Installment 5

"Stand up, honey," Mr. Miller repeated, holding out his hand for her, "Show Bob what you got.”

She looked horrified.

So Mr. Miller crouched and leaned close to her and, as he spoke to her softly, words that Bob did not hear, he gently took her hands and drew them apart and she put them down to the floor so that Bob saw her breasts sqaushed against her thighs, her nipples still pressed to, covered by her knees; then, gently taking hold her knees, Mr. Miller parted them, drew them down so that she exposed herself completely, and sitting with her legs splayed obscenely, and Bob grinned to take in the full view of her tits and her gaping randy raw cunt.  Karen looked into open space, feeling awkward and ashamed; she sat tautly, aware of their stares on her body, especially between her legs, and her erect nipples revealed her feelings. She looked distressed, but she did not cry.

Bob saw this: her tension, her shame and also her evident sexual arousal.  Miller backed up to sit on his stool.   He said to Bob: "What do you think?"

"God damn," Bob said. 

"Yes," agreed Miller. 

Bob could not help himself.  "Can I fuck her?"

Miller laughed at Karen's reaction, a look of instant shock and confusion, looking back and forth at Miller and Bob and when Bob moved toward her, she cowered again in the corner, drawing up her legs, embracing her knees. She looked frightened.

Bob reassured her with a wink: "I won't hurt you."

Miller admitted he had not fucked her.  Bob looked at him incredulously. 

Miller said, nodding at Karen's dismay: "She wasn't ready."

Bob looked down at Karen's face too; she turned her head away. 

"I think she will now." Miller added quietly.

Miller got up and said to Karen, holding his hand out for her.  "Come on, honey. Get up "

Karen took his hand after a moment and he drew her up with strength she did not expect and Bob stood near facing her and looking her up and down. 

Again, my poor wife had never had intercourse with anyone but me and I only ever did it once a day, at most.  She was now about to be fucked by two men and perhaps repeatedly.  I don't need to go into all the details. 

Miller and Bob did not kiss her, and not kissing her lips added to the shame she felt.  Not kissing her, this was not "love-making," but fucking her for the sake of fucking her.  And she knew it.

Still they gave her a lot of foreplay, watching her expression as they did, tenderly teasing her nipples, touching and teasing the slit of her cunt, especially the sensitive area at the top of it, against her pubic bone, and talked sweetly to reassure her; Mr. Miller telling her he loved her, and kissing her shoulders as he stood behind her, while Bob, in front of her, used his hands or mouth on her nipples.

Miller behind her while Bob in front: Miller groped her buttock; Bob her breasts, Bob slathered her nipples with his tongue, and while both together fingered her from the front and the back at the same time; and she stood submissively, without refusing, and occasionally vocally responded to the sharp sensations she received, I suppose that this was the first night she had abandoned herself to a real orgasm. 

I was not an inattentive lover, but I did not value her pleasure as they did.  They wanted to pleasure her as a matter of power over her.

While Bob took off his pants, folding them neatly and putting them on the workbench, Miller continued finger-fucking her, speaking to her in endearing terms. Karen, closing her eyes so as not to look at Bob's lewd sarcastic gaze, began to cry real tears (so Bob said to me with a grin).  "Nerves," he told me.

Bob took off his shirt--he had no undershirt--then stripped out of his undrpants. His cock was already turgid is larger than mine. Karen openned her eyes and looked at it.

Seeing her interest, Bob asked Miller: "She suck cock?"

Karen looked at Miller anxiously, shocked.

Miller laughed at her. Bob grinned. "Good," he said.

Bob took her head by her hair and forced her to her knees.

She resisted little, Bob said. She clutched his legs. Her hands were cold, he said. She was shivering. He forced his cock into her mouth.

He pumped his cock with his hand like he was priming a pump and like a pump he soon gushed into her mouth.

She remained submissive in a shocked and teary-eyed expression.

She gulped his cum readily and without hesitation or disgust.

Bob told me my wife actually sucked on the glans as he stood there, holding it for her, sucking up the rest of his ejaculation like a baby taking a nipple.

"She sucked good," he said to me.

Then Miller stepping up behind my wife, lifted her to her feet and guided her to turn and told her softly what to do—to bend over, to take hold of the stool, and spread her legs—and told her what they were going to do to her— both were going to fuck her like "doggies do it" (that was the way he said it, Bob told me)—and she nodded through tears; she understood; and she did as she was guided.

Bob said she sobbed out loud as she bent over to surrender to them, and Bob and Miller stepped behind her and nudged her legs to spread them wider and as Bob felt of her vagina between her buttock, and taking hold of his prick stepped into place and easily slipped it up and into her vagina deeply. 

From the picture I saw, Bob has a pretty big prick.  About 10 inches or more, as large and as thick as the handle of heavy maul.  Easily twice what Miller's is in girth and length, and much bigger than my own, and it surprised her and she gasped as he plunged it in.  She closed her eyes as he fucked her.  She responded to Bob with humiliating grunts out loud.  (Or so Bob enjoyed telling me)

While he stroked, reaching under her to grab her bobbling tits, or gripping her hips to pull her back hard on his thrusts, Miller watched with satisfaction from his stool.  As Bob's strokes got more violent, Miller knew it would be his turn soon and stood up and drew off his undershorts.  When Bob ejaculated again, he actually shouted and it surprised her and humiliated her, and she remarked to me how she felt his ejaculation jetting inside of her; it seemed so large and it lasted so long.  Without saying it, I knew she was comparing to how little mine own was by comparison.

Miller then took his turn, more gently mounting, going in easily on another man's cum and her own.  Miller fucked her more slowly and gently and leaned to kiss her bare back and delighted in toying with her nipples as he fucked her.  When he came inside her, he went rigid and stood still just before she felt him flood inside of herself too, and now with his climax, she climaxed and sobbed and shuddered; her arms trembled.  As I have said, I had never experienced this with her as yet.

As he withdrew he kissed her back again and she made to rise and turn but Mr. Miller put his hand on her back and said: "No, honey . . .  not yet. Bob's gonna take another turn."  And she looked at two of them, almost speaking, but nodded, and returned to her submissive position; her eyes closed, but her tears subsided.  Bob entered almost immediately and again fucked her forcefully, the sloppy sound of the wet fuck, and the sound of his thighs slapping against her buttock; the slapping making her buttock ripple and her tits bobble.

She braced herself stiffly as Bob fucked her vigorously, Miller watching it all with eager intensity.  Her legs stiffened, her arms stiffly grasping the stool, white-knuckled, her head raised up and eyes shut tightly, then mewling with her mouth tightly closed, lips pursed, to the rhythm of the strokes Bob put to her. 

Bob said when he shot off the second time inside of her she opened her mouth and made a moo sound like a cow.  Both of them laughed at her and she, flushed or blushing, panted to catch her breath while Miller stepped up to take another fuck.

Miller was mostly spent so he had to pump away so very long that both were weary and tired, and Karen bent and put her forearms on the stool seat and dropped her head, panting along with his strokes. 

This time, Miller did not fuck her nicely. He spanked her as he fucked her.  He spanked her smartly enough to get a rise of color on her rump.  She whimpered at this—and said so sweetly "Owee, Ow, Ow,” so Bob said—but did try to stop him and did not protest and never rose up.  Her legs were trembling as he finally thrust in hard and as deep as he could go with his dick and popped his load into her.

When he pulled out, she sort of slithered backwards to the floor and curled there with her eyes close.

Bob got dressed and sat on a stool and looked at her, shaking his head with amazement, and saying again, "God damn, Al."

Miller, who also dressed now, said: "What did I tell you?"

Bob tried talking to her as Miller went out to the shop and fussed about and turned out lights, but Karen did not respond.  She remembered what he said though: "Your husband is one lucky son of a bitch."  It burned her.  She almost started crying again.

Miller came back in with her clothing.  He opened a file cabinet drawer and put her slip, her bra, panties and pantyhose into it and held her dress as he looked down where she lay and said: "You're leaking cum on the carpet, honey." She stirred and sat up, her legs spread obscenely, and it was true, cum was back-flowing from her vagina, and oozing down the crack of her cunt.  She said: "I'm sorry " and wiped her tear-stained face with her hands and looked at him pathetically. 

"Get up," he ordered. "Sit down " nodding to the other stool.  He squatted down and used her dress to rub out the little puddle of cum.  He said: "Hope my wife does not see."

He looked at the dress. "Hope your husband doesn't see," and laughed.  "Or your red-ass either, honey.  Better be careful not to show him."

She looked at him unhappily and seemed dazed by it all.  Sitting naked in front of these men, especially this stranger whom Mr. Miller had not even bothered to introduce to her but had readily invited to let him fuck her, was still anxious for her, and his looking at her breasts and down between her legs still made her sexually giddy.  Her nipples were still poking out, like she was cold, but that was not it.

She looked down at herself, ashamed.  Bob leered.  He said to Miller: "Look at that " and all of them saw how the ejaculations she had taken seeped out from her swollen labia, and had drooled to the stool. 

Miller put a couple finger in it and scooped up a gob of it and lifted it up to my wife's mouth and without a word to her she put her mouth on his fingers, trying to avoid the eyes of Bob who said: "Goddamn." She sucked it off his fingers, swallowed. She looked flustered and ashamed, but she looked up at him when he drew the fingers from her mouth, and so he teased her: "Taste good?" He paused looked at her flushed face, her eyes diverted then, and he asked: "You want more?"

Al got up stood and looked at his workbench and fished in a drawer and fished for the teaspoon that he used to sugar his tea; Karen watching, confused.

Miller kept a stern expression. Bob also. Quite serious. 

Bob told me about this and looked at my face to see my reaction and I think I must have turned color just as she did.

Al approached her and looking closely, crouched between her wide spread legs, put the tip of the teaspoon into the creamy drool of ejaculate running between the florid flesh and scalloped folds of her cunt, pressing and lifting through the seeping lurid oozy slit and filling the spoon with cum, she watched with fascination. 

She opened her mouth slightly.  "Wider," he said. 

She did as she was told, looking at him sheepishly, and he fed it to her and she ate it, making her lick the spoon as he withdrew it and then taking up more with the spoon, scooping runny cum up out of her cunt.

"Feeding her cum like he was feeding a baby," Bob said. ,

"Again," Al said, holding the spoonful for her. "Open wide."

He coaxed her and teased her to take each mouthful, spoonful after spoonful, one after another, spooning cum to her mouth from her oozy cunt, as she watched him gather it up, watching him lift it to her mouth, which she obediently opened for him, feeding her like a baby. He fed her several spoonsful. 

"Like it was baby food, you know, like that cereal they feed babies . . ." Bob told me, laughing, shaking his head. "Cream of Cum... Yum Yum. . ."

Bob said he put the spoon inside her vagina and turned it and scrapped to get out as much of the cum as he could and she ate every spoonful she was given. 

She looked deeply ashamed, Bob said, but he repeated: "She never said no.  She liked it, I swear, she did. Makes my dick hard just thinking of it.  Eating cum like it was ice cream."

When he finished, he asked her if she wanted to go home and get fucked some more.  She shook her head.  They knew what she meant. 

MIller handed her dress to her and she looked confused.  "Just put this on."

She looked confused still.

He explained: "Nothing else. Go naked underneath.  And you come to work Monday you can wear this dress and nothing else.  Nothing underneath."

She understood but looked dismayed. "And if your husband asks, tell him you get too hot at work," he added. 

Bob laughed.  "But I wouldn't let him know if I were you."  He helped her to step into the dress and turned her and zipped it up.  He told her that her shoes were out on the counter and kissed her goodnight.  She blinked and said goodnight.  Bob and Miller went down to his bar after she was out the door.  I expect there was a lot of conversation about it all down at the bar that night.

This was when I started getting suspicious because when Karen came home she went to the bathroom and took a shower right away and came out in her bathrobe and said almost nothing to me and went right to bed.  I found her dress, rinsed out and drying, hanging on the shower curtain rod.  And too when I went to bed and snuggled up and lifted her nightgown to make love, spooning like we sometime do, I found her to be more than just a little ready to take me that way.  I mean, that she seemed well and fully lubricated, and she was responsive; in fact unusually sexually aroused.

One week later it all blew up, but now I know that her days were compulsively sexual, doing what Mr. Miller wanted.  I think back on it now and I see how she could not stop thinking about it, worrying, anticipating it, but I think she felt more obsession than anxiety, pitched to fervor of sexual feelings, more than dreading what she knew she must do.

I think she could not stop thinking about it, even when she was home.  She was distant, truly dreamy.  She talked little, seemed lost in thought.  She thought things she could not stop thinking.  And, in a word, I found her to be almost randy sometimes.  She almost wanted me every night, and was more expressive when we made love than ever before and sometimes she wanted me to do it to her a second time and she had ideas of what she wanted.  And for the first time I was certain that she had orgasms like I did. I felt them in her body.  All of this was new.  She even wanted me to masturbate while she watched and was fascinated by my erection and my ejaculation and even tasted it.  I was not unwilling to let her be more liberated, but this was so sudden and not like her.  All this built up over the next two weeks and then, as I said, everything exploded.