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Subject: Story: The Straying Wife (01/26)
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I did not write this story, it was originally posted by TheEditor. The
Usual Warnings!

Enjoy!

Godot WARNING:

This story is fiction and should be treated as such.

The following story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and
contains descriptions of explicit sex. If you are not an adult or
reading descriptions sex stories upset you, do not read any further.

I am not the author. I don't have the talent.

I can only be the... "TheEditor."


The Straying Wife


Chapter 1


Nichole Parker's facial features alone were, in themselves, enough to
excite most men. It was a thin, heart shaped face framed by long black
hair that bobbed over her forehead. Her nose was long and delicate,
thin as porcelain, and tipped upward, revealing her flaring nostrils.
Her eyes were set wide apart and slightly tilted and her gaze was
direct, frank, unabashed. Her chin could be described as pert, her
mouth fleshy and broad, revealing dazzling white teeth whenever she
smiled.

All of her teeth were capped and paid for by Web Hardman. 

Hardman, dressed in his habitual trademark of all gray, stood behind
her chair at that moment. Both he and Nichole were looking at a wall
and a white projection screen that was silently and electrically
lowering itself into position. It was lowering into position at Web's
command. In another few seconds, he would flick a switch, and a panel
in the opposite wall would slide open and a projectionist lens would
focus itself. Web would turn a dial, the lights would lower, and a
movie, in color, would be seen on the screen.

But, first, he had some other things on his mind. He wasn't worried
about security; he had plenty of that. All the servants in the house
could be trusted. He went to his ornately carved desk---imported from
Italy and once was used by none other than the Medicis---and took
something from the drawer.

Semi-concealing it in his hand, he walked back to Nichole and stood in
front of her, a knowing smile playing on his lips. Nichole sat, cool
and poised, an attractive young woman in a slinky dress that exposed
her long slender legs and most of her firm young thighs.

Web took her in for a moment, took in her beauty and her voluptuous
body. Just turned twenty one, she was in the prime of her life. Her
waist was long and thin, gradually tapering up into her rib cage then
blossoming (there was no other word) into large, ripe, jutting
breasts... big as musk-melons, with provocative little shadows like
half-moons, under them. Her hips were wide and liquid, telling you by
the way she moved and walked that she had nothing on underneath other
than panties. At the moment Web stood looking down at her, she didn't
even wear panties.

Web knew this. Nichole never came to his home wearing any underwear.
The young girl shuddered to think what he would do to her if she were
to be so careless.

He stood smiling down at her, his face tanned, his features
distinguished. His tan hid an alcoholic flush, for Web Hardman drank
hard and long, and Nichole was truly afraid of him when he drank. Once
past a certain point, he was capable of anything.

At the moment, he had yet to have a drink. It was still early
afternoon. He looked down at Nichole sitting so sensually poised in
the big leather chair and spoke quietly, with an easy authority, for
he was used to being obeyed. "Pull your dress up."

Nichole obeyed immediately, hiking her dress high, almost exposing the
"V" of softly curling pubic hair that was half-buried up between her
thighs.

"Pull it all the way up."

His voice was still quiet, and Nichole again obeyed, pulling the dress
up so that it was around her waist, completely exposing the softly
fleshed flanks of her naked buttocks and her pubic hair. She sat,
feeling the cool leather against her warm skin, staring up at Web with
an attentive expression on her pert, Gaelic-looking face.

The middle-aged financier pointed with one long manicured finger. "Put
one leg over the arm of the chair."

Nichole only hesitated a second, blinking, before she obeyed, swinging
one long leg up and over the arm of the chair. With a barely audible
sigh, she sunk back in the chair, her eyes almost glassy, looking up
at Web with an expectant, almost depraved expression on her face.

Web looked down at her so obscenely posed. He saw her strong curving
thigh and the smooth, milky white inside of it, and his eyes raced
down to her loins with its sparse black pubic hair. He took in her
roundly panting mound of Venus and the way her fluted vaginal
lips---ragged and flushing under her pubic hair---were beginning to
swell and form themselves in a lust-pucker already. Her entire vaginal
slit was exposed, allowing a tantalizing glimpse of the pink lining of
her pussy walls that were already beginning to glint with the hot
moisture of sexual excitement. Near her mound of Venus, at the top of
her slit, bulged the nub of her clitoris.

Web liked Nichole. Over the years, he had trained the young girl well,
and she had been a good pupil, learning rapidly and eagerly. She knew
that she would be well rewarded for whatever task he put her to.
Besides, she had learned the joys of being bound, being subjected to
humiliation, being forced to do lewd almost unspeakable acts with him
or whomever he designated. Further, she had learned to submit her will
to his and let him do what he wished. She learned the rewards in
increased sensuality and molten, shattering, orgasms, and in the
financial rewards he so lavishly bestowed after his whim was
satisfied. She knew how to please him, and now she lounged back in the
chair, jutting out her mound of Venus, acting sluttish, enjoying her
lewd actions. Many a time he had reduced her to a verbal admittance of
being nothing more than a whore, and she had to admit she enjoyed it
herself. A wanton smile was on her beautiful face as he looked down at
her nakedly exposed cunt, and !  he nodded. "Good. Now, the other
leg."

Nichole obeyed immediately, swinging the knee over the opposite arm of
the chair and letting her buttocks come to the edge of the cushion.
She glanced down and saw with delight how her wide-spread and eagerly
quivering little cunt glinted and glistened from moist excitement.
More than anything, she wanted to reach down with her fingers and
caress her wet, heated vagina- --perhaps he would order her to do
that---and assuage the itching hunger that was growing there. She
wanted to rub her hands over her pussy and tease her clitoris, and
then finger fuck herself into oblivion. But she didn't dare; not
without Web telling her to do it.

He held his hand forward, revealing the thing he had taken out of the
drawer and kept half-concealed from her. At first glance, she thought
it was a new dildo; it was made of plastic, was white, long, and
thick, like a penis. Nichole looked puzzled. "What is it?"

Web pushed a button on the bottom of it and the thing leaped to life
in his hand, vibrating noiselessly. He pushed another button and it
began sliding back and forth, like a white, rigidly erect penis in a
sheath.

Nichole groaned and let her head roll back, her eyes half-closed. A
lewd smile was on her lips.

Web smiled back and stepped closer, between her wide-spread legs.
"Battery operated," he said as he held the vibrating sliding end on
the inside of one sleek thigh, near her wet, gaping vagina. Nichole
moaned again as she felt the pleasurable sensation. The vibrator was
warm and rigid---just like a cock! "I took the liberty of having it
filled with warm oil," Web explained.

"I love it," Nichole admitted thickly. And she did! She wasn't talking
just to please Web although it did, indeed, please him. The handsome
millionaire had been such an evil influence on Nichole's life that she
now looked at depravity as a way of life. Web was right and his
pleasure was her task. If she submitted herself to his will, submerged
her ego and allowed her lewdness and natural depravity to take over,
her task would be full of an intense and searing pleasure seldom, if
ever, experienced by other women.

She knew the vibrator was for her to use as Web handed it to her and
stood back, leaning against the desk. His arms were folded, his eyes
glittering, his hips twitching, as he watched Nichole turn the
vibrator on and let it slide all over her stomach and down into her
pubic hair.

Web observed it all with a detached, almost cynical look. He watched
the way a scientist might observe an experiment he had set up or the
way am amateur horticulturist might check the soil and temperature of
his rare orchids. It was a thing that interested him, more than a
hobby, more than a profession. With Web Hardman, sex was a way of
life. He was a unique and fortunate man, for he was born wealthy and
had grown up expecting the best that money could buy. He was educated
abroad and was really much more European than American.



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