Message-ID: <5158eli$9710251349@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/5158.txt>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: New TG: Queer Halloween by Vickie Tern 1/3
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <19971025012101.VAA13375@ladder02.news.aol.com>
New TG: Queer Halloween by Vickie Tern 1/3 Femdom Wife MM MF
For those whose reality includes fantasy, not for those who
fantasize reality, not for those who can't tell the difference,
and not for those under legal age. I guess that about covers it.
Queer Halloween
by Vickie Tern
i.
Oh, there's the waiter. I'm so pleased we could get together
today, Carol, it's been months! Nothing on for this afternoon?
Good, because telling you all about it will take some time. You
started it all, you know, in a way. Yes, thank you, I'll have a
Perfect Bourbon Manhattan, and we'll order afterward.
I suppose it was wicked of me, what I did to him. But he did so
deserve it, and it was such fun setting him up, and I was so
furious that I didn't care about any of the possible consequences,
that he might leave me flat, or that he wouldn't be able to return
from where I put him, or he wouldn't want to return, or that maybe
I wouldn't want him back afterward anyhow. In a way all of these
things happened. We're still living together, but certainly we've
turned a corner in our relationship. We've both learned a few
things. He sure did, I saw to that!
He'd been unfaithful before, you know, very often. I always
suspected, but I never knew for sure. Women were always coming on
to him. Why not? He's a gorgeous hunk, and hot, and horny.
That's why I married him, he couldn't stay out of my pants, and he
kept coming back for more, and I got to like him that way. So did
other women, I suppose. They'd leave tracks sometimes, makeup or
perfume on his clothes, or a woman's voice unerased on the answerer
asking where is he, why is he late. I'd ask casually, and he'd
always have an innocent explanation.
I wondered sometimes if there was some kind of Don Juan streak in
him -- you know, that idea that a man who's compulsive about
bedding women may be trying to drown out some suppressed homosexual
urge, that he really wants to bed down with a man, or even to be a
woman? I suppose it happens, though with Jerry it seemed so
unlikely. He's such a man's man, working out at the club all the
time, and all. But you never really know! Anyhow, what could I
do? Marriage is based on trust. I had to try to trust him until
he went too far.
Well, finally he went too far. I wouldn't have known except for
you, Carol. We were out shopping a couple of months ago, you
remember? And you made an odd remark. Out of nowhere you said
that you didn't understand how I keep my figure, eating all those
rich foods the way I do.
Well, I'm slim overall, curved where it matters, always have been,
you know that. I love looking the way I do, too, so I never over
eat, and when I'm even an ounce too heavy I burn it off with
Jazzercise or Modern Dance or something. And you know that too.
I know you tend toward plump when you're not careful -- you once
told me you gain weight just from biting your nails. So I figured
you were just having one of your "I hate my body" moods, and I
didn't pay much attention. I just asked, "Whattaya mean?" and that
minute I spotted a very pretty blouse, and I asked you if you
thought it would go with that purple shantung skirt I wore to the
Arts Festival, you remember? The one I got at Elaine's Close-Out
Sale? I just love it.
Well, I remember what you said. "Its perfect," you said. "The
texture and the look are perfect. But that's not a Fall color, so
you'd have to wait till next year to wear it." I remember you said
that because the whole time you weren't even looking at it, you
were looking at me. Then you said, "Anne, what I mean is, you've
been dining out fancy I hear, for two weeks now. Practically every
night this week. Places like the Versailles, with all those cream
and butter sauces, and the King George, with those huge portions
they think people can eat."
I just said "Oh?" I didn't understand a word of what you were
saying.
You said, "Other places too, I hear." And you went on that Tim's
partner had been entertaining out-of-town buyers, and that wherever
he went he kept running into my Jerry with a beautiful woman who
had to be me, the two of us very lovey dovey, dining and dancing in
different places. Restaurants, cocktail lounges, night clubs, all
over. He envied Jerry I'm such a knockout, and that we still feel
so romantic about each other. Like when he saw us having drinks at
the Starlight Roof, then holding hands all the way back down to our
hotel room. On a weekday! So naturally you were wondering how I
was able to eat all those meals and yet stay thin.
Well, Carol, I got the message, and I may not have been very nice
to you at first. But my mind was racing. "I get lots of
exercise," I told you. "You know that. I work out, I jog." All
the while I was thinking, every night this week Jerry phoned me to
say he had to work late at the office, while I've been home with
the TV and the washing machine. "I beat up on Jerry sometimes," I
told you, and then I got nasty. "Sometimes we make love, that uses
up calories. You should try it with Tim for a change!" I'm sorry
I said that, Carol, I really am. But you forgave me right away, I
could tell.
Here they are. Another round after these? Then we'll order.
Well, we both knew that Jerry sat in on Tim's poker game now and
then, so Tim's partner knew him, but he'd never met me. Jerry'd
been getting home way past midnight, trying to get ahead of his
work he told me, so his secretary could burrow in from the moment
she got in, he said. I remember I told you "When you get hot under
the collar, really steamed up, that burns lots of calories."
Well, was I steamed? You bet! The previous week Jerry'd been
working late too, had to get in the figures for the Third Quarter
he said. One night he didn't come home at all. I was frantic when
I saw he wasn't there, till he called around daybreak to say he was
still at his desk, he'd fallen asleep.
But what you told me made me really furious! That shit! I was
thinking. That fucking, two-timing son of a bitch! That snake!
All you said was "You and Jerry, still behaving like newlyweds.
Don't know how you do it!" Then you held up a maroon scarf I
remember, and said "Here's a strong Fall color that really picks up
on your complexion." Were you ever right!
Well, you were a real friend, Carol. All through the next week
Jerry kept working late at the office and I confirmed that he
wasn't there. Nothing to it, really. First a phone call and get
only his phone mail service. Then drop by and find the place
empty, but there's his secretary's day book open on the desk. And
there it all was! Full day appointments with some floosie office
manager from some place down south, notations repeated like "tied
up with Jocelyn, Craig Assoc., all afternoon," and "flowers for
Joc. to her room at the Westin, charge to C.A. account." Last week
a jeweled silver bracelet came for "J, of C.A." and was paid for
with office funds. I saw that a ladies' gold watch was delivered
to the office just yesterday, and there it was in the secretary's
top drawer, not yet re-wrapped after someone had checked the
engraving -- "It's been just lovely, and you were even lovelier --
your Jerry" it read. My romantic Jerry. There was one more date
listed, a final dinner reservation for the next evening at the
Regency, that posh supper club. A plane flight the next morning,
a limousine to the airport booked for her. Farewell floosie, I was
thinking, back you go down south to associate with Craig Assoc. for
a change! You were never lovelier!
But what should I do? I thought of breaking in on their little
soiree that next night, then and there. But something held me
back. It was so trite! What part was that for me to play? The
long-suffering, wronged wife bursting in on their romantic love
tryst, hair awry, shrieking, making a public scene, destroying
their golden farewell, ruining their final fuck? And then divorce,
as a matter of honor? No. Not me! That wasn't my Fall color! A
tantrum was too good for him, and divorce was much too easy! Let
him stay tied up with her all night if that's what he wanted. I
decided to wait and see what else I could come up with.
Well, maybe you didn't know it, Carol, but last year when I
suspected something I tried to humiliate him. I sent him to his
office Halloween Party dressed up like a chorus girl. Shaved legs,
Cupid bow lips, mascara slathered on for a deep, mysterious look,
hot pants, net stockings, long-haired wig -- I even taught him a
high kick or two for his grand entrance.
But it didn't work. He didn't behave at all like a chorus girl,
and he wasn't any way embarrassed by his clothes. He was just
himself, cocky, relaxed, grinning. He wore the cute embroidered
bolero I gave him to set off his titties, but he wore it as if it
were a sports jacket, and when he danced with the prettier wives
and associates his hot pants and stockings looked like no more than
ballet tights. And his high heels looked like dancing slippers.
The secretaries all told him he looked just darling, and some
crowded around to ask how his panties managed to hold everything
in, and some felt free to feel up the bulges on his chest. If
anything, it made him more attractive to the office cuties. No, he
had much too much confidence in his own manhood.
But now Halloween was coming up again, and I was thinking real
hard. How can you humiliate a man's man? One way for sure. That
next night, while his floosie was being even lovelier than lovely
at the Regency and then later on his cock, I waited for him at home
in the fanciest night wear I own. Black lace gown, pink chiffon
wrapper, hair up, face really beautiful, dripping all the sex I
hadn't gotten much of lately. When I heard his car glide to a stop
in the driveway about 2:00 a.m, the engine already off, I lit the
candles I'd placed all around our bedroom. The bed was already
made up with the black satin sheets my racy Aunt Agnes gave us for
a joke when we were married. He came up the stairs shoes in hand,
and when he opened the door to the conflagration of candles and saw
me reclining luxuriously on the black bed, he stopped stunned.
"You're still up?" he asked. You bet I was!
"Come here and kiss me, lover man," I said to him. "It's been too
long!" Exactly three weeks, as a matter of fact, is what I was
thinking!
"I'm pretty tired," he said, establishing a negotiating position
right at the outset. "It's been a long day."
"I bet it has. But my day's only started!" I said, baring my
teeth. "C'mon baby! Put out my fire with that hose of yours!" My
God! I was thinking, he has me talking like a porn queen!
He began to fold his hand. "I can't, hon! I've been hard at it
all day," he said. "I'm exhausted, now, really! I'm not sure what
I can do!"
"Kiss me, Jerry!" I told him. "You can kiss me!"
So he came forward slowly, and leaned over me. I sat up and
grabbed him around the neck and ran my nose and cheeks all over his
face. I was right! The smell of that woman's cunt was all over
him, even in his hair! It was like earlier, when I could still
taste my own juices all over his face. Even his neck was wet!
How? I tried to imagine -- of course! I bet he'd been licking out
her asshole while she sat on his neck and leaned way over to give
him one last blow job for the road, and love juice trickled out of
her. Her asshole! I just bet he was tied up with her? Did she
feed him any goodies while he was tied up down there? No matter
now, I had to play this hand out.
"Mmmmm!" I said. "More! I want you to fuck me, Jerry! I need
you in me now! Now! Fuck me! Hard and deep! My pussy is aching
for you!"
"Ummmm, I'd love to, honey, really. But I'm not sure I can right
now. I've been working pretty hard! I don't feel too sexy."
"If you've been working hard, why are you so soft now?" My hand
squeezed his nuts until he whimpered a little. Then I bared my
breast and cupped it toward him for his delectation. "Just suck on
this!" I said, growling. "Suck on me, lover man!" He bent over
further and he did it. But it was obvious, too much titty had
already passed through his mouth that evening! His heart wasn't in
it. My nipples were barely in it.
"Ohhh!" I groaned as if I were getting near an orgasm. "That's
wunnnnderful! More! Why can't you suck on me more? No? Then my
pussy, suck on my pussy!"
Carol, normally Jerry can play harmonies on my pussy like a master
harmonica player, blowing and drawing and tonguing tunes up and
down my labia until I'm nearly out of my mind with delight, and
afraid even to ruffle his hair or squeeze his head with my thighs
for fear I'll ruin the concert. But now his weariness showed. His
head hit my pubic wedge, and then he barely could lift and position
it. His tongue reached for my clit a few inches too high up. I
realized he was falling asleep.
I grabbed him and pulled him up onto me, and spread my legs and
wrapped them around him. "Now fuck me! Never mind anything else!
Just fuck me!"
"OK, hon" he said with some of the old verve, "How's this?" He
hadn't fucked himself out with his lovely lady before coming home?
No, he had. He was only being wishful. Nothing! That spent worm
between his legs stayed small. Pathetic! Now to set the hook past
the barb, no wriggling off!
"Please, now! Quick!" I let some real urgency into my voice.
He pushed his loins at me a few times speculatively, then lay
still.
"I don't excite you any more?" I asked, concerned. "You don't
respond to me any more? Maybe some other woman then?"
"No, no! Of course not!"
"Some other kind of sex then?"
"Please, hon," he said, defeated. "I'm just tired, is all."
"Your beautiful wife wraps herself around you and you're just
tired? Maybe you're hot for someone else instead? Another
beautiful woman? No? How about a beautiful man then? Yes? Are
you through with that thing down there now? Maybe we should just
cut it off and clear the way for a real man to get at you? Is that
what would excite you now? A real man plunging real meat into you?
With you going 'Ooooh! Ooooh! Ooooh!" in a little girl voice? No
more need to perform as my lover any more? Just being what you
really want to be, someone else's sweet darling faggot?"
And I unwrapped my legs from him, and turned my face away. I had
to, I couldn't stop grinning. "Just stay soft, sweetheart," I told
him. "And we'll see what we can arrange for you!"
"Sorry, honey!" he says. "Maybe tomorrow. You're just upset!
Please don't be upset! I'm really sorry." He wasn't, really. Only
embarrassed, and to give him credit, a little bit sad because he'd
disappointed me. He wanted to be every woman's lover. But he was
no way repentant.
"You owe me big time, husband." I made my voice sound hard,
bitter, menacing, sorrowful, hurt, pitiable, all at once. Let him
feel fearful and guilty, both. "My onetime husband. My somebody
else's something else! You owe me! Say it!"
"I owe you. Big time. I'll make it up to you from now on, Anne.
Really!" He thought I meant I wanted more fucking, for him no big
problem now that his "Joc." had gone back to her Craig Assoc. down
south. Was he ever wrong!
"Whatever I want, whatever it takes," I said.
"Whatever you want," he repeated. And before I could slide out
from under him he was asleep.
That was good enough for then. Now he had it in his head that when
he took up with any future bimbo there was always a risk of
non-performance with me, and non-performance meant deep debt. I
now had an edge on him he'd never get past. Hell hath no fury,
and so forth.
As far as he knew I was a dissatisfied wife and it was his fault.
That was bad enough. He didn't know that I was much worse, much
more dangerous. I was a betrayed wife. I'd have him eating out of
my hand soon enough, I was thinking when I fell asleep, his body
still heavy on mine. I began thinking what to feed him out of my
hand, and how, and when.
Yes. We'll order now. I'll have the broiled salmon, and just
salad, cut lemon, no dressing, nothing else. And can I see a wine
list?
ii.
Anyhow, for the next two weeks I was pleasant enough, and the only
change in our relationship was that I wouldn't allow his prick any
privileges whatsoever. He'd get into bed and hug me, and press
against me and get hard, and I'd let his mouth loll on my breasts.
He'd lick and suck and caress and gently roll them over his hands,
and when I was ready I'd push his shoulders down with both hands,
so he slid down on me and eventually found his head wedged tight in
my crotch.
Then he really went to work. The hornier he felt, the more
dedicated his lapping and sucking and licking. You really should
get Tim that hard up some time -- they think if they get us hot
enough with their mouths we've got to let them in, and boy do they
perform when they're desperate! Well, the more he tongued me the
louder I responded, sighing or groaning or crying out in sheer
gratification and joy. I had lots of orgasms. But somehow
whenever our bodies were coupled, his head never rose higher than
my breasts, and his cock never got past my knees. While he gave
head to my breasts or my pussy I could feel him humping away,
dry-fucking the mattress between my legs. Then when I was
satisfied I'd pat his head and go to sleep, or pretend to, anyhow.
Night after night I left him so frustrated I could hear him in the
bathroom afterward, whacking off into the toilet.
When he asked me why we weren't making love any more I told him I
thought we were, and that I was very well satisfied with him. When
he said he meant, why I wouldn't let him into me any more, I seemed
to realize for the first time that he hadn't been there lately.
Eyebrows raised in surprise, I said, "Oh, honey?" You can do that?
I thought we decided you couldn't get it hard enough with me, it
needed...some other kind of person." He said he'd been bone-hard
for a week, ever since the pressure of his night work subsided and
he could be home decent hours again. I said "Oh?" as if surprised,
as if I didn't know what to do with this information.
"You're punishing me because I failed you that one night, " he said
to me one evening after dinner. "And that's not fair!"
"Oh?" I said again. Then "Anything you want to tell me about that
night, honey? I wasn't stimulating enough for you, obviously. Was
anyone else? Were you seeing anyone else at the office? Any other
women?" His face held absolutely impassive, no response whatever
written there. "Any other men?"
"You keep bringing that up," he said annoyed. "Why?"
"You're avoiding my question," I pointed out. "But I can
understand why you wouldn't want to tell me. Men are attractive,
aren't they? They have broad chests, and large shoulders, and
buns, and really beautiful dicks, and they're hairy all over, and
you can lean into them and feel protected, can't you? Women are
only round and soft and smooth, and not very strong when they grip
you. And breasts are floppy, not at all like firm muscles. Maybe
you're like me, you like a little resistance when you make love.
Something solid. Maybe that's why your cock was so floppy that
night."
"Anne, quit it! It's been stiff as a board ever since then!"
"Oh? I hadn't noticed." I'd carefully not let him press his dong
onto my body, much less into it. "Well, I tell you what. When
you've made love to me the way I want, if I'm fully satisfied I'll
let you relieve yourself in me if you must."
That night he tried. He was inspired! I got the most stupendous
head work imaginable! I was out of my mind, Carol! But then
instead of turning over to go to sleep as usual I seemed to
remember something, so I lay on my back and spread my legs wide.
He clambered up onto me and he was all the way inside me in a
single push.
It was lucky I was already dripping wet from his saliva and my own
lubrication, he was so quick at it. He began to move in me, in and
out, in and out. For a few minutes he felt good, my pussy wet and
pressing in on him from all sides. But then he realized I wasn't
moving at all! I was warm and slick but in effect I was dead meat,
perfectly still and unresponsive as he banged me, pelvic bone to
pelvic bone. When his cock began to get to my feelings I turned my
mind to other things. He once said he thought about baseball
scores when he wanted to hold off, so I pictured patchwork quilt
patterns in my head, and that worked. I managed to hold my pelvis
absolutely still even when he began to cum into me, spurt after
spurt. Finally he softened and emerged, his cock dribbling down my
ass cheek, still breathing heavily.
"What a shame you lost control like that," I said. "Now you'll
just have to suck and lick all of that stuff back out of me, or I
won't be able to let you do that ever again."
"My own cum?! You never wanted me do that before!"
"Well now I do want you to do that. I know what your problem is.
You have too many hangups. You won't acknowledge your own sexual
orientation. If you're a latent homosexual, we have to let it out.
>From now on, you get to fuck me only because I want you to taste
the flavor of cum. I want your pleasure screwing me, and my
pleasure when you eat me, all to be preliminary to your enjoyment
of the jism you're eating out of me. That'll be my gift to you.
Cum sucking is the main event from now on. Get to it!"
I must say he did it, slurped up all his own cum and swallowed it,
along with my juices, and I came twice more. I wondered why I
hadn't thought of this years ago. Because I love the way he fucks,
I answered me. But so do too many other women. I was going to
cure him once and for all!
'Are you ever going to move when I'm in you, ever again?" he asked
me respectfully another night, after he had cleaned my slit out
thoroughly, swallowing all of his own sperm and then drying my
mound with his hair.
"Maybe," I replied. "I just have to relearn why. Give me time.
But isn't it delicious, what you've been eating out of me?"
"I'm getting used to it," he said, obviously trying to placate me.
A few weeks later when he'd swallowed lots more cunt-flavored
sperm, it was routine, no big deal for him. Then I saw my opening,
and my plan fell into place.
He'd told me right after Labor Day that his office was
restructuring and retrenching and down sizing -- he was too hot an
account representative to feel threatened, but by October general
office morale had completely collapsed. No one wanted to run their
annual Halloween party this year, he told me, because it seemed
like partying on real people's graves.
When I heard that I went to see Roger, the Senior Partner and
C.E.O. where I work, and suggested that our office institute our
own Halloween costume party. He thought that a great idea, it
would get our whole office staff and all their spouses and
significant others together, get us thinking like one big team
instead of divisions and factions, and so forth. It would improve
everyone's cooperation and efficiency -- maybe we'd work harder.
And besides, he liked parties. So he offered us the use of his own
home, though he stipulated that I'd have to attend to everything,
getting out the invitations, the refreshments, the entertainment,
everything, and get some house cleaning service to clean up
afterward. The company would pay for all of it, and he proposed a
whopping budget I had to stay within. Fair enough.
All that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I made a number of
phone calls, and I talked to Jerry's secretary for quite a while,
and meanwhile I checked out my Boss's house. I found out that his
wife was on some kind of guided lecture tour of the Nile, along
with Jerry's boss's ex-wife and some other wealthy women, mostly
from the Oak Bluff Country Club -- the old money set. So there'd
be no problem with wives. The place was huge, baronial, fifteen or
twenty bedrooms, you could get lost. I delegated arrangements for
food and music and so on to the younger staff. We decided we'd
each of us come as someone or something we thought we weren't at
all, a real stretch, and the grand prize would go to the person who
turned out to be that person or thing most persuasively, or close
enough to persuade the judges anyhow.
Then I called Jerry's boss -- a large, vigorous man named Ralph,
we'd had him to dinner a few times, he's silver-haired and he's
tough-minded. I told him I heard he was alone these days, and
invited him to join us.
"Why me?" Ralph asked right off.
"Because I think it might do Jerry some good," I said frankly.
"And maybe you too. It might even do me some good."
"Oh?" he said. "Maybe I hear you and maybe I don't. I'll be
there."
end Queer Halloween 1/3
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM
--
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /