TITLE    : Eight
STORYID  : eight-1
SUMMARY  : Fantasy &reality become confused for married man.
AUTHOR   : blueboar@lit
DATE     : 2002-04-25
CATEGORY : loving-wives
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |none|


"Don't," she whispered down at me, her morning shiny and bright, like she'd just woken up under a ray of sunshine. It amazed me that her hair wasn't all matted and twisted. But that was my wife, always neat, always composed.



"Don't," she said again, but I ignored her request and pulled her down again with one hand on her waist and strained up at the same time, groaning at the incredible feeling of the heated grip of her cunt, while I continued pressing between the crevice of her sweaty ass cheeks with the middle finger of my free hand. Sometimes Marty let me; today, it seemed, was not one of those days. She tried to pull away, but I held her lovely body firm. There. I started probing and massaging her tiny asshole. She swiveled her hips from my grasp in protest and my finger lost its mark.



"Stop it," she groaned, as I reached up to suckle one of her bobbing, dark, purple nipples. I was there again. My hand was there. I gently pushed into the tight, rubbery ring.



"Oh, David," she moaned. "Please. I don't like that."



I said nothing and closed my eyes as I felt my knuckle pressing into her, my finger tightly enveloped, the rest of my fist scrunched up into the softness of her spread ass. I moaned as I felt my middle finger pressing deeper into the gripping, strange muscle. I seemed to be touching the pulsing thickness of my own cock inside her, just a few millimeters away.



And for a moment, I felt as if I was two different people, like someone else was fucking her. Someone else was fucking my wife in the ass. I strained harder into her cunt, and pushed deeper behind her with my finger.



But she'd had enough. Her hands pushed off against my chest, and she was falling away, tangled in twisting limbs. My hard cock was rudely slapped out of her and onto my stomach. I saw for a quick second her open thighs, the dark, curly juncture of her cunt gorged and bloody red, quickly close, returning remarkably fast to normal, and she was at my side, trying to catch her breath. I shut my eyes panting heavily, felt nothing except the cooling of my wet, still straining cock in the air.



"Wash your hands," she was telling me, after a perhaps a minute, and the light bounce of the mattress told me she was getting off. I could hear her putting something on. I didn't want to see her walk to the shower. She would be dressed in her terry cloth white robe; there would be nothing to see.



"Make sure you clean up," I heard her reminding me once more and then the bathroom door closed and after a bit of rustling the shower started.



I opened my eyes and was greeted by the sight of my still swollen, sticky cock, flopped backwards. It drooled slightly at the piss hole, still burning to be sheathed inside her. No use. I pushed him away. I could hear the shower continue. Squeaky, clean Marty was probably washing carefully, making sure nothing was left on her body to hint at my obscene efforts a few minutes earlier. The footsteps of others in the hallway outside our room drew nearer. Children were up, getting ready for school. Kids. A wonderful wife. 



Tommy was yelling at Leslie that he wanted to be first in the shower. They were loud. 



Children. Wife. 



I looked over at the clock radio. 7:03. I groaned and tried to sit up. Wonderful life. 



Exhausted, though I'd just woken up less than half an hour ago, dreading this day no more than the others, I slowly collapsed back on the bed and curled up tightly in a ball under the covers.



* * *



"Come on, David," she grinned and then started unbuttoning her blouse as she closed my office door behind her.



I looked up from my papers. "I'm sorry," I said.



"You heard me. Fuck me."



I watched as her lacy white bra was revealed, the swelling of her magnificent tits obvious. I could see the beginning of the obscene erection of her pink, hard nipples poking through the lacy white.



"Fuck you?" I managed, my voice a gasp, after I caught my breath.



"Umm. That's right. Fuck me," she smiled, pouting her red lips. "I see the way you look at me. I know you want me. I want you to fuck me now before it's too late. Before I get married." Her hands reached behind her to unclasp the bra.



"Here?" I swallowed.



"Here," she continued and the bra fell to the floor.



"Right now?"



"Well, I'm not getting naked," she said, beginning to unbutton her short gray skirt, her lovely, full, firm tits swaying hanging lazily as she did, "to get a tan in here."



Her skirt dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it, leaving herself in black garters, hose and panties. I marveled at the chiseled muscles of her stomach, so unlike Marty's softer two birth model. She had a silver ring in her belly button just like I'd imagined. She was so much younger, barely out of technical school, my assistant, engaged to be married in less than three weeks. Now, out of nowhere she wanted to fuck me. This could not be happening.



"Well," she broke my concentration. "Do you want me or do you not?"



I stood, shaking, my body almost numb with excitement. "Want you? Amy. I've never wanted anyone more in my life."



"Well, then," she said solemnly while she peeled off her black panties and then stepped out of them, "come and get me." 



My eyes fixed on her hairless, shaved cunt. She saw where I was looking, giggled and then plopped herself down on the couch.



Come and get her? 



Blood pounding in my ears, I walked around my desk and there she was, one leg extended high atop the couch, the other firmly planted on the floor, her clothes and under things crumpled at my feet.



Come and get her?



I stared at her, unbelieving, at her open silky thighs. And in between them. In between those thighs, a sight I'd never seen in real life, only in pictures and movies: a shaved, juicy cunt. The thick, just glistening pink lips were slightly distended, opening like a pout mouth sucking on clear, bubbly syrup, and I thought I would die when she casually stroked her hand down and then opened herself wide with an inverted "V" of two fingers. 



Higher, her stomach, that silver, sparkling ring, concaving deeply at her narrow, unbelievably tight waist, and then up to her ribs and to her . . . Oh God. Shaking uncontrollably, I started unbuckling my belt, lowering my pants. And she did nothing but smile at me, gently teasing one of her nipples with one hand and carefully circling her clit with the other.



"Oh," she cooed when my briefs came off. "So big. I've never been with a black man before. That's a nice cock, David. I just knew it would be. Look how hard it is. Look how big and fat it stands at attention for me. Very nice. I can't wait to feel that big thing sliding inside me." Her finger dipped inside her and I nearly stumbled as I took a step forward.



"I hope," she said in a tiny voice, "I hope, it'll all fit in this tiny little pussy of mine." And then she groaned as she harshly shoved a second finger deep inside her bleeding gash. "Do you think you can squeeze that big black thing in here?" she asked groaning, and then she pulled both fingers out, both glistening. She crooked one of the fingers at me, all wet and shiny, to come join her.



Dear God! It wasn't a joke. She really wanted me. The little doll I'd been lusting after for the last year . . . it was going to happen.



The phone rang, but I ignored it. Not now. I was so close.



I lowered my body on top of her. I felt one of her hands, still wet and warm from that lovely bare pussy wrap itself around me, guide me and then my cock touched her. We touched. The tip of the head of my cock and the open flower of the swollen lips of her drooling cunt were touching, trembling against each other. I waited, not wanting this moment ever to end, and felt her gently glide the head up and down along her dripping slit. She pushed it down a bit lower, right at her opening, and suspended in mid-breath, my ass clenching for that plunge I'd dreamt about for . . .



Fuck. I sat up, jerked my hand from my hard cock under my desk. The knock at the door continued, louder. I clicked on the mouse. The image of the naked blonde girl on the computer quickly disappeared to be replaced by the company's green and red logo. I wiped my forehead. Shit. 



I took a deep breath.



"Come in," I called out. The door opened and the angel of my dreams stepped in.



"Mr. Lindsay," she smiled, a bit awkwardly, I'm sure, at the sight of perspiring face and dazed look.



"Yes," I said and I could hear myself breathing deeply.



"Sorry to interrupt, but the sales rep from the software company is here for your four-thirty appointment."



I nodded. "Thank you," I tried smiling. She turned around, her tight ass and panty lines, leaping to my face, but she stopped when she heard my voice again.



"Amy," I said, and she turned back to me, big blue eyes open wide, hoping I wouldn't be too long, not this close to five. She waited. God. She was incredible. So fresh and delicate. How many times had I fantasized about fucking her, like just now? Right here in this miserable office. Today's fantasy had been, by far, one of the better visualizations, but God . . .tall and lean. Baby blue and blond.



"Sir?" she said after a moment and I was brought to reality once more.



Say something idiot. Her clear blue eyes continued staring at me, hoping I was through with her. I knew she thought I was a weirdo.



"Guys decided where the honeymoon's gonna be?" I asked weakly.



Her face brightened, she shrugged and then grinned. "Cancun. Still Cancun"



"Great," I said and she hesitated, hoping I had nothing else idiotic to say, and stepped out. The door closed.



I stood from my chair, shaking and tried to calm down. Almost caught this time. I stretched, yawning, trying to prepare myself for the sales pitch that would bombard me in a few minutes. I shook my head at the empty couch, the image of luscious Amy, naked and ready, completely gone now. My cock was weak and soft in my pants, but the ache was still there. I squeezed myself.



I looked at the family picture on the fake wood desk. God. Wonderful life. Fuck.



* * *



The loud, awful bass in the dark place hurt my ears, as the stripper in the long flowing flimsy white dress, the little brunette with the tattoo on her right ass cheek, held my hand, and led me to a dark corner of the bar.



"Come here, a lot?" she asked as we passed several leering patrons.



"No. Actually," I breathed in deeply. "Actually, a sales rep's trying to sell something to the company I work for . . ." She looked at me blankly. Right, this really concerned her. "It was a friend's idea," I finished and she nodded and we stopped.



"Sit there," she motioned to a black chair with a torn cushion nearby. I looked around. The lights and colors from the center stage seemed like a million miles away now. We were alone in this corner of this dump.



"Sit," she said a little more firmly. I understood. Time is money and all that, especially for a working girl like her. She had a lot of willing laps she needed to sit on.



I sat where she directed, placed both my hands firmly on my knees and tried to see her face. It was too dark, but I thought I remembered she was pretty earlier on stage.



"Lap dance his idea?" she asked as she pushed my shoulders back and shook her jiggling tits in the flimsy dress in my face. 



"Huh?"



"This lap dance your friend's idea?" she asked again and forced my head into deep soft cleavage.



She smelled of tons of body lotion and awful perfume. I thought I would gag.



"Yeah," I said softly, releasing myself from her tits. "Except he's not a friend. Just someone trying to sell me something."



"Yeah, fine," she continued and started pulling off her long white dress in slow gyrations that had very little connection to the rhythm of the music pervading it seemed everything, even the floor of the dump. "That's like fifty percent of my customers, you know. Buddies trying to embarrass their buddies and stuff."



I nodded, feeling a bit awkward, as she stood now in front of me completely naked except for a white thong. I couldn't help but stare between her thighs. She definitely shaves down there, I thought; otherwise, her curly black pubes would be everywhere. Though she kept herself neatly trimmed, Marty never shaved it all down there, although I'd asked her often enough-inevitable rash was just too uncomfortable she would say. 



Right now, staring at this stripper's slightly pouched stomach, I would have liked to have studied her covered cunt a little more closely, look a bit for stubble, try to make out where her lips parted, but she turned around and, unannounced, scooted onto my lap with her back to me. And then she started grinding mechanically. 



It was all so tawdry. My hands were fixed tightly on the seat of the fold away steel chair as she ground and ground against my lap, and all I saw was her narrow back, the T of her thong, and . . . just great . . . slowly, obviously my cock was hardening under her soft lap. What the hell was wrong with me?



"Oh," she laughed, pressing tightly against it, her ass spreading wide to each side of legs. "I'm glad I can be of service. Most guys are too scared or embarrassed to get hard during a lap dance. This is a rare treat."



"Most guys-"



"I'm serious," she interrupted. "I mean, most guys have had too much drink also, but I get only a couple of hardons a night.



Unable to respond-what was I going to say?-I remained quiet, but she didn't care. She pressed down harder and I was starting to lose my breath.



"Will I get a discount, then?" I breathed, finally, stupidly, not sure whether she was complimenting me or telling me I was a sick fuck.



"I don't think so," she laughed nervously now that the subject of money and her getting less than she'd anticipated had come up. "I don't think so." 



She sat up and off and then turned around to straddle my lap with her tits in my face. I closed my eyes and let their softness bounce against my chin and nose and mouth. They were cold, clammy, so unlike my wife's ample, warm tits in bed. But we weren't in bed. We were in an old transformed drafty warehouse, with a lot of strangers around, ogling high school dropouts, girls young enough to be their daughters. Not a few of the rednecks had been watching me in disdain as the stripper had led me earlier to this isolated spot. I was so used to such nonsense-a black man with a white woman and how outraged white men became at the sight-that it barely registered now. Yeah, this stripper's cold tits fit right in.



I suppressed a groan. She was getting into it now. I could feel the soft swelling heat of her cunt mound, even the rolling and movement of the lips of her cunt. It was incredible. I wanted to strain up and grind against her, but I knew that would be a big mistake so I stayed still, letting her do the work. And she worked nicely and I was debating the amount of the tip when I felt her breath on my forehead. It felt so comforting. It transported me. I wanted to sleep. I shut my eyes, not wanting to think of anything, trying to blank out everything except the wonderful feeling of her pubic bone and soft ass against my hard dick, when I heard her whisper in my ear.



"What?" I mumbled, lazily into her tits.



"Do you want to fuck me?" the voice seemed to whisper again.



"Here?" I breathed.



"Yeah."



"Won't we get in trouble?"



"Let me take care of that. Just tell me if you want to. Your hard dick's got me really bothered, and I need it inside me. I won't finish the night without a good fuck." She licked my ear. "Well?"



"Yes," I groaned and wanted to suckle on one of her fat tits, but I felt her push my head back, roughly, just as my tongue touched her cold skin.



Instead, her hand dropped to my zipper, undid it, and very carefully, very cleverly, a little tug here, a little twist there, she dragged it out. She squeezed tightly and I thought I would spew all over her hand.



"Fuckin' nice cock, mister," she groaned softly. "Oh, I can't wait. I love black men." And she raised herself slightly off my lap, her other hand went between us, to push her thong to the side I was sure, and then she lowered herself again. I groaned as my cock head was muffled between her swollen, dripping cunt-lips. She grit her teeth and then, painfully, slowly, for what seemed like minutes, she lowered herself onto it, and we both sighed, relieved, when I was fully imbedded in her, the stubbly skin of her cunt and pelvic bone harshly pressed against me.



"Feels good?" she grinned down at me as she gently rose and fell, trying to get used to the mass inside her. I nodded, desperate to catch my breath, and for what seemed like long delicious minutes my cock was stroked up and down, her cunt gripped and tugged, enveloped and released. "Huge. God you feel good," she groaned and suddenly slammed down onto me. "So fuckin' good."



It was too much, the tensions of the day had been building too long and I felt my cock jerking and throbbing wildly. I closed my eyes and strained up into her. . . .



"Hey!" I heard her squeal and I opened my eyes to see her jump off my lap. My throbbing, the release, continued chaotically, pathetically deep inside the warm recesses of my suit pants, as I heard her laughing down at me. I shut my eyes tightly, praying this wasn't happening.



"Wow," I heard her giggle. "You should have said something. No disrespect but I don't, you know, want any of that touching me through your pants. And I'm not on the pill. Christ, this little thing barely covers me." I heard the snap of her thong.



My eyes opened slowly and I looked up to her grinning face as she started quickly, efficiently, putting her white dress back on. My lap felt soaked and I looked down at the lump in my pants. A dark stain covered the lump. Nice trying to explain this to the dry cleaners. Shit.



"You okay?" she asked softly.



I nodded and stood slowly. She waited by my side, looking up at me.



"Like that?" she asked.



I nodded and she continued looking at me expectantly



"Little tip, maybe?" she smiled.



I nodded and reached for my wallet. I opened it, took out a ten and handed it to her.



"Thanks," she grinned and skipped away, her little ass bouncing, to her next customer, a fat, balding old guy I noticed waiting for her a few feet away. The piece of shit must have seen everything. He grinned at me, as if we were brothers or comrades. I wanted to flip him off, but stumbled toward where I thought the bathroom might be.



* * *



I washed my hands. My pants were back on, but my underwear remained a sticky mess. What a disaster. The dull thud of the music outside could still be heard and I resolved to get the hell out of there with or without the software sales rep. I had to return home. It was Friday night so it would be nice to catch a movie, call the sitter. . . Now what? I answered my shrilly ringing cell phone.



"Hello."



"Hi."



My wife. What the hell was she calling me for? Christ. "What's going on?" I asked.



"Wanted to know whether you'll be home for dinner?"



"I don't know," I said annoyed. Why the hell was she checking up on me?



"You don't know?"



"I'm with a sales rep trying to sell me some crap," I replied impatiently. I think he might want to get some dinner." I didn't know whether that was true, but Marty had no business harassing me.



"Thanks for telling me."



"Sorry."



"Oh, well. Do you know when you'll be home?"



"No idea."



"What do you mean, 'No idea'?"



"I mean . . . I just . . . Marty, I've got to go." I prayed she couldn't hear the sound of the music from outside.



"Well, I'm getting a sitter, then. Two can play at that game, sweetheart," she laughed. She was teasing me. I was silent, my pants wet. I felt miserable. "Wait a minute," she continued. "On second thought, that's not a bad idea. Would you mind terribly if I went out with Terry a bit tonight?"

<hr pg="2" />"Whatever," I said, desperate to get off the phone before my wife asked where I was, what was the noise in the background.



"Okay, then. I'll be home before eleven. Pay the sitter. Bye."



But I'd already turned off the phone and regretted everything I'd said as soon as I stepped out of the door. Jesus. Why the hell was I upset with Marty? I'd acted like a total teen-aged twit in testosterone overdrive the entire day and now I was blaming my poor wife? Get a grip, shithead.



The only thing that comforted me somewhat was that she'd be going out with a girlfriend. She hadn't gone out alone with a friend in months. Her getting drunk a little might balance my own idiocy. They'd have a beer somewhere, dance a little and be on their way home before the Letterman show ended. Perfectly innocent. Perfectly harmless. Terry was a good egg. Neighbor friend, no children. Divorced. Always complained about her ex, although she got the house. The two would have fun.



* * *



"Hey," Frank the sales rep grinned up at me as I approached the table. "Christ. Where did you go? I thought maybe you and the stripper got a room or something."



I sat down, and tried smiling.



"Hey, was she good?"



"It was a lap dance. It was fine."



"What did I tell you?" he laughed, slapping my shoulder. "And you didn't want to come here. This place is great. I take only my select customers here."



I nodded, opening my thighs to try to air the wetness a little. What could be a finer compliment that to be in the idiot's select group.



"Did you, you know," he leaned forward, "bust a nut or anything?"



"Are you crazy?"



"Just asking, you know," he grinned backing away.



"Yeah, I know. And no, I didn't."



"Still, she was pretty good, eh?" he tried once more, hoping I would acknowledge how grateful I was that he'd dished out the whole ten bucks for her.



"She was fine."



He looked hurt. And then I felt bad for him. Poor guy was just trying to do his job and I was acting like an asshole. I wanted to say something, pick up his spirits, but he was looking around, trying to get the attention of a waitress. With nothing better to do, I pretended to survey the dark surroundings in silence with him.



"Another beer?" he asked.



I looked at my watch.



"Nah," I shrugged. "Little late. Time to go home, you know."



"Home?"



"Yeah, you know, wife and kids."



"What about dinner?"



He wasn't a bad guy, really. Typical sales type guy. Overly eager to please, disingenuous. Very standard. Suspense time was over. What the fuck? His firm was as good as any that would walk in the door. Price was right, and that, after all, was all that mattered. I smiled at him. "Look, Frank. You guys got it, okay. Our telecom, software, purchasing, audit, all of it, all of the systems need to be networked. We're at least four years behind where we should be. You guys got the contract, okay?"



His eyes brightened. "Fantastic," he smiled broadly. "Very cool."



"Yeah."



"Thanks a lot," he reached forward and we shook hands.



"You're welcome."



"You won't be disappointed, believe me--"



"Yeah, I know. I know," I interrupted, hoping this would end the evening.



"Well, shit, man," he continued and slapped me on the shoulder. "We've gotta celebrate, you know. Come on."



"Some other time, Frank."



"Oh, come on. Dinner, at least. I want to buy you dinner. Come on."



I was hungry, and the guy would be paying. And, of course, Marty wouldn't be home, so I'd probably stop by Burger King or something. Why short-change the baby-sitter? Fuck. A nice steak would be good. What the hell.



"Sure, Frank. Let's get some dinner."



"Great," he grinned, standing up and as we were walking out I jumped back, startled when someone squeezed my wet, sticky crotch.



I turned around, ready to shove some asshole redneck to the ground. 



My little stripper was grinning at me.



"Any time you want another dance, mister, even if it's a little more private, you know, you know where to go, right?"



She wasn't attractive, I could see now. She looked tired, burned out at twenty-two. She was depressing. She continued smiling up at me with her crooked teeth and I could barely see the color of her eyes through the caked on makeup.



"Sure," I nodded and stepped out after Frank, who punched me on the arm to congratulate me on my new friend.



"She really likes you, man."



I nodded. Wonderful life.



* * *



I shook my head as we walked into a popular dance club dump two hours later. What the hell are you doing? Fuck. My feet felt unsteady. How much did I drink? The prime rib was also bothering me, starting to come up. All of that horseradish. Christ. Frank seemed untouched, the bastard. He was a normal looking white guy. Not too big, not too small. You had to watch those normal looking white guys. Disaster. I belched.



I followed him through the packed crowd to the bar and took a seat next to him. The loud music was driving a hammer to my head with every obnoxious beat. I looked around. Middle-aged faces met me everywhere. The place really was a dump. Although I'd never been there until now, Amy, my hot little assistant, told me once while I'd been trying to guess the weight of her tits that she and her friends never went there because it was frequented by an older, more desperate crowd of divorced and soon-to-be divorced flesh-eaters.



Perfect for Frank and me.



"What'll you have?" he yelled.



"What?"



He leaned closer, almost kissing my ear. "What do you want to drink?".



"Club soda or something, Frank. I think I've had enough," I replied, trying to suppress another belch.



"Enough? Get out of here, man," he laughed and shoved my shoulder. "We just started, my friend."



"You have as much as I . . . I mean, you have as much as you want. Don't worry about me."



"Oh, come on. A couple of shots. We've gotta get ready for the babes here. Can't conquer on an empty tank, you know. Hey! How `bout some peppermint schnapps?"



My stomach churned loudly at the sound of it. "No. Thanks," I belched. The world started slowly, steadily swirling. Oh fuck. It was in my throat. I stumbled off the stool and walked as quickly as I could manage through the crowd for the bathroom.



* * *



I washed my face after it was over. Several people stared at me, disgusted at my weakness. Fuck them, Gino suited grease-balls. Although I wouldn't say anything. I was the only black man in there. I tried to clear my burning throat, tried to get the bitterness out. I spat and started gurgling. I stared into the mirror. What a fiasco this night had turned out to be. My eyes were red and watering and I looked like I hadn't slept in days. I felt a little better, though. Things were a little more focused with some of the poison forced out. I would take a cab home, pick up the car in the morning. Oh Christ. That would be interesting explaining it to Marty.



I stepped out and headed back to tell Frank good night and to arrange for a cab. The prick wasn't anywhere to be seen. Shit. I'd been gone, five, ten minutes tops. Where did the ass go? I caught the barkeep's attention.



"You see where the guy I was with went?"



He shrugged, smiling. Fuck. He thinks I'm gay or something. `See where the guy I was with went'? What the hell was that? There were dozens of people around. I took a swift, cursory survey. No Frank. Probably lost on the dance floor between two overweight Oprah addicts. Good. This would make things easier. And, of course, as I was about to ask the barkeep to get a cab for me, someone slapped me on the back.



"Hey. There you are, bud."



"Hi Frank," I muttered, turning to him.



"You okay?"



"I'm fine."



"Good. Like the Romans right? Clear out the system and get ready for round two?"



"I don't think so," I smiled weakly. Right now I wanted out of this idiot's clutches. Didn't know the guy and was starting to dislike him greatly.



"Are you crazy? Look, while you've been losing a lung in there, I've hooked us up with a couple of ladies."



I stared at him, unbelieving. I needed a saline IV and a defibrillator on standby and this ass was babbling about ladies.



"Have fun," I said.



"Come on. You've got to see these chicks. Very suburban, mini-van types. Mid, late thirties, and I think one of `em's even married. A real knockout. Beautiful black woman, nice tits, great ass. They're both tops and ready to party. They gave me some fucked up, you know, made up names. What do they say nowadays? The bomb, man. They're both bombs. Come on. I told them you wanted to party with them."



No doubt, he'd thought the mention of the black woman would have perked my interest, but this guy didn't know me too well. "I'm a married guy, Frank. I think--"



"I'm married, too, David. Who the fuck gives a shit? Come on. These are married chicks. White and black. It's too good to be true. You ever fuck a white woman? I want the black babe. Come on."



I glared at the stupid sonofabitch.



Completely unaware of how idiotic he sounded, he continued, "Fucking them is like a sure thing, like taking candy from a baby. That's the only reason they're out and at a great club like this. Hubby's too busy nailing his secretary."



I laughed, shaking my head. What the hell. It would be entertaining. I would have a good story, something funny to tell Amy on Monday, try to, you know, establish a rapport with her about awful dance clubs in the city (there were only three in total so it wouldn't be difficult). No. Get the fuck out here. Well. . . .



"Where are they?" I asked. What the hell, you know. What harm would there be in just saying `Hi', you know?



"Just around the corner. Come on."



I followed Frank around the corner and, of course, almost had a heart attack when I saw my wife and Terry sitting in a booth. The two of them were giggling with each other, like schoolgirls, so they didn't see me until it was too late. They must have sensed our approach because they both looked up, smiled stupidly for an instant and then both of their faces took a shocked expression.



"Hey," Frank had started, but stopped when he saw that they weren't looking at him. He turned to me and then back at them. "Something the matter?" he tried laughing.



Now what happens when a wife's or husband's pathetic little efforts at being silly, trying to act in a way that they know borders on stupid (agreeing to have a couple of drinks with a stranger) are revealed? And not revealed after the fact, or by accident (the loose tongue of a mutual friend or the long dark stranded hair on the suit), but while the stupidity is in progress, in real time, the possibility of an innocent explanation completely gone?



In the case of Marty and me, stunned is the best word to describe the first twenty or so seconds of the revelation that we were both out on the prowl. Quickly, embarrassment followed and then, just when Frank thought each of had lost our minds, Marty spoke.



"Your friend looks almost exactly like my husband."



I stared at her, could see she was trembling, and was about to say something idiotic when Frank's loud laughter interrupted.



"Ya hear that David? You've got an evil twin out there?" he guffawed. "Or," he continued. "Are you the evil twin? Too much." He continued laughing.



"He does look exactly like your husband, Mandy," Terry joined the act, relieved, I could see, that everyone seemed to be taking this in good spirit.



"Oh," Marty replied, with a lot more confidence in her voice now, "he's a lot better looking than my Danny, Candy."



Frank laughed, of course. My mind swirled. Was this my wife? Mandy and Candy? What the fuck kind of shit was this? How long had Marty been "going out" with Terry like this? No. Wait a minute. Fuck. Marty hadn't been out with Terry in months, almost a year. I knew Marty and I knew idiot Terry had talked her into this. This had to be a one shot deal, just for laughs. They were just acting stupid. Or were they? Fuck me.



"Come on, David," Frank continued laughing. "Say something. Maybe your voice is like her Danny's too."



"Where's Danny tonight?" I asked my wife, ignoring the two other idiots.



"Oh, your voice is a lot sexier than my husband's," Marty smiled up at me. "A lot."



"Where is he?" I asked again, annoyed that she was trying to buy time to come up with a smart answer.



"Entertaining a client or something. I don't know. Don't care. Kind of tired of waiting around for him, you know."



"That's right," Frank jumped in. "We're not gonna keep you ladies waiting for nothing, believe you me. Ain't that right, cowboy?"



I shook my head, not answering. The more drunk the idiot got, the worse his innate vocabulary and what must have been a very rural upbringing came to light. I needed to sit. I crawled into the booth so that I was seated directly across from Marty. It was unbelievable. She looked the same, but wasn't. Something had been breached. My perception of her. She was the mother of my children and now this? And it wasn't that she was dressed slutty or anything. Hardly that. Everything was in good taste, a white shirt, probably a modest skirt underneath the table, little lipstick, lovely. Everything was fine. But to see her in a bar, letting herself get picked up. I simply didn't understand. Maybe it was Terry who'd been receptive to Frank's dumb grin. I didn't know. It had to have been. Marty kept smiling at me, looking like she was becoming more and more relaxed and I could feel myself becoming more and more upset with her.



"So," Frank's annoying voice called down to us. "Something to drink Mandy and Candy?"



"A couple of more beers, don't you think, Mandy?" Terry answered. Marty nodded, and tried to smile at her friend.



"Two beers for the ladies and a couple of whiskeys for the boys," he grinned.



I watched him leering at me wife. He was clearly attracted to her. That was it. He left to get the booze. Terry and Marty tried to avert my glare. Now I understood why I was feeling so uncomfortable, so upset. Another man was finding my wife attractive. I hadn't thought of Marty as attractive or really as anything other than my wife and a mother for the longest time. Sure, we had a reasonably good sex life, but she always seemed to be holding back, like this morning, when I wanted to do something a little kinky, and I'd long resolved that my wife wasn't a nymph or anything ridiculous. She was normal. A normal wife and mother and now some sonofabitch redneck was buying her a drink and talking about her nice tits and ass. I wanted a normal wife, not this aberration. I continued looking at her.



"What?" she finally spoke.



"What are you guys doing?" I asked.



"What are we doing? What the hell are you doing, here?" she replied. Terry smiled.



"I'm trying to entertain that ass."



"Wait," she leaned forward and I could see her beautiful brown eye were sparkling, teasing me. "This guy's trying to sell you something. Why would you be entertaining him?"



She had me there. I had it backwards. Terry continued smiling.



"What are you guys going to do if he starts to . . . you know?" I tried a different tack.



"No. I don't know."



"If he takes this to the next level, Marty?"



"You've lost your mind, David. Good grief. You spend too much time on the Internet, doing God knows what. So many crazy ideas get in your head from all of that smut you look at. We're going to have a couple of drinks and . . . oh, brother. Don't be so weird."



And then both their faces brightened again in mock surprise as Frank approached the table.



"Here we go," he said, still grinning and leering at my wife, placing the glasses in front of them. He was talented, it appeared, able to carry four large glasses at one time. Lots of practice, obviously. He placed my whiskey in front of me.



"Well," he smiled, licking one of his hands to make sure none of the precious booze was lost. "Here's a toast to new friends and old faces."



I couldn't help but laugh with the rest of them.



* * *



Although I promised myself I wouldn't, I didn't stop drinking. None of us did. After a few more rounds, some stumbling efforts on the dance floor, I plopped back in the booth and tried to clear my head. I was exhausted. Terry plopped in after me.



"Wow," she grinned, her face sweating, red. She started pouring herself another beer from the pitcher. "We're really getting fucked up, here, aren't we?"



I nodded, but wasn't looking at her. I was focused on the dance floor, on my wife in the arms of another man. Terry turned to watch with me and I saw her smile. Although the song had some stupid, fresh beat from some bratty sounding lip syncing teenager, the two of them were slowly swaying, very drunk. I noticed, Frank's mouth constantly moved. The knob never stopped talking. But I also noticed that Frank's crotch was tightly pressed into Marty's abdomen. Was the sonofabitch grinding an erection against her?



"Wanna dance?" Terry asked. I smiled and turned to her and then shook my head. She shrugged and got out of the booth. "Off to the ladies room," she grinned and was away. I paid no attention to her.



I watched them continue with their slow, drunk dancing. Once or twice as they swayed and Frank prattled, his hands would cup her ass and each time she swiveled her bottom away and he would laugh, but he kept trying and after a minute or so, probably more out of exhaustion than anything else, she didn't push his large hands away and they remained there gently squeezing. I'd had enough and was about to grab Marty away from him when they stopped dancing and he whispered in her ear. What was this? The motherfucker was asking her to fuck, a blowjob, something disgusting! That was it. But she was shaking her head, laughing at him. He took her hand, and I stood, ready to rip his heart out, as I watched him trying to drag her away toward the exit, but she twisted free and started walking back to the booth. She saw me and smiled, shaking her head.



"Your friend, David, is a real letch," she laughed, thumbing her hand behind her.



"I can't help it," Frank laughed with her, adjusting his obviously erect cock in his pants. "What am I gonna do with this?" he asked and grabbed the fucking thing.



"Keep doing what you're doing," Mary giggled. "I'm sure something good'll come out of it."



"Something good, girl?" Frank continued. "Something really good, honey?" he laughed and then reached forward to grab her hips and pull her against him, but Marty screeched and quickly sidestepped him and took a more protective stance at my side, holding my arm tightly. I could tell she was excited, tense, and if I hadn't been there, I'm sure this redneck fuck would be soon enough in her panties.



"God damn, woman," Frank laughed. "Why the hell are you choosing this husband look alike over me? Don't you want something fresh? Don't you want a little white cream stirring in that coffee of yours?"



"I don't want anything from either of you," Marty replied smugly and scooted into the booth. Frank was about to follow in after her, but I stepped in the way. He looked at me, furious for a split second, but then remembered who he was, why I was with him and sort of slinked away to the other side. I wanted to laugh. Commerce beats out lust. Too funny. Funny? But wait. Shithead. His lust is directed at your wife. What a fucked up night.



"What's up gang?" Terry called out as she walked to us. I took a seat next to Frank and she crawled in beside Marty.



"Looks like the night is done," Marty said slowly. I could tell she was tired, very drunk, but mostly tired. I'm sure she was as exhausted as I trying to keep up the silly charade.



"So--" poor Terry began.



"Oh," Frank interrupted. "Don't be like that," he patted Marty's hand across from him. "Gosh. Night's just started."



"I've got to get home," Marty smiled, taking her hand away from him. "I've got a sitter that wants to go home."

<hr pg="3" />"What about your husband? He's probably home by now."



"No," Marty affected a sigh. "He's probably whoring around like usual."



"Well, then, damn, woman. Don't you think it's time you gotta little back?"



Marty shook her head. "Sorry gentlemen. Neither of you is good enough for me."



I erupted.



I laughed like I never laughed in my life. I couldn't help it. I'd been following the exchange, tense, hoping to God nothing more ridiculous than a few cheap thrills here and there was going to happen and the fact that Marty was calling it all off released everything that'd been building in me. I loved her so much. God, did I love my wife. I laughed and laughed. The three of them watched me, Marty, I could make out between fits and starts, rather carefully.



"You okay there, cowboy?" Frank asked, confused, trying to follow what was so funny.



I couldn't answer, was trying to catch my breath.



"What's so funny?" I heard Marty demanding.



I wiped the tears coming down my eyes and tried to heave myself into silence, but just couldn't.



"What's so funny?" Marty asked again, her voice rising.



"Nothing," I managed and could sense that the fits were subsiding. "Nothing at all. Everything's fine."



"You think you're good enough for us?" Terry sneered.



"Forget about it," I sighed, feeling my breathing returning to normal. "I'm sorry. Forget about it."



"No," Marty said softly and I could see her eyes watering. "Why are you laughing at me?"



"I'm not--" I started.



"He knows," Frank spat out, "we can find a couple of real young things to take care of us tonight. I mean, it's ridiculous you two acting all uppity and shit." The two of them stared at us stunned. Frank winked at me, grinning.



I stared at the fuck, unbelieving. What was his problem? But the slime wasn't through.



"Why, just tonight David here was with the hottest stripper in town-a sweet white girl-and I don't mean just dancing, you know," Frank said smugly and drained what little was left of the warm beer in his glass. "A real young thing, probably not even twenty."



I turned away from him, the breath knocked out of me, and stared at my wife. She wiped away a tear and glared at me for a moment and turned away to stare at the wall. Terry was smiling.



"Well, then--" Terry began.



"Terry," Marty interrupted. She turned to us and I looked away. "Do you have any plans tonight?"



I turned back to see Terry shaking her head, somewhat confused.



"Let's take these idiots for a drive."



* * *



I looked at my rear-view mirror to see Frank closely following me in his miserable red Firebird. Ahead, Marty and Terry were leading us to some place. She hadn't let me say a word as we'd left the bar. She was furious. I tried telling her it was only a stupid lap dance, that it'd been Frank's idea, but she wasn't listening. She simply got into her car, told me to call the sitter to say we'd be very late, and then slammed the door in my face. Terry got in after her and she squealed away.



Where in God's name was she taking us? I'd never seen her so furious. I would put a stop to it as soon as we got to wherever it was we were going. I should've ended the madness two hours ago when I first saw her. Fuck. I looked up at the neon sign. Oh Christ. I followed them into the parking lot of a cheesy little motel in the outskirts of the city, right before the real countryside began. I pulled into a spot and saw the two of them get out. I could see she'd been crying. I turned off the headlights. This would stop.



I jumped out of my car, was almost hit by the lunatic Frank, who honked his horn, the sound reverberating in the cool April air, and I ran to her. She wasn't looking at me.



"What are you doing, Marty?" I pleaded.



She stood silent.



"Marty," I begged and heard Frank's door shut. "Please, tell me what you're doing."



She turned to me and smiled, her eyes red.



"What you've always wanted, David."



"What do you mean? I don't want this," I cried and heard Frank walking up behind me.



"Hey, there." I heard Frank call out.



Marty smiled at him. I grabbed her arm and she tried to twist away.



"Whoa, there," Frank laughed and grabbed my arm.



I released Marty and turned to him.



He grinned at me, drunk out of his mind. He released my arm.



"Everything okay?" he said dumb, afraid.



"No. Everything's not okay, Frank."



"What's the problem, there?"



"I need to speak to Mandy, alone for a second."



He shrugged and gave me a mock punch on the chin. "Just don't start the party without us," he laughed and walked over to Terry. Terry sort of shrugged and soon they had their arms wrapped around each other.



I was about to drag Marty away, but she slipped out of my hands.



"I don't think so," Marty forced a sick laugh out and walked up to Frank and unhooked him from Terry. "You and I have some unfinished business," she said to him.



I could see the look of relish, absolute triumph on the sonofabitch's face. Women don't understand the insane, often mortal, competitive drive among men for women. For women, it's all a little game-they can take it or leave it. There will always be another man waiting around the corner. For men, it's survival. Christ. Wars have been fought over them. It's perfectly natural. Men must breed with the most attractive mate they can find to ensure the success of their genes. The fact that now everyone's on the pill or has their balls chopped is irrelevant. The instinct is still there. It's all natural. All Darwin. And now, this guy I hardly knew, this overbearing pathetic sales rep was giving me the "She's mine" glare, with his arms tightly clasped around my wife's narrow waist.



Of course, God help me, I should have stopped it there. Because we are, after all, humans, not animals. A couple of words of explanation and everything would have been taken care of, no matter how embarrassing it would have been or how queer it would have all seemed. But there's also another trait in men women don't often understand. Resignation. Capitulation to your superiors. The genetically class stratified English call it "losing like a gentlemen" or the "stiff upper lip", which is a pleasant way of saying bend over and don't struggle too much when someone more powerful is fucking you in the ass. When the female chooses her mate, or when two males fight, the loser will leave the field and slobber for less interesting pickings. It's a base survival instinct. I looked at Terry who shook her head, trying to follow what the hell was going on. She was the drunken leftover.



Without thinking, I took Terry's arm and followed my wife and Frank into the cheap motel, as I watched my lovely wife's ass being fondled by another man, Marty took a quick glance back at me for a step or two. I could see the sadness in her eyes, probably the realization of the incredible filth about to transpire, and I knew she was pleading for me to put an end to it. She'd had enough. I'd called her bluff and now she wasn't sure she wanted to win. I shrugged at her. It was up to her now, my pride told me. I was out of the picture. This is what she wanted. I pulled Terry more tightly to me and she giggled. I tried giggling with her, tried blocking out that it was my wife in front of me, tried to imagine, like so much in my life, that these were two cheap women some close friend and I had picked up.



* * *



The drab room had two twin beds, an old Zenith fake wood TV and not much else to commend it. After the stupid giggles and pinches in the lobby while we paid in small change the old fat woman with the three hairy moles on her chin for the room, our adrenaline continued to carry us forward. Now, however, after the door was closed, we sort of stood about, swallowing, not knowing what to do. It's all very easy to talk about a foursome or swinging and this or that, but in the event it's hard to know what to do, where to start. Frank, standing next to Marty by one of the beds, was looking around, fidgeting, seeming lost without a drink in his had. Marty looked dazed. Terry, to her credit, laughed a couple of stupid jokes to try to lighten things up and I probably looked like I was on the edge of a grave.



"Boy, some orgy," Terry laughed at the three of us, and then took my hand and smiled up at me. She sat on the bed, which squeaked loudly, and gently pulled me down to sit next to her. I sat with another loud squeak and watched Marty staring at us. Frank put his arm around her.



"Maybe, we should get two rooms," he said, trying to smile.



"No," Marty said quickly before I could tell him to go fuck himself. "I don't want separate rooms."



"Well, then, maybe we should turn off the lights," he tried once more.



Terry laughed and we all turned to her, a bit startled. "What's wrong with you people? This is supposed to be an orgy. Jesus Christ! Can it get in better, any more taboo? Black man, white woman, white man, black woman. We're here to fuck our brains out, go home in the morning to our respective lives and pretend it never happened. If I wanted the lights turned off, I'd go home under the sheets and fuck my vibrator."



"Yeah, that's right," Frank laughed and flopped down on the bed, bringing a flailing and screeching Marty down with him. They bounced a bit and Marty pushed him away, harshly. She quickly tugged down her uplifted skirt.



"No," she said firmly to him. "I'm not ready."



The poor slob stared at her for a bit "But--"



"Get away from me," Marty glared at him.



He shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mandy. I'm sorry."



I could see she felt bad she'd hurt his feelings. "Let me watch a little, first, okay? I've never done anything like this, before," she said to him, but still trying to inch away from his arm length.



He nodded, tried to put his arm around her, tried to reconnect, but she twisted away. "No. Go join them. I'll watch for now. I've never cheated on my husband before," she said looking at me.



We stared at each other, trying to gauge what the other was thinking, but couldn't. I'm sure at that moment if either of us had made the slightest motion to leave, it would have been a spring out of that room; but we did nothing. And then we both turned to the sound of the squeaking bed. Frank, obviously disappointed, was squirming off. He stood and smiled at Terry and me. "Well, looks like it's the three of us for now."



Terry laughed. "Oh no. I'm not taking you both on at the same time. I'm no acrobat and I want to be able to walk around the house tomorrow without the aid of crutches."



Frank looked at me and I shook my head. "Have fun," I smiled up at him, grateful everything seemed to be working out okay. He could screw Terry until the cows came home. I was grateful. Relieved, I started scooting over, but Terry grabbed my arm and jerked me back. I turned to her.



"Have fun?" she asked.



"What--" I tried.



"What am I? Chopped liver?" she smiled. "Don't you think I should get to choose with whom I want to swap bodily fluids?"



I wanted to slap her. What the hell was she doing? I was about to tell her to shove her head in the toilet, but Marty's voice stopped me.



"So choose, then," Marty called out coldly and the three of us turned to her, sitting Indian style on the bed. She seemed a lot more relaxed. Getting off her feet was probably helping her think more clearly. She looked radiant, my wife did, and I wanted to take her hand and . . . but she wasn't looking at me.



Instead, the two women stared at each other for long seconds, trying to size each other up, trying to see who had the advantage and who was in trouble. Terry had little to lose.



"I choose, David," Terry said, calmly, and she turned to me.



"What about me?" Frank whined.



"Well, you'll just have to wait your turn, or," she said, smiling at me, "you can try to convince your cutie-pie over there to take care of you." Frank turned to Marty, who refused to look at him and then back to us.



So that was it. We all get our sweet little revenges. Divorced, always complaining to Marty how miserable she was, Terry was getting a little back now against the perfect little housewife with the perfect little marriage, her good friend who had it all; or, rather, a good friend who had it all until tonight's curious revelations about her husband, strippers and who knows what. She was anxious to take advantage of the situation. And I could see she wasn't doing it because she hated Marty, or wanted to wreck our marriage. She was doing it because she could. For the first time in years, Terry was the one in control, and she wanted to exercise it. But still, she had to be rational. She couldn't possibly think I was going to fuck her in front of my wife. Simple solution to all of the nonsense. Simply tell her you don't want her.



"How do you know I want you, Terry?" I asked.



"You mean, Candy, dumbass," she spat out. "You don't even remember my name." 



"How do you know I want you, Candy?" I tried again, feeling like crying.



She leaned forward, her dark hair gently falling over her face. "`Cuz you got no choice, big boy." And then she kissed me.



That kiss, though soft, barely perceptible, excited me. It shouldn't have. I should have recoiled in disgust with my wife there to witness it, but I was excited. Terry knew it, too, as she got on her knees to get closer to me and started rubbing my crotch. I could feel her soft tits mashed against my shoulder.



"Oh," she whispered in my ear so no one else would hear. "David. I've wanted to fuck you for years. Nice," she hissed and squeezed me. I couldn't help but groan. My mind raced, trying to better see, better remember Terry in the years that we'd known her. Who was this woman? I needed to understand. Her husband. I could barely picture him now. Seemed like a good guy, but there were rumors he was screwing around on her, drank too much, the typical trash. Terry herself. Oh fuck, she was unzipping me. Jesus, her hands were warm. Fuck. She groaned into me ear. She was holding me in her warm hand. I backed away, breaking the kiss, and felt my cock being dragged out of my pants. I saw her smiling at me while she gently squeezed. She was cute, a little overweight, much shorter than Marty, but she liked to laugh a lot. That's what I remembered most. Terry liked to laugh.



She laughed now. "Do you want to fuck me, David?"



I turned to my wife, who continued to sit showing nothing except a pale face.



"Don't look at her. She's not asking. I am. Do you want to fuck?"



"Well, if he doesn't, I sure in the hell will," Frank tried.



Terry ignored him, shook her head, and then lowered her face, bending down, and my fists tightened as I felt myself going in her mouth. I shut my eyes, tried to pretend my wife wasn't five feet away. And once more, the softness of her touch, those lips gently rolling over the head, the tongue slightly licking, just like her kiss, it was all so different from Marty. It was a casual, but very personal touch. I tried not to, but within half a minute, I could feel myself pushing in more deeply, my cock head bumping in the back of her mouth.



And when I'd almost convinced myself that none of this was real, that this was another silly little fantasy, my eyes darted open at the sound of squeaking nearby. I turned to see Frank sitting next to Marty, holding her face, trying to turn her to him. Marty seemed to be resisting, her eyes watering, focused down to Terry's face and hands in my crotch. Frank leaned forward and tried to kiss her cheek and she wanted to back away, but he wasn't letting her. His mouth moved from her cheek to. . . 



I groaned. With a hot breath and swift motion, Terry had me completely in, deep in her throat. At the same time, Frank's mouth was on Marty's and again she tried to resist, but he continued, and finally she sort of went limp, and let herself fall onto the bed, with Frank following. Once together, side by side, his hand immediately reached across and went up to her left tit. I could see his fingers roughly squeezing her, rolling. They were smacking, kissing hard, Marty lightly moaning, in protest, and Frank groaning and rutting into her thigh.



Suddenly, my cock was free in the cool air and Terry was kneeling up with me, her lips wet. She turned to see Frank rolling on top of Marty, kissing and groping her, one of his legs slipping between her thighs, now openly revealed, her skirt riding high.



"This is your last chance," Terry whispered in my ear. "Stop them if you want."



"It's too late," I whispered back, as Frank's hand left Marty's tit and roughly went up her skirt. Marty and I both jumped at the touch, but Frank held her firm.



"Bullshit. Just drag that piece of shit off her and tell him to get lost."



"She wants this," I quivered, as I saw Marty wince. Frank's hand was in the depths of her skirt, obviously fondling her cunt, maybe even fingering her, while his loud mouth continued to smother any protests she might have had.



"Bullshit. You want this."



"I do not."



"Then stop them."



"I can't."



"Then fuck me," she chuckled and took my hand and thrust it in between her thighs. My hand jumped back, but she held it firm. She wasn't wearing any panties. All I touched was wet, hot, fur, soft.



"I didn't wear any tonight," she smiled and pushed my hand tighter into her. We groaned together as my fingers opened her, pushed into her. I stared at her, her eyes were shut, she was pushing me in deeper. Nothing mattered anymore. The smell, the heavy smell of her quickly came up and I shoved in another finger. Her hands quickly started unbuckling my pants, our teeth clashed violently as our mouths opened to each other and everything blurred. Our bodies clung tightly, my pants fell away, the briefs were shoved down and I found myself on top of her, between her spread thighs. I released her mouth and she gasped up to me.



"Fuck me David, fuck me, fuck me! So long! Now! Please!"



My hands scrambled to pull off her skirt, but she gripped them tight.



"No! Don't! Fuck me!"



I looked down at her and I realized then how drunk she really was, how drunk we all were. She panted up, twisting and thrusting trying to capture my cock. God, she was drunk. I turned quickly to the moaning and squeaking on the bed next to us. While I'd been sticking my hand up Terry's cunt, the sonofabitch had been busy. Frank had Marty in her panties, his face smothered, held by her trembling hands, between her large tits. He was sucking and licking, rubbing and squeezing her dark, raw nipples. I couldn't see Marty's face. And then one of his hands was traveling lower and I saw him, tugging trying to pull off the final barrier. I took a deep breath.



I'd had enough. Everything became clear and I'd had enough. I saw her raise her ass slightly off the bed, no question now that she wasn't protesting, and the panties began peeling off. In fact, it was her hand peeling them off since Frank's hand immediately dug into my wife's lovely caramel juncture.



In a panic, I started pushing off Terry but I felt myself stopped abruptly. She was dragging me down, into her. Her hand was wrapped around me in a deathlike grip and she tugged me closer to her.



"I don't think so," she laughed and then suddenly thrust up. My body froze as my cock-head parted her furry, unseen, cunt and that was it.



"No," I groaned, desperate.



"Yes," she hissed.



If everything that had happened during the day and in that room wasn't cheating, there was no question now. This wasn't my imagination, or even a strange woman's mouth. This was fucking. My cock was in her and I cried out pathetically as our pelvic bones crashed into each other.



"Yes!" she yelled and her hands and legs quickly wrapped themselves around my waist pushing me in more tightly and the issue was settled. I was trapped. "Oh, fuck," she growled. "Big. Fuck, is that nice."



It was nice, but so what? In all the years with Marty, I'd never cheated on her, although I'd spent much too much time conspiring and coming up with schemes. Fucking a white woman? Big deal. Oh, brother. I'd fucked plenty of them in college and so what? It was all harmless idiocy my mind groaned as Terry began rutting up to me, grinding herself. You never wanted to do anything you'd regret for real. My cock was thrusting and pushing into Terry and I tried to stop, to pull away. No. Not. . . . It was all a stupid distraction, to make you feel you were something different from your middle-management, dismal job and ordinary life. Not like this. Not. . . .

<hr pg="4" />I heard rustling nearby and turned to see Frank struggling, kicking off his pants, sitting next to Marty's naked body. I wanted to cry. She looked like some bimbo in a porn magazine, her thighs open and her cunt, that delicious, delicate cunt of hers, was glistening, violated by that fuck's fat fingers, the inner red labia protruding obscenely out. Her arms rested over her face as if she was trying to hide, trying to make everything go away.



I tried to jerk off, pull off of Terry, desperate, knowing this would be my last chance to save my wife.



"Oh no," Terry moaned. "I don't think so."



Frank was getting on his knees, holding his fat pink erection in his hand. I could feel my much smaller cock softening inside Terry's heated grip.



"Frank," I gasped. "Frank."



His body jumped at the sound of my voice. He turned, confused, his face sweaty and red. "What?" he breathed.



"Let's switch," I cried, and in a moment I'll never forget all three of them laughed as if on cue. The two slobs didn't bother me, but Marty'd raised her head up when I'd started talking, watched in amazement at what must have been the lewd scene of me between Terry's tight clasp, and after I'd finished begging Frank to switch, her drenched face looked at me, confused for a split second, and she laughed. Her laughter started with the two of them, but stopped long before theirs ended and I saw her head plop back onto the bed and her arms rested over her face once more.



"Go fuck yourself," Frank finished laughing, and then slowly lowered himself between her, opened her thighs wider, took aim, and Marty screamed in shock as he simply shoved his entire cock into her. 



"Fuck me!" he growled like a wild animal. "God damn. Jesus Christ. Oh, man, black is so fine." He slowly pulled himself out, wet and gripping, and she screamed and cried once more as he shoved hard into her a second time. 



"Incredible. Fuckin' unbelievable. So fuckin' tight. So fuckin' hot." He slowly pulled back and then with a slurp completely out of her and took a deep breath. He turned his face to me and smiled.



"You will die when you get in this pussy," he grinned. "Fuckin' unbelievable. You black guys are so goddamn lucky. Jesus." He turned back to my shaking wife. "You got one lucky husband, baby," he laughed and scooted closer to her. He raised himself a bit, took Marty's legs and pushed them back, awkwardly stretched and shoved against her tits, her knees almost in her face and shoved himself back inside her.



I watched, my cock now completely soft, as he began plummeting into her viciously. His pink, thick, dripping cock spreading, splitting her delicate dark pussy. Marty didn't stop screaming with each deep thrust and the sonofabitch didn't stop laughing and groaning obscenities. At times he would miss his mark and slip out and I would watch as his cock savagely crashed directly on her exposed clit and she would cry out in pain, but he didn't stop and each time, unceremoniously, he would grab his cock and thrust it into her and continue where he'd left off.



It went on for maybe two, three minutes at most, and I watched every thrust, heard every scream and obscene laugh. And when I thought the scum would die of a heart attack from his wild efforts, his vicious thrusts became even more pronounced and her screams became even more magnified. Suddenly he froze and his sweaty ass clenched.



"Oh fuck, baby!" he screamed at one with Marty. "Oh fuck. I'm gonna come, you bitch. Deep . . . Oh! Oh! Take it all! Take it all! Take all my white cream!" and his legs, ass, torso everything shook and shuddered.



He grunted with what must have been each of his spurts and throbs deep inside her and Marty would not stop screaming. It seemed to go on unbelievably long, but finally he stopped, and her screams turned to sad, incoherent whimpers and he clumsily pulled out completely and dropped, like a shot duck, panting, next to her.



And then as I saw Marty's trembling legs slowly descend and stretch to normalcy, as her open cunt drooled and dripped with his snot stringing out of her, I felt Terry pulling away from me and my soft cock was gently pulled out of her.



"Boy," she laughed as she sat up and carefully fixed her skirt over her thighs. "That was awesome, David. Now, I can understand why Marty was so eager to fuck someone tonight."



I was about to slap her, throw her off the bed, but Marty's voice rang clear. "Shut the fuck up you dumb fucking bitch," she said, and Terry's face turned gray. I turned to see my wife, sitting up, legs and arms tightly crossed, holding the sheet, over her body, rocking. I tried to smile at her, tried to reassure her, but she turned away, disgusted.



"Hey Frank," Terry tried to laugh, after a moment.



"Yeah," Frank said, his voice exhausted, on his back, his wet cock flopped on his hairy round stomach.



"Want to fuck me?"



He didn't respond and I saw him try to reach up to touch Marty, but she shoved his hand away from her shoulder.



"Well?" Terry asked once more.



"What about, my buddy there?"



"Your buddy has trouble keeping it up," Terry sneered at me. "Needs Viagra. All talk and no show. And I thought this was going to be special. First time with a black guy and all." I shook my head and started getting off the squeaking bed.



"Sure, baby," Frank called out confidently. "Why the hell not?" And then he groaned and slowly sat up. He looked at me and shrugged. "You mind?" he smirked motioning to Terry.



I shook my head and he stood, yawning, his fat cock and balls dangling and shining, his reddish-brown pubic hair matted, as he stretched. Something about the cock, that heavy hanging piece of shit, I couldn't help staring at it. I wanted to touch it. It made me want to vomit, but I wanted to touch it. It had been in my wife. Been in my wife? It had pretty much ripped her apart. Christ. And he'd spewed all of himself inside her. I'd seen it. Christ.



"You like this?" he asked grabbing it.



My eyes shot up to his grinning face.



"I think David maybe wants a little of this," Frank laughed.



"I can believe that," Terry giggled, "but I'll kick his balls in if he gets anywhere near it. He had his chance. Maybe later you can let him play with it."



"Sure," Frank smiled as he sat down between Terry and me. "I'm not that way. I'm an equal opportunity fucker," he grinned and Terry laughed and then the two of them groaned as they started groping each other.



As the two of them continued, as Terry's droopy brown tits came out of her shirt, I started pulling up my pants, but Marty stopped me.



"No," she said gently, softly crying. "Come here and hold me. Please, David."



I let my pants drop to the floor and walked to my crying wife, tightly wrapped and rocking. I sat down next to her, put my arms around her and she began sobbing.



"Why did this happen?" she cried.



I shook my head. No clue. No clue? You stupid, stupid man. . . .



She looked up at me, her face streaked, her shiny beautiful black hair in tangles. "Do you still love me?" she blubbered and I broke down.



"Oh baby," I cried, rocking her in my arms. "Oh baby. I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."



"No," she groaned. "No. You told me 'no' but I didn't listen."



The squeaking and loud groans of the bed nearby interrupted us and we both looked away from each other to see Frank fucking Terry, now completely naked. I didn't want to, but once more I couldn't look away. I could not believe, as I saw Terry's plump body bending and shaking with each of Frank's harsh thrusts, that I'd gone soft with her. Gone soft with her? Jesus Christ. Get the fuck out of here, you stupid, pathetic, twit. Go home and pretend it never happened. Go home. Go home. Go home. It never happened. It never happened. It never happened.



"Let's get the hell out of here," I said to Marty, but she continued staring, watching Frank do to her friend what he'd done to her a few minutes ago. I'm sure that the sight of it, standing by objectively watching, probably brought home to her in terms and thoughts much more precisely what she'd done that night.



"Marty?"



She continued watching and Terry's groans were now turning to dramatic yells and groans. Frank wasn't talking, probably too exhausted, but the sound of Terry. . . . Marty couldn't turn away.



"Marty?" I tried again. I shook her gently, hoping that she'd wake up.



She looked at me. "Did you watch?" she groaned.



I nodded.



"Was it like that?"



"Yes," I lied. Frank had been much more vicious with her, much more aggressive.



We stared at each other and she shook her head. "I don't want to go home to our children with that animal inside me, David," she cried in a panic.



"You can take a shower--"



"No. You don't understand. I want him out. I want you to take him out."



What the fuck now? "Marty--"



"Make love to me, David," she choked. "Please. I want him out."



And we held each other and we kissed and slowly, gently, I began to unwrap the sheet off her, to reveal her to me, and it was like something lovelier, more exciting than I'd ever seen in my life. Her body felt clammy, emitted a heavy odor of a strange smell, mixed with the clear smell of semen, and I felt my cock hardening, become rigid and I was on her, over her and then with cries of incredible feeling my cock was snaking itself deep inside her.



To say she was wet would be an understatement. To say she was hot, burning and swollen inside would be tragically inadequate. I had never felt anything warmer, more inviting and lovely than my wife that moment. It was raw and so sad, yet almost unbearably intimate. Everything. I could feel everything in a way that didn't seem real or possible. She quivered and caressed inside, held me, cried and touched outside with such tenderness and love that I couldn't help but sob in her chest even though I could make out the reddish-brown hair Frank's broad chest had left plastered on her tits. I sobbed and we made love.



We continued, not hearing or caring about the sudden pitches and heavy grunts of orgasm from the other two idiots in the room. The only thing I did was wrap the sheets, stained with his smell and his juices more tightly over us.



Throughout, Marty would come softly and I would hold myself still or gently nudge, help her along, with a gentle push, more rigid than I'd ever felt. Each of my long strokes pushed me into her and each of the equally long withdrawals pulled him out. I could feel him draining onto my balls. It was a flood between us and we cried and shook in each others' arms.



"My legs," Marty moaned, while I held myself still, letting her finish another orgasm. "Baby. I can't feel them. Let me get on top, please." I nodded and gently pulled away and rolled over on my back. We held each other for a bit, kissing and nibbling and softly giggling nonsense and she gently rolled over and straddled and slowly sank herself onto me.



"Jesus Christ!" Frank's voice yelled out. "Jesus Christ!"



I could feel Marty tense on top of me for a moment, take a deep breath, close her eyes and then she continued gently rocking herself.



"Hey David," the motherfucker continued. "That really your wife?"



Marty and I froze. We could hear Terry laughing.



"Jesus Christ! You let me fuck your fuckin' wife, boy?"



I could feel my cock going soft and Marty lowered her face to my shoulder and began sobbing.



"God damn. I thought . . ." he started. Terry continued giggling. "Fuck man. I'm sorry. Shit. Why didn't you say something?"



"Because it turns him on," Terry answered him and the two of them continued laughing while I held my sobbing wife.



I heard the bed squeak and looked over Marty's shoulder to see Terry getting off the bed. She saw me and smiled widely. She looked a mess, her face streaked with mascara and her mouth smudged and blurry, but it was in between her thighs, seemingly hanging from her pitch-black furry cunt, that my eyes fixed. Even from a few feet away I could make out a prominent red bulb, and drippings from Frank. She continued smiling as she walked unsteadily around us, behind Marty and before I could say or do anything she was on the bed with us, straddling over my face and pushing Marty's sobbing face off my shoulder. Her knees quickly trapped my arms underneath. She simply squatted down, her warm, thick thighs tightly pressed against my ears and my nose and mouth were suffocated with her dripping, open cunt. I tried to push away, tried to get her off, but I Felt trapped and she pressed more tightly down.



Her cunt was oozing, smelled of semen, similar to the smell of Marty, and (although I later rationalized that it was only to breathe), I answered an insane thought that flushed through me by reaching up with my tongue and tasted her. Once more, it was disgusting, I felt like gagging at the awful metallic, pungent taste, but my tongue wouldn't stop reaching in and deeper into her softness. As I continued lapping her juices and Frank's spunk, even as I choked and gagged on loose and trapped pubic hair, to my shame, I could feel my cock hardening inside Marty.



I could see nothing, except glimpses of light through the cheeks of Terry's soft, flabby ass, could hear little except muffled moans and laughter and it was incredible, so incredible to be surrounded, imbedded in cunt. This is what I wanted. I thrust harder into Marty. Thoughts of Frank left me. This is what I wanted. This was my fantasy. Two women at the same time. Even as I sucked and nipped at her clit, my mind raced trying to come up with ways to get Marty to agree to do this again with Terry. Just the two girls and me. Me. Alone. Fucking and eating them both. Fuck. I strained once more harder into Marty. Soon. I could feel my cock throbbing with each push into her. Soon. I would blow it all in her, take Frank out, put me in.



And then, of course, I felt the bed give and squeak and two knees, big and hairy, so different from all the feminine softness surrounding me, touched my legs. My body jerked, but I couldn't move. What the fuck was that stupid fuck doing? I would kill him this time. I would. . . .



I jerked away again and Marty seemed to be trying to struggle off me when I felt his fingers at the joining of my cock with my wife's cunt. Marty struggled harder, but I could feel her being pushed down and I couldn't move, couldn't help. Jesus. I strained to push Terry off. The fuck was pushing a thick finger into Marty, right next to my cock. I could feel his finger nail scraping the underside of my shaft. Son of a bitch. The finger pulled out and now there was no use trying to ignore something awful was going on behind my wife.



The fucker was going to try to fuck her in the ass.



Double penetration. She'd never been fucked in the ass before. Christ. This wasn't some cocaine addict porn star. She was my wife. There. Marty shuddered over me, I could feel her tits shaking. I could feel his finger and then another right next to my cock, probing her ass, trying to ready her, roughly pushing in and out.



But there was nothing I could do. I felt too exhausted, resigned. It seemed all my blood was focused on my cock and I just wanted it over. I couldn't, and won't, explain it in a million years. The only thing in my mind, and my only regret, was that wasn't able to tell my wife to relax, to accept it.



It started slowly and I was grateful that the idiot wasn't being a monster about it, but I could feel it all the same, at first indirectly from the tightening of Marty's cunt against my cock. And then it became tighter and I felt Marty's body being pushed up and I heard a deep-throated groan from her (I'm certain) and the head of his cock simply popped into her.



The feeling of another's man's cock sliding inside a woman you're fucking was ridiculous, so unnatural. To feel it inside your wife bordered on certifiable. My cock felt suffocated, pinched inside and as my mind thought how this was starting to feel really uncomfortable the idea of what was happening to Marty came to me. Her insides were being torn apart. I wanted to cry at the pain she must have been feeling. There was no way around it. He continued pushing in, relentless and when I was sure he was fully imbedded, everything seemed to go still, everything quiet. I could feel none of the four of us moved, too tired, waiting to see what would happen next.



The stillness didn't last long as I felt him starting to pull out and then slowly push back in. The strokes of his cock were painfully short, deliberate and each one resulted in a groan I could hear through Marty's chest. There was no laughter anymore. Terry's body seemed to be shaking uncontrollably over my face. My own cock barely moved, simply stayed in place, stroked by the invading cock through the delicate membranes separating my wife's vagina from her rectum.



When it was finally over after maybe three smothered minutes, interrupted perhaps every ten or so seconds with a thrust from Frank into Marty's ass, after my own cock throbbed and jerked its pathetic release barely stuffed inside Marty, after Frank's did the same, shortly after, deep in her ass and then pulled out, and after Terry fell away in a heap at the other end of the bed, I finally got to see Marty's face. Over her shoulder, I noticed Frank stumbling back and then flop onto the other bed. Her now half empty body seemed to push my softening cock deeper inside her as if to compensate for the emptiness in her ass.



"Are you okay?" I looked up to Marty, my nostrils filled with nothing but the smell of Terry's cunt and Frank's come.



She barely shook her head, exhausted and I wanted to cry.



"Not now," she hoarsely whispered. "Not now, David." 



She nudged me a little and my cock gently fell out of her.



<i>Would love to hear what you think of this one. Your comments are always so appreciated.</i>

