fidelity

I was approaching my 50th birthday and such milestones can play with a man’s mind. Sure, my life is happy; got two kids in college (who occasionally manage to get good grades), a decent job, and I am married to the nicest woman I’ve ever met. The fact that she turns me on and enjoys sex as much as I do is a bonus. Nothing makes a man happier than regular pussy from a sexy loving wife. No complaints here and I could very easily ride the wave until they stick me in the ground.



But like every man, there are always things in life you wish you would have done different…



For example, I should have fucked that French girl I met while staying at a youth hostel in Ben Nevis, Scotland back when I was wandering around Europe in my early twenties. Damn, she had these steel gray gypsy eyes and was stunningly beautiful, except for the unshaved armpits, and although I only spoke 7 words of her language, we connected while hiking up that mountain. She wanted it, too. But we didn’t make it, for some reason I can’t now seem to remember… a sexual regret…



I should have taken a buddy’s stock tip and invested in Microsoft back in 1987. Bought a used 1979 copper colored Pontiac Firebird with leather seats instead…guess I wanted to be like James Rockford at the time. Yeah, right! I could have retired early…stupid…



I should have studied more back in college instead of drowning myself in beer and good times. My brain was still functioning pretty well back then, and although I probably wouldn’t have discovered a cure for cancer or designed a carburetor that allows cars to get 300 miles per gallon, at least I could have done something more with my life than push papers for the government. Dumb…really, really dumb…



And so I pondered the rest of my life wondering what I wanted to accomplish. Not necessarily a bucket list, because I hope to be screwing my wife for decades to come, meaning , I’m not dying, but I needed bigger goals than cleaning out the garage and replanting some bushes around the house.



And so sitting at the computer one night, it came to me. Eureka! I was finally going to try to write a story for Literotica. I mean, I’ve been speaking English my whole life so how freaking difficult could it be? I’ve been a long time reader and enjoyed and loathed many stories, mainly in the Loving Wives category. Why not me? At my late age I could become the William Faulkner of smut. My buddies at the 19th hole would be impressed…



I decided I needed some writing goals, and after thinking about what I enjoyed and what I disliked in stories, I came up with these three ideas…



First, I wanted my stories to be original and different from everything I have read before. Seemed like a worthy objective! I didn’t want to rehash other people’s stories. Sure, I realized that there were going to be similar themes and images, but I hoped to provide a fresh eye to everyday situations.



You see, I enjoy the setups of a story as much as the actual descriptions of sex. It’s kind of like my feelings on golf, I enjoy the hell out of whacking that little dimpled ball, but I’m bored to death sitting down and watching it on TV. Even the Masters in HD doesn’t do much for me. Having sex is superior to reading about people having sex. It’s the scenarios and situations in the stories which I enjoy the most and wish to explore…



Second, stylistically, I wanted to try to capture the humor and economy of writing of HDK. He is the absolute master story teller of this website. In so many of his stories, you smile and laugh and understand the human condition. I literally replay the words of his stories in my mind from time to time. He doesn’t waste words and his stories give you more bang for the buck (figuratively not literally) and more entrainment value than any author I’ve read. Screw Faulkner, if I could write just one story half as good as HDK, I could happily set aside the keyboard.



Third, none of my stories would ever be about a willing cuckold. Sorry, folks…I’ve tried…I mean I’ve REALLY tried to understand these stories, but I just don’t get it. Even as a fantasy I don’t get it. Call me the most insecure man in the world, but why would I want my wife to screw some muscle bound stud with a larger penis or bigger bank account or more charisma than me?



Shit, I had to work hard, I mean really hard, to win over my wife Karen. I still can’t believe she picked me, and I try to do my best every day, at my place of employment, around the house, and in the bedroom to prove her choice of me was a worthy one…



I mean, I love my wife so much that I would gladly sacrifice my life for hers, BUT, I don’t love her enough that I would willingly allow another man to fuck her. Never! That’s how my simple mind is wired…



Not to obsess, but can you imagine how that conversation would go? Seriously. In the light of day, go up to your wife and ask her!



“Karen, honey, it would really turn me on if you’d fuck another man with a giant cock while I sit in the corner and masturbate. If you fall in love with him and leave me that would be wonderful, too.”



Jesus H Christ! I’d rather fucking kill myself than say those words!



Slirpuff had the best line I’ve read on this…Quote: “Hells bells, I don’t even share my power tools much less my wife.”



Let’s turn it around, let’s say one of your golfing buddies comes up to you and says, “Hey, wanna bang my old lady? She loves strange and I’m cool with it…”



Besides immediately deciding to check out some new golf courses, how do you tell the poor bastard, “You’re a freak, your wife’s a slut, probably with various social diseases, and besides she’s ugly! Your wife’s a dog, and I’ve got the most beautiful woman in the world in my bed, so why would I step into your gutter?”



In reality you would probably say to him, “No thanks on the wife, but I’ll take a Molson if you’re buying.”



Better yet, imagine coming home from work and as you go into the kitchen to grab a cold brew, your wife says, “Honey, we have to talk…”



“Oh! Shit!” you’re thinking as you sit down at the kitchen table, “This can’t be good…”



“Honey, I found you this gorgeous blond haired model with long legs and stunning teardrop breasts. She’s got a huge clit and the tightest pussy and I want you to fuck her brains out. It will really turn me on to lick up all of her pussy juice. Perhaps you would even allow me to slurp your cum out of her asshole. Hopefully, you can impregnate her so that I can change the dirty diapers of your love child. It will especially turn me on to watch you giving her multiple orgasms with that meaty cock that used to fuck me!”



“Sure, Karen, no problem…”



To each his own, live and let live, que sera sera, but I really do not enjoy that whole genre of story, so none of those for me.



I shut down my computer for the night, crawled into bed, and opened my mind….



————————————————–



…And what I came up with was a husband behavior modification story titled “Emily Saves Her Marriage.” Most of you have probably read it, or at least skimmed through it, so I won’t bore you except to say that I really tried my best to write it as an over the top, humorous, farcical story, with no cheating or cuckolding. There is some heavy fetish content in the story, which made me uneasy, but these two characters really love each other and find a way to work through some problems while staying within their marriage.



Although the story was a little farther out there than I originally planned, I decided to push the literary/fetish envelope to try and make it unique. As a first time author, I was pretty happy with the way it turned out, (I thought it was hysterical, actually) and it seemed to meet all my goals, so I hit the “Submit” button.



Having been a long time Loving Wives reader, I knew this story would not please everybody and I knew the reaction would be severe. I also knew that I should have put the story in the Fetish section; however, ultimately I believed “Emily” was a true loving wife story and I would accept whatever harsh comments come my way.



I work with a bunch of grizzled ex-military guys who are constantly busting my balls, so I have a pretty thick skin. No problem. I could handle the criticism. Now, all I had to do was wait…



————————————————



Karen became interested as to why I was spending so much time in the evenings on the computer, so I showed her the “Emily” story. Her eyes got all big and she said, “Oh my!” at least four times before she turned to me and said, “That isn’t us. We don’t do those things.” Her face was flushed.



“It’s just a story babe. Let’s go to bed…”



Karen rocked my world that night. After licking her to an orgasm I got a wonderful surprise. Never one to place her lips on my penis, that night I got my balls licked and the shaft of my cock kissed. Thank you God! In missionary I pounded the hell out of her sweet pussy as she encouraged me like never before in our marriage. When I emptied my load into her I briefly considered if we had taken out flood insurance with State Farm.



As I shook off the bright lights of my orgasm, Karen whispered, “Stay in me, don’t pull out.” We lay kissing and I slowly started to move my hips, my softening cock gently moving back and forth in her sloppy pussy.



She started whimpering, “That’s is…Oh that’s it…yes…keep moving…yes…I can feel you getting harder…yes…keep moving…Oh God you’re getting harder…yes…I feel you getting harder …keep moving…that feels so good…yes, that’s it…keep moving…….yes…….Oh God yes!……..”



Her legs tightened around my lower back and her eyes glazed over and I just kept a steady slow gentle movement.



“Yessssssssss…..Oh God!……….Yessssssssssssssssssss!”



Twenty two years of marriage and I’d never given her that type of orgasm before. In the moment I didn’t know if I was happy or sad, but watching her body quiver underneath me, I suddenly felt harder than I ever had in my life.



As she came back to earth she looked me directly in the eyes and challenged me, “Fuck me as hard as you can!”



Never in my life have I wanted anything more than to drive her through the mattress.



“I said fuck me! Fuck me harder! Take me! Harder, damn it! Harder!”



The bed was bouncing up and down as she screamed, “Harder God damn it! Harder!”



I gave a final thrust, the force of which must have surely broken her pelvic bones before the bright lights blinded me again. Was that her screaming in the background that she needed x-rays on her hips?



“Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss! Oh God! Yessssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!”



Forty nine year old men are not usually used to having two orgasms so close together, and when I drained my balls a second time, it was as if my soul and every ounce of my being rushed into her womb. My loving wife took everything that I had, as I collapsed onto her body. She wrapped her thin arms around my neck and pulled me tighter to her, almost as if she was trying to suffocate herself.



Sweat dripping in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks, she started sobbing to me, “Thank you, Oh God, thank you…”



Finally we looked at each other not saying another word, our facial expressions conveying a mixture of relief, satisfaction, warmth, fatigue, love.



We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for the longest time of our marriage, before falling asleep for the night in our swampy marital bed.



——————————————



One of Karen’s best physical features is her nipples; they have a chocolate brown color and contrast wonderfully with the milky skin of her breasts. When she’s turned on, they get incredibly hard and swollen. Now, some 9 hours later, as I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and trying to will my body back to life, my wife came bouncing up towards me, showered, dressed and ready for work.



“Good Morning Sunshine!” she glowed.



“Good Morning beautiful!” as I stood up to kiss her. “I guess you really enjoyed last night?”



“You were an animal, my pussy’s still gushing. I changed panties once already and I stuffed a whole pack in my purse. Say, I’ll be home by 5pm today if you want to bring something home for dinner…”



“Sure….Mexican OK? …..Say, you are going to be really popular with the guys at work today…” I said, looking down at her chest.



“Why?”



The Grand Teton Mountains of Wyoming would have been humbled in the presence of Karen. A Kevlar bra couldn’t have stopped my beautiful wife from showing her awesome features.



“Oh my God! What am I going to do?”



I went to the freezer and took out a handful of ice cubes. “Take off your blouse!” I commanded.



The general overall productivity of the United States Government workforce fell by an infinitesimal percentage as two employees called in sick that day. Trust me; they didn’t give a damn…



——————————————————-



Three days later and my story was still pending but I really didn’t care. Who would have ever guessed that being an author could have so many carnal benefits. No wonder Just Plain Bob has written 8 million stories. Based on my experience so far, he must be getting more pussy than anybody in the state of Colorado. Smart man…



Karen and I were fucking like newlyweds, only we were having better sex now. We knew each other’s bodies and minds.



It was over dinner on the fourth night that Karen decided to play cards with me. I love the woman with all my heart but she didn’t realize I held the trump card in this game.



“Honey? Do you know that story you wrote?” she started.



“Yes…”



“Well are you really interested in those kinds of things, you know, those things you wrote about?”



“Karen, are you interested in them?” I answered, slow playing the hand.



“Well, maybe…”



“Honey, what exactly interests you?” I smiled, anticipating where this was going.



“I don’t know, what interests you?” she asked, trying to feel me out…



I sighed, “Ok, Karen, I love you to death but the chastity device is out.”



“Yeah, I can understand that………but what about the other stuff, you know…”



“Honey, I don’t think pink is really my color…”



“Yeah…..I agree on that, too………but what about…”



“Karen…I’m willing to try any of those other things with you, but it’s strictly quid pro quo.”



“Quid pro quo?”



“Yeah… it’s Latin for you scratch my back, I scratch your back…didn’t we watch the “Silence of the Lambs” together? Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling, remember?”



“I don’t understand…”



“Karen…to put it simply…you want me to eat a cream pie? Well, it would be my last choice on the dessert tray… but I might be willing to try it…but first, you’re going to be deep throating me and swallowing my cum.”



“You’re not serious?”



“Very……and if you want to use a strap-on on me, that idea doesn’t turn me on at all, but I might consider it under one non-negotiable condition. First I will be tapping that sweet ass of yours. I’ve been patiently waiting 22 years for the chance. Quid pro quo baby…” The trump card was played.



“Yeah right! Like that’s ever going to happen in your lifetime,” Karen pouted.



Fortunately, losing this hand didn’t stop Karen from enjoying several more orgasms later in the evening as I taught her a new card game in the sack called “Aces High.” We both had winning hands this time.



————————————————



It was on the fifth day after submission that “Emily” was posted on Literotica, and I fulfilled my goal of becoming a published author. The day was bittersweet because the story comments, as I suspected they would be, were harsh. Basically, you suck, your story sucks, you’re gay, cross dressers are gay etc. All those I could understand and accept.



What bothered me the most was the fact that nobody thought the story was funny. Nobody thought it was original. Nobody got it! Talk about a complete failure! I was the biggest loser and the worst writer in the history of Literotica!



I wondered it P. D. Eastman had as much rejection when he submitted “Go Dog Go” for publication back in 1961. Oh well! It was only a first story; I could try again and improve…



But the late afternoon turned far worse when I logged onto Google to check out the e-mail address I had set up. The inbox had three entries. Suddenly it was not just about an erotic sex story, it was something far more sinister. These e-mails were the one thing I had not mentally prepared for and they shocked me…



“Author, if I find out you are living in my neighborhood, I will kill you and all your family! I will set your house on fire while everyone is sleeping so you will all burn in Hell!”



“Your wife and daughter must be killed so that they cannot breed any more gay perverts that must come from your jeans.” (jeans = genes? Yes, I know, but that’s what it read…)



“You will be shot and your wife will be tortured and killed for writing such garbage. You and your wife don’t deserve to live another day!”



Good Lord…its one thing to hate a story or hate the writer, but to threaten a man’s family over a fictional story… Quite frankly, it left me sad and speechless. What started out as fun had turned into a nightmare. My skin was not quite as thick as I thought.



Karen noticed my tense mood at dinner and I made the mistake of showing her the e-mails. There were tears in her eyes as she asked, “Are these people real? Can they find us?”



“I doubt it. But who knows?”



———————————————



In semi rural Pennsylvania, everybody knows everybody, including their vehicles, and outsiders are easily recognized. It is also a well known fact that just about every house has guns. Some homes have lots of them. One homestead I’ve heard of has more weapons underground than several third world countries.



I know many, many God fearing, church going folks who live for the day that Martians, Commies, or strangers will step onto their property. People will defend their homes and families. The law allows it. There is a tremendous amount of firepower out there. Right or wrong, together we made the decision to arm and protect ourselves.



We assumed the person threatening us was some distant psychopath. But then again, how were we to know if it wasn’t our neighbors, friends, or our own family who wanted to set us on fire or shoot us dead. The anonymity of the internet was both a blessing and a curse. Karen and I were both anxious.



After dinner we drove to my brother’s house to retrieve my hunting rifle and the 9mm Glock my father left me when he died. My brother had been storing them in his gun safe because Karen and I didn’t believe in having guns in the house when the children were growing up. Teenage angst and bullets seemed like a bad combination to us.



I hadn’t fired a handgun in fifteen years so my brother ran Karen and I through a quick refresher. He offered to loan us more weapons if we needed them. We told him we’d think about it.



The mood in bed that night was somber as we held each other. The Glock was within arm’s reach on the nightstand as we listened for cars pulling up the driveway. I thought a lot about the tears my wife shed that afternoon, and I got pissed off at myself because I allowed my ego and my own selfishness to come before my family’s safety. I allowed some coward the opportunity to get inside our heads. Sleep did not come easily.



——————————-



The next morning for safety reasons, I drove Karen to work before I settled into a distracted day at my job. After dinner I sat at the computer (Karen was in the adjoining room watching Lifetime Movie Network) and wrote to a witless commentator and a Jersey girl to thank them for being kind. But my state of mind was still very dark and very troubled. I took it out on the keyboard. Three hours later “Annabelle” was completed.

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