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Subject: ASS:My Sextoy Wife by Jul 4 1944 1/2 (wife, adultery)
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ASS:My Sextoy Wife by Jul 4 1944 1/2 (wife, adultery)
Contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. Do not read if
underaged or disturbed by such things.
All comments addressed to the author will be welcome.
My Sextoy Wife
by Jul 4 1944@AOL.COM
There's really no point in not admitting it right up front, so
everybody knows what's in store. No point in withholding the fact of
final, shocking surprises that are to come. No point in foisting upon
anyone else the tantalizing torment I have had to endure as I have learned
the lurid truth about my darling from her own lips.
I write this confession, this memoir, now - not because I believe
it's all over and there are no more truths to learn. In fact, my wife has
given me every indication through her words and her manner and her
behavior that there is still much to learn, some of which has already
transpired, and some of which is, I am sure, yet to come. No, I write now
from a sense of carrying an overwhelming weight of feeling I do not
understand, feelings of shock and betrayal and helplessness and having
been made a fool, yet coupled at the same time with fascination and
arousal and secret lurid pleasure. I have to admit that as my angel has
revealed secrets about herself, she has also revealed secrets about me.
I can't say that I'm at fault or to blame for what's occurred,
because I believe we are all responsible for our own actions - and my
Alicia is certainly responsible for hers. But in a way, it was
nevertheless my own doing. As this story goes on, that will become clear
enough. But for now, just say that part of the torment (and, strangely,
the perverse joy) I bear is an inner voice that reminds me of the things
she said she felt about me and some of the things I'd done, and how they
helped her to say "what the hell" and surrender to her basest impulses.
And if what she's confessed to me is true, those impulses are more base
than either of us could have imagined.
We are both so insecure . who knows what from? The level of trust
has never been high; the level of suspicion and doubt has never been low.
I met her at twenty, while she was still 16. Today I might be in jail,
but sixteen years ago people weren't so touchy. She was pretty and
unhappy and insecure and looking for some kind of release, and I was
insecure, too; looking for love and desperate for some kind of acceptance.
Like two moths, both seeing the other as the flame, we spun together in a
whirlwind of discovery and lust.
We discovered sex together (I still wonder how her other
boyfriends hadn't gotten there first), and for her it was the release she
was seeking. She loved every second of it. We would watch TV, waiting
patiently for her mother to go out, then melt together in a lovers'
embrace. We would go parking on a secluded dirt lane near the highway
leading out of town. While I was in college, we coupled in the downtown
hotel where she stayed while visiting on weekends. Even more than I, she
wanted sex. I liked to take her out and in a way show her off to friends
and fellow classmates. She often preferred to stay in the room and
fuck. "What do you want to do?" I would ask.
"I want to go to bed," she would reply, usually without hesitation
or shame. By seventeen, she was a sexual wonder, already so uninhibited
as to be multiorgasmic, and verbally and physically responsive. She was a
squirming, writhing dynamo in my arms, moaning and crying out and begging,
even demanding, to be satisfied. My friends at school, who knew what was
going on, thought I was about the luckiest guy on campus.
But not me. Still insecure, and feeling "tied down" by Alicia's
demands for all my time and attention, I began to accumulate resentments,
even though our courtship continued unabated during the rest of my college
career. Not realizing what a special and unusual young woman blind chance
had placed in my hands, I envied my friends who were free and dated a
variety of women. I lusted after their sexual stories and wished it could
be me. I saw myself as not lucky, but deprived. So during my senior
year, as the specter of graduation and then marriage loomed closer, I
began checking out other women. I just couldn't resist . I just had to
know.
In retrospect, I wonder if it had been better if Alicia had found
out before we were married. It may have ended right then. But then
again, perhaps not. Because when she did find out, there was anger and
fighting and bitterness and secret consequences I am only now learning
about, but there was no divorce. Even in our anger and betrayals, we seem
bound together by forces of blind unreason. Still insecure, we both shake
at the thought of letting go. We squirm with anguish at the thought of
our mate belonging to another, being with another. And if our fears can
arm our partners, then the two of us are both well-armed.
I suppose we were five years into our marriage before Alicia
finally learned of my few feeble premarital indiscretions. There wasn't
much to them, and they (with one big exception) hadn't been that
satisfying, but I had kept the evidence. Somehow, still feeling trapped,
I got a lot of secret pleasure from the stash of letters and photos and
notes I believed were well-hidden. But life is a series of random events,
and one day while I was at work Alicia needed to find something she
believed was packed in a box in the basement, where it had been stored
since we moved into the house. What she found first was my stash.
The following weeks were sheer hell - I'm sure for both of us. I
had to explain every note and every word of every letter and the where and
when and who of every photo, and do it over and over again. At the time I
couldn't understand her seemingly masochistic insistence on knowing every
detail of what I'd done and said and where we'd gone and where we did it,
and how often. There were long confrontational conversations that lasted
into the wee hours of the morning, and left me looking like a zombie on
some days at work. Friends noticed the change and asked about it, but
apparently we were both equally tight-lipped about it, too embarrassed to
admit that anything was wrong.
In retrospect, that may have been the biggest disaster - not
letting the pain out of our systems. Home life became an agony of anger
and argument and threats of retribution - and I couldn't talk about it.
At the same time, Alicia was housebound with two small children, while I
had the car to commute to work. With no outlets and no real friends to
confide in, she felt more trapped than I ever had. Leaving, however,
meant the return to a world she had invested much to escape, so she
stayed. And although the following months saw some smoothing of the
waters because of the simple needs of looking after children and earning a
living, the bitterness and anger and, yes (as I have so painfully learned)
the thirst for revenge stayed, too.
That's easy to see now, after what I've been told, but at the
time, I thought the storm was really calming and she had accepted the
sincerity my apologies and had begun trying to come to terms with
everything. And perhaps she had. My privileges, almost totally curtailed
immediately after her discovery, gradually were returned to me. About the
only activity I had left after her discovery was my weekly poker game -
and she always found an excuse to call the game at least once every week
to make sure I was really there. And as part of the compromise that
preserved the poker game, I had to agree to a night out for her.
Considering the context of the demand, the idea of her being out
scared the hell out of me. Particularly when I learned where she insisted
on going. I had her threats to get even ringing in my ears, but I also
had too much pride to have to give up playing cards with my friends (how
would I explain?), and besides Alicia soothed me with the old story that
"I just need some time to myself." She was right, of course, and I knew
it. And besides, since she had never gotten a drivers' license, I had to
pick her up and drop her off like a young teenager, so I felt a little
more in control. But not that much more.
We actually argued about that, too . even though in principle I
knew she was right. But I was uncomfortable with the context. I was
afraid of what she might do. In her own heavy-handed way, she tried to be
reassuring.
"What makes you think I'd actually do something like that?" she
would ask me. "Do I have reason to?"
Having to lie, I told her no, that it was all in the past. That I
was sorry.
"Then I can trust you?" she would press.
"Yes . of course."
"Then why can't you trust me, too? You go to lunch with the women
in the office, and you stop for beers after the poker game."
"But I'm a guy," I would say, hating myself for falling back on
that old excuse. "It just isn't looked at the same. Everybody thinks
women alone in bars are there to get picked up. Can't you at least go
with Gail or somebody else you know?"
"Gail's a waitress," she would snap back. "She works a lot of
Friday nights. Maybe sometimes if she gets off in time she might meet me
there. Maybe sometimes she'll take the night off and we can go together.
But I'm not going to be made a prisoner just because a bunch of jerky guys
think I'm a pickup. They'll get the message eventually. And besides if
you're so scared, you can always drive down to Ned's to see what I'm
doing, can't you?"
And then her deal would be put back on the table. "If you're too
insecure and jealous to trust me, then we can just stay home together, or
always go out together. You don't need to stop off for drinks on the way
home. In fact, you don't even need to play cards. Your choice." So
eventually, reluctantly, I wilted.
Ned's, the place to which she referred, to which she insisted on
being taken, was Ned Kelly's, a bar in another town that the two of us
frequented on Saturday nights. I had been introduced to the place by
several of my coworkers when we first moved into our house (it was close
to where they lived and worked). Being for the most part single, they had
moved on to other places during the intervening months, but Alicia and I
had learned to love the place, and so we kept going back. It was blessed
with a great jukebox and a dark wooden atmosphere that exuded intrigue and
intimacy, and we both felt comfortable there. To me, it was a source of a
lot of wishful thinking, watching the men interacting with the delicious
young women that frequented the place.
I knew what was going to happen when Alicia went in there alone,
too. She had become delicious in her own right. Then in her late
twenties, she had let her hair grow long and she colored it blond. Her
naturally pretty face having become more mature, along with her blue eyes
and long blond hair, gave her a hot, exotic look that I knew attracted
other men. She was only 5' 2" and very small-breasted (another continuing
source of insecurity for her), but she had a great pair of hips and slim,
shapely legs which her penchant for short dresses made appear longer than
they actually were. She looked good!
I suppose the idea of agreeing to let her go there was crazy.
Even on the nights we went in there together, men "checked her out."
They would grasp her arm as she walked by them, to whisper something in
her ear. Often, I only had to get up to go to the men's room, or to go to
the bar to get faster drink service, to find a guy sitting with her by the
time I got back. I don't know what made me want to do it, but sometimes
I'd deliberately take my time, and watch her with those other men, feeling
my heart race with what I knew was jealousy. I found the sensation oddly
intoxicating, watching the men hit on her, knowing what they were
thinking. And from experience, I knew that later she would tell me
everything they said. It was both a comfort and a torment. A comfort
because of the fact she told me, but a torment because she made sure I
knew every detail of what guys had on their minds for her.
I guess in a way it had the look of a rollercoaster to me - the
appearance (and experience) of dangerous hand-shaking, stomach-turning
excitement, but in reality quite safe. I thought that's what I thought .
but now I wonder. I remember being at home alone with the kids . playing
and watching TV and eventually getting them off to bed. Then I'd have
hours to think about Alicia and what she was doing. And the more often
she went out, the more I seemed gripped by a compulsion to think about the
worst. While I pretended it wasn't going to happen in real life, I
couldn't help imagining Alicia with other men. And Alicia knew how to
help that along, too.
I remember back to her first night out. It was several months
after her discovery (this all took time to negotiate). She made a special
effort to look sexy, and she succeeded. I knew it was being done not just
for the men at the bar, but especially (in an unspoken way) for me. With
me, it was usually jeans or shorts (she looked terrific in both), but for
them it was a tight short skirt. I wasn't about to say so, but to me she
looked (without going over the line into sleazy) like she wanted to convey
the message that she was the hottest piece of cunt in the place. And from
experience I knew she probably was. It made me shake and tingle with
sexual tension. We had an argument about that, too.
"I'm sorry I look good," she snapped sarcastically. "Geez!"
I remember kissing her goodbye that first night, smelling
her perfume, hearing her tell me "Gail might be over to meet me later,"
watching her walk away and disappear inside the bar, and the shiver of
excitement it gave me, the erection I got, the primal jealous fear I felt
. all mixed up in a delicious biochemical soup. I thought about her all
night, surprised at the intensity of my jealous fears now that she was
actually out. I played with the kids, put them to bed, watched TV, but
all the time my mind was elsewhere. I kept waiting, hoping the phone
would ring . that it would be her, wanting to come home. But it didn't.
Finally I lay down, hoping to doze off and get some peace.
But I guess I was carrying too much baggage. The fantasies that
often gave me comfort deserted me. They were crowded out by thoughts of
Alicia and the strangers she met at Ned's. I tried to fight off the
thoughts, but they persisted. For whatever reason, I just stopped
fighting them and gave in to it. I imagined a scenario where she said yes
to some invitation from a handsome stranger to take a ride (she liked to
get high), and when they were alone in the dark, with her having had a lot
to drink and her head buzzing from the marijuana, she just gave in to his
advances. I just let it wash over me, the thought of her naked in his
arms, moaning with sinful ecstasy, feeling his cock way up inside her.
Oh, God it would be so easy for her! I went into a kind of trance, and
within a few minutes I was squirting squirting squirting my cum all over
the place, so jealous over my tempting darling.
It soon became a habit, as to my surprise I never really got
comfortable with her going out. Sometimes I really got into it .
imagining her doing with others what she did with me, saying the graphic
shameless things she said to me, letting go in their arms, moaning and
crying out with pleasure. They say even married men with the best sex
lives still fantasize, but I wonder how many of them, instead of
fantasizing about being with other women, came to be dominated by lurid
fantasies of their wife and other men, producing a powerful kind of desire
that reached deep inside and made my stomach turn with frantic excitement,
thinking about other men's come inside her and all over her, while I
squirted my own come all over myself. As the months passed, her
nights out became a common occurrence. The pattern stayed the same. I
dropped her off, and went home and waited with the kids. It was "mommy's
night out." She would call me late - near closing time but early enough
for me to get there to pick her up without her having to wait alone in the
dark. She always had stories to tell: the men she spoke to, the drinks
they bought her, the propositions they made, the parties she was invited
to, the rides home she was offered, the compliments, the hugs, the stolen
kisses she received. She didn't seem to be holding anything back from me.
In fact she seemed to relish telling me every detail of how desirable she
was, how many drinks she'd had, how horny she felt, how many men she
"would have loved to say yes to." And (as I thought might have been her
real intention) we often ended up pulling into our favorite little
deserted road and screwing before we ever got home.
Disturbingly, though, some things about Alicia began to change.
While I can't say her dress for going out got more provocative (she was
always within the bounds of propriety and was a lot more conservative than
many of the babes at Ned's), there was gradually something more
provocative in her manner. There was a new confidence, a new boldness
that left me shaking. Her words of reassurance became less frequent and I
began to notice (mostly from talking to Gail, who actually did meet up
with her sometimes) that there were little things I wasn't being told
about.
Then there were Alicia's words. She changed from being completely
reassuring to beginning to tease, as though there were more going on than
she would admit. She would bait me with cryptic remarks like (as she did
one night after we came home and were in bed together) "well, the boys
sure got their wish tonight." When I frantically pressed her for
explanations, she would say she was just teasing "to see if you care what
I do," or (if we'd been fighting) "to make you mad and jealous."
It did make me jealous and angry, and the thought of it left me
feeling weak. I guess most men wouldn't have put up with the blatant
sexual baiting Alicia had begun, but I told myself everything was OK, she
was still angry with me about the past and wanted to hurt me. Besides, we
had made a deal, and she had stuck to her part of the bargain. I had
hopes that it would be an eventual catalyst for things eventually working
themselves back to normal, but it kept not happening. Although our small
freedoms seemed to take some of the edge off in the short run, the fights
nevertheless continued. Her perception of herself as the victim was
something she seemed to be unable to let go of. Every injury seemed fresh
in her mind, as though it had occurred the day before. And she was
obsessed with the fear that I was withholding huge and devastating secrets
from her. It was a fear that was, in one small instance, well-founded.
But in spite of her suspicions, I insisted there was nothing more to tell
besides what she already knew.
Nothing convinced her. Even after her nights out, the fights
sometimes began again on the way home, and we'd end the evening turning
our backs to each other in bed. And her vengeance, albeit just verbal,
could be painful. One night after she'd gotten home from Ned's and
somehow another argument had begun, she snapped "if you had any idea what
I really did tonight, you'd go crazy." Her words went through me like a
bolt of lightning and turned me to mush. I shook and stammered for an
explanation, but she taunted me for what seemed like an eternity before
she finally relented and told me it was punishment to me and a salve to
her own anger.
It was nearly two years after her discovery and our descent into a
marital hell that seemed unending that things got so bad that I decided to
move out. It was a difficult decision, but I believe we were driving each
other mad. Her tormenting taunts were becoming bolder and more graphic
and she allowed the torture to continue much longer - sometimes for days -
before she would admit she was just being punitive. And she had given
herself another reason to be suspicious. She had become convinced I was
seeing Gail. Although I vehemently denied it, she was right.
I admit I began calling Gail to check up on Alicia. That's where
I first learned there were some things I wasn't hearing from my wife. In
an attempt to learn more, I began spending time with Gail in the hope that
she might reveal some big secret. I told Gail about Alicia's cryptic
remarks, her innuendoes and her later taking them back. I told her it
just drove me crazy and obsessed me and I could never get a straight
answer. Gail was never able to provide me with anything definite, except
for the small details that told me I wasn't getting the full story.
On the one hand, Gail seemed uncomfortable with the subject, as
though she had let something inadvertently slip, as though she and Alicia
were part of a conspiracy of deceit. Gail would mention offhandedly a
stop she and Alicia had made - or a friend they had visited - that I
hadn't heard about. Innocent, according to Gail, but just the opposite of
what Alicia had said. "No, honey. I was at Ned's all evening."
Nervously, I tried to protect Gail's confidences, but I suppose Alicia
sensed there was a leak somewhere, as I sometimes eyed her skeptically,
tapping my fingertips on the table. While she was denying anything was
going on, I was denying that Gail was talking behind her back, while at
the same time wondering if Gail was covering for my wife.
On the other hand, Gail seemed to sympathize and really feel for
what I was going through, and one day after we had lunch together, we
drove to a secluded spot where we were going to talk a little more before
I dropped her off and went back to work. But we got caught in one of
those sudden summer thunderstorms where everything closes in and an eerie
darkness descends and the rain pelts the car and the windows steam to
impenetrability, and for some magical reason we were suddenly in each
others' arms, touching, kissing, and we forgot about our mates (yes Gail
was married, too - to one of my poker buddies) and made frantic furtive
love in the front seat while the rain poured down. After that spontaneous
moment of intimacy, it became easy for us to continue.
In a very short time, Alicia somehow knew, or sensed, that things
were different between Gail and her, and between Gail and me. She
continued going out, but stopped even inviting Gail to meet her. I
stopped being hammered about the past, and was again being hammered about
the present. And Alicia's threats and hints were by then so graphic and
spiteful, I just had to get away from it before somebody got hurt. I
didn't have any particular goals in mind, other than sheer relief, and
Alicia was no longer so dependent, having gotten her driver's license and
begun taking some college courses and working part-time. So I found a
place and moved out.
But it was quickly evident that both of us were more miserable
apart. Still insecure, I was jealous of her new "singleness." I feared
the worst. My imagination was on overdrive, obsessed with thoughts of her
and her imaginary lovers, while at the same time cognizant of my own
guilt. I would lay there alone in the dark in my ratty apartment,
thinking about my Alicia and all her tormenting hints, and it drove me
nuts with fear and agony, but somehow I just couldn't let it go until I
had played it out to completion in my imagination, and my orgasms came as
I thought about her, as I imagined her to be the slut her own hints and
innuendo made her out to be.
At the same time, despite her anger and her lashing out, Alicia
found my absence depressing and the burden of the children overwhelming.
If she had been seeing other guys, they didn't seem to be coming around
while I was gone. Within 4 weeks, we were talking about my moving back
home. But I didn't want things to be the same. I thought while we were
separated that maybe it was time to clear the air once and for all and
tell the whole truth. I was not happy about having to break a promise of
secrecy I had made to Gail. I knew it would destroy whatever was left of
her friendship with Alicia, and ruin her friendship with me, but I had
come to believe it was the only way Alicia and had a chance to break our
impasse. So I told her one night during one of our marathon phone
conversations that I thought we needed to open up to each other and tell
the truth if there was any hope to save our relationship. In very short
order, she had agreed and I moved back home.
I'll not ever forget the night soon after when we got a
baby-sitter to look after the kids so we could be alone to talk. I was
dressed, but she had gotten comfortable in a two-piece nighty. Nothing
glamorous. Cotton top and bikini bottom. She looked sexy anyhow - until
she hit the roof. That's because I got to go first and I told her all
about me and Gail. It's not because of what I said or how she reacted to
it, because it was about what I had expected - she was livid, she was
self-righteous in her "I knew it" attitude. But more than that, she was
wounded to the point of brutal honesty. When it was her turn to speak,
she said, "I was going to keep lying to spare your feelings, but not any
more." Then, while my stomach began to churn and my hands got clammy and
my knees got weak, she began to tell me her secrets.
I suppose I knew it all along. I suppose anyone would say "of
course, you jerk, if your wife's out alone in bars every weekend, you
oughta know she's putting out for the boys." But I thought I'd convinced
myself it was OK, that it was going to be difficult to have to tell her
about another failing of my own, but that there wouldn't be much to hear
from her. Well, I was wrong.
For starters, she told me about a man she met a few weeks after
that first night I had dropped her off at the bar. Among the many men who
had approached her and bought her drinks (that night and every night),
there had been one who she found attractive. Blond-haired himself, he had
a kind of smug brashness I disliked in others, and perhaps partly for that
reason Alicia liked him.
I had met him myself. His name was Gary, and he was confident
enough to come over to our table on Saturday nights when Alicia and I were
out together and plop down with us. On many occasions I had used his
intrusion as an excuse to drift away and shoot darts or play pool, and I
left them alone. Sometimes I'd watch them from a distance, wondering what
they were talking about. My heart would race with that nervous jealous
twinge I'd feel, and I'd imagine them together . which would draw me back
to the table before long. Not that it mattered, though - she saw him on
Fridays, when I wasn't around anyhow.
Alicia admitted he had ulterior motives from the very beginning.
"He asked me out lots of times, but I never went," she told me. No
surprise there, but her momentary pause told me something more was coming,
and it came in a hurry. "Then one day while you were at work," she
continued, "the doorbell rang and it was him."
I had a million questions for her: You invited him in? Yes, of
course. How did he know where you lived? I guess I must have told him
sometime, but I don't remember. Where were the kids? Outside playing.
What were you wearing? That old skirt and blouse I wear around the house.
She didn't have to elaborate. I knew the look: no bra, no nylons, penny
loafers, short skirt. Already I was getting a lump in my throat. She
would have looked so sexy to him. A hot little housewife.
She told me how they had sat at the kitchen table and talked and drank
coffee for a couple of hours. He had a lot of questions about me, about
our relationship, about our sex life. She told me she was as discreet as
always. She had nothing negative to say about me. (Since she was being
so blunt and she was so angry, I believed her.) At some point the kids
had come in to go to the bathroom. Alicia got them a drink and told them
not to go far because lunch was going to be pretty soon. Then they went
back outside. She was standing at the sink, rinsing out the drink
glasses, when Gary approached her and grabbed her from behind.
end my sextoy wife 1/2
by Jul 4 1944@aol.com
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM
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