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 The Candyman

   by Ovid



   "A thousand modes of Love are there"

   Ovid, "Art of Love," III, 787, 88





   My wife and I had been happily married for a number of years.  Our sex

   life, while good, was not as spectacular as it once had been.  After two
people have

   fucked each other over a thousand times, they know each other's likes
and dislikes,

   their moves, their reactions.  There's a tendency to get into a rut, to
do things in the

   same way time after time.  They no longer experiment.  The ADVENTURE of
sex

   is gone.



   It was with this in mind, that I decided to surprise my wife.  I have
the kind

   of job where nobody worries about the hours, only that the job gets done
and done

   well, so I'm free to come and go pretty much as I wish.  One Thursday
around mid

   morning, I left the office and drove home, carefully parking on the next
block so

   my wife wouldn't see my car.  I cut through our back yard and quietly
snuck into

   our house the back way.  I was reasonably confident that at that hour my
wife

   would be in the kitchen.  To be sure, I waited until I heard her rattle
some dishes,

   and then I tip-toed up to the bedroom and into one of the closets.  I
left the closet

   door slightly opened so I could still hear and see.  My idea was to wait
until she

   came into the bedroom, as I knew she would sooner or later, if only to
go to the

   bathroom, and to surprise her when she did.  I hoped that the element of
surprise

   would provide something new and exciting to our screwing.  Little did I
know.



   About ten minutes later, someone rang the doorbell.  My wife answered. I

   could hear most of the conversation from my hideaway.  It was,
evidently, a

   salesman who introduced himself as the Candyman, "I'm trying to
introduce my

   line of hand dipped chocolates into the neighborhood.  I'd like to you
try this one

   and, if you like it, I'd like to try to sell you our introductory sample
package."



   Both my wife and I love chocolates, so I wasn't surprised that she was

   willing to taste the one he offered.  "Mmmm, that IS good," she said. 
"Tell me

   about your sample package."



   "I'm offering this small sample at only one dollar for two reasons. 
First, I'd

   like you and your family to taste my chocolates.  Once you do, I've no
doubt that

   you'll want to buy more.  And second, I'd like to come back next week
and

   interview you as part of a survey about the different kinds of
chocolates you'll find

   in the sample." There was a pause while my wife got the money and paid
him.

   Then she closed the door and, from the sound of it, went back into the
kitchen.



   What then followed was a period of quiet, no clatter of pots and pans,
no

   walking around, no closets opening and shutting, not even the rattling
of the

   newspaper.  After about fifteen minutes, I heard her leave the kitchen
and start

   toward the bedroom in a slow, hesitant kind of step.  I slid toward the
back of the

   closet so she wouldn't see me and prepared to give her my surprise.



   It was I that received the surprise.  As she came into the room she
looked

   flushed.  She had slipped her left hand into her half-unbuttoned shirt,
and was

   rubbing her breast, while with her right hand she was pressing against
her crotch.

   She stopped in front of the mirror and stood there, rubbing her breast
and crotch

   for a minute or two, and then finished unbuttoning her shirt, which she
dropped to

   the floor.  Her bra soon followed and she stood in front of the mirror
rubbing her

   index finger along and around the engorged nipple of her right tit.  She
pulled on

   the nipple, then pressed it to the side and then inward, hard against
her tit, all the

   while rotating her pelvis and pressing on her crotch with her other
hand. I stood

   frozen in the closet, watching this display, which I had never seen
before, and

   which I certainly hadn't expected.



   Next she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and slipped her right hand

   inside her panties.  She stood there, still fingering her nipple and,
evidently, now

   fingering her cunt.  Then she removed her hand from her panties, and I
could see

   her finger glistening with cunt juice.  She stepped out of her shoes and
quickly

   removed her jeans and panties.  Her hand went back to her cunt.  Her
index finger

   rubbed around her clit and then dove into her cunt and then back again
to the clit.  I

   watched her repeat this process about a dozen times and then she turned
and

   headed straight for the closet I was in.



   At this point, I had no idea what to do.  I automatically shrank to the
back

   of the closet, concealing myself as best I could behind the clothes that
were

   hanging there.  She openned the closet door and, luckily without a
glance in my

   direction, reached up on the shelf for the dildo I had bought her a
number of years

   ago, half as a joke.  I hadn't realized that she ever used it in my
absence.  She then

   went to the bed, fortunately leaving the door opened a crack.  Lying on
the bed on

   her back with her knees raised and spread, she returned to massaging her
nipple

   with her left hand.  With her right hand, she rubbed the tip of the
dildo around her

   now swollen and oozing labia and back and forth across her clit.



   Her breathing was becoming audibly heavy as she slowly began inserting

   the dildo into her cunt.  It slid right in.  The dildo was not
particularly large (I

   wanted one similar to my prick, which is a little below average in
size), but her

   ready cunt looked as if it could have swallowed a much larger one.  In
the closet, I

   felt my prick pressing to get out of my pants and had to struggle to
control the

   sound of my own rapid breathing and the beating of my heart.



   It then happened very quickly.  The dildo went in and out barely a few

   times when her body became racked with the spasms of her orgasm.  This
in turn

   inspired her to drive the dildo more rapidly in and out of her now
sopping cunt.  As

   her groans and grunts reached a peak, I felt spasms run up my prick. 
Without

   touching myself, I had come in my pants.



   My wife lay there breathing slowly.  The dildo slid out of her cunt.  I

   quietly took several deep breaths.  I tried to pull the cloth of my
pants away from

   my prick so that there wouldn't be a cum spot showing.



   We remained that way for five or ten minutes.  Then my wife got up to go

   to the bathroom.  I took advantage of the opportunity, quickly left my
hideout, and

   quietly slipped downstairs and out the back door.  I made my way through
the back

   yard to my car, checked my pants for any tell-tale spots, and headed
back to the

   office.



   The next couple of times we fucked were enhanced, for me, by the image,

   now burned into my brain, of my wife cumming in wild abandon while

   masturbating with the dildo.  In anticipation of finding myself in the
closet for

   another show, I took the precaution of moving the dildo to a drawer, and
made sure

   my wife knew where it was.  After using it during one of our bouts that
week, I

   told her the closet was too inconvenient a place when I wanted to excite
her with it.



   In the meantime, we both tasted the various chocolates in the sample and

   found them excellent.  We discussed our preferences and I encouraged her
to buy a

   larger box when the Candyman came back.



   The following Thursday, I decided to sneak home again.  I had no reason
to

   believe there was any connection between the Candyman and my wife's
show, but

   they were linked in my mind.  Again, I entered the closet undetected and
waited.

   This time, I had brought some tissues with me so I wouldn't mess up my
pants if

   there were a repeat performance.



   Again, the Candyman rang the bell.  "How did you like the chocolates?"
he

   asked.  After my wife enthused, he continued, "I'd like to ask you a few
questions."

   He then proceeded to ask her whether we liked the samples, which we
liked best,

   did we have any suggestions, and the like.  The only slightly unusual
question was,

   "Did you notice any difference between the free chocolate you tried last
week and

   those in the box?" When my wife said she really couldn't remember, he
offered her

   another one, which, he said, was the same as the one she had tasted last
week.

   After eating it, she said it seemed to taste the same as the others. 
"No different

   aftertaste or aftereffects?" he asked.  "No, I don't think so."



   She asked him if we could buy some more chocolates.  "My husband and I

   really like them," she said.  He only had the small sample boxes with
him, so he

   sold her another for one dollar and told her he'd return the following
week with

   some larger boxes.  Again, once he left, there was the strange silence,
followed by

   my wife's entrance into the bedroom, this time with all her buttons
opened.  She

   seemed in a greater rush this time, rapidly shedding her clothes.  No
posing in front

   of the mirror like the previous week.  She lay on the bed and fiercely
rubbed her

   clit as if she were angry with it.  Her other hand squeezed and prodded
her tits,

   while her fingers kept up the rapid pressure on her clit, occasionally
dipping

   between her red, swollen and glistening labia to bury themselves in her
cunt, and

   then returning to work her clit.  Just as rapidly, my prick swelled to
its hardest.  I

   slipped some tissues inside my pants, over the head of my engorged
prick. Then,

   watching my wife working her tits and cunt, I rubbed my prick from
outside my

   pants, trying to time my orgasm with hers.  Both of us exploded in
seconds, she

   with loud yells, while I struggled to remain unheard.



   Again, I retreated when she went to the bathroom.  Again, the image of
her

   angrily flailing away at her cut heightened my excitement whenever we
fucked that

   week.  Again, we greedily gobbled up the small sample of chocolates. 
And again, I

   found myself hidden in the closet the following week when the Candyman
called.



   This time, he asked if he could come in and get a drink of water while
he

   showed her the different assortments and asked a few more questions for
his

   survey.  They chatted a while as my wife selected the assortment she
wanted to

   buy, which he sold at a very reasonable price.  Then he turned to his
survey.  After

   a few preliminary questions, he again asked if there was any difference
between the

   free taste he had given her and the ones she had bought, particularly
whether there

   was any after effect.  To help her, he gave her another free taste,
which she quickly

   gobbled up.  "The reason I ask about this," he then said, "is that it's
a bit of an

   experiment.  The free chocolate contains an extra ingredient that some
people think

   is an aphrodisiac.  Since it doesn't seem to affect the taste, I'm
thinking of

   marketing it as a 'marriage enhancer,' but, of course, I need to be
assured that it

   actually has some effect.  Since it doesn't seem to have any effect on
you, it may all

   just be a silly rumor and maybe I should forget the whole thing."



   "Well," my wife admitted, "it's not something I normally talk about, but
I

   don't want to mislead you and cause you to lose out on your marketing.
It really

   seems to be a powerful aphrodisiac.  I wasn't sure after the first one,
particularly

   since the chocolates you sold us didn't have a similar effect, but after
the second

   one, I was pretty sure.  Already, I'm beginning to feel the effects of
the one I just

   ate."



   "What are those effects?"



   "A tingling that runs through my body, particularly the tips of my
nipples

   and my clitoris," she replied with, for her, an unusual candor and
openness.  "I

   have an overpowering urge to rub those spots."



   "Give me a moment to record this in my survey.  Don't worry, there's no

   identification with any names," he said.  "There," he continued, "I've
got it.  Now,

   what do you do?  Do you masturbate after I've left?"



   I couldn't hear any response, but my wife must have nodded because he

   continued.  "Good, that's the effect I want.  Why don't you now to try
it with your

   husband?  These two have the aphrodisiac.  You can tell by the small
gold spots on

   the wrappers.  When the time is appropriate, offer him one and eat one
yourself.

   Don't tell him about the aphrodisiac effect.  I'll come by next week to
ask you how

   it went.  Now I better leave so you can relieve your urges."



   She wasted no time.  No sooner had the front door closed than she was up

   in the bedroom ripping off her clothes.  This time she showed renewed
interest in

   the mirror.  She moved a chair in front of it, grabbed the dildo out of
the drawer,

   and sat in the chair with her legs spread, pressing her feet against the
wall on either

   side of the mirror.  After playing with her tits, she began pressing the
dildo against

   her cunt.  From my hiding place, I could see her cunt in the mirror as
the dildo

   began to slide into it.  In and out she drove it, while she rubbed her
tits or her clit

   with her other hand.  She'd push the dildo almost completely in, and
then slowly

   pull it out, it's surface glistening with the juices that ran so freely
from her cunt.

   Slowly the pace picked up and she began to mutter words, quietly at
first, then

   louder and louder.  "Yes, ram it in, yes, yes, more, faster!"



   Under the cover of her noises, I unzipped my pants, and freed my rigid

   cock.  Grasping it loosely, I began sliding my fist up and down its
length, keeping

   the tissue ready in the other hand.  As her pace and cries increased, I
pumped

   harder and harder.  Then she let out a cry I thought could be heard a
block away as

   spasm after spasm racked her body.  It was all I could do to get the
tissue to catch

   the gobs of cum that spurted out of my prick.  Surely, I hadn't been
this excited

   while jerking off in a long time.



   I escaped in the usual way, wondering how the chocolates would work on

   the two of us, and eagerly looking forward to it.



   Saturday, I was sitting in the living room reading when my wife asked me
if

   I wanted a chocolate, and offered me one.  As I unwrapped it, I noticed
the gold

   spot on the wrapper.  "This is it," I thought and looked up to see her
smiling as she

   bit into her chocolate.  I pretended to go back to my reading, but it
only took a few

   minutes before the aphrodisiac kicked in.  We reached for each other and
began

   tearing our clothes off.  In a moment we were naked with my wife sitting
on the

   couch and me on the floor with my head buried in her cunt.  I licked her
clit, then

   dug my tongue into her oozing cunt, then back to her clit, then around
the labia,

   into her cunt again, and around it in a wide circle, even going as far
as her ass hole,

   a place from which she normally kept me away.  At the same time, she
grabbed my

   hair and pulled my head forward as if she were trying to stuff it up her
cunt.  With

   her legs over my shoulders, she pressed my back with her heels, so that
between

   her pulling my head and her heels pressing on my back she established
the rhythm

   of my sucking to suit her urges.  Then, not wanting to cum too soon, she
pulled

   away and dove for my cock.  I was as hard and big as I've ever been, but
one

   advantage of a smallish prick is that she had no trouble swallowing it
up to my

   balls.  Her head bobbed up and down and she wrapped one hand around my
balls

   and pulled on them in the same rhythm.  When I couldn't stand it anymore
without

   cumming, I pulled her off.



   Together, we both realized that we were plainly visible through the
front

   window from the street.  Any of our neighbors passing by would have had
front

   row seats at our "live show." We rushed to our bedroom and started
again. I sat on

   the edge of a chair and began sucking her nipples, which were now almost
as rigid

   as my prick.  She moved forward, straddling my legs, and slowly began to
lower

   herself to my prick.  She reached down and fitted the tip of my prick
between her

   labia and then continued her slow downward motion until my prick was
completely

   engulfed in her cunt.  Then, supporting herself with her arms on my
shoulders, she

   began a lap dance that nearly drove me wild.  Still sucking on her
nipple, I reached

   around and began massaging her ass.  She reached down, took one of my
hands,

   and began suckling my middle finger.  She positively slobbered over it,
leaving it

   quite soaking, before she returned it to her ass.



   As my fingers ran up and down her crack, she leaned forward and softly

   whispered in my ear, "Stick your finger up my ass." This was something
she had

   never wanted me to do in the past, so I thought I had misunderstood her.
"What?" I

   grunted, squeezing her ass cheeks, with the tips of my fingers still in
her crack.

   "STICK YOUR GODDAMN FINGER UP MY FUCKING ASS!" she shouted, as

   she continued to rock back and forth on my prick.  I didn't need a
second invitation,

   I slid my soaked finger into her tight little hole and rotated around
the orifice.

   "FURTHER," she yelled, "AS FAR AS YOU CAN REACH." I slid my finger up

   to the third knuckle and with the tip, through the thin membrane
separating them, I

   could feel my cock going in and out.  I took my other hand off her ass
and slid it

   between us to massage her clit as her motions got wilder and wilder. 
"I'M

   COMING, YOU FUCKER," she screamed, "RAM IT IN!" I let go of her nipple,

   lest I bite it off, and with a cry of my I, released a stream of cum
that was lost in

   the juices of her cunt.  We both continued screaming as I pumped load
after load

   up her hole.  I could soon feel our mingled juices dripping down my leg
as, her

   eyes closed and her face distorted, she continued to cum for what seemed
like

   hours.  Finally, we both collapsed, sliding off the chair onto the
floor.



   True to his word, the Candyman returned the next Thursday.  My wife let

   him in while she bought more chocolates and he continued asking her
questions for

   his survey.  He wanted to know how the aphrodisiac in the gold-dotted
chocolates

   had worked on the two of us.  "Wonderfully," my wife responded.  He
wanted

   details.  Did I respond rapidly?  Did it get us out of any routine we
might have

   fallen into?  Did we do things we normally didn't do?  In different
places than we

   normally did?  Did it add to our marriage?" To all of these questions,
my wife

   responded with emphatic yesses.  Would she like one now?  Again, an
emphatic

   yes, followed by her usual "Mmmm" as she chewed it.  Did she enjoy
masturbating

   under the influence of his wonderful chocolate?  "Oh, yes," she
responded, and

   from my hiding place in the bedroom closet I could feel the smile that
must have

   covered her face.



   "Would you let me stay and watch you?" he asked.  That was a sudden

   change of pace.  My wife said nothing for a moment, then "No, I couldn't
do that."

   "Please," he said, "I get terribly excited watching women masturbate. 
I'll just stand

   there.  I won't come near you or say anything.  At the end, I'll quietly
let myself out

   without a word.  Please.  As long as you'll let me, I'll keep you and
your husband

   supplied with the gold-dotted chocolates.  Please." I could imagine what
was

   going through my wife's head.  She was afraid.  It wasn't right to
masturbate in

   front of a stranger.  But, at the same time, the idea was exciting.  She
had been

   discussing these things with him and he had been very objective and
well-behaved.

   And finally, the idea of having a supply of those aphrodisiacal
chocolates for the

   two of us must have brought back memories of last Saturday.  On top of
all that,

   the chocolate she had just eaten must have been working its magic,
urging her to

   stop this discussion and get on to more sensual business.  "Well," she
finally

   replied, "alright, if you promise to just stand by the bedroom door and
not come

   any closer." "Gladly," he responded, and a short time later they both
appeared in

   my view.



   This was the first time I had seen the Candyman.  He was a nice looking,

   clean-cut man, maybe five or ten years younger than me.  He was slightly
taller but

   rather thinner than me, with dark straight hair, a largish nose, and
long fingers.  He

   stopped by the door and stood there while my wife continued into the
room.  She

   turned her back to him and, hesitantly at first, began to rub her
breasts.  Slowly, she

   unbuttoned her blouse while she continued her gentle massage.  But then
the

   aphrodisiac must have won out over any shyness.  She turned toward him
and in a

   more exaggerated fashion continued rubbing her tits while she took off
her blouse.

   After a few moments of this, she stopped, dropped her hands, and said in
a

   exasperated fashion, "Look, I can't do this if you're just going to
stand there silently

   like a statue.  If I'm going to put on a burlesque show for you, you've
got to react.  I

   want to hear your approval, your encouragement.  'Take it off,' 'let's
see some tit,'

   anything, even just 'yes, yes, yes,' so I feel like I'm exciting you
rather than the

   subject of a scientific experiment." Then she turned her back and stood
there,

   breathing deeply, as if the effort to come out and ask him to show some
excitement

   had drained her.



   Her outburst caught the Candyman off guard for a moment, but, taking a

   breath himself, he began to utter, "Yes, yes, yes," at first barely
mumbling, but then

   louder and clearer and more enthusiastically.  "Take off that bra, I
want to see your

   tits." This was all my wife needed.  My heart began to thump as, from my
hiding

   place in the closet, I saw her take off her bra and turn around,
revealing her naked

   tits to another man.  My wife's tits are neither too big nor too small.
Enough to fit

   comfortably into my hand, they fill my hand but aren't so large that
they sag.  Her

   nipples stood out as she cupped her tits, as if she was offering them to
the

   Candyman.  Then, with the index finger of each hand, she began toying
with her

   nipples.  Up, down, around, and into her breasts she pushed each hard,
red nipple.

   They seemed to get darker and the skin of her aureoles got that
shriveled look it

   gets when she's excited.  "Oh, that's good, that's nice, those tits are
everything I've

   imagined them to be," he seemed to chant in time with her motions.



   She reached down to her jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped them, while the

   Candyman responded "Yes, get rid of those jeans, show me what you've
got." She

   stepped out of her jeans and began rubbing the palm of her hand over her
pantyclad pussy.  I freed my engorged prick from my pants and grasped if
firmly while I

   watched my wife, wearing nothing but transparent panties, massage her
cunt and

   tits in front of this man.  She turned her back to him, bent over, and
slid her panties

   down, giving him a clear view of her ass.  "Oh, yes," he chanted, "show
me that

   ass, show me that gorgeous, soft, white, lovely ass!" She slid the
panties down and

   stepped out of them.  "Spread your legs, I want to see your cunt," he
cried.  She did

   as he said, bending over and supporting herself with her hand on the
edge of the

   bed, her tits hanging down, she spread her legs wide.  Her other hand
snaked

   between her legs and her index finger caressed her cunt in full view of
the

   Candyman.



   "Oh, god, what a pussy!  Open it up, spread the lips, slide your finger
in!"

   he continued, as if he were directing a film.  She did as directed,
rubbing her finger

   in and out of her cunt, with the juices running down her hand and her
thighs.  She

   wiggled her ass and pummeled her clit and drove her finger in and out of
her wide

   opened cunt, while he cried "Oh, oh, fuck that pussy, stick it in, I'm
going to come

   in my pants, oh!" This cry seemed to resonate with both my wife and me,
for we

   both began cumming in response to it.  I rammed my fist up and down the
length of

   my spurting cock, while my wife seemed to grab her cunt as she shuddered
and

   spasmed.  She released a loud groan that filled the room as she came. 
She

   collapsed on the bed, and I could hear all three of us panting.



   Finally, the Candyman spoke up.  "Thank you.  That was one of the most

   wonderful sights I've ever seen.  I'll leave some gold-dotted chocolates
on the

   kitchen table as I go.  Next week when I come, why don't you leave off
the

   underwear and wear something a little sexier, maybe a tight tee shirt?"
And he left.



   Thus began a new routine.  Every Thursday, I would sneak back into the

   house.  This was now easier because my wife took a shower every Thursday

   morning in anticipation of the Candyman, so I could slip in without
worrying too

   much about every little sound I made while she was in the shower.  From
my

   vantage point in the closet I would watch my wife putting on the most
obscene

   show for another man.  Though he always kept his distance, standing
fully clothed

   in the bedroom doorway, the Candyman would urge her on, giving her
suggestions

   for positions and moves, suggestions that she always acted on.  At his
direction,

   she wore a different sexy outfit each week.  She would answer the door
for him

   with her tits clearly visible through a sheer blouse, or in a suit
jacket under which it

   was clear she wore no blouse, or under a skin-tight tee-shirt mini dress
that barely

   covered her ass.  She would pose in whatever positions appealed to him,
rub

   whatever part of her body he suggested, stick her finger in her mouth,
her cunt, or

   her ass if he asked.  And always she drove herself to a frenzied orgasm.
All this

   time, I would be standing in the closet, my prick in my hand, my heart
thumping so

   loudly I couldn't understand why they didn't hear it, and cumming,
sometimes

   several times during the same performance.



   Between Thursdays, my wife and I fucked like mad.  She would offer me a

   chocolate and we'd go wild.  Fucking in the kitchen, on the stairs, in
the hallway,

   any place at all.  She'd blow me as I left for work, I'd blow her when I
got home.

   I'd fuck her between the tits, up the ass, under the armpit.  I'd fuck
her with my

   prick, with the dildo, with a cucumber.  This was the most frenzied sex
we'd had

   since we were kids, only now it was far more imaginative.



   Then, one Thursday, as my wife was lying on the bed with her legs spread

   and two fingers in her cunt, the Candyman said "I'm going to take off my
clothes so

   you can see me masturbate." As my wife watched, still slowly running her
fingers

   in and around her cunt, he stepped out of his clothes revealing his
erect prick.  It

   was the biggest prick I had ever seen, almost twice the size of mine,
long and fat,

   with huge, pendulous balls suspended below it.  Only his extremely long
fingers

   allowed him to get his fist around that cock.  I was stunned, and so was
my wife.

   She stopped massaging her pussy to stare as he slowly began to run his
fist up and

   down that monster prick.  Then, as he picked up his rhythm, she resumed
rubbing

   her clit, faster and faster, in time with his stroking.  I couldn't
believe that I was

   standing in my closet, pumping up and down on my prick, while my wife
and

   another man were each stroking away less than ten feet from me.  My
wife's finger

   were whipping up a froth in her cunt while she stared wide-eyed at the
Candyman

   pumping on his huge cock.  My own cock felt inadequate in my fist, even
though it

   was spurting like mad.  The Candyman came next, pumping out huge loads
from

   his giant tool, which he managed to catch in his handkerchief.  Tremors
ran with

   my wife's body.  With a massive shudder and a cry, she came.  By the
doorway, the

   Candyman continued to milk cum from his prick while, on the bed, my wife

   continued her panting and shuddering as orgasm followed orgasm.  In the
closet, I

   clutched my cock as I came again, spasm after spasm running the length
of my

   prick - a length that had always seemed sufficient but that now seemed
so small

   when compared with the magnificence of the Candyman's cock.



   Then, with a "Thank you, that was magnificent," the Candyman was gone.

   My wife seemed in shock, lying on the bed.  I began to wonder how long
I'd have

   to wait in the closet.  But, eventually she made her way to the bathroom
and I

   escaped.



   The next evening, seemingly out of the clear blue sky, my wife said, "I
want

   to watch you jerk off." I looked at her, somewhat taken aback.  "Come
on," she

   said, "Now.  Take off your clothes and get to it." We went to the
bedroom and she

   sat on the chair.  "OK, get started." I asked her to take off her
clothes, too, but she

   refused.  She then sat there watching as I stripped and began fisting my
cock.

   What was she thinking?  Was she comparing me to the Candyman, comparing
my

   cock to his king-sized version, comparing technique.  Her expression
gave no hint.

   But the recollection of her lying there naked pumping her cunt while
another man

   with a huge prick jerked off was all I needed to rapidly bring myself
off.  When I

   finished, she cleaned off my prick with her tongue, kissed it, and said
"Thank you."

   That was all.



   The next several weeks repeated the pattern with the Candyman.  I would

   sneak in while my wife showered.  She would dress in some obscenely
suggestive

   outfit and let the Candyman in.  He would give her a chocolate, leave
some for us

   later, and the two of them would come to the bedroom and put on a strip
show for

   each other.  Then, with him serving as the director, they would each
masturbate in

   ways calculated to visually stimulate each other while they manually
stimulated

   themselves.  All the time, I remained concealed in the closet, excited
out of my

   mind, and pumping away on my own, second best, cock.



   Then one week, as he was leaving, the Candyman said, "Next week will by

   my last visit.  I'm moving to Minnesota." My wife pulled herself up from
the bed,

   where she had collapsed after cumming, and stared at him.  "I've grown
so used to

   these visits.  What will I do?  What will I do for chocolates?  What
will my

   husband and I do for the aphrodisiac?" "As to the aphrodisiac, there
hasn't been

   any for months.  Once you were convinced of its power, I began lowering
the

   concentration until I removed it completely.  The aphrodisiac has been
your mind,

   the strongest one there is." My wife's mouth dropped open (as mine must
have

   done in the closet).  "Good chocolates you can get anywhere," the
Candyman

   continued, "and I rather think you won't have too much trouble finding
another

   participant for these sessions, if you really want one.  In any event, I
have to move.

   Let's make's next week's session a memorable one." And he left.



   During the week, my wife and I discovered that knowing the gold-dotted

   chocolates had no aphrodisiac didn't make any difference.  Of course, I
wasn't

   supposed to know anything about it in the first place, but we had gotten
so excited

   about our sex games that I certainly didn't need any aphrodisiac, and my
wife

   surely behaved as if she didn't either.  However, between bouts, she
seemed to have

   a distracted look, as if she was thinking about something else.  I
worried that she

   might have become dependent on the Candyman.  More than anything, I
wanted to

   be present at the last session.



   When Thursday came around, I did my usual sneaking routine into the

   bedroom.  Sure enough, something was different.  My wife had set up our

   camcorder on a tripod, right next to my closet.  She intended to
videotape the last

   session and had chosen almost the same viewpoint as I had from my
closet. I

   ducked into the closet and a few minutes later she came out of her
shower.  She

   was dressed in a red dress that hugged her skin from high on her neck
down to her

   hips.  Her breasts were clearly outlined.  A barely visible zipper ran
from her neck,

   down the front of her dress, between her breasts, to her crotch.  From
there the

   material of her dress fell to floor, but with slits that ran up each
side to her hips.  It

   was clear that, as was now usual, she wore nothing beneath her dress.  I
had never

   seen this incredible dress before.



   She walked over to the closet looking straight at me, and for a moment I

   thought she had seen me, but she only came over to check the view
through the

   camcorder and make sure it was ok.  She waited in the bedroom until the
bell rang,

   then started the camcorder and went to answer the bell.  She let the
Candyman in

   and a few minutes later they came in the bedroom.  The last session was
started.



   The Candyman stared at the camcorder and started to say something, but

   my wife put her finger over his lips.  "I'm making a videotape of our
last session

   and I intend to be the director.  Don't say anything, just do as I ask
you to." He

   nodded in acquiescence.  "Begin by stripping." The Candyman removed all
his

   clothes and stood there naked, his prick hanging limply between his
legs, halfway

   down his thigh.



   My wife had stepped back to achieve the usual distance between them.

   Then she started.  Slowly she brought her hands up her body, caressing
it, until

   they reached her tits.  Her hands outlined her breasts and began rubbing
them.

   With the tips of her fingers she rubbed her nipples which stood up and
were easily

   seen through her skin-tight dress.  Her body began to rotate slightly as
she shifted

   her weight from one leg to the other.  From the closet, I could see the
Candyman's

   prick begin to stiffen.  Wy wife continued to caress her body, now
moving her

   hands down over her belly to her crotch.  She press both hands into her
crotch and

   rotated her pelvis around them.  She spread her legs just enough so the
material of

   her dress in front of the side slits fell between them her legs. 
Gathering the falling

   material, she held it in front of her crotch and pumped her pelvis back
and forth.

   Her bare pussy must have been rubbing up and down the falling material.
She

   looked at the camera and smiled, then at the Candyman, whose prick now
stood out

   in front of him, with a slight downward bend, like a fat fishing rod.



   My wife moved closer to the Candyman and told him to unzip her dress.

   Tentatively, he reached to her neck and slowly lowered the zipper to her
breasts.

   While she fondled her breasts through her dress, she told him to keep
unzipping.

   He continued lowering the zipper until he had reached its end at her
crotch.  Still

   holding her breasts, she stepped back and continued the rhythmic
rotation of her

   pelvis.  Then she buried her hands inside the opened zipper at her
crotch.  Through

   the material, I could see her fingers working at her pussy, the top of
her dark bush

   visible through the opened zipper.  Again she moved closer to the
Candyman, so

   that his hard prick almost touched her hands at her cunt, and told him
to pull the

   dress off her shoulders.  With one hand on each shoulder, he lowered the
dress,

   revealing her tits with their engorged nipples sticking out and the
puckered areolas

   surrounding the nipples.  The dress slipped down to her waist, supported
now by

   her hips and the sleeves, which had slipped to her wrists.



   She stepped back, pulled her arms out of the sleeves, and let the dress
slip

   to the floor.  Now, completely naked, she smiled at the camera and began
caressing

   her cunt.  She rubbed the fingers of both hands around clit, then
downward to her

   swollen labia, which she separated to reveal their glistening inside
surfaces.

   Spreading her legs further, she slipped her right index finger up her
cunt, while her

   left hand rubbed her clit.  She then lay on her side across the end of
the bed.  She

   bent one knee upward so that her legs were open, her now oozing cunt
pointed

   straight at the Candyman.  Her fingers churned up a froth in her cunt
and her pelvis

   continued its pumping motion.



   Then she looked again at the camera, turned to the Candyman, and

   beckoned him forward.  He approached her, with his protruding monster
prick just

   at the level of her face.  When it was almost touching her face, she sat
up and

   placed one hand on it.  This was the first time I had seen her touch
him, and

   butterflies surged in my stomach.  Holding his prick, she looked first
at the camera

   and then back to the prick.  Her hand looked tiny compared to it.  She
brought up

   the other hand, and with both hands could barely encircle it.  The prick
was as large

   as her forearm.  Forming a circle with the fingers of both hands, she
began to

   stroke up and down the Candyman's cock.  Then she cradled his pendulous
balls in

   both hands, gently gave them a squeeze, and returned to stroking his
prick.  Back

   and forth she stroked.  I could see the Candyman breathing in rhythm
with her

   motions, and I could feel my heart beating to the same rhythm.  I took
my stiff cock

   in my hand and stroked it in time with the beat of my heart.  My wife
was giving

   another man a hand job before my eyes, and rather than stopping it, I
was

   becoming more and more excited.



   But it soon became more than a hand job.  Holding his cock up with her

   hands, she began to lick the huge knob at its end, as if she were
licking an ice

   cream cone.  Her tongue went all around the head of his cock, the tip of
her tongue

   darted into the pee hole, sucking up his precum, and then it slithered
around the

   head again.  She opened her mouth as wide as she could and tried to get
the head of

   his cock into it.  Although she had no difficulty swallowing my prick to
its root,

   she could barely get that giant knob into her mouth.  It filled her
mouth, as if she

   had attempted to engulf the entire scoop of ice cream in one bite.  Her
mouth

   struggled to move around the head, but she could get no more in.  She
freed his

   prick from her mouth and resumed licking it, first down the top side of
it, then back

   to the head, then down the underside all the way to his hairy balls,
which she also

   licked.  She continued this licking until his entire cock was glistening
with her

   saliva, precum continuing to ooze out of its tip.  She eagerly licked
that up.  And

   while my wife was blowing another man, I stood in the closet stroking my
own

   prick.  The excitement of seeing her lips and tongue slobbering over
that massive

   rod was too much for me.  Tremors racked my body and I began to spurt
cum.  I

   could barely get the tissue up in time as my prick spasmed and shot its
load.



   But it wasn't over yet.  My wife stood up and led the Candyman to the
side

   of the bed nearest me, and had him lie motionless on his back in what
was normally

   my place on the bed.  Then she went to the foot of the bed and began to
crawl up

   his legs, licking his body as she went.  When her head reached his
balls, she

   carefully licked each one, and then continued up, licking her way up his
cock.  She

   snaked her way more and more up him until she completely covered him,
his cock

   pressed between their bodies.  Still she continued upward.  She moved up
until her

   tits hung over his face.  He greedily sucked on a nipple as she rocked
her cunt from

   side to side, rubbing it across his cock.  Then she slid still further
up until his entire

   prick was sticking up between her legs.  She reached down between them
and

   nestled the head of his prick between her cunt lips and began to rotate
her hips

   about the junction she had just made.



   In the closet I could feel the pulse in my stomach.  I had watched my
wife

   jerk off another man and suck him off.  Was I going to stand there and
watch her

   fuck him?  And with a camcorder recording it all?  Wasn't this too much?


   Shouldn't I rush out and stop it before it went any further?  But the
fact of it is that

   I didn't want it to stop.  I wanted it to go on.  I wanted to see her
fucking that

   monster prick.  It was the most exciting thing I had ever seen.  My fist
pounded up

   and down on my cock and it was all I could do to restrain myself from
calling out

   to her, "Yes, yes, fuck that horse prick!  Hump it!  Fuck!"



   But such a call would have been unnecessary.  My wife had wiggled her

   cunt down so that the head of the Candyman's prick was now inside. 
Slowly,

   giving her cunt time to expand, she wiggled lower.  First she would push
down a

   little, then hump up and down until that part of his cock was thoroughly
covered

   with her copious cunt juices.  Then she would push a little further,
capturing more

   and more of that giant shaft inside her cunt.  I could see her labia
stretched around

   his cock.  Would he tear her open?  I had to reassure myself that a cunt
could

   stretch to pass a baby, surely it could stretch sufficiently to engulf
even as fat a

   prick as the one now testing my wife.



   Now she had half his cock inside her.  This must be close to her limit.
My

   cock had hit bottom on occasion, so surely he couldn't go much deeper.
But the

   elasticity of the cunt must be incredible, for she continued to capture
more and

   more of it.  Each time after a little more went in, she would pull up
her hips so that

   her cunt rode up his rod, freeing all but the head.  The shine of the
juice on his

   cock showed how much of it her cunt had swallowed.  With the Candyman
lying

   motionless though all this, she would then slide down and push a little
further,

   holding it there so her cunt had time to accommodate to the deeper push.
Over and

   over she repeated this process until, beyond belief, she had captured
the entire giant

   cock, and only his massive balls remained visible.



   My wife paused a bit, as if to catch her breath now that she had the
whole

   cock inside her, and then began to pump.  She rolled her hips from side
to side, she

   pumped her ass up and down, she slid way up on the cock and then down to
its

   base, with her hair flying around her head and her tits flopping from
side to side

   across his chest.  The Candyman could no longer stay still.  He began to
respond

   with thrusts of his own.  Now withdrawing his cock, now ramming it all
the way

   in.  They moved faster and faster.  Their faces distorted with what
looked like pain

   but I knew to be pleasure.  The camcorder whirred.  Their motion got
wilder and,

   in rhythm with it, I beat my own cock more and more fiercely.



   Somehow they managed to turn over.  Now the Candyman was on top, his

   ass in the air pumping up and down as he drove his big dick in and out
of my wife.

   Her head whipped from side to side, tremors ran through her body.  She
began to

   cry out.  Then, a shudder went through the Candyman and he began to cum.
So

   filled was her cunt with his cock that the cum soon began oozing out. 
Her body

   trembled and shuddered, her eyes squeezed shut, and wave after wave of
her

   orgasm swept across her.  He continued pumping load after load from
those huge

   balls into my wife, while she continued to grunt and spasm.  I joined in
with a burst

   of cum that seemed to come from my toes.



   Then all was calm.  The Candyman lay on top of my wife for a few

   minutes, then silently rose and dressed.  He walked back to my wife,
kissed each

   nipple and her still dripping cunt, and said, "I will never forget
this," and was gone.

   My wife lay there with her legs spread, a huge puddle of cum on the
bedspread

   between her legs, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of her
chest.  Finally,

   after what seemed forever, she rose, turned off the camcorder and went
to the

   bathroom and I was able to escape, my hand filled with cum-soaked
tissues.



   When I returned from work that night, there was no sign of the activity.


   The camcorder was back in its usual place, there was a clean spread on
the bed, and

   the red dress was nowhere in sight.  After dinner, my wife offered me a
chocolate

   and (as I pretended not to know) told me that we wouldn't be getting any
more, that

   the Candyman was gone.  "I'll miss his candy," I said.

   "Will you miss watching?" she replied.  Her question stunned me.  I
stared

   into her unblinking eyes, caught my breath, and finally responded, "How
long have

   you known?"



   "Almost since the beginning," she smiled.  "I kept noticing that the
closet

   was opened, but didn't make anything of it until I saw you running
across the back

   yard.  Then I put two and two together.  I was angry at first, but then
I realized that

   it excited me, knowing you were watching, especially since you didn't
know that I

   was aware of you.  Every now and then I caught a glimpse of you when the
light

   just caught your face or your hand.  Once, I even saw your prick for a
second.

   Later, when the Candyman joined me, I knew you were there.  I would look
over

   there once in a while, but I didn't want you to know I was looking for
you.  That's

   why I put the camcorder next to the closet, so I could look for you
without you

   knowing, and so, later, I could see everything the way you saw it.  All
the time, I

   had this image of you in the closet, watching me and jerking off. 
Whatever I was

   doing, that image excited me to a higher level.



   "Why did you want me to jerk of in front of you?" I asked.



   "I wanted your image in my mind, whenever I thought of you in the
closet.

   As long as I had never seen a man jerk off, I could imagine you in any
way I

   wanted.  But after seeing the Candyman stroking his huge cock, his image
began to

   intrude.  I needed to see you doing it so that your image would displace
his in my

   mind."



   "And did it?" I asked skeptically?



   "Oh, yes," she responded, smiling.  "His prick is bigger, but your prick
is

   the one I love."


   THE END