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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: ASS:My Sextoy Wife, story by Jul 4 1944 1/2 (wife, adultery)
Date: 15 Aug 1997 10:45:35 GMT
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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
From vickietern@aol.com Fri Aug 15 06:44:00 1997
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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: ASS:My Sextoy Wife, story by Jul 4 1944 2/2 (wife, adultery)
Date: 15 Aug 1997 10:44:00 GMT
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ASS:My Sextoy Wife (wife, adultery) 2/2
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 2/2
by Jul 4 1944@AOL.COM
"He grabbed me by my right shoulder and pressed me against the
counter," she said, demonstrating by gripping it herself. "Then he began
playing with my ass." She said it so matter-of-factly that it was
stunning. I remembered the bruise she had on that shoulder one night long
before when she was getting ready for bed. I had asked about it at the
time. She said it had been from a bump against a doorway. The bruise had
lasted for days. I got a chill, a shiver. She had lied!
"Wasn't there anything you could do?" I stammered. "Couldn't you
.?"
"He was really strong," she said, looking searchingly into my eyes
for a quiet moment. Then it was as if she had made a decision. "And
besides," she added, "it was starting to feel good."
"Y-you mean you just gave right in?" I asked weakly.
"No," she responded. "I struggled, but he was just too strong. I
tried to get out of his grasp but I couldn't. I tried to keep his hands
away but I couldn't. Before I knew it he had me down on the kitchen
floor."
I listened, shaking, horrified, fascinated as she described what
happened. He had both her wrists in one powerful hand, her arms pinned
beneath her body on the floor. He forced one knee between her legs, then
began reaching up her dress with his free hand. She tried to close her
legs and forbid access, but she couldn't combat his strength. She tried
to reason with him, but he persisted.
"I begged him please not to, I'm married," Alicia told me, "but
that only seemed to make him more determined." She paused again, looking
at me and certainly seeing the pained look on my face. Then with what
seemed a momentary triumphant look, she said, "and he finally got to where
he was going." I sunk into a state of helpless despair as she
continued, sparing me nothing. She described how he began rubbing her
crotch, how in spite of herself she found herself responding to his
persistent fingers. "I was trying to say no, but you know what I get like
when I start feeling good," she said bluntly. (Oh, God, yes I did!) "I
guess he could tell I was horny. We hadn't had sex in several days. He
could tell I was beginning to love it. And I knew I was ready to really
get off."
She told me how her resolve (and her muscles) weakened and she
couldn't even try to keep her legs together. She described how he worked
his fingers beneath the elastic bands of her panties, how they found her
slit, soaking wet with pleasure, how they stroked her while she lost her
grip and the pleasure began to overwhelm her, how they probed and teased
at the opening to her vagina, then plunged inside.
"His fingers started going a mile a minute, and I started going
crazy," she said. "I had my first orgasm in about two minutes, and I let
him know I was having it, too. He said I turned him on like crazy with my
screaming. He even let go of my hands because he knew I wasn't going to
be able to fight him anymore." I remember her tossing her head defiantly
then. "I sort of tried, but it was no use."
She kept it up, as relentless in her blunt description as her
lover had been in his pursuit. She told me how she put her newly freed
hands to use, digging into his back and shoulders as he continued
fingering her to another orgasm. It was when he stopped fingering her to
undo his pants that she tried to resist again, but it was futile. He
reached down, then unzipped his fly, undid his belt, then his button and
reached inside to free his cock. And all the time using his body and
other hand to control the twisting moaning begging housewife on the
kitchen floor.
For a moment her smugness subsided. Looking away, she said, "Oh
God his cock was so big." She said she was almost afraid of it, so much
longer and even thicker than mine. Until then, I had thought all the wind
was out of my sails, but when I heard that, I really deflated. She saw
the look on my face. She seemed sympathetic and said "I'm sorry, honey,
but it's true." She told me how he went back to fingering her while he
moved his body into position to mount her. She told me how his fingers
made the pleasure start coming in waves again, and how she "started saying
all the wrong things."
"L-l-like what?" I stammered.
"Well, I talked about being married and how it would devastate
you, and begged him to stop, but the mention of me being married just
seemed to excite him more, she said. "He told me later it really turned
him on to know he was fucking another man's wife."
"And then there was something else," she continued. "When I knew
it was hopeless and it was going to happen, I said "you're going to make
me do everything, aren't you?" He told me "yes," and he said it gave him
ideas and made him go further than he might have gone."
There's no point in describing my feelings. They were a train
wreck. She ignored them, relating that when he entered her, it felt both
ecstatically pleasurable and annoyingly uncomfortable at the same time.
"He was too big. I didn't like the pressure," she said. "I've always
liked you better." But pressure and all, it still gave her pleasure and
she got into it with abandon. She said she couldn't help it. "My
resistance went to jelly when he pushed inside and started really fucking.
My hips started pushing and my legs fell open wide and I started getting
wild. I finally let go and began kissing him back, and I started really
fucking him, too. I had a couple more orgasms," she sighed, "then he came
in me."
God she was so blunt. She had more details to hurl at me, too.
"He only came a little bit, and he stayed hard," she said, comparing him
with me, who came a lot and went limp for a good while. It was another
thing she liked about me, she confided: the wet feeling it gave her inside
and how much she loved it. I guess there had to be positives to keep her
coming home all that time.
But I had to hear about Gary's endless erection and their
continuous fucking, until he was ready to come a second time. "Then there
was something else he decided he wanted me to do," Alicia told me. Oh,
no! Oh, no! I knew, I feared, what it was. "A-and . did you
." my voice trailed off.
"Yes, I did," she said, quietly, looking down in her lap. "I
didn't have any choice. I didn't have any resistance left. He made me do
it. Just like he said he would, because . because he wanted it anyway,
and I had given him the idea to get it all. I didn't want to. You know
how I used to feel about that."
Oh God, used to? Used to? My mind was swirling, fearing what her
words meant while she continued.
"He was so strong," she repeated. "He just worked his way up my
body and started pushing my head down. He had to grab my wrists again and
twist one arm behind my back and under me, because I was trying to get
away. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head into his crotch."
Incredibly, she took my hand and placed it in her hair, acting out for me
how he had pulled her head down into his crotch. Even in my state of
shock, her actions caused me to get an erection. She rubbed her face back
and forth across my crotch, reenacting what he had made her do. "I tried
to turn away," she said, "but he rubbed his cock all over my face and in
my hair. He was rough."
I should have known it would come, but this was like a sudden
knife in the heart. This was the one place where our sex life had always
been a disappointment to me. She just didn't like doing it, and it had
been years since it had happened. She had always claimed to be selfish,
not wanting to waste my best ability to give her pleasure on oral sex. "I
want it to be fun for me, too," she would say. Oh, how I envied the guys
who were the recipients of regular (or even occasional) oral sex. And now
I was about to learn that at least one of them had gotten it from my wife.
She continued her story. His forcing her head down into his groin
became a turn-on for her, because it was covered with the powerful musky
aroma of their arousal and mating. She loved those smells, and would
often touch herself, then wipe her finger beneath each of our noses
whenever we made love. She said it excited her and enabled her to get
into the experience and the pleasure even more. The aroma began to
overwhelm her senses as she felt and watched his cock brush over her nose
and lips and ears and cheek and chin and into her hair, which clung to its
stickiness. With one hand, he held her head in place by her hair, while
he went back to fingering her with the other.
"I was just helpless again," she almost whispered. "I was getting
off like crazy. I knew what he was going to make me do, and it suddenly
just seemed to make it even more exciting. I thought about you at work,
and me at home on the kitchen floor, being raped by another man, and he
was going to make me do something I didn't do with you, and I don't know
why but it just gave me such a rush. I never had that feeling before,
being forced to do something against my will, knowing it was about to
happen, feeling the anticipation, Knowing I couldn't resist, knowing it
was sex, and it just turned me on. I started thinking again he's gonna
make me do it, so I gave up and stopped trying to turn away, and I let him
force it in my mouth."
At this point I felt an incredibly strange combination of
feelings. My stomach was turning in agony, but I also felt a surge of
erotic fascination, and my erection was harder than ever. I felt so
defeated, and yet there was something deliciously exciting about the pain.
My breathing was labored, as though I were having sex with her myself.
She looked at me with what seemed a momentary flash of understanding.
"See what it feels like?" she asked me. But she really had no
idea how complicated those feelings were. She took a deep breath of
resolve. "I started this, and I'm going to finish it," she said.
She told me how she had to grip the base of his cock so he didn't
choke her by pushing it too far down her throat. She marveled at how his
demeanor changed once he was inside her mouth - how he changed from an
aggressive bull to a purring tomcat. She felt him relax, and could sense
him experiencing a kind of reverie. "It suddenly occurred to me that now
I was in charge," she said. "His pleasure was up to me. He could get his
way, but my attitude could spoil it for him. I began to realize it wasn't
just you. Men really want it bad, and they're attracted to women who do
it for them. Gary was just like you. I got the idea maybe all men are
like that, and maybe that's what they really want from a woman."
"So I decided to have my little secret, too," she continued. "I
thought what the hell and I made my mouth as soft and wet and cozy as I
could and let him go to work. You didn't know it, but my mouth was sore
for the next week. He was fingering me so good I wanted to scream, but I
couldn't. I was so turned on I started to want what was going to happen.
I started using my hand to jerk him and help him get off. I could feel
him begin to tense and he started really groaning and I knew he was going
to do it, but I didn't flinch." She hesitated for just the briefest of
seconds, while she glanced at me. No shame, no guilt, just bold brazen
truth. "It was probably just a coincidence," she continued "but maybe not
. I had an orgasm while he was coming in my mouth. I felt it squirting in
there on my tongue and I was trying to scream I was so hot and I was
thinking I've really done it, I've really sucked another man's cock all
the way and Michael doesn't know. I didn't know it at the time, but those
thoughts of cheating on you and having secrets from you got mixed up in
the pleasure, and they began to go together for me." Oh, God!
As the sordid details of her oral experience piled up on me, I
felt that strange mix of feelings continue to stir inside me. As she
detailed her powerlessness, her degradation, her surrender, her orgasms,
my erection grew harder, even as my stomach turned and my hands shook and
I felt so weak and sad. I was breathing deeply, as though I'd been
running. Rather than just hearing words, I began to visualize her on the
floor, her skirt pushed up around her waist, her panties down around one
ankle, her blouse unbuttoned, her hair in the grip of this man, her legs
spread, his fingers dancing inside her cunt, his hips thrusting forward
and jerking back, over and over, his cock going into her mouth, deep and
back, deep and back, over and over, over and over, and the moans and the
grunting, oh their wild animal sounds as they mated, and her, my wife, my
wife, getting off on it, giving in to it, going crazy on our own kitchen
floor, pulling and tugging on his cock as it nestled in her mouth, going
from fighting it to wanting it to happen, to helping make it happen!
At the same time I was hating her for her betrayal and
experiencing the humiliation of a husband whose wife has become an
adulteress. But, perversely, I also felt a kind of exhilaration, almost
like I was in free fall with the ground rushing up at me and my anger
seemed to drown in a desire to hear more, to learn more details, to be
stung with the whole graphic truth. And, most perversely, I felt an
inexplicable urge to jack off, just imagining it, just imagining it. Oh,
it really, really happened! I felt like I was experiencing some
altered state of consciousness. I felt numb, and my ears were ringing. I
was gasping, enough for Alicia to ask if I were all right. She again laid
her head in my lap, and there was no doubt she could feel my arousal along
with my pain. Oddly, instead of revulsion and shrinking away from her, I
began stroking her shiny blonde hair and caressing her shoulder with my
shaking hands. Oh, my Alicia!
Lying there, she told me the rest of that first story. How he
finally came (his tiny amount) in her mouth, how she wouldn't swallow, but
spit it out. How he told her that seeing his cum running out of her mouth
and down her cheek and neck in a little gray-white rivulet was one of the
sexiest things he'd ever seen. How he went back to her cunt and they
fucked once more, until he had his third orgasm inside her.
"And then," she said, so matter-of-fact, "it was time to get the
kids lunch." He let her up and she straightened herself out and Gary went
into the living room while Alicia rounded up the girls and fed them lunch.
When lunch was over, the kids wanted to go back outside. "So they went
outside, and Gary and I went to bed. I let the kids skip their naps.
They thought it was a treat." She was silent for a moment, then inserted
the dagger. "It was a treat for all of us . except you."
She decided to call a halt to it then, saying she didn't think she
ought to tell me any more that night . except for one important thing. "I
have to communicate this, because you need to get used to what you're
going to hear."
"I want to do something for you," she said. When she had begun
telling me the last details of her mouth fuck, she had begun softly and
tentatively caressing my crotch. I guess she noticed I was hard, so she
had to know in some way what she was telling me was in some way exciting.
"Did you like my story?" she asked, I guess referring to my
obvious erection. "I didn't think you would."
"I-I . I don't know," I murmured.
"I thought you'd be more angry. It's almost like you knew." It
was a simple remark, but one that bespoke a heightened level of experience
and sensual awareness. It made me shiver. And it made me harder. I
stroked her hair as she leaned her head back against my chest and began
working at my belt and pants. I could feel her breathing begin to
intensify to match my own. Everything seemed to become deathly quiet.
She reached inside my fly and pulled me free. She began stroking me,
caressing me, her head moving down closer and closer. With one hand on
her head and one on her back and shoulders, leaning back against the sofa,
I stroked her in return.
I guess she knew by then that guys would do anything, put up with
anything, maybe even tolerate anything if they thought they could get
their cocks into her mouth. She had just revealed what I already feared
was the tip of an iceberg of betrayals and lies, and yet as her head
descended into my lap, I wanted to be in that mouth again myself. Even as
I continued to shiver with the shock of her revelation, I was intense with
anticipation. Or was she going to make it the final blow and tease?
What I got was much worse. First, she said one last thing that
hit like a slap. "I guess you know what I've been doing. You've waited
for your turn long enough." And within seconds of her mouth enveloping
me, I knew what she wanted to communicate. As I felt myself slide deeper
and deeper into the soft snug warm wet cocoon that was her mouth, as I
felt myself touch the back of her mouth and the entrance to her throat, as
I felt her nose bury itself in my pubic hair and her mouth resting at the
very base of my cock, and I felt the gently rhythmic massaging of her
cheeks and tongue that began making my excitement take off like a rocket,
I was reminded of the few other times years ago she had done it, and how
different it felt - so rough and reluctant.
But it was rough and reluctant no more. Now it was like heaven,
and I knew, even as she made me soar in momentary pleasure, that heaven
had come at the price of lots and lots of practice. As I let myself get
lost in it, I thought about what she had said . "you need to get used to
what you're going to hear." I knew there were more stories, and I was
going to hear them all if I had the strength to bear up under it. I began
to wonder how many there had been . how many lovers and how many cocks in
her mouth and how many . how many guys like Gary who wouldn't take "no"
for an answer? How many lies, how many other men in our bed and how many
enjoying the perverse rush of getting cunt from a beautiful married woman?
She must have known what I was thinking about, because she poured
it on. Pulling back, moaning "you really like it, don't you?" Licking
me, grasping me, taunting me. "You know what I've been doing, don't you?"
"Yes, yes."
"You know you're gonna hear it all, don't you? You're gonna hear
every detail."
"Yes, yes."
"And if you don't listen to every detail ." I waited for the
punch line to her threat as she momentarily took me back into her mouth.
Then she pulled back again and finished her thought ". it's because you
moved back out again. It's because you couldn't take the cheating I had
to take."
I thought she was done, but she wasn't. "I think you've figured
it out by now," she said, "but if you haven't, I'll tell you. No details
any more tonight, but the truth is I've been a whore. Gary got me started
because up till then I had said no, but he made me realize how much I
loved the attention, and how much I could love the sex. I realized I was
right where I needed to be to have all the men I wanted - every Friday
night and just about anytime I wanted company at home. I just fell for
it. And even though I used to hate it, I really fell for the oral sex
because it's the thing that makes men weak. They want it so bad. And I
learned the more I did it, the more attention I got. And the more
attention I got, the more I loved doing it. Do you like what I've been
doing to you? Does it feel good?"
"Oh, God, yes!"
"You want me to finish, don't you? Even after what I've told
you."
"Yes."
"The story about Gary and I isn't the worst. It was just the
first."
What could I say? I was a helpless, broiling mixture of pain and
anger and desire. I wanted her to tell me. I wanted to know everything.
I wanted to hear it! I wanted to experience it!
"OK," I said weakly.
"No, I mean it", she said, quietly but insistently, backing off
from me. "I want you to understand. You're going to hear a lot. The
things I've done . I really want you to stay. I don't want to drive you
out. But you wanted the truth, and I just can't hide it anymore." She
hugged me closely, tightly, looking almost regretful. "I've really been a
whore," she repeated, looking me softly in the eye. "I've been a slut. A
pickup. A tramp. Every trashy word you can think of applies to me. I
want to know you understand. I want to be sure you're ready for what
you're going to be put through in the future."
I just wanted her to finish. "I do," I moaned, "I do understand."
Where was this tangle of desire and pain coming from?
She shocked me again. "Say it," she demanded quietly. "Say your wife's a
whore. Say I'm a cocksucker. That's what I am. That's what I've been.
I know that's what you're thinking." Her eyes were blazing again. A
fierce glow of pleasure and pride. "How do you like it? How does it feel
to find out your wife has been sucking cocks while you didn't get any?
That's the truth you're going to hear - well, at least some of it. So
come on . say it. Tell me I'm a slut."
I didn't want to, but she began berating me, angering and
frustrating me, and forgetting what she was going to do for me. And so I
did, weakly and self-conscious at first, but stronger and stronger as she
demanded it. "You're a whore, Alicia," I said, and strangely, the words
felt good. "You're a fucking cocksucking whore. Oh, God my wife's a
whore. My wife's a whore!" Oh, the shiver of realization!
I reached for her then in a sudden explosion of frustration and
anger. I grabbed her head and pushed it down toward my lap. "Come on,
slut," I said, "do what you do." But she resisted and started saying "I
don't think its the right time for this now" and "I shouldn't have
suggested this," but I was not about to be humiliated and teased and
tormented any more and I had to twist her hair and make her cry out and
had to force her head down, and she squirmed and protested "no no its not
right" but she did go back down on me then, and I ran my fingers fast fast
fast along her back while I twisted her hair and twisted her arm and
forced my hand down inside her nighty bottom. As my finger found her
slutty sextoy slit and she struggled like a gasping fish in my lap, I got
into telling her what she said she wanted to hear. "Do it, you fucking
cunt," I told her. "Do what you're so good at. Show me how good you are.
Show me what a slut you are. Show me what a whore you are. You little
cocksucker."
And as my heart pounded and I felt a surge of power as she
struggled in my lap, I pinched her and punished her and pulled her hair
while she whimpered in helpless pain, and I said "open up, cunt, you're
gonna do it for me, too." And she surrendered to it, let me force her
lips apart, and I descended into her deep wet syrupy pleasure mouth, and
my hips rode and I pushed deep, and I moaned "suck it, suck it, cunt," and
she did, she did, taking me all the way to the back of her mouth and into
the entrance to her throat and I knew I knew she had done it so many
times, there was no choking, no gagging, just sweet wet heaven in her
mouth and I said again and again "suck me cunt" and I wondered how many
times she had heard those words, how many men there had been, how many
friends had experienced her, how great the betrayal, the lies, had been.
Oh she was so good! Her mouth was a soft warm wet cocoon, so
smooth and alive. A shiver went through me oh God it's all true it's all
true, she is a whore, she really is a whore, and I was frantic with anger
and elation in her mouth, and she gave in to it, seemed to love it as I
forced her to suck, her cries muffled, going "mmmm mmmm mmmm mmmm," taking
my thrusts faster faster and my finger sticky in her cunt and her body not
struggling anymore, her fingers digging into my leg, her voice trying to
scream body shaking orgasmic screams, and I thought oh God she loves it
loves being made to, loves the twisted arms and pulling hair and rough
bruises and getting weak and giving in and being force-fed cum, and I got
such a frantic rush oh thoughts of her, her sweet whore's mouth, tempting
and teasing and tormenting and provoking and resisting, then surrendering,
sucking, swallowing and I was lost in it reveling in it not even myself
anymore but all her lovers all of them and I thought about them all with
her, their fingers in her cunt and their cocks in her mouth and all those
nights with her naked in the dark and all her lovers brought home to our
bed and I realized in a flash so sudden oh God I love this love what she's
done love what she's saying love her being a whore love thinking about her
cocksucking mouth and rivers of cum on her tongue and down her throat and
all over her chin and her cheeks and nose and eyelids and gray-white globs
in her hair and streams running down her neck and I let it take me to the
edge of darkness and I surrendered to it, reveling in it, swimming in the
lurid pleasure of thoughts of her sins, thoughts of her lies, thoughts of
her secrets, oh my wonderful sextoy Alicia!
And at last I let it go, let it all go, and she took it, the sweet
slutty bitch drinking me down as my words rang out "oh, my God my wife's a
whore oh do it do it do it cunt oh do it oh OH OH OH OH OH you fucking
fucking fucking fucking cunt," and my spasms shot me all of me squirt
squirt squirt into her mouth and she swallowed and swallowed and swallowed
me and we lay there in our reverie, my cock still in her mouth, my finger
still dancing in her sextoy slit, and for just a moment I forgot all the
ecstatic anguish that was still to come.
THE END
(c) 1997 by Jul 4 1944
All comments addressed to the author will be welcome.
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM