mind. I've been having a craving." I shrugged. I respected her, in a grudging sort of way, not to booze away her problems in favor of the baby's welfare. I always suspected she would make a good mom, which is one reason I married her, but it was nice to get some confirmation.

"Knock yourself out," I nodded, as I sipped my Jameson's. "What's on the agenda for the evening?"

"Drinks, then dinner, then dancing," she said, mischievously, as she grabbed her daiquiri. The way she said it made me think that she was feeling pretty proud of herself, although this was starting to sound a little lame. I shrugged – it was still early. I was still willing to be surprised.

"That sounds like fun," I said, with deliberate emphasis. 

"Oh, it will be," she assured me. "Here, why don't you go take this upstairs – I've prepared a bath for you." We have a luxurious garden tub in our – my – master bathroom that doesn't get used nearly as often as I'd like. Let's be honest – a quick shower is usually more expedient. But I like a nice bubble bath as much as the next manly dude, so I grabbed my drink and followed her upstairs.

The tub was already steaming hot, a thin rill of bubbles skimming the surface. I stripped off and threw my work clothes around haphazardly, knowing the "maid" would take care of them later. I gingerly backed into the tub and settled into the almost-too-hot water with a beatific sigh. The issues that consumed me at the office seemed suddenly petty and ephemeral, as the heat worked into my muscles. Okay, she had me relaxing – I had to give her points for that.

"You don't mind if I hang out and . . . assist a little, do you?" she asked, sweetly.  "Here, let me just get the television," she added, picking up the remote and clicking on the little flatscreen I watch the news by when I shave in the morning. Yeah, yeah, I know: a TV in the bathroom is the height of affluence and decadence. Sue me. I worked hard for that decadence. 

What surprised me was the steamy lesbian porn flick that was already in progress. Three hot young ladies, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, were cavorting around a dorm room and experimenting with cunnilingus. It was pretty hot. "Now you just sit and soak for a little while, Hon," Mary said with a smile of satisfaction, "I'm going to go get you a snack."

Okay, I was enjoying myself. Having your wife pick out your porn was interesting. Not what I would have gravitated towards myself – I like a lusty lesbian romp as much as the next guy, but I see it more as an appetizer than an entrée. Still, they were young, cute faux-coeds who seemed really into it . . . it would be rude of me not to fully appreciate it.

I sank back in the tub and activated the Jacuzzi jets, allowing whatever residual stress I had to wash away while Blondie licked Red's hot little box. They seemed very close, even for sorority sisters. Then Mary reappeared with an appetizer tray, finger foods of various sorts and set them down near my elbow.

"How's the movie?" she asked, casually, slipping behind me. Her hands were on my shoulders, then, and she was massaging them deliciously. Not as hard as I'd prefer, but she likely didn't have the strength in her hands to do that. 

"Good," I said, absently. "Interesting choice."

"I looked around a little," she said. "I pulled up that Vidmail.com site you like and had them express deliver it. I thought they all looked pretty. And my husband should be able to look at pretty girls."

"I'm not complaining," I agreed, taking a sip of my whisky. "But I admit, I'm surprised. You never were much into porn before. Or lesbians."

"That was before you knew my shameful secret," she giggled. "Now that you know I went there, I don't have to pretend I don't like the thought anymore."

"So . . . you did like it?"

"I think so," she said, hesitantly. "I mean, I was coerced, I guess you could say, but after that – and the whole 'am I gay?' thing – I got into it. I liked it. It was different than going out with boys. And better, at the time," she admitted.

"Ever think about doing it again?" I ventured.

"Sure, why not?" she said, whimsically. "After the baby, maybe. I'm hardly dyke-bait right now."

"We'll see," I mused. "Any other shameful secrets I should be aware of? Anything else hindering the free flow of your libido? Now's the time," I added.

She actually considered. "Probably – Catholic girl, remember. But that was a biggie. Honestly, I've been carrying that piece of guilt around for years, secretly afraid it would come out somehow and ruin my marriage. And that contributed to me overcompensating by being a 'good girl' in the bedroom. Which led to me being unsatisfied. Which led me to being vulnerable. Which led me to . . . Tim."

"I see. So I have Carla Dawes to thank for your infidelity?"

She stared at me. "Would that work? Could I pin it on her? Because that would be a relief! You could make her your private whore, then, and I could go back to being your sweet, adoring wife." There was just enough of a trace of bitterness in her voice to make me stifle my snappy come-back. "It might be worth it to have to eat her goddamn pussy out all those times!" I couldn't help it – hearing my wife talk so plainly about being forced to perform cunnilingus was suddenly making my cock so hard it almost hurt. At that moment the movie showed Red grabbing the blonde and pushing her cute little face deeper into her twat as she came . . . loudly.

"Well, I can see the movie had its intended effect," she said, suddenly reaching into the water and into my lap, grabbing my hard cock. The suddenness of the move startled me, but her hand wasn't unwelcome. Quite the contrary. She began stroking it firmly, resolutely, far more aggressively than she usually was, even with long acquaintance. "That's it, that's my boy," she cooed into my ear. "All nice and hard."

I didn't say anything – this was her show. Mary's other hand stole down from my shoulders to pinch my nipple, while her right hand slowly beat me off. It had to be an awkward angle for her, but she persevered all the way through the porn flick's triumphant triangular conclusion. I sighed and leaned back again, and Mary's hand slowed. But it didn't stop.

"I've been thinking about this for the last two days," she whispered in my ear as the next two fresh young lesbians came on. "Thinking of all the nasty things I could do for you. Tried to get creative. I even asked around for ideas. This is the 'relaxation' portion of the evening. So while I'm stroking your big, thick cock for you, all you have to do is relax, watch those tender young sluts each eat other out, and let Mary take care of you."

I was wondering where she was going with this. She wanted to whack me off under water while I watched porn? I could do that, I decided. It was certainly novel. I did try to relax, letting the heat of the water and the whisky take the week's stresses away, while her delicate hand pumped the length of my shaft. Handjobs are terribly underrated – under the right conditions, they can be incredibly erotic. This was one of those times.

Mary shifted position around to the side of the tub, but her hand never left my dick unattended. She kept up the stroking insistently, efficiently, rubbing the palm of her hand over the tip and causing me to writhe exquisitely in the water, while two cheerleaders compared bikini lines. Sooner than I expected I got lost in the moment, resigning myself to the feel of Mary's firm hand on my tiller. I was getting dangerously close to exploding, and mentioned it.

"Oh, wouldn't want you to soil your bathwater," she cooed. "Stand up!"

I did, lightly splashing her in the process. She didn't notice. She was staring at my hard cock hungrily, like she was having a craving. Her hand was still on it, but she turned me to face her more fully without obscuring my view of the sex kittens. While I stared, enrapt, I felt her tongue tease the head of my cock while she stroked it, quick little licks like a hummingbird. She never took it directly into her mouth, but she did add a little lotion soap to her stroking hand while she licked the tip. That was enough – the slippery feel took me over the edge, and before I could stop it I pumped a thicker than average wad of sperm across her lips and chin.

"That's my boy," she cooed, excitedly. "There! Now you won't be all wound up when we go out to eat," she said, good-naturedly. 

"Yeah, I am pretty hungry," I agreed with a wholehearted post-orgasmic sigh. "And this beat the hell out of hitting the gym or something. Nice."

"Oh, we aren't done yet," she said, licking the spooge from her fingers daintily. "Your clothes are laid out on the bed. The car will be here to pick us up in half-an-hour for dinner."

"Car?"

"Rented a limo," she smirked. "Hope you don't mind? You're paying for it."

"It might be fun," I admitted. And that meant I didn't have to drive. 

"I hope so," she said, smiling. "I'll be downstairs, waiting for you."

Twenty minutes later I joined her, dressed in a nice blazer and shirt, no tie combo. She had wiped the excess spooge from her face and restored her makeup, and she made me another drink. Mary's a good bartender. I was starting to feel a buzz when the limo pulled up.

"Where to first?" I asked, intrigued.

"Something to eat . . ." she said, mysteriously. Apparently the limo driver knew where to go, because he just took off. I sat there and watched Mary curiously.

"What, no show on the way?" I quipped. I was joking. But Mary's smile faltered just a bit, and before I knew it she was pulling up the skirt to her dress – although it took a little effort to reach around her own tummy. She wasn't wearing any panties, I noticed, which was another departure. She started stroking the clean shaven labia and working up to her clitoris. This was nice – I was spent from my first orgasm of the evening, but Mary had apparently gotten worked up enough to grind one out for my viewing pleasure. Not bad.



I love watching Mary masturbate, of course – I mean, what man wouldn't want to watch a woman jill off? It's an invasion of her most private and intimate moments. And her pregnancy added a slightly depraved aspect about it that made it all the more special. She stuck to her usual fingerings, at first, but when I started to really pay attention she popped open her purse and brought out a small vibrator. It took her about two minutes to cum.

"How was that?" she asked, dazedly as she pushed one unruly shock of hair out of her face. 

"Beautiful," I conceded. "You've always been gorgeous when you cum."

"I'm glad you think so, Bill," she purred. "We'll be at the restaurant any time, now, though, so let me put myself back together. Goodness," she remarked, looking into a mirror on the side of the limo, "I look like I've just been had!"

The river pulled into a small, poorly-lit restaurant way out in the middle of nowhere. The kind of place you meet your mistress at, perhaps, or to rub out your Mafia competition. 

"Where are we?"

"This is Angelo's," she said. "Fine dining. It isn't even officially open yet, they're still in shake-down. But the chef is quite talented, from what I hear."

"Cuisine?"

"American and continental," she shrugged. "But he experiments, they say. I have it on highest authority that two months from now, no one will be able to get a table."

After the first course, I could see why. Mary got us a private table – there were four of them, each separated from the rest of the dining room by an ornate wooden screen and a multitude of potted plants. It was delightfully secluded – I'd have to remember this place for future first dates. Our cute little waitress, April, was terribly officious, but the food she brought was exquisite. And she didn't look half bad, either, even in her black-pants-tuxedo-shirt fine dining uniform. She had a very nice rack and wore a pretty bra to hold it up in. And of course my wife busted me checking her out. I expected the usual rebuke, even in light of our current relationship, but once again Mary surprised me.

"You think she's hot?" she asked, quietly.

I shrugged. "Oh, I'd do her, no doubt. She's got glorious boobs, under that shirt, I think. Perky. But she's a child – can't be more than twenty."

"She did have pretty boobs, didn't she?" she asked, smiling. "Big ones. Firm. Not like my saggy tits," she said, looking down at her continuously swelling boobs. "And she's old enough to sell wine, so she's at least twenty one."

"I'm unlikely to hit on the waitress when my wife is at the table," I said with dignity as I considered dessert. "Even under these strange circumstances, it would be rude."

"Oh, Bill, always the gentleman," she smiled serenely. "Even when you're fucking my asshole raw at three in the morning. That's one reason I love you, you know. You are always so certain of yourself, in the moment. And wise enough to know when that moment is."

"Thank you," I said, sincerely. "And this is all very nice, Mary. Not at all what I expected."

"The night is still young," she said, smiling devilishly. "And I have to pee. Back in a bit!" She gave me a peck on the cheek and lumbered off to the ladies room.

I sighed and decided that the Chocolate Addiction sounded . . . addicting. And it was my faux birthday. Might as well indulge. The handjob earlier had left me pleasantly sated for the moment, and the place was quiet, since they were still shaking down and had done no advertising. I was ready to place my order when our waitress returned with Mary right behind her. The waitress was looking uncomfortable.

"You ready for dessert?" Mary asked me, humming it a little. She seemed awfully pleased with herself.

"Yeah, I think I am," I decided. "Can we see the dessert tray? The Chocolate Addiction sounded interesting." The waitress nodded, and then looked at Mary, who nodded back. She scurried off while I looked at my wife curiously.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"Just attending to some details," she said, amused. 

Before I could get her to elaborate, our waitress came back with a tray and a guilty expression. I caught another exchange of glances between the two women, and then April sat the tray down on the table between us.

"Tonight's desserts feature a caramel apple pie ala mode with homemade French vanilla ice cream," she said . . . and started unbuttoning her blouse.

I had a hard time staying focused on dessert.

"The pastry chef's special is a freshly baked wild berry and rhubarb pie in a phyllo crust." She quickly unfastened every button on her shirt while she spoke, until she revealed her pretty lace bra. Her face turned even redder with each succeeding button. "We also offer a homemade cannoli with a dark cocoa whipped cream filling, with a cantaloupe and champagne sorbet on the side as counterpoint," she said, loud and clearly, while she unhooked the front-fastening bra clasp between those big boobs . . . and suddenly they were free, bare and bouncy, in the middle of the restaurant.

"On the lighter side we have a seasonal fresh fruit cup with a light honey/ginger sauce and tiny flakes of dark chocolate sprinkled around it," she said, nervously, as she put both hands under her beautiful boobs and pushed them up into my face. "And finally, we have the Chocolate Addiction, a seven-layer chocolate tort featuring white, milk, and dark chocolate layers with homemade chocolate chocolate-chip ice cream, the entire dish prepared with a chocolate-cherry sauce drizzled over the top."

I couldn't keep my eyes off her tits.

"Honey?" I asked. "Any preferences?"

"The Chocolate Addiction," she said. "I feel a pregnant craving coming on. And that way we can share."

"Sounds good," I said, as April nodded – her face as red as a stoplight. "One Chocolate Addiction, two spoons."

"That was awesome!" I admitted with a chuckle once April had clutched her shirt around her and ran off. 

"Oh, it's not over yet," Mary assured me. "Just wait until we get served."

"She's not going to get into trouble over this, is she?"

"No," Mary assured me. "I paid her a bundle to do it, and then paid off the manager to run interference and not ask questions. Actually, you paid her a bundle," she amended, apologetically. "Hope you don't mind . . ."

"Are you kidding?" I laughed.

We made small talk and played footsie under the table – which was her foot in my lap stroking my cock through my pants – before April arrived with our dish, gorgeously presented in a cut-glass dish. She set it down between us with great ceremony, then stood back, asked us if we needed anything else . . . then started opening her shirt again, her face becoming even more flushed.

"More entertainment?" I grinned to Mary.

"Oh, it'll be entertaining, won't it, April?" she asked, amused. "Bill, April here has consented to let you eat your dessert. Off of her boobs."

"Oh, really?" I asked, faintly. "I can smear the chocolate on her tits . . ."

"And then lick them clean, yes," she assured me.

"That's fantastic," I sighed, picking up the first spoonful. "Let's start with this ice cream . . ."

That was the most fun I've had at dessert since I was a kid.

I took my spoon and smeared a bite of the ice cream across April's nipple, causing them to crinkle quickly and causing her to catch her breath sharply. Then I'd put my lips over the girl's nipple, my hot breath providing a stark contrast to the cold of the ice cream. That made her squirm and moan involuntarily, which was gratifying. Then I'd follow it up with a spoon full of the chocolate tort, which might have lacked the icy temperature of the ice cream but made up for it in how deliciously slowly I could lick her nipples clean. She shivered a lot while I did it, making little noises in her throat and continuously looking to Mary for support.

My wife, on the other hand, seemed serenely above the young woman's apparent discomfort – no doubt she had paid April a lot to endure this kind of semi-public display. Whatever she paid, it was worth it. Being able to lick chocolate and ice cream off of the tits of a twenty-one year old in a fancy restaurant . . . well, let's just say it might make a good theme for a chain restaurant some day.

I was so engrossed in my feasting on boobs and chocolate that I wasn't paying much attention to what Mary was doing . . . until she picked up her spoon and called dibs on April's right nipple. That surprised me – talking about having sex with a girl again is one thing, actually sucking a strange pair of tits in public? That was quite the departure for demure little Mary. But she sucked a lot harder than I did, playfully tormenting the nipple with her tongue until between our mutual efforts April was squirming uncomfortably and whimpering with every lick and suck.




Second Wife Ch. 08



It was strangely compelling, sharing this nubile little snack with my wife. Mary was making as much noise as April was, as she sucked and chewed the girl's perfect breasts. She certainly didn't seem reluctant – more like eager. An odd sort of bonding experience, I know, but it was a lot more fun than I could have guessed it would be.

After fifteen minutes, I finished the last bite. April was trembling, utterly mortified at her udder display. I wiped her boobs clean with one of the pristine linen napkins, and then tucked an additional fifty into her bra once she fastened it. And yes, I tipped really big. Service like that deserves to be rewarded.

"That was fun!" Mary said, gaily, as we walked to our car. "It was such a rush, being in control when she couldn't really do anything about it." She considered, thoughtfully. "I guess I can see why you're attracted to controlling me like that."

"I was just surprised by how readily you sucked on her tits," I observed. "I mean, I know you've had a little experience . . ."

"Are you kidding? That was one of the things I really enjoyed out of all that. Playing with someone else boobs. And she did have a lovely pair. Of course, we probably scarred her for life . . ."

"So where to now?" I asked, feeling full but genuinely curious. "Or are we done for the evening?"

"Dinner, then dancing," she reminded me as she opened the limosine door for me. "Remember?"

I slid in, but wondered how she was going to pull off the dancing part. Ordinarily Mary's a very good dancer, but in these later stages of pregnancy the only moves she busted were getting into and out of a chair. Still, if she was willing to embarrass herself like that, I would play along. I might even enjoy it.

"So we have a half-hour ride to the next destination," she said, playfully. "What may I do to entertain you?"

I considered. "Watching you cum was nice. Let's see more of that."

She nodded, biting her lip. "All right, that's doable," she decided, as she hiked her skirt back up. "I'm still a little sensitive from last time, but . . ."

I watched Mary bring herself to two hard orgasms before we pulled up to our destination: a decrepit looking old motel on the north side of the next city to the east. Not a great neighborhood for most things, but when I saw the sign, I realized what Mary had done:

The Foxy Lady!

Exotic Dancing! All Female Staff!

COLLARED SHIRT REQUIRED – NO SANDALS

"A strip club?" I asked, surprised.

"Oh, not just any strip club," she countered with a smile. "This is the nastiest, raunchiest place in the state. I'll have you know I did considerable research into it. For what I want, though, it's perfect."

"Lead on," I chuckled. Was Mary planning on stripping? That would be a bit out of her comfort zone.

The big African American bouncer at the door chewed on his lip ring but opened the ratty velvet rope for us, eyeing Mary's big belly suspiciously as she paid the cover, then paid extra for a "VIP Room". I had no idea what a VIP room was, but it sounded intriguing.

The inside was dark, with red lights and neon everywhere but the stage. The ubiquitous brass pole was there, of course, and a young lady not too much older than our waitress was dry-humping the thing while hanging upside down from it. Impressive.

A scantily-clad hostess led us back past the stage to a small room, one of six I noted overlooked the stage. There was a window there where you could look out and enjoy the dancing, and a dedicated waitress for the area took our drink order while we got comfortable on the red velvet couch in the small room.

"This is swank!" I chuckled. "Have you ever been to a strip club?"

"With girls? No!" she said, over the thumping music. "Just those faux Chippendales that came through town two years ago! This is kind of cool, though!" Our waitress brought our drinks a little later, and I sipped rum and coke while I smelled my wife's perfumed hair and watched one pair of jiggling titties after another.We snuggled up on the coach and I felt the affects of the alcohol and the incredibly good meal lull me into drowsiness. 

"So which one do you like?" Mary asked me, about half way through my drink.

"Huh? Oh, they're all good," I said, casually.

"No, there has to be one you prefer," she insisted. "That blonde, maybe? The one with the DDs?"

"Nah," I dismissed. "But that redhead looks intriguing," I pointed out, nodding towards where a slender girl about twenty five with demonstrably natural red hair was sticking her ass in the face of a somewhat sleazy-looking customer. She looked intelligent but bored, her plastic smile pasted on for the scumbag who was filling her panties with grubby ones and fives.

"The redhead? Really?" Mary asked, surprised. "I figured you for more of a brunette lover," she said, tossing her dark tresses.

"Usually," I conceded. "But then again usually I don't get to stare at naked women when I'm trying to decide which hair color I like best. I like the redhead – she moves like a snake." As I watched she proved me correct by doing a back curl, pushing her pantied pussy mere inches from the degenerate's nose. 

"I guess she does," Mary nodded. Then our waitress came in again to check on us, and Mary talked to her while I watched a pretty black girl and a pretty white girl explore each others' bodies on stage.

"What was that about?" I asked, when the song ended.

"Just ordering something," Mary dismissed. "WHOA! I didn't know boobs could come that big!" she almost shouted as a woman with "ample" curves rolled up on the stage. The rest of the girls took a break, allowing the dozen or so men in the crowd to order drinks and gather around the stage for the headliner. 

I wasn't paying much attention, because Mary was feeling my cock through my pants, and then our drinks came back. 

Carried by the redhead, who had regained her top and her smile.

"Wow," was all I could say. The top didn't cover much, and the redhead was "busty". 

"I paid for a half-hour couch dance for your birthday," Mary explained to me. "You liked the redhead. What's your name, honey?" she asked the dancer.

"Amber," the redhead said, shyly. Of course the "shyness" was as much an act as the pole dancing. "Stage name, of course." She closed the curtains to the main window overlooking the stage to afford us some privacy.

"Of course," Mary nodded. "Well, Amber, this is my husband, Bill. It's his birthday. As you can see," she said, gesturing to her very pregnant belly, "I'm hardly in a condition to entice him, sexually. But he sure seems to enjoy watching you. So . . . I want you to dance for him. Get him really worked up. Get those titties hopping!" she giggled, as she commanded the stripper. 

For her part, Amber seemed into it. "Any particular music?" the young woman asked – close up, with better lighting, she looked a little more mature than she had across the room, maybe 25 or 26 – which in no way detracted from her innate sexiness. 

"Surprise me," I shrugged. "I'm not a music nut." Amber nodded and pulled out an MP3 player, which she jacked into the speaker system in the room. In a moment she had scrolled down and found the playlist she wanted, and a lively Latin instrumental came on. She took a second to compose herself, then jumped into the bumping and grinding, sending her boobs all over the place.

"Have you ever danced for a couple before?" Mary asked, as she took a seat on a chair to the side of the couch.

"Yeah," Amber said, never taking her eyes off of me. "All the time. Married couples. Not-married couples. I dance for anyone." While she spoke she shimmied and twirled, sticking her luscious ass in my face, her tight green satin panties forming a gorgeous camel toe only inches away from my nose. Then she turned her attention to Mary, which surprised me. And Mary, too.

Amber pushed her big tits into my wife's face and wiggled, engulfing her in soft, warm boobs. Mary seemed startled at first and froze up, until she smelled the feminine sweat and the soft skin. Then she sighed and nuzzled a little closer.

"Nice," she breathed when Amber retreated. But in seconds it was Mary's nose only inches away from Amber's brazenly displayed crotch. She took an even bigger whiff as the tightly-stretched satin rubbed across her nose, and I saw the tell-tale signs of her sex flush even in the dim lights. When Amber finally pulled away, Mary had a dazed and horny expression on her face.

Amber told me to lay down and take off my coat, so I stretched out the length of the couch and let the hot little redhead straddle my chest. She leaned forward and pushed her boobs back into my face – then whipped off her satin bra. Suddenly I had huge boobs and bare nipples caressing my face while my estranged wife watched. 

"You do it to him, Amber," she encouraged. "You get him nice and worked up! Let him smell that pussy, honey," Mary instructed. "Really put it in his face and make him feel it!" Amber grinned and started to do just that, moving slowly up my body while I watched her rack swing and sway in time with the music. She looked down at me knowingly before she began rubbing her crotch across my face. I could detect the faint aroma of her arousal, of sweat, of moisturizer. 

While I was suffocating on pussy, however, the show didn't stop below the belt. I felt someone – it had to be Mary – unfastening my belt and allowing my rock-hard pole to spring free.

"I can't touch that," Amber warned, apologetically. "That could get me in trouble."

"Don't worry about it," Mary assured her as she pulled on my sensitive cock, "this is all mine. You just keep him distracted up top. I'll give him something to work on down here."

Amber smiled and nodded, and started circling my nose and face with her hot, panty-clad box. I mean, I could feel the heat pouring off her cunt. I wisely kept my hands at my sides, boxed in by her thighs, and gasped into her pussy as I felt Mary's sucking mouth descend upon my prick.

Have you ever had a blowjob while you're getting a couch dance? Highly recommended.

Amber kept rubbing her ass and pussy across my face, reaching down and pulling my hair gently to force me tighter against her. I'm as familiar with the rules of a strip club as anyone, and I know the rule about 'no touching' – especially the naughty bits. But what's a guy to do when the hottest stripper in the joint is covering your face with her twat? I answered that question by pushing my tongue against her panties, just over the clitoris, and lightly tonguing her through the garment.

"OH, wow," Amber said, rolling her eyes. "Oh, yeah!" With that kind of encouragement, I got a little bolder in my explorations, and the next time she swept her pussy across my mouth, side to side, I caught the edge of the elastic with my tongue and managed to slip it past her labia to brush against her clit. The writhing spasm she produced would have been worth a beating by a bouncer.

Meanwhile, Mary's hot, tight mouth was suctioning my happy prick like it was the last one on earth and about to spoil. She greedily swallowed every inch, burying my shaft in her throat, her hand digging into my slacks to play with my balls while her firm, tight lips pleasured me. The sensation was overwhelming – getting your cock sucked while you have a face full of pussy? It was like 69ing, only the moans around my cock and the juicy pussy on my face weren't in synch the same way.

I was in heaven, though. Have I mentioned I love eating pussy? When I got Amber's tacit permission to "sneak one past the goalie" I indulged whole-heartedly, running my tongue back and forth through her lips. Her breathing got ragged and she began making little moans – staged, no doubt, for my benefit, but pretty realistic sounding all the same. I knew she was having a good time when she suddenly seized my head and held it tightly to her clit. I instantly started sucking on the hard little knob with all my expertise, doing the same lightning-fast tongueflicks that Mary was doing on my dick. 

The music changed to another song, something a little lighter with acoustic guitar. Amber didn't seem to notice, except that her body adopted the new rhythm automatically as she ground her clit into my hungry mouth. Mary, meanwhile was giving me the best blowjob she was capable of – and she had become adept since her affair, thanks to the bean jar. She was putting everything she had into this one, too, and I could feel it: devotion, admiration, pride, and plenty of good-old-fashioned raunchiness. I mean, she was in her third trimester, only weeks away from mommy-hood, and here she was blowing her soon-to-be-ex husband on her knees in the back room of a sleazy strip club while a jaded half-naked stripper rubbed her pantied crotch across his face. That scores pretty high on just about anyone's kink-o-meter. I know I was getting off. The combination of feelings and the bizarre situation made the sex exquisite.

Of course all good things must come to an end, and before I was quite ready to finish I felt myself spasm ecstatically and flood Mary's sweet sucking mouth with my seed. She swallowed it automatically, but it took a moment for Amber to realize what happened. When she did, she reluctantly climbed off my face.

"Whoa," I moaned weakly, panting for breath while my stick cock deflated.  Mary took the opportunity to suck the last few remaining drops out of it. "That was sooo ridiculously hot. . . "

"Happy Birthday, Bill," Amber said, warmly, as she bent down to kiss me. She did it so thoroughly that it was the only time I felt a flash of jealousy from Mary. She wisely kept her thoughts to herself, though, and when Amber straightened my wife was back to her horny self.

"That was amazing," Mary assured me. "I got a great view of your ass the whole time, from down here. God, what I wouldn't give to dance like that . . . with a body like that."

"Well, you still have almost fifteen minutes left," Amber said, impishly. "What would you like to do?"

"Dance for my wife," I commanded, after a moment's thought, and watching for her reaction. Amber looked at me, then at Mary, with an inquisitive expression. "Seriously, dance for her. Turn her on. I want her panties soaked. She's been talking about fucking a woman lately to re-live some high school memories, and I think she should get a reminder about how much fun it is."

Mary blushed heavily and looked away, but Amber wasn't having it. The stripper smiled, almost sincerely, and she picked another song on the mp3 player. She started swaying, her hips rocking hypnotically as I helped Mary up to her feet and then back into one of the chairs. She seemed a little self-conscious, but her eyes were dazed with excitement and lust as she watched our dancer seduce her with movement.

I sat back and idly played with my deflating dick as Amber began to caress herself. It was a slightly different dancing style than she had used with me, more sensual and slower, more about her touching herself than merely thrusting her tits and ass in my face. 

"Do you like dancing for women?" I asked, casually, while I touched myself gently.

"Oh, yeah," Amber said, as she twisted around and rocked her ass in tiny circles. "Women are better tippers. They aren't grabby, the way most guys are. More polite. I can't tell you how many times I've been in here with a dude and had to pull his fingers out of my twat. Gross. Women don't do that. Except maybe a few of the bull dykes, but they tip like fiends. The hetero girls don't give me any shit, which is nice. One wife last week spent her entire dance time discussing my moisturizer while I was wiggling in her lap, that was a hoot!"

Mary smiled up at her as Amber began closing in on her face with her bare boobs. "You do have beautiful skin!" she said, although I had no idea how she could tell in the dim light. 

"Thank you , sugar, I kinda have to," Amber said, pushing her ample tits on both sides of Mary's face. I took a mental Polaroid – it was that hot. "I mean, it's not just my face and hands, every fucking inch of me is in your lap, so I had better have perfect skin. I spend eighty bucks a month on product – and they all have to be complimentary scents. Some people have allergies," she explained, as her left nipple trailed across Mary's forehead and eyes. "Am I doing anything for you, Sugar?"

"Oh, God yes!" Mary said, beaming. "I forgot how much I liked boobs. And mine are about to be wrecked . . ."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Amber dismissed. "Would you believe I've had two babies come out of this body?"

"Oh my God, you've got to be kidding!" Mary said, eyes wide with surprise. "You? I don't see a single stretch-mark!"

"They're there, just faint," Amber said, turning around and sticking her ass brazenly in Mary's face. "I use a special cream . . . lots of Vitamin E, lanolin, that sort of thing."

"You have got to let me know what it is!" Mary demanded. "I . . . I want to get back to my sexy self after . . . the pregnancy."

"It's not too hard," Amber shrugged, making her boobs bob. "You just gotta want it."

Mary cut her eyes to me for the briefest of seconds. "Yeah, I'll want it."

After that my brain cut off as I watched Mary get more and more excited by the writhing redhead. I was almost ready to go again when the music finally stopped.

"Time's up, I'm afraid," Amber said, apologetically. "And y'all have been lovely – really, you made my night. It's always nice to see a happily married couple get out on the town, explore their relationship, and enjoy their sexuality!" I don't know what she made of the expressions and looks on mine and Mary's faces, but she didn't comment.

I mean, if this sort of thing had happened back before her affair, I would have whole-heartedly agreed with her. But the fact was that this was the dysfunctional result of infidelity and betrayal, a temporary respite in a long, bitter process of revenge and retribution, atonement and penance. While tonight was fun, Amber's observation brought the illusion that we were happily married again crashing down on me. Mary felt it too, and while it was a downer to the wonderfully kinky experience we just enjoyed, we both kept our mouths shut.

I paid Amber for her time and tipped her generously, and then escorted Mary back out to the limo. We were silent until we got into the car, after Mary consulted with the driver. She finally spoke as we were pulling away from the curb.

"So, was that a memorable birthday celebration?" she asked.

"Oh, my yes," I said, sighing beatifically. "I concede the point, Mary: that was creative, erotic, and delightfully raunchy, all at once. You exceeded my expectations on every level."

"Thank you, Bill," she said, sighing with satisfaction. "I admit, I put a lot of work into it."

"It shows, Mary, it shows. Well done."

"Well, if you aren't completely tired out yet . . ."

"What, there's more?" I asked, surprised.

"If you're willing."

"Sure, what do you have in mind?" I was intrigued.

"I've instructed the driver to go someplace. I'm, um, more than a little aroused after the club. And the restaurant. And everything. Honestly, if I don't cum soon, I'm going to explode. So I thought I'd take you someplace interesting and let you do . . . well, pretty much whatever you wanted with me. But I'd really enjoy a good, hard fuck, just for the record."

I considered. I'd cum twice already tonight, but I was still mentally aroused, and my pecker was already stiff in anticipation of more fun. I could easily go again, I decided, and Mary had earned a little reward for her efforts.

We were at our destination in only a few minutes, and I had to admit, I was surprised even more. We had pulled up into the parking lot of Mary's deserted church.

"You want to fuck in a church?" I asked.





Second Wife Ch. 08



"Yes," she admitted. "It's . . . well, it's been a fantasy of mine, and I figured it was probably novel enough to engage your interest."

"Somehow I don't think your priest would approve . . ."

"Actually, he's the one who gave me the idea. Well, not directly. I was in counseling, and he suggested I get more creative about our . . . sex life. In order to keep you happy. Us happy," she amended. "Anyway, he proposed I take you someplace unorthodox and have sex, you know, somewhere out of our routine."

Since our routine lately was pretty much founded in the unorthodox, I could see how that might present a challenge. "So you want to sneak into a church . . ."

"Don't have to," she said, smugly. "I've still got my key from when I was on the outreach committee. So," she said, looking relieved that I was into the idea, "you want to bend me over a pew, fuck me rotten until I cum a half-dozen times, screaming my orgasm in the sanctuary, then stick your cock up my ass to finish? It's a little sacrilegious, but hey, we're still married in the eyes of God. He'll get over it."

How could a man say no to a proposition like that?

Besides, it was my birthday.

(Be sure to check out my website link from my author's page for exciting news about my new book!)



Second Wife



And then there were the two closed-circuit television cameras concealed in the ceiling. I could watch whatever my caged bird did in the privacy of her room. 

But the diary -- that was insight straight from her mind. Priceless. If she was being truthful, then she really did plan on trying to literally suck me back into a relationship. And I was more than willing to let her try.

Because this was all a scheme I had cooked up. A scheme I controlled, and one that I had scripted. She was free to improvise, but I was the producer of this little drama.

I had agreed, when I had returned from Canada after the New Year, that I would allow Mary to move back into the house, into an unfinished section I had built after we separated. It was on the ground floor, off the kitchen, a ridiculously small maid's quarters that would add value to the home when I sold it. She had always been against the inconvenience of remodeling when we were together, so it had been among the first things I had done when she left. Now she lived there on a single twin bed. There was a bureau for clothes and a bookcase full of childcare books, and the tiny bathroom was packed with her supplies. Here she would stay until the baby was born, no more than a maid herself. 

In exchange for this generous room and board, she had to keep the house clean -- and I was demanding. She also had to serve me sexually on demand. That might sound a little unusual for someone who was planning on divorcing his cheating whore of a wife, but since her infidelity and pregnancy, I had been outrageously horny. She could take care of it, or I could look elsewhere -- and this time of year, I was just too damn busy to look elsewhere. So I got her to suck me off, and I could even fuck her -- even if her increasing bulk made such things more and more difficult. I hadn't really taken advantage of my fucking rights since she came back -- it was too soon, yet. But I was more than happy to continue getting blowjobs from her, and I'd gotten about two a day in the weeks since she'd come back.

But I wasn't merely punishing her. I still wanted my divorce. I wanted it bad, and I would get it. And then, after a period of self-exploration, introspection, and fucking everything with a vagina, I wanted to find another wife. That was her bait. Mary might be able to come back to me and re-apply for the job, but as far as I was concerned she had to compete against all the other single ladies of our metropolis. 

I planned on having a very active post-divorce sex life, before I settled down again, and I have to admit, I'm quite a catch. I was one of the top "bean counters" at my firm, an up-and coming accounting firm that had (thanks to me) just cracked our first big client. I had oodles of security, was good at my job, and had excellent prospects for early retirement. I'm not body-builder perfect, but I work out -- and while I was never particularly attractive, I was aging very nicely, thank you very much. Just because I'm a CPA doesn't mean I look like a nerd.

And the offers were already starting to pour in. Mary's little sister, Susan, was helping me sort them out -- that was part of the bargain, too. What Mary didn't know was that I had been fucking her little sister since Mary left. Susan was a fine piece of ass, a schoolteacher who didn't have much time for a relationship. I might have married her, if the sparks had been there. As it was I was happy to fuck her stupid every chance I got while she sorted through the social calendar and lined up prospective dates for me. 

It was upon Susan's insistence that I had kept Mary in the running. When the time came to consider a second wife, Mary would have to be among my top choices -- if she could hang.

I mean, she had done me wrong, as wrong as a woman could. I couldn't just forgive and forget, not with that bastard baby in her belly. Even she could understand that. And the part of me that still loved her wanted her to at least try to win me back. I had even taken some clandestine steps to assist that process.

I had bribed her family priest (Mary comes from a good Catholic family, and she has always been pretty devout -- adultery notwithstanding) to suggest adoption and reconciliation -- by any means necessary. What Mary and I did was no sin in the eyes of the Lord -- we were married, after all, and according to Catholic doctrine we could never be truly divorced without a handwritten note from the Pope. So the priest encouraged her to do whatever I asked as penance for her behavior, and hope for better days. I have a lot of personal problems with the Church, but one has to admire their devotion to rules.

In the mean time I was more than happy to get my cock sucked every day. Usually twice a day. Mary had settled into a placid routine of waking me up with a hummer, fixing breakfast, getting me off to work, cleaning house, going to the market, fixing dinner, and then watching TV until I got home. Then another hummer, and maybe a third before I went to bed. Every man's domestic fantasy. 

But it wouldn't stay that way. As pleasant and enjoyable as the daily oral sex was, I was still furious with her for the pain and grief she had caused me. I wasn't about to let her slide back into my life like nothing happened. 

No, I was luring Mary into a false sense of security, and then I would hammer her with humiliations and degradations. She thought she could endure the full brunt of my wrath? I was eager to test that theory. She wanted penance? I would ensure more than a few Hail, Marys passed her lips. I didn't want to hurt the baby -- he was the innocent product of her disgrace, as much a victim as I -- but his mother would get the full, twisted fury that boiled in my gut at the sight of her cheating face. 

But slowly. Painstakingly. Painfully. I wanted to milk this for as much as I could, and I had plans on how to do that. We would see if Mary's devotion was more potent than her endurance. And I looked forward to that. 

It was the only thing that was keeping me going.



Second Wind



It had been a tough day at work. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. There were just a lot of things coming down pretty hard on him. Mike's boss had given him a hard time about the special publication they were trying to put out. Mike's writers were giving him a hard time about the amount of stories they had to write, including for the special publication. Mike was getting it from both sides and he was pretty tired. 

Mike was a young guy, but he was in a pretty high position – managing editor – of a small newspaper in an even smaller town. At 26 years old, Mike had been in that position for just over a year. At first, he enjoyed the responsibilities and being able to say he was the boss. But in the last couple months, things seemed to have gotten a bit more difficult. The days were becoming longer and there was more and more work that needed to be done every day. 

As he walked into his apartment, he didn't even bother to change out of his work clothes. All he did was untuck his shirt. His tie stayed on, his loafers stayed on. He was too tired to even bother with putting something more relaxing on. All that came off was his jacket, which he slung over a chair in the dining room, placing his bag on the same chair. He threw a frozen pizza in the over, went to the bathroom and started to set his laptop up in the TV room. When the pizza was done, he threw it on a plate, cut it up and plopped down in front of the television and his laptop, eating his pizza. 

Once he finished his dinner, he still didn't move, exhausted from his day. The TV stayed on and he surfed the internet aimlessly, too tired to even get up to go to bed. It was the middle of the week. He had nothing better to do tonight. His friends would not be trying to drag him out to the bar. That would come in a day or two. Tonight, he was able to just veg out on the couch and recuperate from his exhaustion. 

As the television networks got into their prime time scheduling, Mike drifted in and out of consciousness. He was just awake enough to hear a knock at his apartment door.

"It's nine o'clock... who's knocking on my door?" he thought, before he bellowed out for the knocker to come on in. He was even too tired to get up and open the door. Whoever was at the door heard his invitation, however, and Mike could hear the door open and shut. 

He craned his neck to see who had come into the room and was shocked at what he saw: a gorgeous young lady, no taller than 5'3" and radiating more energy than Mike could imagine mustering right then. 

"Wow, you didn't even get up to greet me. You must not have missed me as much as I missed you."

Mike tried to respond to the brunette walking towards him. Sidney was a girl that lived in his building. She was still in school, going for her masters, and just a couple months younger than Mike. The two had hit it off pretty quickly. They met in the laundry room of their building and within a week were sleeping together. Neither one considered to be dating the other, but they were always available for a roll in the hay. Sidney had been on a break from school and away for the last five days. 

"What are you doing back so soon?" was what Mike had tried to say in response. But as Sidney walked over to where he was on the couch, she straddled Mike, leaned down onto him and kissed him before he could finish the sentence. All that got out was, "what are you mmmmph..."

He wrapped his arms around Sidney, holding her tightly. If he could have drawn her closer, he would have. But she was already pressing up against him tightly. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest as her tongue darted around his mouth, dancing with his. As tired as he was, he got a burst of adrenaline with each breath he took in through his nose. 

After a couple minutes of making out, Sidney pushed herself away from him.

"Hi," she said, her smile contagious.

"Hi." Mike smiled for the first time since he walked into his apartment. "Of course I missed you Sid."

He ran his hands up and down her sides, slipping his hands underneath her T-shirt, giving him the opportunity to feel her skin.

Sidney adjusted on Mike's lap, rubbing her crotch against his. The bulge in Mike's pants had gotten bigger in the last couple minutes. Sidney leaned into Mike, moving her lips to his ear, still teasing Mike's cock with subtle movements. 

"I can tell," she purred. "But I want you to show me how much."

As she finished the sentence, she wrapped her lips around Mike's earlobe, sucking on it, licking it and slightly nibbling on it. Mike let out a moan, enjoying the feel of her mouth on his ear. 

Mike knew what Sidney meant. She didn't want to waste time with much foreplay. They would get to that some other time. She wanted sex and she wanted it soon. Mike was happy to oblige. 

His hands still on her hips, resting under her T-shirt, Mike started to run his hands up Sidney's body, bringing the T-shirt with him. Sidney didn't object, raising her arms up to let her T-shirt run up over her head and off her body. As Mike fiddled with her bra, she ran her hands over his shirt, taking off his tie, then unbuttoning down until she was able to slip the shirt off his shoulders. They were both topless now, and Sidney kissed Mike again, pressing her naked breasts into Mike's chest. Her nipples were getting harder, and they were both getting hotter. 

Sidney stood up on the couch, undid the buckle on her belt and then her jeans as Mike did the same. Mike slipped his slacks off under Sidney, taking his boxer shorts with them. Sidney stepped off the couch and dropped her pants down to the floor. Mike sat there, watching her. He looked her up and down, from her C-cup tits to her nearly completely shaved pussy, with just a racing stripe leading down to her hole, which was already very obviously wet. 

Before he could make a move, Sidney leaned down and grabbed Mike's cock, tugging it and pulling Mike up.

"Come on, stud," she cooed. "Let's go somewhere more comfortable."

As they started towards the bedroom, Mike grabbed Sidney's arm and stopped her, turning her around. Mike pulled Sidney closer to him. She started to protest, but this time it was Mike cutting her off, jamming his tongue down her throat. Sidney didn't complain, returning the kiss with as much passion as she received. 

As their tongues continued to duel, Mike moved his hands to Sidney's ass, grabbing her tightly, bringing her close and lifting her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist as she lowered herself onto his cock. Already very wet, he slipped inside her with ease. They both let out a moan into each others' mouth as Mike brought Sidney against the closest wall he could find. 

Gripping her ass, he pounded into Sidney's pussy with a fervor as he nibbled on her neck, on her earlobe, kissing her shoulder. Sidney hands went from the back of Mike's head to his back. As his pace quickened, her nails dug into his back. She got hotter with each thrust.

"Oh, God, Mike.... I'm soooo close."

He didn't respond. He just kept attacking her pussy, pushing up inside of her harder and harder. He started to feel Sidney shake. Her legs tensing up, her pussy tightening around Mike's cock. He knew she was close. And with the continued thrusts, Mike sent Sidney over the edge.

"Uuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhhhh," she screamed, her nails digging into Mike's back. He slowed down her pace, with slow, deliberate strokes, letting her enjoy her orgasm. 

"Oh, God. OH, I missed this cock," she cooed, kissing Mike's neck. "But let's move into the bedroom, huh?"

"Anything you want, sweetie." Mike moved away from the wall, his cock never leaving her, bringing her into his bedroom and eased her down onto the bed, slipping out of her hot, wet hole. 

"Mmmm, what are you doing?" She didn't hide the fact that she was upset at his cock leaving her body. 

"Just one second sweetie," as he opened up the drawer in the nightstand, taking out a condom. Before it was even out of the drawer, he had ripped the wrapping open and had taken it out. As he kneeled on the bed, towering over her, he slipped the condom on. Once that was done, his attention went back to Sidney. 

"Alright, then," he said, a smile overtaking his face. "You got to cum. Now it's my turn. You know how I wanna do it."

She did. She matched the smile on his face as she turned over onto her hands and knees, lifting her ass in the air. Mike came closer to Sidney, rubbing his hands over her ass, massaging it as he slowly brought his cock back into her pussy.

"Aaaaaahhhhh." 

She cried out as he started to fuck her from behind. At first, he slammed into her as he held her by her hips. She pushed back, matching each thrust that came her way. After a few thrusts, Mike's right hand slipped around to Sidney's front, finding her clit. He massaged it in time with his thrusts and Sidney's panting began to increase again. 

"You like that, sweetie? You enjoying this, Sid?" Sidney let out a moan to let Mike know she did. 

"I want you to cum for me again. I want you to come with me."

Sidney's moaning helped Mike get closer to his orgasm. He kept thrusting into Sidney, flicking her clit with his right hand. She let out a guttural scream as another orgasm swept over her. As Sidney came over Mike's cock, he couldn't hold it in any longer, spewing into the condom, filling it up. 

Sidney collapsed onto her stomach, Mike slipping out of her. He managed to pull the condom off before falling onto the bed. He reached over to Sidney and pulled her into him, her back to him, spooning together. Mike's arms wrapped around her body and Sidney overlapped her arms onto his as they got comfortable on the bed. 

"I guess you did miss me," she purred, before they drifted off to sleep.



Second Wind



1.

"Nora!" My wife clapped her hand over her mouth reflexively. "Uh...."

I turned away from the forest nymph tracing lazy circles on my chest to see what had caught my wife's attention.

"Jocelyn, what's a respectable woman like you doing here?" Our young neighbor greeted my wife with her usual playful cheeriness.

"I ... uh ... we ... uh ..." My wife was at a loss for words. She who was so facile with the English language could not form a complete sentence. In those few seconds of silence, my wife's initial shock at seeing our neighbor half-naked was rapidly turning into embarrassment. Even in the dim lighting, my wife's flushed cheeks stood out like the blinking red lights around the dance floor.

"Your secret is safe with me." Nora leaned forward, her bare breasts swinging out seductively. "We're all here for the same thing, right?"

"I ... I suppose so ..." My wife had progressed from dumbstruck to stammering.

"A soft mattress and a hard man!" Nora threw her head back and laughed at her own joke. My wife smiled meekly and began to relax. Our neighbor's light-hearted humor was the perfect antidote to our newbie jitters.

The smile on my wife's face broadened as she looked around at the other scantily dressed revelers at the swingers club. "Yes ... Yes, I suppose I am." She paused to gather her courage and said it with more conviction. "Yes, I am."

And then my wife did something that surprised both of us. She wrapped her arms around Nora and pulled her in for something more than friendly kiss. "And maybe a beautiful enchantress for my husband?" My wife spoke loud enough for me to hear as they both turned to look at the forest nymph and me.

The forest nymph's long nipples brushed my arm as she kissed me on the cheek. "Nora! Hope to see you later when its party time, and bring your friends." The tall woman wearing strips of green chiffon looked back into my eyes after speaking to our neighbor. "I'd like to see more of this one." Her fingers trailed lightly over my barely concealed erection before she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

2.

By the time Nora had arrived, I was beginning to think the idea of attending a swinger's party was a terrible mistake. I was enjoying myself, but my wife was not. It did not look promising.

My wife had agreed to come to the club to "check it out" but she had made it abundantly clear that she was coming only as a favor for me. She told me that I was the only man she would ever need. I was beginning to believe her.

My wife had not been shy about sex when we first met. She was an attractive woman with an adventurous spirit. In college, she had sampled a wide variety of men to satisfy her curiosity. After she had found a dozen different shapes and sizes equally pleasurable, she began having sex just to gratify her desires. Her sexual skills had been honed with considerable practice by the time I met her. At least some of that practice had been with the friend who introduced us. I knew because he had told me, rather crudely, that she was a "great fuck" and he was right. 

Even in the first year after we moved in together, I knew she occasionally had sex with other men. It was never a big secret. She expected that I would have sex with other women, and I did. It didn't bother me then and it doesn't bother me now. I liked the idea that my future wife had a wild side and she knew it. But with two kids in college and beginning a second career, she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed the thrill of that first time with each new partner. 

I thought an on-premise swinger's party would be the perfect place to rediscover our wild side. I knew other men would still be attracted to her. I certainly was. Besides, swinger's parties for couples were not as focused on perfect bodies as the typical twenty-something nightclub scene. 

While many of the women at the party had changed into costumes that exposed nipples or bared ass, she had attracted attention in a simple black dress with a swooping neckline and a short skirt. She still had the figure to look good in a tight dress. Yet, she had brushed off the men who approached her. When the tall women dressed as a forest nymph began flirting with me, my wife had been pleasant but aloof.

We had talked before the party about what we would do if we met someone we knew. We had only talked in "damage control" mode. I hadn't considered the possibility that a familiar face would make the whole experience more enjoyable. But here was the proof. My wife was actually laughing as Nora pointed out who was good for one shot and who was good for the night. Nora's familiarity with the crowd could only have come from very personal experience. Nora's lighthearted teasing buoyed my wife's self-confidence and aroused her curiosity.

I had never thought of our neighbors as experienced swingers. Then again, who would have thought we would be there at all? 

Nora was attractive but she was not what I thought of as "sexy". She had large breasts and a round ass to match, but her cherubic face seemed more suitable for hosting bake sales than swinging. I knew she had sex because their 2 kids were living proof. I just never imagined her with her ass in the air fucking for the fun of it. As she stood there with her outsized breasts pushed up by a bustier and the string of her thong wedged between her ass cheeks, imagining sex with our young neighbor was getting a lot easier. 

"Is your husband here?"

The question I asked would have been innocent in any other venue than a swingers club.

"Roger?" Nora answered as calmly as if I'd asked about the weather. "Last I saw him, my little Peter Pan was being led astray by Tinkerbelle."

She turned in a circle slowly scanning the room. Peter Pan and Tinkerbelle had obviously flown off to Neverland for an adventure. I looked at Nora's full figure in the skimpy Little Red Riding Hood costume as she turned and wondered whether she talked dirty when she made love.

My wife poked me in the ribs just as Nora turned back toward us.

"Don't stare, Nora's our neighbor." My wife chided.

"You can stare as long as you'd like, Steve." Nora said, as she arched her back seductively. "I'm a very friendly neighbor."

She leaned in and kissed me lightly on the cheek while my wife watched. Nora was testing my wife's boundaries. When Jocelyn didn't protest, Nora put her arms around my neck and gave me a wetter kiss that lingered. Jocelyn's cheeks flushed again, but this time she appeared more aroused than embarrassed.

"I think I've got his attention." Nora looked down at the tent in my trousers. "He looks delicious, Jocelyn. I hope you'll share."

"He really is good in bed." Jocelyn looked at me approvingly, as if she was bragging about an award I'd won.

Nora gave me a long critical look from head to toe and then licked her lips seductively in approval. I had never been so conscious of a woman appraising my body for nothing more than her sexual pleasure. My cock jerked once and a spot of precum soaked through the front of my chinos. Both women saw the effect Nora was having on me and smiled knowingly to each other. I thought Nora was going to drop to her knees right there and pull my cock out.

3.

The potential for that moment to hurl us into the world of swinging was broken by a huge pair of hands that reached around Nora's chest and grasped her breasts roughly.

Nora jumped and tried to wriggle free of the giant's grip.

"Eric! Let go, you lout. Can't you see I was about to score."

"Oh, sorry. Who's the lucky one tonight."

He looked over her shoulder at me. A giant of a man with a winning smile. Sort of a teddy bear, but a teddy bear with dense curly hair on his chest and an eagle tattoo on biceps as thick as my thighs.

"You'll like her. She talks real dirty when she's on the edge of a big one."

"Like you'd know, big boy." Nora warmed to her surprise visitor.

"Oh, we've had our times together." 

He still held her firmly with one meaty forearm across her chest. As he spoke, his other hand brushed over the front of her Little Red Riding Hood costume and ducked under the small triangle of her thong. She nearly melted in his embrace as his fingers slid between the folds of her pussy and a single finger curled up inside her. Her eyes popped wide open as his hand pulled free of her snatch and the one slick finger touched her lips. Her lipstick matched her costume. Bright red and glossy. She opened her lips slightly and flicked her pink tongue out to taste her juice on his fingertip.

"I think she's ready. You want to take her back and fuck her? She's good. She really is." 

He offered her body to me even as she snuggled in his arms. He could have led Nora away with him but he didn't. Swinging was so new to me that the etiquette of the situation was puzzling. What was I supposed to do?

He moved Nora gently to one side and extended his hand to me. 

"I'm Eric. I don't think we've met."

I took his hand and shook it firmly.

"I'm Steve." 

I could have introduced my wife but I was overwhelmed by the sudden turn in our prospects for the evening.

"And who is this gorgeous newbie?" He positioned himself directly in front of Jocelyn. Although my wife could lift a kayak by herself, she appeared frail next to this giant.

"Newbie? Is it that obvious?" My wife asked, with far greater interest in this stranger than she had shown for any man earlier in the evening.

She extended her hand to him. He looked at her hand and frowned.

"Lady. This is a party. That's not how you greet a man who just might want to fuck you later."

Jocelyn's jaw dropped open. She sucked in a gulp of air and looked to Nora for help. I was temporarily out of the picture.

"That's just Eric. He's blunt, but he'll grow on you if you let him."

"He'd grow on you, would he?" She smiled at his huge limp cock curled in a mesh thong. "I'm sure he would." 

My wife just stood there for a few moments looking at the big man. There was something familiar about the way she looked at him, and then it hit me. She was appraising him sexually the way that Nora had just appraised me. Was my wife really considering sex with this giant of a man? This wasn't part of our agreement but the extra-ordinarily improbable now seemed possible and the possibility excited me.

"What would I need to do to be less obvious?" My wife locked the large man in her gaze as she asked her question. 

Her question was really more of an invitation and that's how the stranger took it. My wife's dress was gathered together by a single clasp in front that allowed a generous exposure of cleavage and then a keyhole glimpse of bare flesh down to her navel. He stepped forward, took the clasp in his fingers and unfastened the hook that held the form fitting material in place.

My wife's arms hung limp by her side as she watched Eric reach for the clasp. She took a deep breath and sighed as she felt the clasp release. Her breasts had been pushed up and together by the elasticity of the silky fabric. Freed from their restraints, her full breasts spilled out into his hands. He held her breasts gently as she searched his eyes, oblivious to those around her. Then he let her breasts hang free out of the gap in her dress. He stepped back to admire her.

"I'm Jocelyn. I'm pleased to me you." She said demurely. "You've just met my husband."

Eric turned to me. "Mind if I take her for a spin ... on the dance floor, I mean."

"No. Not at all." I was too astonished to protest and probably wouldn't have, even if he had asked to fuck her. I added. "If it's OK with her."

"I love to dance. I used to do it a lot more." She turned and winked at me. "I'm sure Steve and Nora can find something to do while we're gone." 

She added, almost as an afterthought. "See you at midnight." 

Midnight was almost an hour away. That was more than a couple dances.

What just happened, I thought to myself? My wife was going away with a man who had fondled her breasts and she left me with a woman who had no inhibitions about sex with married men. It wasn't the alcohol. We hadn't been drinking that much. The chi of the party must have overwhelmed our senses. We were on the rollercoaster for this ride. I took a deep breath and let Dora pull me into the swirling mass of partially naked bodies.

4.

I am not usually comfortable as a dancer but this wasn't a typical dance. This was a swinger's club. No woman was going to be thrown off the dance floor because her boobs wouldn't bounce in sync to the rhythm. No man's inept attempt at pelvic thrusting would be met with laughter. The mood was pure libido -- and very forgiving. The dancing was as close to the act of sex as a group of people could share standing up.

I felt hands slap my butt playfully and nipples brush against my arm as nearly naked women swirled nearby. Nora shed her costume piece by piece until she wore nothing but a wide belt and her bright red boots. Men brushed against her and felt her soft breasts or bare ass. She responded to the attention of others with kisses and laughter, but always kept close to me. Emboldened by her display of easy affection, I began to caress her body with increasing confidence as we moved together with the music. She unbuttoned my shirt and pressed her full breasts into my chest. I reached around her and grasped a handful of ass in each hand. I pulled her ass cheeks apart as she squealed in delight.

Just as I was lewdly exposing Nora's puckered little asshole for anyone who cared to look, I saw them off to one side. My wife smiled at me and waved to let me know she was watching. I let Nora's ass cheeks snap back together, although I kept my hands on her smooth bare flesh. Nora snuggled into me and pulled my shirt off. Jocelyn watched Nora begin to undress me, but did not come closer.

Eric was behind my wife with his rough hands squeezing her breasts as they dangled out of her unfastened dress. She smiled slyly at me and turned her head slightly to say something to him. His hands dropped to her thighs and lifted the hem of her skirt. I could see her full bush of pubic hair as he exposed her to me. He had managed to remove the panties on a crowded dance floor that I had been unable to persuade her to leave off in the privacy of our hotel room. Jocelyn twisted in his arms until her bare ass faced me and whispered in his ear again. I saw his large hands brush over her soft flesh and finger her asshole openly as she looked over her shoulder at me without flinching. 

I was a newbie so I got erect every time a naked woman approached me seductively. It was obvious what I had to offer them. Eric was experienced. His cock had been curled up comfortably in his thong, even when he had fondled Nora and Jocelyn. Yet, it was a safe bet that his cock would be as massive as his physique when he was aroused. Now I could see that I was right.

As Jocelyn moved to one side, what she had been appraising earlier in the evening was on full display. His huge balls were still held in the skimpy thong but his shaft jutted upward like the limb of a tree. She had to stand on her toes to kiss him full on the mouth. Her hand could barely wrap around his cock as she tugged him along behind her and disappeared into the crowd.

Nora had seen them. She leaned into my ear and whispered.

"I think your wife's got his attention. He doesn't get it up until he's ready."

"Ready for what?" I asked, still not believing in the obvious.

"To fuck, silly. Just like we're going to do."

She put her mouth over mine. I felt her tongue part my lips and explore my mouth. She pushed her body away from me as she broke the kiss. I watched mesmerized as she knelt to pull off my pants and guide my cock through the opening in my briefs. We had watched Jocelyn wrap her hand around Eric's shaft. Now it was Nora's turn to wrap her hand around my shaft and tug on the foreskin. She smiled wickedly and stood up without releasing her grip on my cock. She gave me another wet kiss as she tucked my shaft between her pubes. 

A woman came up behind me and flattened her breasts against my back while Nora continued to probe my mouth with her tongue. There was more bare skin pressed up against me at that moment than I had ever felt in my life. My pole was just long enough that the tip was visible between Nora's thighs from behind as she pressed her neatly trimmed muff of pubic hair into mine. I was about to squirt my load into the air when the music picked up and our trio broke apart. As I was pulled back into the rhythm of the dance, I looked over my shoulder to see the forest nymph smiling at me again. I had not forgotten her comment to Nora earlier that evening.

The next hour was a blur. The rhythms alternated fast and slow, the whole dance floor bouncing as a group and then couples pairing up in erotic embrace. The DJ kept trying to mix people up in new combinations. Nora and I kept trying to get back together. I danced, ogled and groped with a number of women over a broad range of ages and body types. Petite women with acorn sized breasts held me around the waist and slid up and down my partially exposed cock seductively. Full figured women pressed back into me and squeezed my cock in the cleavage between their ass cheeks. I could have taken any of a number of women to the back rooms to fuck, but I kept coming back with Nora to the dance floor.

I was having so much fun, I occasionally forgot all about Eric and Jocelyn. Every so often, when there was a lull in the music, I looked around for them but I could not see her. I was not concerned. The dance floor was crowded and we were all having fun. As time passed, more of the couples had drifted to the party rooms in back and the crowd on the dance floor thinned. It should have been easier to find her now, but I was increasingly distracted by the overwhelming stimulus to my senses. 

I was only aware of the hour when the DG announced the next to last dance of the evening. Nora nearly had to pull a well seasoned woman with silver streaked hair off my chest to get me for the last dance. Only when the woman was satisfied that Nora was offering another man in exchange would she let go of me. It was awkward. I would have gladly spent the rest of the evening with the silver haired woman or any of the other women who had approached me, but Nora was the woman that I wanted most at that moment. 

5.

Nora led me to a couch on the edge of the dance floor as the hour arrived for the change in rules. It was midnight. The rules had been designed to encourage new couples to get comfortable mingling with others, although a number of couples had done a lot more than mingle in the main ballroom before the hour arrived. 

Some couples like Jocelyn and me, who were just checking the place out, had already left when the reality sank in that their partner could actually have sex with a stranger. Other couples, who had talked through issues of commitment and jealousy, were surprised by how comfortable they were watching each other move closer to having sex with someone just for fun. 

I looked around for Jocelyn anxiously. She had said we would meet at midnight. When we made the reservation, Jocelyn had insisted we were there for the 'meet and greet' dance. If I was lucky, I could watch other couples "do it", but we were not there to actually swap partners and have sex. This was the hour we had planned to leave, but how could I leave with my wife if I couldn't find her. 

I had watched my wife lose her inhibitions over the course of the evening. Before the party, she had complained that the dress I bought her was too "sexy", but I had seen her with her breasts hanging out and a finger in her crack. She was obviously enjoying the attention. It did not take a mind reader to see where this was heading. But sex was another level of involvement. We had been separated before we had agreed explicitly to allow sex with others -- or was her body language more than enough?




Second Wind



An hour of dancing with naked women had brought my libido to the boiling point. The delicious feel of natural breasts pressed against my bare skin had aroused me to the point of no return. I wanted the soft wetness of lips sliding over my cock. I wanted the taste of wet pussy on my tongue. I needed to fuck a woman who wanted me. Nora wanted me. Sex with Nora was inevitable if we stayed, but I also wanted to be married to Jocelyn when all of this pent up lust was spent. 

The music had stopped. It was so quiet you could hear the squish, squish, squish of the woman getting fucked on the couch next to us. I had looked forward to being aroused by the sight of so many naked women, but I was surprised by how exciting it was for me as a man to see so many other men of various shapes and sizes flaunting their erections. I had no desire to touch any of them myself, but it excited me to image that each cock would be invited to penetrate at least one of these women before the evening was over. Long or short, thick or thin, curved or straight -- each hard shaft now straining upward would be thrust inside a wet pussy, pumped until white globs of cum spurted from its tip and then slipped out as a limp tube of warm flesh. No small part of my excitement was the possibility that one or more of these cocks could undergo this immensely satisfying transformation while thrust inside my wife with her enthusiastic encouragement and my full consent.

My reverie on the evening's promise was broken by the reality of a hand wrapping around my cock again. Nora's breath was warm against my ear as she whispered to me.

"I'm Little Red Riding Hood and I'm going to huff and puff - and give you the best blow job of your life."

"That's not how it comes out!" I protested absurdly, stalling for time.

"Oh, so you're a stickler for literary accuracy are you? You want to eat me instead, you big bad wolf."

"If you make me cum too quick, I'll eat your pussy 'til you scream."

"Is that a promise?"

She stood and pulled off the red leather belt that was the last shred of her costume. Her bright red boots were staying on for the rest of the evening. She was pretty. The girl next door. Soft and round. Cute face. And she was waiting for me to fuck her. 

She looked down at me patiently. We were going to have sex. Although my cock had been pulled out, I was still in my briefs. It was obvious what she expected of me.

I hooked my fingers in the waistband of my last item of clothing. I lifted my ass off the couch and slid my briefs down to my knees. My shaft pointed up at her. She knelt down between my legs and placed the tip of my cock in her mouth.

A moment of fear replaced my excitement as the image of Jocelyn waiting alone in the car flashed through my mind. Nora sensed my discomfort and paused. This evening was going downhill fast. 

Just as my doubts were about to ruin a great evening, my wife emerged from the hallway leading to the private rooms. She had not been on the dance floor but neither had she left the building. Her hair was mussed and her dress was gone.

"There you are!"

Jocelyn practically giggled with delight when she saw Nora between my legs with my briefs around my knees.

"I'm sorry I didn't get back earlier," she hesitated, while carefully choosing her words, then added simply. "I've been busy."

Nora crawled back up onto the couch on one side of me while Jocelyn sat on the other side. My briefs were still bunched up around my knees with my cock sticking straight up as the two naked women pressed me between them.

"I'm glad you convinced me to come. I'm having fun. Are you?"

As Jocelyn leaned into me for a kiss, she spread her legs slightly. Her pussy lips were bright red and slightly puffy. Cum leaked from her slit. She had just been fucked -- maybe more than once.

"Yes ... I ... Nora ... uh ...." I could not form a complete sentence. I had fantasized about this moment for years. Yet, when I realized that Jocelyn had already taken the plunge, I was stammering like my wife had earlier in the evening when she realized our sweet, young neighbor was an experienced swinger.

"I've been having a good time too."

"I ... You ..." I continued to stammer.

"I know a really good treatment for stammering." Nora volunteered.

"Does it involve getting his briefs off?" Jocelyn joked with our young neighbor.

"Why yes!" Nora laughed. "And then we have to relieve some of the venous congestion in his tubular appendage."

"Oh, goody!" My wife continued to play along. "Can I watch?"

"Sure. You can help."

They both reached for my briefs and giggled as they yanked them off. Jocelyn motioned for Nora to climb up on top of me.

"He's all yours, Nora. I told them I wouldn't be gone for long."

"Them?" 

I could only manage a one word reply.

"You didn't expect me to take Eric without a little warm-up, did you?" She laughed. 

I lay back on the couch. I had accepted that Eric was going to fuck her, but I hadn't imagined a gang-bang. I wondered who else had stretched her vagina. The images in my mind aroused me even more. I had no time to contemplate the pleasure my wife had already experienced. Nora's breasts swayed enticingly over my face as she positioned herself on top of me. Her nipples had puffed up to twice their original size and stuck out from wide aureoles that were the size of a smaller woman's breasts. Nora was going to fuck me. I was ready.

Nora placed her hands on my shoulders to steady herself. My wife's hand wrapped around my cock and pulled the shaft up slightly to align with Nora's moist pussy. The whole evening had been foreplay, yet the suddenness of the penetration was surprising. Nora lowered herself onto me in one smooth motion until my shaft was fully swallowed up in the warmth of her body. The first sensation of popping through the ring of muscles around her cunt was delicious. She let out a long blissful sigh and closed her eyes. We both held absolutely still to savor the moment.

I could not see my wife but I could feel her presence watching intently as our neighbor was added to my list of "other women". Whatever reservations Jocelyn had about swapping were gone. I was free to enjoy myself. The feeling of release was extraordinary. They say that a drowning man sees his life flash before his eyes. In those few moments of stillness after my cock found its way into our neighbor's pussy, I recalled the intense sensations of pleasure I had experienced with each of the women I had fucked in my lifetime from the former girlfriend my roommate dumped on me in college to the casual affair my future wife had encouraged before we decided to settle down and have kids.

The vivid memories of my youth transitioned seamlessly into a fantasy as I pictured my wife and me entering the club earlier in the evening. In my trance, the other couples danced around us in slow motion as if we were in another dimension. My wife picked out women one after another and then held them steady when they bent over for me to fuck. I was penetrating the leggy blonde girlfriend of a well-hung jock when I was jerked back to reality by the cool sensation of air around my cock. Nora lifted up to expose my shaft and then plunged the rod back into her body.

When I opened my eyes, Nora's face was only inches above mine. Her brown eyes were sparkling and intense. She smiled. My pleasure was enhanced by knowing that my partner of the moment shared my feelings. I knew I could not last very long now, but I vowed to give her the most memorable orgasm of her life -- or, at least, of that evening.

"Do you think he likes it?"

My wife was sitting beside us, playing with the cum that dripped from her pussy as she watched us.

"He'd better like it. I have a reputation, you know."

My wife laughed at Nora's bravado.

"So you don't think I have a reputation?"

"Oh, you will after tonight."

My wife laughed again.

"Then I better get back before they miss me."

My wife leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. It was an odd sensation. The almost chaste peck on the cheek could have been a typical kiss in the morning before she left for work, except that our neighbor was stuck on my cock and my wife was leaving to get fucked by yet another man.

"You'll take care of Nora, won't you, Dear?"

"Ah ... Ah ..."

I was in no condition to respond to my wife's teasing. All my thoughts had ceased. All the activity in my brain was focused on the sensations of Nora clutching my cock inside her. I could not hold on any longer. My testes were pulled up tight as the first load of semen shot through the stiff tube that I was bucking up into her body. She must have felt the sticky white fluid fill her cavity. She grunted and then relaxed. She shuddered ever so slightly but it was not a real orgasm. Her contractions were voluntary as she gripped my shaft rhythmically. She milked me until all of the fluid was gone. I went limp with one long last sigh of fulfillment and then slipped out of her.

I looked over at my wife, who had stayed to watch another woman satisfy me. Jocelyn's face was flushed with excitement. My wife had actually enjoyed watching me fuck. I continued to breathe hard as Nora gently let her full breasts press into my heaving chest. This was even better than my fantasies.

6.

Jocelyn took my hand, squeezed gently and then let go. The couch shifted as my wife stood up to leave.

"Join me later if you want. And bring a friend."

I could hear my wife's voice fading as she moved away from us toward the room where she would have sex with strangers.

"He likes to eat cum after fucking."

Nora leaned into my ear again and whispered. "I'd like that."

Who was I to deny this woman pleasure? I nodded my assent to her proposal.

I could feel the cum dribbling onto my abdomen before I fully grasped that Nora was ready now. She was unable to hold it all inside her. White globs hung lewdly from the pink folds of her swollen pussy. Beads of sticky cum stretched out into long tendrils that connected us together. Most of the frothy material would eventually fall with gravity when the strand broke. The last inch of each sticky cord snapped back to her dripping pussy to wait for another drop to form. 

She held her freshly fucked hole closed tight but the long vertical folds of her labia were still pulled apart. Where the folds came together at the top of her slit, a swollen cylinder of bright red flesh jutted out like a finger raised in the universal gesture for fucking. Below the opening I had just penetrated was a smaller opening that was untouched. Some of the foamy juice had collected in the puckered depression. As Nora's dripping snatch approached closer to my lips, I wondered just how thoroughly she wanted to be cleaned out.

Visual stimuli can be overwhelming. I closed my eyes to fully enjoy the power of her scent without the distraction of sight. It was not entirely her scent that I inhaled but ours. Condoms were freely available. She had allowed me entry without encumbrance, as I was a trusted neighbor and had been monogamous until tonight.

Her scent became most pungent in the instant before she lowered her body to my lips. She had the ideal pussy for sucking. The large wrinkled folds of her labia hung like dried apricots dipped in white chocolate. I parted my lips and sucked first one and then the other thick fold into my mouth. I took my time cleaning the fleshy appendages thoroughly with my tongue before letting go. 

When I was finished with the lips of her pussy, I plunged my nose between her folds and inhaled deeply of her scent. She was trembling and began to moan softly between gasps for air. My tongue reached inside her to scoop out the remaining nectar. I grabbed her ass with my hands and pulled her into me. She needed no encouragement. She ground her cunt into my face. 

She was salty and bitter and hot and slimy at the same time. I do not understand men or women who dislike the taste of a freshly fucked pussy, but I know some benighted souls don't like raw oysters and Tabasco sauce. I considered this a treat rather than a duty to please the women who had just given me such pleasure.

I sucked her clit between my lips and then pressed the broad surface of my tongue onto the nubbin of sensitive tissue. I shook my head back and forth. Filthy words poured from Nora's mouth as she urged me on. Eric said Nora talked dirty when she was on the edge of a big one. I had Nora where I wanted her, but I wouldn't let her go quickly. I knew Nora would sit down for some girl talk with my wife after we got home. I wanted to give Nora something that would make my wife proud of her husband.

Most of what spilled from Nora's mouth was just an incoherent stream of "dirty" words.

"Oh, fuck! Yes! Oh God, Yes! Give it to me. Shit. Fuck yes!

Her words encouraged me to keep probing her with my tongue while I used the tip of my nose to keep the stimulus on her clit. Her body began to tremble in a long plateau of mini-orgasms as she got ready to let go with the big one.

Then I heard what sounded almost like a coherent statement of fact and an urgent request.

"You cunt sucking fucker! Lick my ass!

Did she mean it? I thought quickly and then decided on a test. My fingers had been dug into the soft flesh of her round ass, gripping tightly to hold her in place. I moved my hands together until my fingertips were touching in the crease between her ass cheeks. The last bit of cum in her crevice gave me the slick lubrication I needed. I found the little puckered opening and pressed. My finger sank in to the knuckle without resistance. Words stopped tumbling from Nora's filthy mouth as she let out a grunt and started to moan continuously.

I removed my finger and slide down to get in position. I couldn't wait to fuck her doggy style. She had a bubble butt made for pounding, but her generous endowment made her prize harder to reach. Another string of obscenities encouraged me to make the extra effort. My hands moved back to their original position so I could keep her ass cheeks pulled apart as I worked on her. 

And there it was. Scrubbed as clean as a Christmas plate. The puckered little opening, ruby colored against a background of pink. I would remember the dark brown freckle sitting on the rim of her asshole before my tongue covered it up.

I pushed her off my face to get another good breathe before I dived in for the finish.

She screamed an obscenity and nearly stood up when my tongue probed the depression my finger had opened. My hands clutched her flesh tightly as I struggled to hold on. She lifted my head from the couch but I continued to push my tongue against her puckered little opening. I could feel the muscles just below the rim contracting. She squirted cum on my face as I held my breath through her orgasm.

When I could begin counting discrete spasms, I knew she was spent. I pushed out from under her to breathe again. She collapsed on her side and curled up. Her lids fluttered open. Her eyes rolled back for a second. She took an enormous breath and looked at me with a dazed expression. Then she went nearly limp and curled up in a fetal position. 

I was afraid I had hurt her. I took her hand and asked if she was alright.

She squeezed my hand weakly but did not open her eyes.

"Oh, God. Leave me alone."

I looked around for help. The forest nymph was sitting on the arm of the couch. She had been watching us the whole time.

"Can I be next?" She said simply.

"What?"

"Can I be next?" She said again.

"But ..." I couldn't finish.

"She'll be alright. Haven't you ever seen a woman have an orgasm."

"Yes. But not like this ..."

"Well, get used to it. You're good. That's why I want you."

I looked at her incredulously.

"Are you sure she's OK?"

"Yep. Just trust me on this one."

I looked at Nora again. She looked peaceful. Her breathing was even and steady. She looked like ... she was sleeping. She had fucked, rolled over and gone to sleep. I didn't know women did that.

"So ...Am I next?"

The wisps of green chiffon that had transformed her into a forest nymph earlier in the evening were gone. She stood before me naked. No boots or stockings. Not even a belly piercing. Only a sparkling diamond wedding ring and gold earrings. I liked what I saw.

"I take that as a Yes?" She looked at my soft cock quickly inflating again as I looked her over.

"Sure. Where do you want to go?"

"Definitely a shower. You look like a bukkake girl."

And I did look like I had been the center of attraction at a gangbang, even if it had only been Nora and me. My face was shiny with cum. My chest and abdomen were covered with the stuff. There were even globs in my hair.

7.

We walked back to the locker room. A couple was getting dressed to leave. The balding man looked like he had taped out for the evening. His younger wife must have already gotten her fair share, judging by the smile on her face. When they left, we would be alone in the usually crowded room.

My forest nymph grabbed some towels and led me to the showers. I stopped her before she reached for the faucet.

"I'm sorry, but I never asked your name."

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I like to know the names of all the partners I've had, don't you?"

"Partners? You mean the women you've fucked?"

She laughed and hugged me. 

"You are such a newbie. I like the sweet and innocent types, particularly the ones who lick ass."

I actually blushed at her audacity but her lighthearted teasing was not meant to offend and I did not take it that way.

"OK, let me think." She made an exaggerated expression like she was thinking hard. "Not the first time. I don't care about names the first time. I lost count after a couple hundred and that was a long time ago." 

She watched me carefully for my reaction. I tried to play it cool, but I couldn't. She was in a different league. I was nervous. She was not. What didn't show up in my face, I gave away with my posture. We were standing there naked. Before tonight, that alone was enough to make me self-conscious.

"A couple dozen stand out." She continued with her usual poise. "If you're lucky, you'll be one of them -- then I'll want your name and address. Of course, I won't need it. I expect Eric has gotten your wife's number."

So Eric was her husband. How was I going to compare to Eric? But I suppose I could ask Jocelyn now, since she had just fucked the giant man.

I looked at the woman who wanted me for her pleasure. She was elegant. She was somewhat shorter than my wife but perfectly proportioned. Long, sleek legs. An hour glass figure. Her dark hair perfectly coiffed -- or, at least, it had been. She could have been a model or a ...

"Were you a prostitute?"

I just blurted it out. It was curiosity, not a moral judgment. Would a swinger have had a hundred men?

"Yes. It was an easy way to finance college. I had a high end practice -- most of the time it was fun."

"Did you feel used?"

She studied me.

"I was in customer service and I was doing what I liked to do. I did more for my clients than a shrink ever could, and my services probably saved a few marriages. "

She studied me again.

"Are you shocked?"

"I would have been last week." I paused to frame my words just right. 

"This club is a business. I paid money so my wife and I could fuck strangers. I feel good. Why should I judge you?"

"Have you ever been with a prostitute?"

"Yes." I answered without hesitation, although it was a secret I had kept from my wife.

"Did you get what you needed?"

I did not want to reveal any more secrets but I knew I couldn't hide from this woman.

"Yes." I continued. "Women just assume men know how, but it didn't come natural for me." 

I thought back to my first awkward experiences. I had been a gangly teenager and was still a virgin when I entered college. 




Second Wind



"The first couple tries were a disaster. Then I did an internship in Hong Kong with the company my dad worked for. My parents paid for a hotel for the summer. I got a small apartment and spent the rest on ... well, you know."

"So, did you get what you needed?"

She had quickly made me feel comfortable. Nora was sexy in a wholesome sort of way, but part of Nora's appeal was that sex with her seemed naughty. For Peggy, sex was as natural as breathing or taking a leak. A prostitute as gorgeous and empathetic as Peggy would have had a lot of loyal customers.

"Eventually" I continued. "My first attempts were rushed and clumsy, but I got good professional advice -- and lots of practice."

"Did it help when you got back home?"

"I didn't wait to get home."

The forest nymph smiled knowingly and waited for me to go on.

"One of my favorite call girls was serious about teaching me. For my final exam, I convinced another intern to come back to my apartment with me. She was as nervous as I had been earlier in the summer. I think her friends persuaded her to do it, just to see what it was like."

"And?"

I smiled to myself as I remembered the young Chinese woman's high cheek bones and almond eyes. We had a fantastic evening fucking on a balcony high above the lights of the entertainment district. She woke me up early the next morning eager for one last fuck before she had to leave.

"So I think I passed."

"Do you still want to know my name?"

"Yes."

"Peggy. Peggy Sanford."

"And Eric is your husband?"

"No. I just swing with Eric. My husband doesn't like clubbing so I bring some raw pussy home for him now and then to keep him satisfied."

"So do you know who I am?"

"You're Steve and your wife is Jocelyn. I do the paperwork for the club owners so I saw your pictures before you arrived. You looked like a nice couple, and newbies are fun sometimes, so I made a point of looking you over. I liked what I saw."

"Have you talked to Eric tonight?"

"Do you mean "Is your wife a good fuck?" The answer is yes. I don't think you can cool her down now. I hope you like swinging."

"Can I look forward to fucking more women like you and Nora? Then, yes, I think I'll like swinging."

"I hope you're ready. You haven't seen anything yet."

I didn't know what could be more exciting than what I had already experienced, but I was signed on for whatever she had in store for me.

She turned on the water and handed me the soap. I slid the bar between her legs. If she expected me to lick her, then I was going to make sure she was well scrubbed. She returned the favor, spending more time on my cock than was necessary for purely hygienic purposes. Her attention to my asshole was a little awkward at first, although the sensations were pleasurable. 

When we had dried off, we went back to the locker room and she took a small leather bag from one of the cubbyholes.

She read the quizzical expression on my face.

"I never go anywhere without my bag. Want to see?"

She opened the purse for me. I peered inside.

She laughed at my expression.

"And I expect to use each and every item."

There were a dozen condoms of various sizes and styles, some sanitary wipes and a waste bag, several packages of lubricant shaped like small disposable enemas, a medium sized butt plug and three different styles of dildo with strap on harnesses.

"Oh, come on. Haven't you ever played with a butt plug?"

"Only to masturbate." I froze and moved my lips wordless for a moment. I didn't intend to tell her that either, but I had nowhere to hide.

"It took Eric awhile to get used to it." Her tone was straightforward. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. That's the cardinal rule in a swingers club. That and "no means no".

My bowels tightened at the thought of this gorgeous woman slipping a strap-on into her muscular companion's asshole. That was just too weird.

"See. You're already considering it."

She pointed to my cock which had hardened perceptibly as we talked.

8.

We walked back to the dance floor. Two women stood embracing each other while one of them was being fucked from behind by a short heavy set man. Another man with hairy shoulders was doing an older woman doggy style on the couch where Nora had been sleeping when we left her. Nora was gone.

We walked down the corridor where I had last seen my wife. Each room had its own theme. Most of the doors were closed. The door to one room opened as we passed and a woman dripping with cum emerged. Through the partially open door, I saw another woman being lifted into a swing by several men.

"Hi, Martha." Peggy greeted the young redhead by name. "Looks like you got lucky tonight."

"Sure did! Nearly won the drawing for the swing. The way that first woman carried on, I didn't think there would be anything left for me. I know I didn't leave much for next girl."

"Don't be so sure. That's a pretty hardy bunch of guys. They'll get it up again for the ladies."

"Not my problem." The redhead said with a shrug as she turned to leave.

Peggy called after the shapely young woman. "Who was the lucky winner?"

The redhead turned her head but continued to walk away from us.

"A newbie. The one in the black dress." 

I watched her butt sway as she walked down the hall to the showers.

"You'll never get her alone." Peggy took my arm to turn me around. "She's a lesbian except when she's gangbanging."

I raised my eyebrows but said nothing. I couldn't get the thought out of my mind of that "woman in the black dress."

At the end of the hallway, there was a room with the door half open. We entered.

There were three women and two men lying on a large mattress. The face of the woman farthest to the left was obscured by the man lying on top of her. All I could see was the bottom of her feet bouncing on his ass as he pushed into her, but I knew it was her. It was Jocelyn.

Eric looked over his shoulder as we stepped into the room and closed the door behind us.

"Well, aren't you going to get up and greet me." Peggy asked.

He turned away from us without speaking, pushed his arms under Jocelyn and lifted her off the mattress effortlessly. She squealed in surprise and delight with the new sensation. He stood up to his full height with my wife still stuck on his massive erection. She wrapped her legs around his waist for support. It wasn't necessary. He could have held her up with one arm.

The other three people in the room stopped to watch us. Nora and her husband Roger had a small breasted Chinese woman cuddled up between them who was still flushed with the excitement of coitus. The bits and pieces of her Tinkerbelle costume were strewn about the room. Jocelyn's little black dress lay crumpled in one corner.

"Maybe we should ..." I spoke hesitantly, like we had crashed in on a party by mistake.

"Nonsense. Your wife wants you now. Don't you?"

Jocelyn looked at me without loosening her grip on Eric. She puckered her lips and blew me a kiss. It was an affectionate gesture even in this most unusual of circumstances.

Eric lifted Jocelyn off as easily as if he were stroking his cock with his hand. His shaft gleamed with her juices. Her pussy was cherry red where his piston was jammed into her. The walls of her cunt clung to him as he slowly pulled his manhood out of her. His shaft was as large as any in the porno movies. I had seen her vagina open for the head of a baby, so big was all relative. I just never imagined seeing her stretched like this for a cock, or enjoying it so much.

I must have been enjoyed it too. Watching my wife slid off another man's cock had brought mine to full attention.

Jocelyn flew into my arms when her feet hit the floor. Her embrace was passionate and heartfelt. She was my loving wife and lifelong friend. I was all that and more to her.

"I knew I loved you." She kissed me again tenderly. "I'd just forgotten how much I loved sex for the fun of it."

She dropped to her knees and took my cock in both hands.

"This is a little 'thank you' present."

I watched the tip of my cock disappear in her mouth. All the eyes in the room were on us. Good sex is fun to watch and Jocelyn was good. We were going to give them a show.

She opened her mouth and extended her tongue. The flat of her tongue cradled the shaft of my cock. She flipped the tip of her tongue playfully. My cock bounced in the air and came back to rest on the flat of her tongue again. 

She slid her lips over the tip of my cock. She held my hips firmly to keep me from moving as she swirled her tongue around my helmet. Her cheeks sucked in sharply. She gently advanced the shaft to the back of her mouth. She never looked more beautiful to me than when she had a cock sticking out of her mouth. I let out a groan. Our neighbors and their friends looked on attentively. Jocelyn had me where she wanted me.

Her cheeks bulged as she moved her head from side to side pulling my cock along with her. Her hand reached between my legs. She held my balls in her palm and squeezed gently. I could feel the cum build up pressure inside me. 

Her fingers slid between my ass cheeks and found the sensitive little puckered opening that Peggy had washed so thoroughly. The first digit of her fingertip entered me. She would have shoved more in if I hadn't clamped down so tightly. She was fingering my ass while she sucked my cock. What she had once been reluctant to do for me in private, she now did for an audience.

Peggy smiled at me approvingly as Jocelyn shoved her finger in deeper. My dick slipped out of Jocelyn's mouth and nestled against her cheek. I gripped her finger tight with my sphincter as she curved her long slender digit over my prostate. She moved her head a few inches away from me so she could watch her finger probing my ass. I was about to lose it and I had no intention of wasting it on the floor. 

I grabbed clumps of her hair in my hands and thrust my cock into her face. She took a deep breath and opened wide. I felt the head of my cock slide along her soft palate. She lifted her chin to align her throat with my shaft and pulled me deeply into her. I watched her neck widened as the girth of my shaft stretched her esophagus. Her lips came to rest in my pubic hair.

She pulled back slowly until the bulb of my cock glided over her lips again. She had deep-throated me. Roger was about the same size as me and he was watching us. With a curious mix of anticipation and pride, I knew I would be watching her swallow him sometime. 

Jocelyn's chest lifted as she took another full breath and prepared to swallow my sword again. Her lips opened in a perfect circle to take back the cock that hung in her face. I couldn't wait. I shot my first load into the air between us. She caught the glob spewing from my cock in her open mouth. Streams of cum slid down her face and neck. A strand dripped off her nipple.

She sucked my shaft into her mouth again to drain the cum that was dripping from the little slit on the tip. When I stopped pumping and just stood there, weak-kneed and panting, she pulled off my deflating organ and opened her mouth as wide as a baby bird. Her tongue was coated in sticky white cum. She turned her head from side to side for the others to see. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed. When she opened her mouth again, her tongue was clean. The cum was gone, except that which stuck in her hair and dripped from her chin. Our audience clapped their approval as I stumbled over to the mattress and lay down to recover.

Jocelyn stood there and gave a mocking little curtsy to her new fans. She was reveling in the attention she received as a "pop" artist. I had fallen in love with her for so many reasons. Her sensuality was just one of those reasons. I could not have been more proud of her than when she stood there smiling radiantly with cum dripping from her chin.

"Come on." Peggy pulled her purse open and spilled the contents onto the mattress at my feet. "Let's keep this party going." 

9.

Mei was the first to move. The lubricant-filled enemas were meant for serious anal play. Mei took one of the gel packets before choosing a realist cock and fitting it into a harness. Then she looked at Jocelyn. 

"Who's it going to be? You or me?"

Jocelyn just stared at her with eyes as wide as saucers. She rarely used the toys I bought her, saying she preferred warm flesh to cold rubber. I couldn't imagine her letting a woman stick a dildo up her ass.

"OK. I'll go first!" Mei grinned.

Mei wrapped the belt around her hips and cinched it tight. Then she pulled the straps around each thigh and positioned the dildo over her pubis so it was solid. She looked in the mirrored wall to admire herself. The cock was a mold of one of Peggy's lovers cast in bright red silicone. For some odd reason, it did not look out of place jutting from the straight black pubic hair of the pale skinned Chinese woman. Mei adjusted the angle of the dildo like she was putting a strand of hair back in place and then turned to my wife again.

Peggy grabbed the butt plug and another package of lubricant. I felt my bowels contract as she looked at me for a moment, then she moved toward Eric. Roger leaned against the wall closest to Peggy and Eric.

Peggy traced a circle in the air with her finger. Eric understood her intentions clearly and rolled onto his stomach without protest. She crawled seductively up his back, brushing her nipples lightly over his glistening skin. She nibbled playfully on his ear lobe and whispered something that made him squirm. Then she planted a series of kisses down his spine until the tip of her nose was pressed between his ass cheeks.

She sat up and reached for one of the tubes of lubricant. She snapped the cap off and spread his cheeks with the fingers of one hand. She drizzled a few drops in the open crack and let it run over his puckered ass hole. Pressing the tip against the opening, she smiled as he pushed back into her hand and she emptied the tube into his bowels. She discarded the flattened tube into a plastic zip-lock bag and turned back to him.

Taking some of the lubricant from his crack, she coated her finger and placed the tip over the body builder's crinkled little depression. His sphincter winked at her and then relaxed as she slowly inserted a finger up to the knuckle, extracted the finger and then inserted two fingers into the partially stretched opening. Eric gripped the mattress and grimaced.

He could have easily thrown her off with a flick of his hand, but he submitted without protest to the seemingly painful incursion. She moved her fingers in and out a few times working him open before she positioned the large butt plug over his hole. His gaping ass hole exposed a dark cavity when she withdrew her fingers. The ring of muscles had begun to close by the time she inserted the tip of the butt plug and sank the tool into him until just the flange at the base was visible in his crack.

She looked at Roger. He ripped open a condom and rolled the sheath down his tool. I was at the same time repulsed, fascinated and aroused as Roger took Peggy's place behind Eric. Roger was an athletic young man but he was a fraction the size of the heavily muscled man whose butt lifted off the mattress in front of him. Roger lazily stroked his rod in anticipation.

I was held in suspense until it actually happened and then the swiftness of their movements was startling. Peggy pulled the butt plug from Eric's asshole with one smooth motion and Roger moved his hose into the opening without hesitation. At first, only the mushroom shaped tip was out of sight as the ring of muscles just below the rim clenched on this magnificent specimen of manhood. As Eric's grimace relaxed, Roger's meat sunk in until all that was visible was a tuft of Roger's pubic hair peeking out over the curve of Eric's muscular ass.

My cock was fully erect as I watched the 2 men press their well muscled bodies together. I had watched men fuck women but it was nothing like this. The sex between the two men was consensual but it was not affectionate. There was no seductive foreplay or tender kisses. Roger rode Eric's back like a cowboy on a wild mustang. Roger had the advantage of position. Eric has the advantage of size and strength. They were well matched as they bucked into each other, neither able to assert their dominance over the other.

My concentration was broken by the grip of Peggy's fingers around my cock as she tugged on my shaft. She had a definite plan. Her eyes were filled with carnal desire. I knew I could stop her. That was one of the cardinal rules of the club. No means no. But why would I? She was experienced and willing to take me where I had never been before. I made up my mind but not without apprehension as I looked at the long ridged dildo projecting from her harness.

The three women cuddled together quietly beside me. Nora lay back facing Mei with Jocelyn's face pressed into her muff. Jocelyn's butt was thrust in the air for Mei to play with. The smooth skin of the three women blended together in a beautiful match of hues as their soft bodies pressed together. Mei's dildo penetrated Jocelyn's pussy but their coupling was as gentle as Roger and Eric's was urgent. Nora stroked Jocelyn's breasts affectionately as Jocelyn's tongue savored her nectar. Jocelyn had never expressed an interest in either toys or muff diving but she seemed to be enjoying both.

I looked at Peggy's face. She did not return my gaze. Her attention was focused on the tip of the dildo that she had pressed against my tightly clenched anus. I was trying to relax, yet my sphincter continued to tense against the unaccustomed invasion. 

I knew she wanted this and I wanted to give it to her. She had experience with the taste and smell of hundreds of cocks in her thirty plus years of premarital, marital, extra-marital and professional fucking. She had taken every imaginable shape, size of shade of cock in her mouth, vagina and rectum. She had taken two and even three cocks at a time. But she had never grown tired of helping her lovers with a first time, and she knew that the dildo pushing against my asshole was definitely my first time with either a man or a woman in this position.

She took the lubricant left in the tube that she had squirted in my asshole and smeared it on my cock. She pulled the foreskin over the flare at the base of my cockhead and pumped the shaft vigorously. I would have come again if I had not shot two loads in the course of the evening.

The ploy worked. She had gotten me so excited by the handjob that I forgot about the invader just below my rocks. The dildo popped the outer ring of muscles and had penetrated several inches beyond the secondary defenses before my body reacted. I felt an irresistible pressure in my bowels like trying to hold onto a shit while hang gliding after a poorly chosen breakfast of prunes.

She held perfectly still, but she did not withdraw the toy that she had thrust inside me. Her soothing tone was calming as she coached me in how to take it up the ass and enjoy it. She was a pro. I began to relax. As soon as I began to accept the intrusion, sensations that had been extremely disagreeable became intensely pleasurable. 

I loved the sensation of pressure around my cock, whether the cheeks of my lover's mouth or the walls of her vagina. I was discovering that the sensation of my anal sphincter being stretched could also be a distinctly pleasurable experience. The exquisite sensation of pressure on my prostate was an added bonus.

I looked over at my two friends. Eric's eyes were closed. His fists gripped the mattress tightly. Roger's face was intense. He alternated long slow strokes with pauses to avoid cumming. It was still a little weird to watch Roger's latex clad cock slide between the hairy cheeks of Eric's ass, but I could no longer hide my fascination or excitement. Someday I would have to have that.




Second Wind



I looked at the long cylinder that Peggy was slowly feeding deeper in my ass. Peggy put her hands behind my knees and rolled me into a ball. My ass lifted off the mattress as Peggy bottomed the shaft inside me. My cock was pointed in my face and dripping cum. Peggy pulled out a couple inches and drove back in. I grunted and pushed back against her. My testes were now pulled inside my body so I could see my asshole stretched open by the lewdly protruding shaft.

I had no desire to be a woman. I liked having a cock. I liked to be bigger and stronger than the partners I fucked. There was an immensely satisfying sense of power to lying on top of a smaller, softer body who was begging for what I had to offer. Even when the woman was on top and riding my cock, it did not have the same sense as what I felt now being penetrated by the rubber tube strapped to Peggy's pubis. Peggy was still a sleek greyhound to my bulldog, but it was the muscles in her buttocks and thighs, not mine, that were pumping as she rammed her shaft into my yielding flesh. I lay on my back quivering as I willingly submitted to her. I wondered if I looked to Peggy like my wife looked to me when I pumped my tool into her.

I knew my wife was watching me, but I couldn't get up the courage to look at her. What did she think of her husband being fucked in the ass by a long-legged woman wearing a strap-on. 

Then I heard Jocelyn let out a moan that was a distinctive mixture of pain and pleasure. There was only one explanation. I knew what had happened, but I looked anyway.

Jocelyn was on her side with one leg held straight in the air and the other pulled up almost to her chin. Mei lay behind Jocelyn with her fingers holding the folds of my wife's pussy apart. Her cunt hole gaped open. Jocelyn looked like a Hindu deity with one pair of legs extending up and another pair extended down from her ass. Mei's legs seemed firmly attached to Jocelyn's body by the rod jammed in my wife's butt hole.

Mei winked at me and shoved the replica of a cock deeper inside Jocelyn. Mei was fucking my wife but she was giving me the come-on. The woman who was taking my wife's ass wanted my cock in hers. 

My wife looked at me intensely. Her face was distorted with passion. She closed her eyes tightly and began to moan uncontrollably as she had the first small orgasm in what promised to be a long series. The cum from a series of strangers squirted from her open cunt hole as her pussy clenched with her spasms.

I looked over at Roger and Eric. Roger had pressed his chest into Eric's back and driven his cock all the way in. Their bodies were still. Roger's hand was wrapped around Eric's cock and was pumping furiously. Eric grunted and squirted a load of cum between Roger's fingers. Roger's face contorted as Eric's muscles contracted on the cock he had buried deep in Eric's butt. A short series of thrusts signaled that Roger had cum. A limp and shiny cock slid out of the big man's ass as he collapsed exhausted on the bed. Eric's tight grip had stripped the condom off Roger's wilting shaft. The end of the tube stuck out of the Eric's puckered hole. Roger grabbed the ring of Latex and extracted the cum filled bag from his friend's asshole and then collapsed on the bed beside him.

Nora had mounted Peggy with one end of a double ended dildo thrust in her cunt and the other end thrust in her friend's bum. Nora timed her strokes just opposite of Peggy's for maximum effect. A half foot of glistening purple silicone was exposed and then hidden again with each stroke.

I felt the full force of each thrust as Peggy bottomed out inside me and then I felt the shudder as Nora thrust into Peggy. I could not hold out any longer. What little fluid I had left splattered my face as my body was folded over and my cock driven toward my face by the force of two women ramming into me.

The stimuli was overloading my senses but I did not have the strength to protest. I shuddered violently one last time as Nora pulled Peggy off me and pushed her flat into the mattress between the two men and me.

Peggy continued to submit to the insistent pounding from Nora's cock until her face twisted into a mask of orgasm. Drops of fluid squirted from Nora's pussy and ran down her legs as Peggy's orgasm sent her over the brink. Nora relented and withdrew the probe from Peggy's backside and then removed the section that she had shoved into her pussy. The contorted expression on Peggy's face relaxed into a contented smile.

For several minutes, the room was in complete silence except for the sound of six nude bodies breathing.

My wife snuggled behind me and nibbled on my earlobe. She was the first to break the silence.

"I have got to get me one of those!"

10.

Runners who are about to give up with exhaustion sometimes discover a renewed strength that powers them over the finish line. They call it a "second wind".

I felt like that. 

Jocelyn and I had been a wild couple when we were younger. We were adventurous. What we liked, we'd do again. What we didn't like, we would chalk up to experience. Our relationship was loving and committed but the possibility of sex outside the relationship gave us a vitality that we had lost in our respectability. 

Tomorrow would be different. Tonight had made us both proud. She could still arouse passions in the most jaded of swingers. I had proved to be her long-lasting stud. We had both found our second wind.

....

If you found some of the sex in my stories disgusting, then I have a dirtier mind than you do. If you found this site and read any of the stories, then some people find you disgusting. I make no apologies for either of us. Sex should be fun. Take what you want and leave the rest.

I would love to hear what you were doing when you read my stories. If you stroked yourself or gave your lover a wet kiss in the crotch, tell me about it. I enjoy being a voyeur almost as much as I love swinging. I will respond to all messages that include an email address.

Peggy is a real woman. You can see her picture and read her profile on Literotica. Search authors for Peggy46.