Thy Neighbor's Wife
(and Other Sins)
A Fantasy
by
Copyright 2001 © Richard O Steele. All rights reserved
Prologue
Peter felt his airplane start to descend for a landing at Philadelphia International Airport. Most of the flight had been above the cloud cover, and so the scenery outside the plane had been uniformly uninteresting. That stultifying uniformity, he knew, was about to change dramatically. Notwithstanding his profound grogginess on account of a serious sleep deficit, Peter made a point of opening his eyes to experience the glistening display of bright lights that proclaimed his flight's presence over the Delaware River Valley. Only moments later Peter's US Airways flight would touch down on the runway; minutes after that, his startlingly gorgeous wife would be lovingly greeting him in the terminal. Peter knew that she was not only going to be happy to see him after his short business trip but extremely hot to make love as well.
Peter sighed. Deeply. His wife was extremely beautiful, an absolute head-turner. In addition, she was as enthusiastic a lover as a guy could imagine. Or want. As he peered out the airplane window, Peter's huge cock was as fully extended and stiff as that member could possibly get. Yet Peter was not sporting a giant woody in anticipation of crawling into the marital bed with his almost unimaginably gorgeous wife; he was, rather, in a high state of sexual excitement on account of his memory of the huge pair of tits he had been fondling, squeezing, licking ... yes ... and fucking, too, earlier in the day.
These melon-sized breasts did not belong to his wife, however. Therein lay a problem ... a big problem. Peter had never before cheated on his wife. During his flight home, the chastened fellow had resolved never to repeat this dastardly deed. Yet the mere act of recalling those massive knockers had kept Peter in a fully aroused state for the entire length of his flight home. Peter had a real problem ... he was going to have to figure out a way to get his mind off that huge extra-marital bosom and focused back on his wife's considerable charms. If he could not, Peter was going to find himself in some real trouble!
Peter sighed again. Those big tits had been so arousing! And his wife's bosom was so tiny! This problem might prove to be very difficult to resolve!
As the angle of their descent deepened, the crew walked though the cabin to make sure that the passengers' seat backs were upright, their tray tables in their up and fully-locked position, and their seat belts fastened. As Peter continued his musing while staring out the window, he suddenly realized that his enormous, jutting boner was still obscenely poking through his trousers. Jesus! The huge log was on full, if covered, display!
Peter quickly grabbed his copy of the Los Angeles Times and hurriedly placed it on his lap in order to conceal his massive hard-on. As he did so he looked up into the wide, staring eyes of a very attractive stewardess. Her eyes were crinkled in amusement. Oh, oh! It was clearly too late! She had already spotted his gigantic erection!
"Thank you for fastening your seat belt, sir," the young woman murmured as she continued up the aisle. Was it Peter's imagination or was she swinging her shapely rump just a bit more than normal as she continued toward the front of the plane?
As she got to the curtain that separated first from coach class, the stewardess stopped to whisper something to her fellow attendant, a slightly older but still attractive woman. They shared a brief smile. The second stewardess gave the briefest nod in response and started walking toward the back of the plane. God! She began looking down to check seat backs, tray tables, and seat belts. Of course, her fellow attendant had already checked this area. Peter groaned. He knew what this was all about!
As the second stewardess reached his seat, she leaned down and momentarily but unmistakably gaped in the direction of his jutting erection. "Seat belt fastened, sir?" she asked. The question was posed in a very merry tone. Of course, the newspaper was still in Peter's lap so this attendant was denied the show that had so amused her fellow stewardess.
Peter had decided earlier that this stewardess was sky-weary and jaded from her years in the sky. So much for snap judgments!
If Peter had been single, he'd have been willing to bet he could have one of the two flight attendants in bed before the night was over. If not both! What a couple of fucking sluts! As it was, the experience — however embarrassing — was not without its benefits. His hard-on was diminishing as a result of this awkward state of affairs. As a result, he thought he might even be able to get out of his seat and leave the plane without causing a scene.
Peter retrieved his bags from the overhead bin and grabbed his suit carrier en route to the front of the plane. His two stewardess friends were standing by the door to say goodbye to the departing passengers. "Really nice to have had you aboard, hon," they whispered to Peter almost in unison as he passed by. As their eyes briefly met, Peter could sense that the two were expressing a high degree of sexual interest in this particular passenger. What a couple of whores!
Chapter One
Philadelphia bankers, at least the traditional Center City variety, are invariably undertaker thin, grim-faced, habitually clad in three-piece pinstriped suits, partial to rimless glasses, and fond of examining their customers as if they were pitiable specimens on a microscope slide. Or so they exist in the popular mind.
If a friend had invoked this image of a staid Philadelphia banker, Peter Strawbridge Wyeth would simply have laughed. Peter certainly was a banker and a life-long Philadelphian to boot; however, he signally failed to reflect the rest of this Dickensian image.
For one thing, Peter favored Armani or Missoni suits of clothes from Boyd's or stylish custom made suits from Wayne Edwards over the more traditional cuts available at Brooks Brothers or J Press, his college clothier. Far from doing business with a stern face, Peter was the soul of affability; he liked his customers and they liked him back. In addition, Peter wore his hair a bit longer than the average banker. Frankly, he looked less like a banker; more like an advertising executive.
In addition, although Peter was trim and slim, he was far from gaunt and cadaverous. To the contrary, his many strenuous hours a week in the weight room had given him a buffed, muscular body. The hours he devoted each week to running and swimming had given his appearance a vital, healthy glow. And as for glasses ... well ... they were probably decades down the road in light of Peter's 20/15 vision.
Peter was also much more handsome than the typical banker — or the average guy in general for that matter! His regular, finely chiseled but very masculine features made many a heart flutter — probably those of both genders! From prep school on, Peter's good looks were so striking that he had always been known as an absolute "face man". Peter had leading man looks, no doubt about it.
This combination of qualities insured that fellow diners, lunching important clients at Le Bec Fin or The Striped Bass on Walnut Street, were so struck by Peter's good looks and charismatic bearing that they invariably conjectured about who the guy at the table over there might be. That he was a somebody was simply assumed. Peter had absolute presence. He just looked like a celebrity.
"Is he the anchorman on the 11:00 news?" a diner might ask. Another would have been certain he was a famous actor; he just couldn't put his finger on his name. Yet another was sure that Peter was a famous athlete but — God! — was he that quarterback for the Jets, or what's his name, that pitcher for the Dodgers! Or perhaps a Congressman "whose name escapes me for the moment."
The point is that Peter was a total hunk who exuded oodles of presence. Whenever he walked into a room — any room, it seemed — he instantly became the center of attention.
This was especially the case among women. Peter, it seems, exuded not simply presence but a generous burst of hormones as well. It was as if women who caught a glimpse of Peter were leveled by a blast of pheromones from the handsome, sexy banker merely from being in his general neighborhood.
The five-star restaurants on Walnut Street he patronized were usually packed with absolutely the most gorgeous women in the city. A healthy percentage of these women intuitively sensed Peter's raw eroticism and tried in response to catch his eye at some point during the meal. Peter would glance back, crinkle his eyes, engage in an appreciative but subtle appraisal of their beauty, smile genially in their general direction, but ... that would be that!
Peter hadn't always been so cool and elusive. Not by a long shot! In his earlier days, Peter's reaction would have been far more interactive than a simple smile and a quick return to his luncheon of rapini and cheese-stuffed ravioli nipped with a touch of anchovy butter. That is, Peter had long enjoyed one of the most active social lives imaginable. After the sun had gone down, Peter had rarely been without a stunningly beautiful woman on his arm. Lots of them, it should be added, were cradled in his arms when the morning sun streamed through the windows of his Rittenhouse Square bachelor apartment.
Peter had extraordinarily good luck in meeting women, even though he only bothered to hit on really sensational beauties. Even in that rarified milieu, however, Peter's matinee idol looks and overwhelming charm ensured that he was infrequently turned down. His batting average, even with fabulously good-looking babes, hovered around the .950 mark!
The handsome banker was a very demanding suitor. Not only did he require the objects of his advances to have faces that were stunningly gorgeous but he could not be bothered with them if their legs and butts were not equally sensational. He demanded as well that they be extremely hot and sensual lovers. Peter, in short, was exclusively on the lookout for drop-dead gorgeous sexual athletes.
Satisfying the fabulous looks requirement was easy; that was what God had given him 20/15 vision for. Surprisingly, though, every single girl with whom Peter had kept company had turned out to be a sizzling hot and passionate lover. Peter's good looks undoubtedly played a role in this string of good luck. At the same time his phenomenal, truly extraordinary skills as a lover surely played a greater role. Peter embodied the truth of the French aphorism that there are no frigid women, only clumsy men.
Of course, the fact of Peter's amazing prowess as a lover was not immediately apparent to a woman catching her first glimpse of the handsome fellow. Still, Peter was so good looking that it was common for beautiful women to come up and hit on him! Not very long after that, these girls would, assuming they met Peter's exacting standards, discover the rest of the story! In loving detail!
Peter well recalled one early Friday evening after work. He had repaired to the lounge at the Sofetil Hotel on South 17th Street for a couple of drinks and some peanuts when, soon after parking himself at the bar, he spotted an old girl friend sitting in a booth. He and Deborah, a stunning ash blonde beauty, had enjoyed a very hot relationship for nearly a year. It had eventually become clear that she was much more interested in exploring the possibility of a conjugal state than Peter; the two regretfully broke up when it became clear that this problem was not resolvable — at least not within Deborah's timetable. Still, the two had managed to make the transition from lovers to friends — a rare thing — and so they often shared a chaste lunch or an after-work drink in order to catch up with each other's lives.
This time, though, Deborah was sitting with another girl. They were whispering; from time to time Deborah or the other girl would direct a sly glance in Peter's direction. The handsome banker subtly rolled his eyes. He hoped that Deborah was not giving away the family secrets.
Her pal was absolutely stunning! In fact, she was unbelievably good looking! This girl, who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, was a raven-haired ultra-beauty with sensational legs. She was wearing a blue, pinstriped business suit with a remarkably short skirt. The hem was all the way up to here! She definitely had the legs and thighs to pull it off, though. And if that were not enough, her gorgeous face made her a true traffic stopper.
To Peter's surprise, the young woman suddenly got up out of the booth, briskly walked over to Peter, and introduced herself! Just like that!
"Hi, I'm Jennifer Finnegan. I'm a friend of Deborah's, and she said that, well, you were a really great guy and, you know, she just knew I would enjoy meeting you. So, I thought, 'what the heck, why be bashful,' and decided, like, to just come on up and say hello. So, hello, Peter!" The two then shook hands, though Peter retained Jennifer's hand in his for a longer period than a businesslike handshake would normally require.
Jennifer turned out to be an associate at Drinker Biddle, Philadelphia's most gilt-edged law firm. She had recently graduated from the UVa School of Law, had just moved to town, and was only beginning to get to know people. With looks like that, Peter knew she would not be lonely for long! Her dance card would be filled in no time!
Peter was surprised that the old codgers at Drinker Biddle, a notably crusty and conservative place, allowed an associate to wear a skirt quite that short. He assumed, though, that in the case of legs like Jennifer's, much could be forgiven. In any event, it did not take Peter long to move Jennifer into a booth and then, two drinks later, to ask her out for the evening.
Well, Jennifer may have come up merely to say hello but she never did get to say goodbye — at least not until their final jaw-breaking French kiss the next day. That kiss did not take place until after Peter and Jennifer had made love for the eleventh time of their budding relationship at 2:00 p.m. on Saturday afternoon. The gorgeous woman turned out to be sexually insatiable. In Peter, she had found a perfect match!
Jennifer was so beautiful and so hot! She was also a bit flat chested — she could best be described as a full A-cup, if such a thing exists — but her drop-dead gorgeous face, curvy rump, sleek thighs, and killer legs made that one shortcoming quite forgivable. The young lawyer was extremely intelligent and really sweet as well. She and Peter became an item for the better part of two years until, as with Deborah, the issue of marriage — or cohabitation at the very least! — reared its insistent head.
Peter knew that he was slow to commit. He knew he had the reputation of a guy who simply could not be corralled. Peter did not think, though, that he had a problem with commitment. It was simply that he had decided he would never move in with a girl — let alone marry her! — until he was certain she was absolutely The One. It could have been called an old-fashioned approach to love; Peter preferred to label it careful and prudent. So far, of course, he had yet to meet that girl.
Jennifer was so close to that standard! She was so very beautiful. Her curves — most of them, anyway — were so lush. She was so smart and so sweet. Above all, she was so ardent and accomplished a lover. What more could a fellow want?
The problem — the only problem! — was there were moments in the relationship when the undeniable differences in their personalities caused sharp but temporary rifts. As he looked into the future, Peter just knew that these personal differences would loom larger and larger over time. A marriage to Jennifer, Peter knew in his heart, was going to experience some serious downs. Worse yet, as time went on, the downs would occupy an increasingly large percentage of the whole. A marriage to Jennifer would in the long run be a huge mistake.
Nor was cohabitation a better idea. If he were never going to marry the girl, moving in with Jennifer would be an equally huge mistake. It would not simply postpone the day of reckoning but make that day a whole lot more painful when it finally arrived!
Regretfully, then, Peter had to say "no" and "no" to Jennifer's broad hints that they either live together or ... more! As with Deborah, the inability to agree on this subject led to a rupture. In contrast with Deborah, Peter and Jennifer were unable to part on friendly terms. This time things got nasty! Words were spoken, and that was that! Oh, well! At the least, the bitterness of their break-up confirmed for Peter the rightness of his decision.
Peter and Deborah had lunch at the Prime Rib soon after the breakup. Peter was still a little sad about the end of the relationship — had he made the right decision, he wondered? — but he did want to thank Deborah for encouraging Jennifer to introduce herself that fateful evening. It had certainly been fun while it lasted!
Deborah laughed. In fact, she chortled so violently that she nearly choked on her prime rib sandwich. "You mean Jennifer didn't tell you what really happened?" she asked after regaining her composure.
"No, what?"
Deborah started to giggle again. "Well, you're not going to believe this but.... We were sitting in a booth when you came in and sat down at the bar. I poked Jennifer and said, 'See that guy at the bar? The really good looking one in the gray pinstripes?' 'Yeah,' Jennifer replied, 'he really is cute!' 'Well,' I said, 'that guy has the biggest dick in Philadelphia!' 'Really!' Jennifer exclaimed. 'Really!' I said. 'No doubt about it — I mean, Jen, we're talking sixteen inches and thick as your forearm here! It's unbelievable!'"
Deborah paused for dramatic effect. "'What's his name?' Jennifer asked, her voice a shade thick. 'Peter Wyeth,' I answered, 'and I should add that his sixteen inches is not just ornamentation. Take it from someone who knows — Peter might also be the most virile guy in Philly. I mean, he can make love all night long ... keep it stiff for hours ... and then get it up again in no time flat. Peter just never runs out of steam ... he's a phenomenon!'"
By now Deborah had a wistful look on her face. "Then I told her that 'plus, he's such an accomplished lover! He knows ways to get girls excited that I had never heard of! And when it comes to satisfying a woman, well, Peter is unbelievable! He should be declared a national treasure! And his cock a national monument!'" Deborah then paused and smiled. "I hope I wasn't telling stories out of school!"
"Well, yes you were," Peter smiled in return. "Absolutely! But no harm done. Quite the contrary, in fact!" Peter then grinned. "I don't know if I can live up to those notices, though!"
"Well, you do, darling," Deborah continued "Anyway, Jennifer got the strangest, dreamiest look on her face. 'How do you know all this?' she demanded. 'Well,' I acknowledged, 'we used to date for a while. That's how!' 'Thanks,' Jennifer replied, and bolted out of the booth as if she had been shot from a cannon! Before I knew it you two were in a booth making eyes at each other. And the rest, I guess, was history. That was the easiest fix up I ever brokered! Jennifer was a girl who definitely knew what she wanted and how to go about getting it!"
On a number of counts, therefore, Peter was quite used to being an object of desire. Back in his salad days it was his pleasure to accommodate the most stunningly beautiful of his admirers. It's just that he was simply not in the market for playmates any longer — certainly not at the moment we first encountered him.
It wasn't just the gold band on the third finger of his left hand that had kept Peter on the straight and narrow. It was that the home cooking provided by his wife was so satisfying that he saw no need to look for snacks in the outside world. Peter's wife, Amanda, was simply a fabulous looking woman. She was seven years Peter's junior, 5' 6", 105 pounds, mouthwateringly curvy with long, full dark hair, and just stunningly, almost shockingly, beautiful. Her measurements when they met were a mouthwatering 32-19-32. This girl had both the face and the figure. What a beauty!
They met when Peter attended his ten-year class reunion at Yale. It was held over the three-day Memorial Day weekend. While walking across the campus to a Skull and Bones cocktail party, he encountered an almost impossibly gorgeous coed whose good looks were so utterly remarkable that he actually stopped her and affected a need for directions to his next event. How transparent! But he just couldn't let a girl like that get away without at least trying to hit on her! What a looker she was!
The young knockout was a real prep. She wearing a very short Villager skirt — she must have hemmed it up herself — that generously displayed a remarkable pair of legs. She was wearing a dark blue cardigan sweater over a light blue cashmere sweater and was holding her books to her chest. Peter was unable as a result to check out her development in that area.
No matter, Peter's attention was quickly drawn to the young beauty's other attributes ... her flawless, milky white skin, for example. He especially noticed how it contrasted perfectly with the girl's long, thick, auburn hair, which flowed about halfway down her back.
The young coed's face was just breathtakingly, almost impossibly, beautiful. She had a soft chin and a pert nose that framed a generous, sensual mouth. Her eyes particularly struck Peter; they were deep-set, mysterious pools that seemed to radiate both character and a keenly honed intelligence.
The truth was that this girl was so remarkably good-looking that Peter simply had to stop her on some pretext. She looked awfully young; still, if Peter did not try to strike up something with her, he knew he would regret this missed potential opportunity for years!
Hitting on the young beauty did create some mixed feelings, though. Peter felt a bit embarrassed about making a pass at the young kid at all — cradle snatching was the phrase that ran though his head — because she appeared to be an eighteen-year-old freshman or a young-looking sophomore at most, and he was 31! That was clearly much too great an age difference, even if she was incredibly beautiful and even though he looked a lot younger than his years.
Still, Peter simply couldn't help himself because the young knockout was such an absolute jaw-dropper! He just would never forgive himself if he did not at least give it a shot. At the least, he had to investigate the situation. There was no harm in simply trolling to find out how old she was in fact ... was there? If she really was eighteen, well, he could just accept the directions to his cocktail party and regretfully move on. If not, however ... well! ... then an entirely different story might be there to be told! It was worth a little research, no doubt about it.
It should be noted at this point that Peter felt justified in hitting on this young girl in terms of his own situation because he was still a footloose bachelor and thus free to pursue likely candidates for his company. There were at the moment no long-term replacements for Deborah and Jennifer in his life.
Not that he was ever lacking for female companionship though. As we have seen, on account of his youthful good looks and charm Peter frankly had the pick of the crop. Once he got involved with one of these beauties, his expertise as a lover and his truly remarkable sexual equipment left them panting for more. Lots more! But at the moment Peter was not seriously involved with anyone, so he stopped the young girl with a clear conscience on that score at least.
To Peter's surprise and delight, he found in the course of flirting with this remarkable knockout that she was not an undergraduate at all but a Ph.D. candidate in American History. She let slip in the conversation that she was actually 24 years old! Wow! That was barely but acceptably within the age difference zone. And what's more, her body language was screaming loud and clear that she was highly receptive to his approaches. Double wow!
Peter decided on the spot that he would take a pass on the evening's scheduled events and ask Amanda to dinner instead. To his mild surprise but great delight (he assumed a girl that beautiful just had to be firmly hooked up with some guy or at least going out that evening with some lucky fellow) she promptly and enthusiastically accepted.
The truth is that Peter was in luck, for on almost any other night the gorgeous coed would have almost reflexively said, "No" — even to Peter! Her startling good looks had forced her early on to learn how to deliver a firm but abrupt brush-off, albeit in a kind and polite manner.
What's more, Amanda was indeed involved with a man — seriously involved. Her boyfriend, a rich and handsome second-year Yale law student named Stith Bennett, had gone to Washington to visit college friends for the long holiday weekend, however, and so she had no plans for the evening. In light of that fact, Amanda decided that she was not yet so completely committed to Stith as to rule out accepting a one-time dinner invitation from this super sexy, remarkably nice, sweet, total hunk of a guy. Besides, Peter was so handsome that he made her head hurt! It would have been hard to say no to a total stud like Peter under any circumstances! Still, on any other night she would have done it because she'd have had plans with Stith.
She quite surprised herself with that decision because, let's face it, Amanda's drop-dead gorgeous looks meant that she was getting hit on just all the time. Since she had starting going with Stith — a notable hunk himself — she invariably did say no to these approaches. Often, in fact. But, what the heck? ... Peter was just here for the weekend, and Stith wasn't — so what's the harm? And Peter was so awfully good-looking ... and built, too! She could tell he was a bit older, as well; it would be fun to be with a guy who was probably a tad more suave and sophisticated than 23-year-old Stith. She liked her boyfriend a lot — a whole lot! — but he could be a bit immature at times. Stepping out just once with an unalloyed grownup would be a treat.
An evening out from her relationship with Stith, Amanda decided, would probably just make her appreciate her boyfriend all the more. Besides, she suspected that Stith was about to offer her a ring; this might, therefore, be her last chance ever to enjoy another guy's company. Such were the rationalizations that the beautiful young woman spun to justify a decision she knew in her heart she had no business making!
As things turned out, there was no harm — to Peter and Amanda, that is! Stith, on the other hand, came back to New Haven to find to his utter shock and dismay that he was suddenly and inexplicably out of the picture! Totally! He had been gone from New Haven a grand total of 58 hours! God! How was this possible? When Amanda had kissed him goodbye at the Amtrak station on Saturday morning, he had considered the two of them one tiny step away from becoming engaged! But when he got off the train, this same girl, the most sweet and gorgeous girl he had ever known — his wife-to-be, for God's sake! — handed him his walking papers! How could this be?
Peter and Amanda's date was such a success that their Saturday night together marked the beginning of a whirlwind courtship. They spent all day Sunday together as well — and then, after Peter called into the bank to take a personal day — all day Monday too!
Peter had taken Amanda back to her dorm on Saturday night. Their goodnight hugs and kisses had been so extremely passionate that he was tempted to take her back to his hotel to see if things might get even more ardent. Their wild kissing and caressing told him they would probably get a whole lot more impassioned. Yet he felt that this girl was special enough not to risk rushing. He did not want to risk putting on the moves too fast. He could sense that this girl was a genuine keeper. All in good time, therefore ... all in good time.
Peter's could tell on Sunday that his discretion and restraint the night before had been the right course of action. The couple passionately kissed hello when Peter picked Amanda up at her dorm for brunch; they kissed hello again at frequent intervals during the day. They were so hot for each other! They held hands almost without ceasing all day long and each kiss saw Amanda's tongue probe deeper and deeper down Peter's throat. And vice versa.
Finally, the hot new lovers could stand it no longer and, as a result of a mutual decision that almost announced itself, made a mid-afternoon beeline to Peter's hotel. This hardly qualified as a slow pace; however, Peter and Amanda knew to a certainty that they simply had to make love. Discretion and a measured courtship be damned!
They proceeded to make scorching hot love — and not just once! Amanda had at first been shocked — even discombobulated — at the gigantic size of Peter's genitalia. She frankly had doubts whether his outsized cock could possibly even fit! Peter was a master lover, however, and within an hour or so of her first glimpse of Peter's massive shaft, Amanda was blissfully aware that it fit just fine, thank you! In fact, as the weekend came to an end, Amanda knew in her heart that she could never live without unlimited access to Peter's stallion-sized, perpetually stiff member. She hadn't been aware of it but she had been looking for a cock like that ever since puberty!
The lovers made standard missionary-style love a couple of times; they followed those couplings with some doggie-style loving from the back; Amanda thought she would faint from the thrill of feeling such a massive hunk of male meat so deep in her body. It felt as if Peter's cockhead was somewhere up around her lungs!
Finally, Amanda proved her utter attraction to this massive member by first licking, then sucking, and finally receiving a massive jolt of jism down her throat from her lover's giant phallus. His was the second cock Amanda had ever sucked; well, she had sucked Peter's cock head, at least — taking in more than that huge fleshy bulb seemed to be impossible short of a lot of applied training and practice.
Certainly, his was the first rope of spunk she had ever swallowed. Amanda had certainly not gifted Stith with such sexual pleasures — not yet, anyway! — but with Peter it felt so right. Even though they had just met, Amanda knew that her entire being irrevocably belonged to this sweet, handsome, amazingly endowed fellow. Already, she knew there was nothing she wouldn't do for him. And from the exciting feel of his long tongue all over and then deep inside her body, and then the almost overwhelming thrill of his massive shaft up her pussy, Amanda knew that the same was true for Peter.
The newly minted lovers essentially stayed in Peter's hotel room bed from eight in the evening on Sunday until late Monday afternoon repeatedly making love. The only punctuation was visits from room service and quick potty runs. Nobody was counting but a fly on the wall would have reckoned more than a dozen notches on Peter's gun. He was an extremely virile guy to start with — multiple pops were never a problem for Peter — and with a fantastically beautiful girl like Amanda to prime his libido, well....
As for Amanda, her orgasms during this span were nearing the three-figure mark in number. She had given herself to a few, very select, boyfriends over the years, but sex had never, absolutely never, been as exciting as this! Not even close! Nobody had ever accused her of being frigid or undersexed, but Amanda had soared to heights over the weekend that she did not even know were possible!
Once she knew in her heart that the weekend was going to end up in bed, the gorgeous coed had planned to restrict their lovemaking to a single coupling. She owed at least that much to Stith. But the incredible size of Peter's cock — and, much more to the point, the things he could do with it— quickly led her to abandon that strategy! After all, with an exciting, arousing, and unbelievably accomplished partner like Peter, well....
The only problem was that the outlandish size of Peter's colossal dick was making Amanda very, very sore. She even had to beg off vaginal sex a couple of times in order to catch her breath. Still, she supposed in time she would adapt to the outrageous size of Peter's monstrous cock. In the mean time, Amanda took up the slack by sucking and jacking off her new lover. Peter certainly did not come up short simply because Amanda needed a little recovery time!
As a result, the bedclothes — and their bodies — were just caked and stained with dried jism and vaginal discharge as the marathon tryst regretfully came to an end. Peter's scrotum was pretty much tapped out and Amanda was nearly too sore to walk. Both were nearly delirious from lack of sleep. But they were both blissfully happy in the knowledge that they had gone bonkers over each other! This was for real! It went way beyond sex. Peter and Amanda were amazingly compatible; each knew in his heart that this was no mere one-night stand or weekend romance. They knew they would be making love again very, very soon. Above all, though, Peter and Amanda knew they had forged a bond between their souls as well as their bodies. This relationship was for keeps!
As the instantly devoted lovers passionately fed on each other's mouths as Peter's Philadelphia-bound train eased into the station, they both were utterly positive that they had suddenly, inexplicably, but absolutely fallen in love. Amanda knew she had found her Man, and Peter, after years of playing the field and avoiding a tackle, knew he had finally encountered The One. For both of them ... this was It! There was no doubt about it!
The only cloud on the horizon was the fact that twenty minutes after Peter's train pulled out, Stith's train would be pulling in! Peter and Amanda had talked about this problem and how to handle it. The young knockout had already rehearsed her lines with her new lover: "Stith, I know you're going to find this hard to believe but ... but ... but I met someone really special this weekend, and ... and ... it's utterly amazing but we've totally fallen in love. I know this has to be a shock, Stith, totally! — I know it was to me — I certainly didn't plan for this to happen ... but it did ... and so ... I ... I ... I'm calling it quits! I just have to! Right this very minute! I'm so awfully sorry ... but it just has to be this way. And, please, don't even try to talk me out of it, 'cause you can't. And, please — God! — especially don't call me ... not ever! You've just got to face it — Peter's the one! Goodbye, Stith!"
The couple never looked back. They were engaged within a month, and married in Richmond by the Rt Rev Peter James Lee, the Bishop of Virginia, all of four months later. The speed with which the relationship had galloped from a first meeting on the path at Yale to the High Altar at St Stephen's Church on Three Chopt Road came as total shock to the Amanda's family and friends. Amanda had been one of most hotly pursued belles in Richmond history and now she was marrying a fellow with whom, in terms of Richmond society standards at least, she was barely even acquainted! Still, once they had gotten to know Peter and had been able to size up the fellow (and his pedigree, of course), this group concluded that Amanda had chosen just the right person as her lifetime partner.
Peter's friends were well aware of his skittish aversion to commitment. They were therefore stunned to hear he was not just planning to move in with somebody he had just met but actually to marry her! When these friends first caught a glimpse of Amanda, however, they could certainly see what had motivated Peter to take this momentous step. Amanda had to be one of the most beautiful women on earth! When in addition they got to know Amanda and to appreciate her sweet, keenly intelligent personality, they fully understood why this marriage was inevitable. Amanda was a girl in a billion and Peter was wise to grab her before she got away!
The reception after the service at the Commonwealth Club — where Amanda had been presented at the German Cotillion some six years before — was both elegant and genteel. A very high percentage of the Philadelphia and Richmond entries in The Social Register appeared to be in attendance.
From his conversations with family members and Amanda's girl friends — not to mention the hangdog looks he got from a lot of very handsome fellows at the wedding reception (not including Stith, by the way; Amanda knew that to invite him would be unspeakably cruel) — Peter got the distinct impression that his union with Amanda was breaking a lot of the most eligible male hearts in Richmond, Charlottesville, New Haven, and beyond! That was a matter of course; Peter knew very well what a treasure he had snared!
The Richmond Time-Dispatch's society editor proclaimed the wedding the event of the season and Peter and Amanda the most glamorous and attractive couple in memory. The Sunday society page of The Philadelphia Inquirer enthusiastically agreed! So did the Sunday New York Times, which actually chose the ceremony as its featured wedding of the week!
That honor was in itself a notable compliment to the dazzling couple. These days, the Times rarely chose weddings that were actually solemnized in a church for this feature article, let alone one conducted according to the forms of The Book of Common Prayer. A more typical choice was a nuptial affair held in a meadow at dawn, in which the participants dug their bare feet into the wet grass while saying "I do" to an Indian Holy Man or perhaps simply to each other after reciting marriage vows they had composed themselves or perhaps shamelessly borrowed from The Prophet, that endless fount of middlebrow sentimentality.
The Wyeth's "I do's" marked the beginning of an exceptional torrid marital relationship. Amanda was not only a surpassingly gorgeous woman but an enthusiastic and passionate lover as well. She was, in fact, as hot as a firecracker and eagerly sought out her husband's body in general — and his enormous cock in particular — every single night of the week — and sometimes more than once! Or twice! And in the mornings, too!
Even her periods did not slow her down. Amanda was about as hot and ardent a lover as one could imagine, and several years of marriage had done nothing to cool off her ardor.
Starting with their honeymoon night, Peter and Amanda had made love for 579 consecutive nights. That's right — they counted! The string ended only when Peter was sent out of town on a rare business trip and the couple had to take an enforced three-day break from each other. Even at that, they had engaged in impassioned phone sex during Peter's absence, so in a sense the record could be said to have continued!
Amanda was certainly the hottest number Peter had ever bedded down. And since Peter was the farthest thing from a shrinking violet ... she was perfect! They were perfect!
Well ... almost perfect. Peter's one regret was that Amanda was more than a bit flat chested. There had really been very little by way of a bosom hiding behind those books Amanda had clutched to her chest during her first encounter with her husband-to-be on the Yale campus. As a graduate student, Amanda had worn a 32A-cup bra; three years later, she claimed to have grown into a 32B-cup. Peter suspected, however, that she must have to pack a little tissue paper in her brassiere to fill up all the space available in an undergarment of that size. Her tits were just not very big at all!
Peter had often heard that any breast size beyond what one could fit in one's mouth was mere surplus. This theory seemed wrong-headed, though, for it ignored the thrill of simply looking at, and then mauling, a huge set of knockers.
What's more, Amanda's tits were so tiny that when Peter sucked one of them into his mouth, there actually was space left over in his oral cavity for a bit more breast tissue! Under even the standard test, therefore, Amanda was decidedly lacking in the chest department.
Peter had, every since prep school, had a thing about big tits — they really turned him on. The strange thing was that he had never actually dated a girl with a huge rack. Still less had he ever even fondled a huge breast. It was, therefore, the lure of the unknown — or at least of the never experienced — that captivated him in this department.
His interest, so far as he could pin it down, arose while he was attending St Mark's. His roommate, the son of a prominent Manhattan urologist, always managed to come back from break with a stack of big bust magazines. He probably stole them out of his father's sock drawer, and the old man was undoubtedly too embarrassed to vocally protest their disappearance!
At any rate, these copies of Fling, Gem, and BUF had really primed Peter's libido. The models were just impossibly buxom, and the young man quickly found that a big chest was the female attribute best calculated to give him a big boner. Peter especially remembered one really beautiful hippie-like chick named Roberta Something who, although she was not the largest busted of the group, could boast of a combination of facial beauty, huge knockers, and a slim body that was enough to pull fountains of spunk out of a guy's scrotum.
In truth, that's exactly what happened! The magazines got passed around from student to student; after a while, many of the pictures were so layered with cum stains that it was difficult to tell much about the particular girl. In fact, one could judge the desirability and sexiness of a particular model by how hard it was to make out her features on the page! This prep school exposure to big bust skin mags transformed Peter into a dedicated tit man.
Still, apart from whacking off to the magazines, Peter did not really do all that much about his new obsession. All of his girl friends, and now his wife, had been small-breasted. At first, Peter was not sure whether this was mere happenstance or whether he had some psychological block that had kept him from approaching really buxom women. Upon reflection, however, he doubted the latter, because the young banker could think of no particular big titted girl for whom he had ever lusted but then failed to pursue. Besides, diffidence in approaching women was simply not Peter's style — or problem!
Peter had grown up on the Main Line and out of simple proximity had pretty much restricted his dating to social register types he ran into at the Merion Cricket Club, the local Episcopal Church, and similarly rarified social venues. For some reason these girls tended to be small-breasted — apparently, as far as Peter could tell, without exception. Ditto for the prep school girls imported by the headmaster to St Mark's for party weekends. And ditto again for the Seven Sisters types he had dated in college. Ditto once more for the post-debs he tended to date while living back in Philadelphia as a graduate student at the Wharton School and then as a young banker with an apartment on Rittenhouse Square.
Amanda was a product of that tiny but powerful sliver of Richmond society whose members' lives revolved around such neighborhoods and institutions as the West End, Windsor Farms, St Catherine's or St Christopher's School (depending on gender), The Commonwealth Club, St Stephen's Church, The Country Club of Virginia, and the University of Virginia.
Nor was this all they had in common. The female issue of the FFV also tended toward tiny boobs. These uniformly concave chests, Peter had mused, must be the result of inbreeding among the upper classes all up and down the East Coast! What was next? Rampant hemophilia? The curse of the Hapsburgs? God! Well, no matter — Amanda was so perfect in every other way that her underdeveloped chest was simply not a problem for Peter. She was 99.9% perfect!
And yet there was that missing 00.1%! Peter often ruminated that it would have been great at some time to have tasted the goodies of a really voluptuous, giant-titted girl. Just once! He missed not having experienced the tactile thrill of rubbing and squeezing a huge pair of knockers. Of course, Peter's sampling days were over now — both necessarily and by choice. He was not about to step out on as perfect a wife and sex partner as Amanda McGuire Wyeth. He had a whole lot more sense that that!
End of Chapter 1
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