wife watching

Caution: wife sharing story ahead! If this subject is not your thing, please do not read any further and please demonstrate enough maturity not to comment. I’m most interested in feedback from fans of this genre.







Gusts of rain flattened the field of wild sage, and beyond it, the dark woods leading to the lake hissed and groaned in a very uninviting way. Staring out the cabin window, Mia told us of her urge to run into the dense maze of wood wearing nothing but sandals. I laughed, believing she wouldn’t last five minutes in the mountain cold. She took it as a challenge, and I suddenly found myself seated on a pine-post railing, rain beating against the metal porch roof, and my girlfriend leaning naked on the railing next to me, describing how much she loved a good storm. Her bare tits rested in her folded arms and her bent over twenty-three-year-old ass looked round, tight and delicious. I reached out and caressed the top of her bad-ass bubble-butt. Top-fucking-shelf! I still had trouble believing I’d landed such a top-shelf piece of ass.



When we returned to Paul’s warm cabin ten minutes later, she glided straight to the fire, breaking stride only to snatch the knitted blanket from the leather sofa back. She wrapped herself inside and flopped down on a buffalo skin rug a few feet from the fireplace screen. My vegetarian girlfriend never set foot on that rug before, but the temptation of the blazing pine logs finally proved stronger than her disgust. Soon Emily took a seat next to her, and together they watched the flames flicker and spit, while Paul and I heated up mulled wine in the cramped kitchen. We took a cupful to the girls and then he broke out a bottle of brandy, pouring a fair amount in two large brandy snifters.



It wasn’t long before the wine hit the girl’s and their conversation grew louder, bolder and full of laughter. They must have exchanged stories about every guy they’d ever known, as Mia shifted behind Emily and braided her long brown hair. She’d wrapped the knitted blanket just below her armpits, leaving her shoulders totally exposed and her arms free. The loose knit blanket let her skin peek through the holes, and my eyes kept finding the pink of her nipples. Paul carried a hot ladle across the room, topped off their wine cups, and then sat next to me at the small dining table. He angled himself towards the girls, as did I.



“I could watch that all night.”



“No shit.”



“So Mia sure does love nature, rain or shine.”



That summer Mia had lead the four of us skinny dipping in the lake, but it had been hot, sunny and a totally summer thing to do, but stripping down at this time of year rang just plain insane.



When Mia completed Emily’s braid, Emily removed her sweater, leaving her in a wife-beater and sweatpants. She has splendid tits, and seeing them braless in a wife-beater, the nipples poking at the fabric and the outside curvature of her boob visible from the side opening, warmed me in a way the brandy couldn’t.



But it was more than her partially exposed boob––something about Emily told me I could have her if I wanted. Something about her thick lipstick, thick eyeliner, and her sparse tattoos, seemed… I don’t know… slutty? But then Paul’s girls have always struck me that way. He may have displayed a taste for refined luxuries, rolling about in a Mercedes and showing off his pricy wine rack, but he gauged his woman by their performance in the sack, and that’s about it.



Mia turned her back to the fire and loosened the knitted blanket. She clutched it to her bosom but allowed it to fall from her back, leaving her bare skin sparkling in the firelight. Mia may have lived in a way that made minced-meat out of social norms, but she seemed oblivious to the affect it had on people, and never came off slutty. Weirdly enough, however, watching her get friendly with a girl like Emily blurred that distinction for me, and I couldn’t keep my mind off fucking her super sleazy like. Maybe that’s why Paul preferred the easy chicks––their willingness to do it all set fire to the imagination.



Mia caught me gawking, her sharp green eyes trapping me like a spotlight. She’d do that often––her eyes would bound wildly about the world and then lock onto me with a sudden razor sharp intensity. And while her cocky smile let me know she could damn well read my mind, her green peepers revealed the pure heat living in the depths of her soul. I literally found myself salivating, like a hot buttered carrot rested on my tongue, and I proceeded to swallow awkwardly.



Paul sipped his Brandy to hide his own shit eating grin, then whispered, “Dude, you’re girlfriend’s amazingly hot.”



“Yeah she is. But so’s yours, man.”



“Isn’t she though?”



I checked to make absolutely sure Mia wasn’t listening, and then turned again to Paul. “Don’t say anything to Emily, but I’m getting a ring for Mia in a couple of weeks.”



“Holy shit! Seriously, Devon?”



I just smiled proudly and nodded my head.



“Fucking congratulations, man!” He looked back at Mia, naked under the blanket, and snorted a laugh.



“What? You wouldn’t marry that?”



“No dude, that’s not it at all.”



“Then what?”



“Well I’m just glad you told me before I said anymore.”



“Oh yeah, such as what?”



He punched my arm instead of answering.



“This is an excellent Brady, but I’m breaking out the choice Cognac for this.”



He went to the liquor cabinet and brought back a brown bottle littered in calligraphy.



He then explained how he’d met a French electronics genius who bragged about a family making a Cognac to rival Hennessey’s finest, and charged about one-sixth the price. So Paul spent a hundred dollars in long distance calls tracking this family down and then bought six bottles at two hundred a pop, which is nothing compared to the price of supreme quality Cognacs. .



“It was such a legit operation the bottles arrived on my doorstep in an actual wooden crate. How insane is that? But here it is, and now you can honestly say that you’ve tasted the best fucking Cognac in the world.”



I took a sip and let it hover in my mouth before swallowing.



“Liquid silk, right?”



“Wow!”



“So alive, yet so tranquil––wakes up the throat, then leaves it cool and happy.”



His dark eyes, which I’ve heard woman describe as seductive, ignited with devilish excitement. With his next sip he completely lost his customary cool composure and drifted away in an almost heroine like daze. Nobody appreciated life’s finest more than Paul.



“So fuckin’ smooth, smooth, smooth.”



He then produced two cigars from his flannel shirt pocket. “Let’s go finish it on the porch with these. You know your cigars?”



“Not really.”



“Well this cigar is about on par with the Cognac, that’s all you need to know.”



Outside he passed a clipped and lit cigar as I zipped up my winter coat. The icy drops fell in sheets just beyond the eves and I asked if we might see any snow. Being a databank of worldly wisdom, Paul assured snow wouldn’t show for at least another week.



“I’m back up here with a snowboard on the third, how about it?”



“I wish. We’re pretty booked until the New Year.” I took a drag off the cigar and felt myself turn green. I had to take Paul’s word it was ‘primo’, because all cigars tasted like ass to me. Still, I was sipping the world’s finest Cognac and smoking an equally fine cigar, and felt very Fortune 500 doing it. As I took another drag I wondered if that was most likely their universal appeal––the awesome taste of power.



I directed my thumb towards the cabin door. “So back in there, what was so funny about marrying Mia?”



He dodged the question by asking about our friend Mitch. “You think Mia is going to allow him at the wedding? I mean, when’s the last time you’ve even seen him?”



“Months! There’s no way he’s not coming to the wedding, though.”



“Hahaha! That girl holds a grudge worse than I do. Doesn’t she get Mitch is just a scatterbrained surfer?”



“I think so.”



“Doesn’t she know all of us passed around a girl at one point or another? And shit, it worked out for her, didn’t it? His loss, her gain, right?”



“Man, I haven’t even asked her to marry me yet, I can’t worry about all this now. Anyhow, it makes choosing my Best Man a whole lot easier.”



“Well shit, Devin, thanks!” He took a drag off his cigar and exhaled with an I’m-up-to-something smile. “Well now I’m really glad I silenced myself back inside.”



“Come on fucker, out with it!”



“If you really gotta know, I was going to suggest we swap score-cards for the night.” He immediately broke into laughter.



“Swap score-cards?”



“Girlfriends!”



“Ah, got it!”



“I was just bullshitting, you know.”



“Yeah, I got it.”



“We were both bullshitting about our girls, right?”



I laughed a cloud of smoke. Every guy Mia met had a crush on her, and hearing Paul repeatedly stress he was only bullshitting lead me to believe he was at least horny for her.



Mia’s a beauty. Her red hair hangs straight for a few inches and then turns into big looping curls that circle her head like the brim of a hat. She almost always hooks them behind her ears or ties them up into a springy ponytail, which I prefer because it showcases her elfish cheekbones and roundish forehead. She also has twinkling green eyes set into very shallow eye sockets, granting her a look I lovingly refer to as “Irish Exotic”. At five-seven she isn’t really short, but Mia has a long svelte neck, lowering her shoulder line and granting her a more petite body. Thankfully her slender ribcage and narrow tummy help maintain an elegant length to her proportions and make her smaller tits look substantial. They also help launch the gorgeous curves bowing around her hips and ass before they dramatically taper down her long shapely legs. Mia avoids make-up and sexier clothing, going for a natural sunnier look and allowing her God-given beauty to stand on its own.



But what really stole my heart was her spirited attitude. Her mission in life appeared to be waking mankind from a state of depression, with an arsenal of fun, fearlessness, and a total love of adventure. A few have referred to Mia as an attention whore, but time with her always amounted to one memorable moment after the next, and its a criticism made by bores and fueled with envy.



Paul, on the contrary, came off as an incredibly tactile guy, a trait typically at odds with Mia’s spontaneity. Just that afternoon he’d led us twenty miles on mountain-bikes to a place called The Gorge, and about three miles out, Mia diverted us towards the remains of a burned out house. She searched the aged debris strewn over the old slab foundation, determined to find a lost belonging to reveal the lives of those who lived there. We were free to leave when I discovered an old picture frame in the bushes, which she held like some mystic channeling the past. By then no one seemed too interested in reaching The Gorge, and I could tell Paul was a bit annoyed his day had been derailed.



I also suspected he despised women he couldn’t control, which is why it really surprised me to discover he’d go for Mia. And as Paul and I smoked down our cigars, I felt surging pride knowing that this man, who probably carried more debt than the government in his pursuit of the finest pleasures in life, desired my girlfriend. In fact, he desired her so bad he’d have me fuck his girl in trade.



I needed to hear more, my buzzed ego demanded it, and I baited him by suggesting he let me have one final night as a free man, and stuff Emily’s cannoli full of some sausage.



He tapped the ashes from his cigar. “You couldn’t handle Emily, my friend. She’s one hell of a nasty girl.”



“I don’t know about that, I think Mia’s prepared me for anything.”



“Yeah, I can only imagine she’s a pretty wild lay. But if you let me snake her plumbing I’ll make an experienced woman out of her. I’ll give you back a pretty girlfriend who knows more positions than a Rubik’s Cube.”



We split a gut laughing, and kept on ‘bullshitting’, until suddenly we weren’t bullshitting anymore. He suggested we get the girls drunk and really swap, and if I’d been sober I would’ve flat out said no, but instead I used Mia as my excuse, saying she wouldn’t go for it.



“I have a pretty good idea how Mia’s wired.” He tapped more ashes over the porch railing. “She’ll go along with it just to spite us. She’s a feisty one, man, she’d turn it around just to knock us down a peg. Am I right?”



It amazed me he thought he knew her so well. “That’s a stretch, man.”



“Come on,” he persisted, “You complained she’s always putting herself at the mercy of strangers for the sake of adventure, so put her at the mercy of a friend instead.”



“I said she’s too trusting of strangers.”



“How’s that any different? Listen, Emily does these exercises called Kegals. Let me tell you, you haven’t ever felt anything like a Kegal tightened pussy. It’s almost as good as this.” He then displayed his glass before his face



“Almost?”



“Hey, this is really good Cognac!”



The thought of Emily’s tight pussy made his proposition very enticing, and after returning inside, Paul saw to it their mugs of mulled wine never went dry.



Eventually the girls were ready to call it a night and we headed off to bed. Mia had reached her giggly level of drunkenness. She’d agree to almost anything in that state, and as I shut the pine slated door to our bedroom, I searched for a way to broach the subject. Before I could, however, we climbed into bed and immediately began to fool around, and then it seemed impossible. I kissed her gently and let my hands roam up to her tits and my tongue wind down her neck. She has lovely youthful tits, just big enough to feel some heft as I held one, and to swell outwards as I squeezed. Her nipples are tiny, and because of this I tend to treat them delicately. I don’t know why, other than they just seem so perfectly perched on top of her boob and I hate disturbing them. I rolled one gently between my lips, sucking no harder than I would hot soup.



Because she has a voice like Fiona Apple and a presence bigger than a house, I tend to forget her smaller size until I actually touch her, and then it just amazes me a one-twenty-pound creature can drive a six-foot one-eighty guy utterly helpless with desire.



She began to hum, and so I spread her legs, deciding I’d really give her something to hum about. My mouth found her exposed and wet. My thumb rubbed the little patch of bush above it. She didn’t grow much pubic hair to begin with, and waxed those fine hairs into a narrow landing strip. As I tongued her with increasing intensely, her humming progressed into soft moans. The sound she made was so utterly cute and sexy I almost forgot I’d soon need to abandon her. But some ‘strange’ waited in the other bedroom, and Paul would soon be here between Mia’s legs.



Weirdly enough, I wanted Paul to have her––I wanted him to know what a great fuck she could be. I wanted him to be there at my wedding, envying me for landing such a juicy hot fuck.



I lifted my mouth from Mia’s drenched labia, and asked how badly she wanted it.



“Very!” she moaned.



I slipped two fingers inside her and began to frig her little bunny hole.



As feisty as she was, she let me direct all her wild energy during sex, so I took her hand and replaced mine with hers. She took over pleasuring herself as I kissed her delicate nipples. I couldn’t see in the darkness, but the sounds of wet smacking flesh painted a vivid picture of her digging in two-knuckles-deep.



“Could you ever see yourself fucking Paul?”



The sound of her wet smacking pussy ceased. “Fucking Paul?”



“Yeah, Paul.”



In an effort to ease any suspicions I might have, she laughed. “Paul’s a little too into himself. That doesn’t really do it for me.”



“Yeah, but Mitch was never your type.”



True, he wasn’t.”



She spoke carefully now, trying to piece together where I might be headed with this. It may have been a mistake mentioning Mitch’s name, but before growing fed up with chasing down the flighty, flakey, surfer dude, they’d had a hot and heavy couple of weeks dating.



“So I’m just wondering if you think Paul’s looks are anywhere near Mitch’s. You know, attractive enough to take to bed?”



I found her fingers, licked them clean and returned them to her wet pussy. She compliantly resumed business, and the room again filled with sounds of her wet pussy being pleasured.



“I suppose he’s handsome. If I found him in my bed, I probably wouldn’t kick him out.”



Her sudden change of heart led me to believe she’d figured out the entirety of our plan, and did exactly what Paul said she’d do––acted into it just to spite me!



“So if he walked through the door while I was gone…”



Her fingers quickened and she moaned. “I’d keep him very warm.”



“Good!”



“And I suppose you plan to keep Emily very warm?”



I suddenly found myself having to choose words carefully. “That’s the plan. This is one hell of an adventure, babe. It’s a real chance to wander into the dark woods, naked and free.”



“Into the woods where a big bad wolf is waiting for me!”



The sound in the room grew louder, wetter, and faster than before. God she was fucking hot. I muttered that I loved her, and then rushed out the door while I still could.



I met Paul in the dark living room and we flashed each other our square flat condom packages. He quietly boasted what serious balls we had, and we softly hi-fived before continuing on our separate ways.



As soon as I stepped inside, Emily spoke, telling me to hurry up and get into bed. The sound of her voice was strange and startling. She slurred her words and her throat crackled seductively. Not knowing what to say, I charged the bed and dove onto the bottom half, then quickly cuddled up next to her and unleashed my hands over her body. I trembled nervously, but once my mouth found a nipple to suck on, my fear transformed into need. I recalled the sight of those beauties earlier, the sides visible from the loose tank top, and now those globes of squishy fun were in my hands as I sucked back and forth between nipples. Unbelievable!



She seemed as cool as a marble statue about the arrangement, yet her body burned at the touch of my hands. It helped me grow bolder and hornier by the second, and I descended onto her pussy with a hungry mouth. My tongue made its way into her wishing well and instantly became a conduit between more than just flesh. Her pussy exploded with heat and secreted fluid like a sponge in vice grips. I tasted her, much like Paul’s pricey Cognac, and that little slurp of her soul would remain in my catalogue of worldly pleasures forever.



Minutes later we fucked. I could tell she was tired, but I had to come inside her. We spooned as I slowly pushed my cockhead in, and she moaned a guttural, “uh!” Wasting no time, I soon pounded her in that position. My dick wasn’t just inside her, it fucked her tight little cooch righteously. I lifted her leg up and placed my hand alongside the action. Using my palm, I tugged the skin away, opening her wider.



She moaned in her crackly drunken voice as I pumped that stretched open pussy hard for several minutes. Even stretched open, her pussy gripped me as tight as Paul claimed it would, and I concentrated on that fact to help bring myself off. After a crescendo of fuck-me’s, she began to quiet down, and I realized she might be passing out, so I hastened my pace and headed towards climax like a dog on a fox hunt.



It was a short fuck, but it left me remarkably satisfied. I mean, when you’re with someone for the first time, there’s a tendency to hold back and keep to the basics, since you never quite know what she’ll consider obscene, and while technically you might have fucked the girl, you can’t really say you’ve had her––I mean, you’ve barely backed the car out of the garage and broke first gear, right?. Well I at least got Emily out for a perfect lap, during which time she was well and proper fucked. I’d had her, and felt very great about it in my afterglow.

She went out fast without so much as a word, and I skedaddled into the living room. Moonlight streamed in from the large front windows and the fireplace glowed with a few persistent embers, radiating just enough light to reveal the room was empty. The rain had ceased, and I heard them from the other bedroom––a haunting wail that chilled my bones. And then I couldn’t not hear them, as their activities must’ve escalated to a point requiring grunts and yelps.



I sat on the couch and pulled the knitted blanket over me, wondering how long I’d be there. Mia’s husky coo grew louder and more frantic



Paul kept quiet, but his presence was revealed by a loud slap cutting through the house and making Mia chirp. More followed, and then two distinct slapping sounds, the second popping off rapidly and producing a meaty thud, and surely do to his hips slamming her ass with brazen authority.



The tempo quickly picked up. Thud, thud, thud, slap!



I sat listening to them for quite some time, maybe ten minutes, feeling proud, then jealous, and finally horny enough to whip out my dick and masturbate along with Mia’s moaning and Pual’s ass tenderizing rebuttal.



Eventually they settled down, and as Paul came through the door, I could see him smiling in the moonlight.



“Sorry Devon, your girlfriend was apparently very in the mood.”



I laughed, and said he was right about Emily, her puss was fucking-ay-tight. Then he wavered on his previous opinion, and acknowledged Mia’s little cooch had to be on par with Emily’s. “Man, don’t ever let a pussy like that slip away from you. As long as you can put up with her feisty-girl shit, she’s gonna serve up her wifely duties spicy-hot.”



He gave me a hand getting up from the couch, and then Paul, who I’d always considered an amazingly particular human being, confided his envy over my choice for a bride.



When I finally slipped in next to Mia for the night, she stared out the cabin window, where stars pricked pinholes into the smooth ultramarine sky and the forest beneath stood tall and black.



“Did you two have fun?”



“Fun enough. I won’t bother asking you, because I heard your fun.”



“Ha! Well it was fun, except for the part where he kept trying to stick it somewhere I wasn’t ready for.”



I laughed. “Where?”



Where do you think? I finally told him he was too big and I didn’t do that on first dates. Your friend has a really big dick––just in case you were wondering.”



“Oh, is that so! Well, rumor has it––Emily had some rather large cock tonight herself.”



“Oh, is that so!”



“You’re not jealous, are you?”



“No, I’m not jealous, but you’re telling me you aren’t?”



“No, actually, I’m not.”



Hmmm!”



“I see guys check you out all the time, eating up how hot you are, and I feel pretty proud about it. What just happened––I think I sort of feel the same way!”



Proud, huh?



“That’s right!”



“You’re weird!”



I hit her with my pillow, and then we snuggled up laughing and fell asleep.



I wasn’t sure how I felt about things when I awoke sober in the morning. Peering up at the blue sky through the rippled glass window, buried under a heavy blanket, since Mia had me turn off the heater in the middle of the night to prevent her skin from drying out, I thought back to my late teens and early twenties, when this type of thing was practically common place.



Paul was something else back then. He, Mitch and I were good looking enough, I suppose, and we were these cool semi-stoners and fulltime surfers. At school we wandered the edges, looking a little rougher than we probably were, but were well known at parties and on the cool patch of sand next to the Santa Monica pier. Paul had mediocre surfing skills, but he was our charmer. He could reason with anyone, college kids, cops, gangsters. He’d get us into parties, out of jail, and he’d charm the pants off a girl like nobody I’d ever met. He had class and was for real, and I haven’t met anyone like him since.



Mitch was a blonde six-one surfer built of lean tan muscle. He spent the day in swim trunks and the night in a Mexican poncho. His energy was endless and love of the beach unreal. Even now he works in scuba gear under docked boats at the Marina, grinding barnacles from their hull. He always got us into trouble, yet did it with a no-bullshit innocence that made it hard to blame the guy. In fact, the girl’s typically coerced him into doing the nasty. Diana, this black chick, once pushed him into his van and said she was going to undress him like a doll. Beyond that, however, no chick could seriously pin him down. He’d rant about blowing out of town. He’d throw up his hands when asked what time he could be expected. He was always high.



I fell somewhere in the middle. I was definitely shy like Mitch, but I was also too sharp to balance out my irresponsibility with innocence and made a lousy boy-toy. Thankfully I had a pretty good smile to fall back on. I also claimed to understand the ‘poetry of a woman’s mind’ like some teenage guru, and young chicks love nothing more than to hear about themselves.



Paul always invited too many girls to join us at the beach, which is what made it possible for us to mix it up. I had very few serious relationships until I hit my twenties, and the girls frequently rotated between our beach towels. Eventually Paul openly set us up with his recent lays so we could experience something like a blow-job by Nikki Malone’s pieced tongue. It would’ve seemed a dickish thing to do, except that Paul didn’t just share women, he wanted us to partake in everything he had, shoes, boards, pants, you name it. His weed was king of all chronic and he passed it around freely at parties. And he cherished these women, they were all special to him, and he lived for reaching new pinnacles of pleasure. Hell, he probably appreciated what they had to offer more than any boyfriend since. So I don’t know––it all seemed like young harmless fun at the time.



After her night with Paul at the cabin, Mia had been officially passed between the three of us, and I had to decide if it still felt as harmless. But as the day progressed, I couldn’t keep my eyes off either one of the girls, and I realized everything was fine, I had no regrets, in fact quite the opposite. When I asked Mia, she confirmed she pretty much felt the same, and I jokingly called her weird.



***




That Fall Mia and I married on the terrace of Casa Romantica. The reception took place inside the nearby Flynn Ballroom, where Mia flowed across a marble floor in her long white dress, as I ushered her from table to table. Relatives and friends congratulated us with big toothy smiles, and cameras flashed if we did anything nearing cute.



After dinner, cake, a garter toss, and lots and lots of alcohol, the twenties and thirties crowd migrated towards the DJ and his dance floor. Mia and I were drunk and everyone had to dance with the bride and groom. Then I saw Paul nudging Mitch towards the DJ’s mic and found myself extremely anxious to know why.



“Hi everyone, I’m Mitch. But most of you know me as Mia’s favorite friend.”



A few people laughed and he became a little more at ease. He scratched the back of his neck. “Did you guys know Mia kidnapped Devin on their first date?”



People laughed again, but I felt Mia’s fingernails digging into my hand. She’d agreed Mitch could attend our wedding, which I took as a sign she’d forgiven and forgotten, but her message was clear––get the dick off the stage or else. I let go of Mia and moved towards the mic, wondering how to politely flip it off before Mitch ruined any chance of us being friends again. Mia had kidnapped me, he wasn’t lying, but she was dating Mitch at the time, and that’s where it got complicated––more complicated than our wedding night could tolerate.



Less than two years before we married, Mitch had stumbled upon Mia working the counter in the Ford Service Department, and as he sat there observing her twenty-one-year-old manic mannerisms and punchy sense of humor, he decided to follow her back to her place for a feisty night in the sack.



They lasted three weeks together, and then Mia turned up in Tom’s Tavern on Barrington, where Mitch, Paul and I were pre-celebrating Paul’s twenty-ninth birthday. Mitch saw her looking around and told me to go intercept. He expected me to say he’d lost her number, but nobody loses a number after three weeks. Before I could argue it with him, however, he slipped out the side door and into the parking lot. Mia quickly found me and immediately barked, “Where’s Dufus?”



Next thing I know, she’s pulling on my arm and leading me to her car for a private conversation. Then she’s pulling out of the parking lot and flipping open her phone. She left a message for ‘Dufus’, saying she’d kidnapped his friend, and if he ever wanted to see me again, he’d better call. Then she entered the 405 Freeway and started to let loose.



“What is wrong with Mitch? I mean, the guy throws around the word ‘love’, and then doesn’t show up at my birthday party, and then I don’t even hear from him for two days. And then I find out it’s because he drove up the coast and got a flat trying to drive his van up a deer trail in the canyons. And then, he walks to a friend’s house in Malibu and stays a day. Never once did it occur to him to call. And he missed a job, Devin. And when I told him he can’t possibly ‘love me’ and treat me like that, he starts saying he totally loves me––and he loves dolphins, and he loves the wind, and kids, and carrots.”



As she continued, I privately read a text Mitch had sent. It read, “You’re up!” He knew I had a crush on Mia. Partially because I stood up for her if he ever complained, but mostly because I constantly stared at her like a love sick puppy.



“What’s wrong with him, Devin? Does he even know what he’s saying half the time? And if he doesn’t want me, he needs to tell me so, not pull a disappearing act! I deserve that much. I’m not even getting anything out of this. I’m always the one going out of my way. He’s getting sex with a cute girl, help with his life, and I even cleaned his apartment. I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t wake up with sand on me one more time, so I did. If all he was interested in was sex, then he needs to come here and say it! He needs to tell me that’s all I was to him, a great fuck!”



We’d parked on a windy road above Sherman Oaks, and I hesitantly let her in on Mitch’s text, which caused her to flip-out all over again.



“I’ve never let a guy use me before, and I totally can’t believe I fell for it. And with Mitch! I mean, what’s his IQ? How stupid am I that I let man-boy take advantage of me?”



I brushed a tear from her cheek. “Will it make you feel any better to have a guy with an IQ of one-twenty-eight take of advantage of you?”



She laughed, unable to believe what I’d just said.



She then grew a very proud-of-herself smile and wiped her eyes dry. “Actually, it probably would make me feel better. I think I might be intelligence starved.”



Of course Mitch wasn’t going to show, we both knew it, but she held me hostage under the stars for two more hours, anyway. Mia was the most vibrant woman I’d ever known, and as we stood on the hillside next to her Corolla, sweaty and naked, overlooking the billion lights blanketing the valley floor, I confessed, “I like dolphins and wind and all that, but none of it compares to you.”



Mia and I blossomed as lovers, but it didn’t excuse Mitch for the way he’d treated her. For nearly two years she held onto a grudge, and certainly wasn’t ready for a trek down memory lane during our wedding reception. So, as he spoke on stage, I quickly eased my way towards the DJ area, trying not to look concerned about the collapse of my wedding.



“I was supposed to bring the ransom the night she kidnapped him. I’m not going to say what the ransom was, because it’s probably inappropriate.”



A couple people read into it and laughed. Mitch then realized how it sounded and smiled. “No, no. What’s wrong with you people, we’re at a wedding? Like I didn’t bring the not-what-your-thinking ransom, because I knew being kidnapped made Devin happy.”



I slowed my pace a little, becoming curious where this headed.



“Devin was like totally Mia crushin’. And like, I’d get them out with me and then bolt, because they were so Bonnie and Clyde together. Paul knows what I’m talking about. Anyhow, I know you hate me, Mia, but if you’d given me a second chance back then––well, I still would’ve stepped aside at let the better man win.”



I’d reached him at that point, and as people applauded, I grabbed his arm and dragged him from the mic. I took him straight to Mia, and then grabbed her wrist and led them both to the dance floor.



The magic at our wedding was incredible, and as the three of us stood there, I said, “Mitch, I love you, man. And Mia, it would mean a lot to me if you could get over it and dance one song with Mitch. For me, guys!”



Mia was nervous, I’d really put her on the spot, but there just wasn’t a place for any anger in our hearts that night, and so she took Mitch’s hand and they danced to No Doubt’s, Don’t Speak.



Almost immediately they laughed and talked, not appearing forced into the situation at all. At one point, Mia hugged him tight and came away with tears in her eyes. I later learned she’d confessed to forbidding him as Best Man, and then apologized profusely, crying into his shoulder.



Most of our friends knew the score, and so their dance garnered more than a few interested stares. Paul actually stopped dancing with his new girlfriend, Presley, and applauded them. Mia laughed cutely, and then gave Paul a huge hug, with Mitch’s hand still at her waist. For an instant, I was reminded both these guys had fucked her, but I wasn’t about to entertain that thought at my wedding, and I shook it straight out of my head. And proud––proud is how I really felt. They were the only other two guys in the room who knew the entirety of what I had to be so proud of.



Then I noticed Presley, Paul’s new girlfriend, gritting her teeth and refusing to look at them. What the fuck? She appeared jealous, but over what–our one time swap at the cabin? I studied her face again. Not jealousy––judgment! She was actually looking down upon my bride as she stood between two ex-lovers. My suspicions were absolutely unfounded, other than Presley just reeked of the sort who’d latch onto dirty gossip as a means of taking down the competition. I stopped myself from thinking about it further. Presley didn’t matter, I was now married to a beautiful woman and it looked like I had my friend back, and nothing could surmount the wall of love encasing me that night.



Our wedding wound down shortly after their dance, and during that time Mia remained cordial towards Mitch. I can’t really explain my happiness over it. I had two genuine life-long friends, and the most beautiful bride in the world, and a man couldn’t ask for more than that.



***




Six months after the wedding, Mia and I met up with Paul and Presley for dinner in Downtown LA. It’s not easy getting Downtown, but Paul insisted we try ‘the best sushi house in So-Cal’. We hadn’t talked much, partly because I’d been enjoying the life of a newly wed, but mainly due to all the hours I’d spent relocating my landscaping business to a larger lot in Torrance. It hadn’t been entirely my fault, however, because Paul had cut his teeth on cases, and was well on his way to being one of the law firm’s hardest working and hardest hitting lawyers.



After eating, the four of us took a short walk to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, where we sat beside the fountain arrangement in the courtyard. A light beamed up through each jet of water, creating rows of golden glass feathers. It was beautiful, but made me urn for the rhythmic roar of the Pacific, something I rarely heard anymore.



At dinner Presley flaunted her engagement ring, and now sat beside Mia to pick her brains on wedding details. Paul pulled me aside and explained he was leaning towards Mitch as a Best Man. He’d decided the only fair thing to do was rotate, and I’d be Mitch’s Best Man in the unlikely event Mitch ever settled down. It made sense, but I was only half listening. Mostly I eavesdropped on the girl’s conversation, because I had the horrible feeling they’d turn on each other at any moment.



Presley asked Mia what she’d thought of Emily, Paul’s ex-girlfriend, but never gave Mia a chance to answer. “I’ll be honest, he had a picture of Emily he’d labeled ‘Virginia Slim’.” Her eyes rolled upwards in disgust. “When I saw her and then he explained what Virginia Slim meant, I swear I made him get tested for STDs.”



Virginia Slim?” Mia burst out laughing, “Paul, what the hell is a Virginia Slim?”



“Mia don’t!” Presley yelped, “And don’t you dare answer, Paul!”



I couldn’t help laughing myself, mainly at Paul being put on the spot. I fielded the question for him. “Every woman falls into a category. If she has an exceptionally tight pussy, she’s a Virginia Slim.” I turned to Paul. “Sound about right?”



“Pretty much.” His monotone voice highlighted his concern over Presley’s discomfort.



Mia’s excitement wasn’t so much outrage as fascination. “That’s the most machismo, womanizing thing I’ve ever heard!”



“Well,” Paul exhaled, “It is what it is.”



Presley straightened her dress, seeming totally uncomfortable.



Mia’s green eyes then shot open wide. “So, like when you all get together and sit around drinking beers during your man outings, do you all say,” she acquired a deep mocking voice, “That Mia’s a real Virgina Slim.”



Paul stood up and stepped towards Presley, being the first of us to understand she’d legitimately grown upset by this conversation. This was obviously a sore spot in their relationship, and he appeared thoroughly annoyed by Mia’s persistence. “You no doubt are deserving of the title, but no, we don’t.” His voice was flat, yet there was no missing the irritated undertones.



“Good!”



“But it’s only because Mitch initially informed us of an even finer quality to your being. He declared you as the most Killer Kind Bud he’s ever scored. And since I know you’re wondering what that is, let me explain––it means fucking your asshole is up there with driving a Lamborghini Diablo on the Col de Torini.”



“Enough, Paul!” I shouted, but he was too irritated to listen. Clearly he blamed Mia for upsetting Presley, and he wasn’t quite finished with her yet.



“But while I can vouch for the fact that your Virginia Slim flows plentiful and can take an tremendously tough tapping with all the prowess of an Olympic gymnast, you’re rosy little backdoor never opened, even when I politely knocked.” He then winked at her, which proved more debasing than anything he’d said.



“Oh my god, you are such a…” She could hardly speak, her spotlight glare on Paul turned deadly, and I grabbed her arm and pulled her quickly away.



Paul helped Presley up and into his arms. Her face glowed red. “You promised, Paul!”



“You brought it up, and she asked, so…”



I rushed Mia out of there. Paul could go fuck himself. Where’d he get off talking vulgar about Mia like she was some pricy Cognac, and acting like she’d performed a disservice by not letting him sample her asshole? He was way out of line with that. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Because prior to that night I would have felt proud to hear her charms considered praise worthy by Paul, but that’s only because extraordinary sex dignified woman in his eyes, and inspired him. But he’d changed. He was going to marry Presley and all the standards she came with. His past couldn’t coexist with her. So where did that leave Mia and me? I’m pretty sure I’d seen the answer in his eyes before he walked away. And that’s really why Paul could go fuck himself.

***




On a particularly warm fall afternoon, nearly half a year since I’d last spoken to Paul, I pleasured my wife cowgirl style on our avocado living room sofa, when suddenly a knock shook our front door, startling us enough to gasp in unison. It sounded again, and Mia rose off me, threw on her long tee shirt, and cracked the door just enough to greet our badly timed visitor. A few days earlier, Mia surprised me by dying her hair bright pink, and I heard Mitch’s voice comment from the other side of the door, “Whoa! What’s up with your hair? You’ve gone full-on Anime!” I hurriedly dressed, as Mia closed the door on him and snapped her fingers for her panties. They’d been discarded on the floor, so I tossed them with my toe while pulling on my own shirt. Her long tee hid her panties, providing enough modesty for Mitch, and so she let him in.



He sat on the couch, where only a minute earlier I’d ruthlessly banged Mia. I took a seat in the chair opposite him, while Mia grabbed a hair tie and pulled her pink curls into a high ponytail. With her arms raised, the bottom half of her yellow panties came into view. There wasn’t a chance Mitch missed it, and it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out what we were up to before he arrived.



Mia flopped on the couch beside him, dropping her legs over his lap.



He’d already apologized for the surprise visit, and as he shook his hair around in a troubling way, I asked him what was up.



“Nothing major. But I think you might be right about Paul.”



“About what?”



“He’s kind of an asshole.”



“Uh-oh!” Mia tried to pinch his knee with her toes. “What are you boys fighting about now?”



I tossed a little cushion I’d held over my lap, and it bounced off her head. Her cheeks were flush, an indicator her arousal hadn’t completely cooled, and a reminder my dick just moments ago rammed her little precious asshole. I probably looked much the same, and found it hard to concentrate as Mitch explained his situation with Paul.



Over beers, Paul tried to coax Mitch into a five year plan for expanding his hull cleaning business and hiring some help. Apparently Paul’s recent rise at the firm meant dealing with clients wealthy enough to own yachts, and he felt he could line up a huge customer base. But Mitch dreaded being a boss or spending time behind a desk, and wasn’t interested in planning anything past his next trip to Baja. Then Paul exploded. He reminded Mitch how he’d helped set up the business, which is true, and that he could legally claim a percentage of it, and thus turn it around whether Mitch liked it or not.



I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard. “He’s not interested in your business, Mitch. He’s not taking it. Seriously, don’t worry about Paul.”



“I never thought he’d actually take it. I just wanna know why he suddenly started tripping so hard.”



“The guy’s obviously not as happy with his success as he hoped, and wants to drag you down with him. Like I keep saying, Paul can go fuck himself.”



Mia shifted her butt, coming to rest on her side with her head propped on her arm. “You need to not keep saying that. He needs you two right now, but he’s too proud to admit it, so he just gets mad.”



She’d adopted a boys-will-be-boys attitude regarding the extremely sexist remark Paul made the last time we saw him, and had recently asked several times if I’d planned on staying mad at Paul forever, as if I was being childishly stubborn about it. It surprised me she could forgive Paul so quickly, especially considering how long she’d held a grudge against Mitch. But I think the fact I’d become so intensely angry made it easier for her to back away from it. And she was right––Paul’s only means of letting people know something’s wrong, is to act like a dick until they figure it out on their own. That’s partly why Mia’s directness bothered him.



Mitch tickled her foot. “What would Paul need from me? The dude has everything.” He tickled her foot again, as if it might help jog her brain for an answer.



Mia’s extremely ticklish, and slid off the couch. She then got up and walked towards the kitchen. “You guys are his friends, and you are his friends, so you need to figure it out.”



When she slid off the couch, it lifted up her shirt and it became slightly tucked into the waist of her underwear, allowing us to glimpse her panty covered ass. Across the seat of her panties, written in bold Letterman print, arched the word “Porsche.” We’d come to laugh about Paul comparing Mia’s ass with a Lamborghini, and I found the underwear as joke.



Mitch turned to me, grinning. “Better buckle up, Andretti!”



I laughed, and then called him an asshole.



“Bro, you totally owe me for introducing you to that.”



“I owe you a knock on the jaw for being such an asshole.”



“So, is senorita Porsche giving us the Dr. Phil on Paul or what? Does our boy need us?”



“Paul probably just needs to get laid. I guarantee that bitch he’s about to marry is straight up vanilla.”



“Purty Presley’s totally given sweet muffins, bro.”



“Sweet, but not spicy.”



“You gonna toss him the keys to your Porsche then?”



“Fuck are you ever a big, hairy, sandy asshole.”



***




Two weeks later we drove Mitch’s van to Paul’s cabin, just two guys and a case of Dogfish Head beer. We’d eaten dinner at a roadhouse and planned on a trip for groceries in the morning. We arrived before Paul, and an hour later, we wondered if it would only be the two of us. Then he pulled up in his Land Rover, with barely so much as a word. He was in his same funk, but he came, and that alone meant something. He hurled his suitcase through his bedroom doorway, and then went straight for the liquor cabinet. He didn’t fuck around, and poured a snifter of Cognac––the good stuff––the unknown French family’s humble but priceless heirloom. Paul knocked it back so fast I doubt it touched his tongue, and then he joined us around the sitting area for a beer.



I’d climbed into the van that afternoon committed to the notion Paul would need to make the first move, but I couldn’t take staring at his miserable face and finally asked if he and Presley set a date for their wedding.



“We did. It’s never!”



That I hadn’t expected, and all I could think to say, was sorry.



“Presley’s the perfect lawyer’s wife, but… Well, you ever been around someone who makes you feel uncomfortable in your own skin? Fuck it!”



He stood, gave Mitch and me a foggy glance, and strode to his room, beer in tow.



Mitch sat in the recliner and leaned forward towards me, and then quietly asked if Mia knew Paul and Presley had gone kaput. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head.



Mia had planned the entire weekend for us. She got Paul on the phone and convinced him to go. She did it without my knowledge or consent, and later that week, she told me over dinner to not make plans for the weekend and take Monday off. I didn’t have the slightest clue what was going on. That Saturday, she packed a bag for me and then Mitch showed up in his van around noon, just as she said he would. If she had known about Paul and Presley’s break up, I really wished she would’ve told me before I climbed in the van.



While her intentions were good, I realized by morning the trip was a mistake. Around eight I phoned her on the landline in my bedroom, since cell signals were non existent that far into the woods. Turned out she had known about Presley. I then explained how it feels when a guy has all his ducks in a row, as Paul did, and then loses his girl and all the plans they’d made. The last people he wants to see are the one’s who called him out for acting so high and mighty. That’s just a recipe for getting mad, mad, and madder. She reminded me Paul hadn’t been forced to come, and I had to give her that. She still apologized for not telling me, and in return I acted a bit like a dick and grumpy over being stuck there. That’s when she volunteered to drive up and fetch me, and I could treat her to a bed and breakfast in the wine country. It sounded unbelievably great, and just knowing she was coming boosted my spirits.



Paul napped most of the afternoon, while Mitch and I ran through the woods howling like animals. That part was actually fun! I ended up telling Mitch Mia was arriving later. He wasn’t real happy about being left with the gloomy bastard, but admitted he’d do the same. We returned to find Paul on the porch and he wondered why the fuck he’d heard elephants and monkeys in the woods. A moment later he blurted out, “If I could just treat a whore like a whore, I might be able to keep a wife who isn’t one.”



“The more you talk, Paul, the more it sounds like Presley just didn’t do it for you. You’re never going to fit in a country-club life style, not the Paul I know.”



“Maybe! But I’d love to fuck her one last time. I’d teach her the ways, man. I’d show no mercy. I’d love to punish that pretentious snatch.”



That had to be the darkest thing I’d ever heard Paul say. The gap between his worlds had unleashed a demon in him, and I had no idea how to respond.



Mitch did, however. “Yeah, I know how that is.” He grinned at me stupid as he spoke, and I knew a joke was coming at my expense. “I wanted to give Mia one of those after we went splitzky.” He then smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Wait a minute! What am I saying? I did nothing but punish that chick’s snatch.”



He bolted back into the woods with me after him, and Paul laughed hysterically from the porch.



About an hour later, Mia rolled up in our Lexus RX-10. She jumped out, her face hidden by big red sunglasses, and body barely hidden by a pink and chocolate, rib-high tank top and a very short, navy-blue skirt. She was glad to be out of the car and totally hyper. Mitch was asked to grab the ice-chest from the back, and I carried in her bag. Forgetting how cold mountain evenings could be, she put on the flannel shirt Mitch left hanging over the porch railing. It fit her like a raincoat, and she rolled the big sleeves high up over her tiny elbows.



I finally cornered Mia while she brushed her teeth, and asked if she’d be ready to head out soon. But after seven straight hours in the car, she’d figured on spending a little time cooking a small dinner for everyone and leave shortly after that. She’d already picked up some fish, vegetables and a few other things in Sacramento, and proceeded to take over the kitchen for the next hour. Only a few times a year will my vegetarian wife allow herself to eat fish, so I knew it would be an extra special meal. It smelled fucking great, especially considering I’d eaten nothing but Cheerios and a plain baloney sandwich.



Her twenty-four-year-old energy permeated the cabin, and electrified Mitch and I into walking along the porch railings from one side to the other without holding onto the top roof beam. With the fish in the oven, Mia took a break and attempted it with us. The setting sun behind the tall pines turned her pink hair bright red, and she looked gorgeous standing up there. Being several inches shorter than us gave her an advantage, she didn’t have to tilt her head to keep from bumping the roof beam, and she actually balanced across the entire stretch, which made Mitch and I more determined than ever to succeed.



Her fish came out perfect, and we ate at the table like a family. Paul had become pleasant, and blathered on about a fishing trip in Cabo San Lucas. We just needed a pretty face to wake us up, and there could be no prettier face than Mia’s. She and I discussed staying at the cabin, since eight-o-clock had crept up on us and we wouldn’t reach the wine country for another several hours, making the trip rather pointless. Once we’d agreed to stay, she produced a bottle of Cuervo and insisted we all toast to a lifelong friendship.



It had dipped into the low forties, so Mitch carried in a few logs and built us a nice tall fire. Soon we had ourselves a toasty cabin, and that enticed Mia to remove the huge flannel shirt, leaving her in the skimpy outfit she’d arrived in. Between her low-riding, short skirt and a half-length tank-top was a long, snaking hourglass of tone flesh. She looked way too fucking hot not to stare. Her skirt teetered awesomely with her hips, and the skimpy tank top did nothing to prevent the slight jiggle of her titties. Paul clammed up at the sight of her, not the reaction I’d expected at all.



She finally sat on the couch-back with her legs over my shoulders, rubbing my neck and head as I methodically squeezed her little tootsies in my lap. She registered a little drunk, and leaned her head against mine to whisper. “I have a naughty confession to make. I made a bad promise. Don’t be mad, but in order to get Paul out here, I had to agree to something.”



“Yeah? Like what?”



“Sex! Or actually a very specific kind of sex.”



“You did not tell him he could partake in the Kind Bud, did you.”



She sucked air through her teeth while giving me a guilty smile. I couldn’t help but laugh, and she hit my shoulder. “You’re not helping. I don’t think he was serious, but what do I say if he mentions it?”



Jealousy surprised me like a broken guitar string, and for a moment I saw myself driving away with her before anything else was said––but then the feeling passed as quickly as it came. We’d swung once in the past, so I never gave any reason to believe I’d be upset by this kind of play. I asked her to pour me some tequila, and she did. By the time the gold liquid reached my belly, I’d favored the idea. I preferred her slutty at times, and obviously she did too.



“I hate to say it, babe, but you made your bed, now you gotta fuck in it.”



“I’m being serious, Devin.”



“So just do it, then. You slept with the guy once before, you didn’t exactly complain about it afterwards, and it certainly didn’t hurt our sex-life any.”



“I can’t. We’re married now. What would he think?”



“Look, you’ve slept with every guy in this room––I guarantee they aren’t going to judge your virtue. Although your performance might be up for review.”



She punched me in the shoulder again.



“So you’re telling me you’re cool with some guy doing your wife?”



“No, not some guy––Paul, the guy I’ve shared everything with my entire life.”



“You’re weird.”



This time I punched her gently in the shoulder.



Over the next hour she flirted, but made no progress in seducing Paul towards his bedroom. I even discreetly let Paul know that no matter what happened I was totally cool with it. He gave me a shit eating grin like never before. It was all up to Mia. She was drunk and ready, I could see it in her face, yet she kept hesitating. I’m pretty sure it was me. She’d never be able to step into his bedroom while I was there to see it happen.



Finally she accused Paul of being seriously tense, and had him lay on the buffalo-skin rug in front of the fire. She then sat on his butt and dug her fingers into his bare skin. There was no way not to see it as a mildly erotic act, but she looked too incredibly hot arching over him in the firelight for me to feel anything but excitement. And as her fingers spread across his tone back, she gave Paul a sense of peace Mitch and I could never provide.



Mitch teased he’d been feeling pretty tense lately, and Mia said he’d never been tense in his life.



“What you need is skin-cream. You’re in the sun all the time, and in all that salt water. It’s going to turn you into a sixty-year-old man.”



“Damn, girl! Now I really am tense!”



Paul asked about her pink hair, and she explained, “I guess I just needed to convince myself I could still get away with it. Being a wife can make you feel old sometimes.”



He laughed, “You’re not even twenty-five, silly child.”



“No shit,” I agreed. “But I like my little punker-girl, so don’t change it back just yet.”



As much as I wanted to see this through, I knew I had to leave in order for her to feel comfortable taking the next step. I walked over to her, kissed her sweet lips, and told everyone I was going to pass out. She said she’d be right in, and sounded as if she meant it, but I suspected she’d change her mind once I’d vacated the room.



***




After lying in bed for fifteen minutes without any sign of Mia, I knew something was going down. I heard Paul pour them a tequila from his cabinet, informing them how Mia’s Cuervo might get the job done, but his evokes passion. Shortly after, Paul blurted out to Mitch,, “Five dollars says Mia’s new hair matches the color of her nipples.” Shocked laughter erupted from both Mia and Mitch. But Mia wasn’t the kind of girl to let unsolicited audacity go unanswered, and when I heard the guys howl and crack up, I was certain she’d flashed them her scrumptious titties. I know Paul, and he knew she’d pull something like that in retaliation.



I was hard as a rock, and began stroking my cock to the sound of them. And then I quickly dressed into warm clothes and climbed quietly out the window. I stepped onto the porch, and stood off to the side of the wide front window. I had the perfect view of the living room. I wouldn’t be able to catch the real action in Paul’s bedroom, but I could at least watch the frisky business leading up to it.



Paul escorted her by the hand and sat her on his lap. She then lifted her tiny tank top as he trickled tequila over both her nipples. Christ, was he actually going to do a nipple shot right in front of Mitch? Was she going to let him? To my amazement, he freely sucked her cute, little, tequilla-covered button into his mouth.



Mitch’s head suddenly appeared along side Paul’s, and he proceeded to clean her right breast. The two of them were being extremely thorough in lapping up the tequila. Extremely thorough! In fact, what should have taken a second had stretched into several minutes, with both of them practically engulfing her small pert tits.



Mia let them have at her, until finally she ran her hands through Paul’s straight black hair, and breathlessly said, “No fair guys. You’re getting me way too horny.” She pulled Paul up for a kiss, and Mitch retreated back to the Lazy-Boy. As their tongues explored each other’s mouths, Paul squeezed her right tit, which still featured a wet sheen from Mitch’s tonguing.



From where he sat in the Lazy-Boy, Mitch called out, “Yo Mia, one more!”



As she pulled her skimpy top completely off, she also looked over towards Mitch, only to find him holding his dick in his palm as he dribbled tequila along the head. Mitch’s cock had to be eight inches, and it wasn’t even hard. He’d boasted in the past, but I’d never believed it.



“God, Mitch, you’re such a jack-ass!” She grew a wicked look in her eye while sizing up Mitch and his exposed cock, and then, as if solely to torture Mitch for his behavior, she dropped off Paul’s lap, and went for the zipper on his pants. A minute later she bobbed on his cock like a fiend.



His fingers were laced through her hair, encouraging her to swallow more with each downward plunge. “Come on Mia. Do it for me, baby.” With nearly seven-and-half inches lodged into her svelte throat, she noisily struggled to gorge herself on the last damn inch.



Always the funny man, Mitch called out. “Wow Mia, the veggie cops aren’t going to like you putting away all that meat.”



Paul then lifted her head off his cock, and dribbled some tequila down his shaft. He let go of her hair then, and down she went, swallowing a good seven of his eight-and-half inches.



“So I pour tequila on my dick and I’m a jack-ass, but Paul does it and you totally lollypop him.”



She pulled off with a glazed chin, “Sorry Charlie, but nobody asked to see your sad fella.” She then went back to slobbering on Paul’s bad-boy, and motioned with her eyes towards his bedroom. It looked like the show was ending for me, since Paul’s room would be too dark to peek inside.

Mitch stood up and slowly and quietly stepped behind her. He then lifted her skirt, and gave her a hard spank. Mia promptly got up, turned to face him, and pushed him backwards. She pushed him again, and didn’t stop until he was on the buffalo skin rug. She then sat him down and circled him like a predator. Mia can stand up for herself, and knows how to tell a guy off when he’s being too pushy. But without a word, she grabbed his broad shoulders and pulled the big guy onto his back. He didn’t resist, and then she threw her leg over his body, straddling his chest and arms. It appeared she had him pinned, but it also appeared like mighty Mitch could just sit up and affectively toss her off.



“What is it about you that’s so cute?” She poked his cheek. “It’s gotta be those dimples.” She then began to tickle him in little bursts.



“Don’t do it.”



“You don’t have a choice, do you?”



He did, and up he went and off she flew. He then pinned her arms and sat on her naked chest.



“Shit! No Mitch don’t! I’m totally ticklish! You’ll totally make me scream!”



He magically produced a condom from his pants pocket. “Don’t worry, this ain’t gonna tickle. Here, hold it for a sec.” He slipped the package between her teeth. He then stood up and dropped his shorts, while she got up on her elbows and took the condom from her mouth. Mitch towered over her supine body, his cock free and pointing towards her sex like a divining-rod. He dropped to his knees and pulled her short navy-blue skirt down as she lifted her ass. Her undies quickly followed. They were both completely naked as he slowly lay down on top of her, kissing impulsively the instant their lips met. Her arms draped around his neck and he caressed her thigh. After a few minutes of making out, he rolled onto his left side, semi-privately put on the condom, and rolled back. He then raised her legs slightly and moved forward, slipping into Mia.



They quickly gained a steady rhythm, with the firelight tracing their dancing forms. His hand climbed up to her knee, pushing it forwards, towards her chest. Moving his pelvis forward with her knee and his torso upright, he spread her wider, and quickened his thrusts. “You missed my cock, didn’t you?”



“I won’t lie, but it’s the only thing I missed.”



“Always gotta be the stone cold queen, huh?”



They inched their way towards animalistic with pleasure laced groans. I hadn’t expected Mitch to be a part of this, and I probably would’ve been upset about it, except I’d grown unbelievably hard watching them. They were lovers in the past, and I knew she had been genuinely hot for the guy, and no doubt enjoyed herself now. I had to take a step back when I saw my breath beginning to fog the window.



She arched her back and rolled her head, her hips gyrating with increased desperation. Mitch followed their lead, answering her relentless hips with firm bursts of formidable strength. Orgasmic power rocked Mia and ravaged her face and posture.



She then pushed him off and climbed on top. The fire perfectly lit her face, tits and her entire front side, and fell into shadow where their pubic areas met. It artistically revealed her body and face like a model in a fashion mag. Sweat beaded up on her forehead and chest, twinkling in unison with the flickering flames. The moment was so artistically perfect, I could almost imagine words scrolling up beside them, listing the songs included on the Acoustic Guitar for Lovers compilation.



She rode Mitch harder, until the magic moment quickly crept up on him. And as Mia’s big play toy prepared to pop off inside her, she too came like wild animal.



After the fireworks settled down, she leaned forward to cuddle with him, but allowed his whopping cock to slowly soften inside her––keeping it all to herself for as long as she possibly could.



When her eyes opened, Paul stood over her, naked and holding out his hand. She took it, and was led to the Lazy-Boy, where he sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Full on penetration was almost instant, and they wasted no time rocking the Lazy-Boy. As their love making continued, all the subtle noises climbed up in intensity––the mussing of hair, skin brushing against leather, wet skin on wet skin, and Mia’s faint sweet moans. Her speaking voice is seductively low and breathy, like someone has cranked up the volume on a whisper––and her moaning the exact opposite, like she’s singing at whisper level, a soft and pleasant sound that travels deep into my bones.



She leaned all the way back as Paul continued to rock his hips powerfully. She now faced the window where I hid, and arched backwards off his lap with her head upside-down and on the floor, I was reminded of a cowboy on a bucking bronco, who’d snapped so far back his head smacked the horse’s ass. And while practically staring right at me, demur excitement tugged at her brows, her lower lip quivered, and her pink hair mopped about the floor.



When she pulled herself back up, the big looping curls tumbled in front of her face and into Paul’s. He did the honors of pushing them back behind her ears.



Soon she began to raise her hips up and down and grind them forwards and back. Paul was feeling like a champ. He grunted once and then didn’t breathe, placing a hand on Mia’s ass and slowing her down. She stopped completely, and they hugged.



He whispered something into her ear, and then forced her knees onto the arm rest, spreading her legs wider and plumping out her ass, full and taut. He then stripped off the condom, and poked a saliva covered finger into her butt. “I’m totally clean, and I gotta do this au naturel, is that OK?” She smiled, and then reached behind herself to gingerly guide his cock towards the Killer Kind Bud. Her eyelids grew heavy, leaving just a stroke of green under the closing lid, and she crackled, “Don’t move! I gotta get used to you.”



“Take all the time you need.”



She didn’t need much, and soon Paul had exactly what he’d wanted, he was ass-fucking Mia. With her knees on the Lazy-Boy armrests, he gripped her creamy ass cheeks so tight they glowed red, and drove her bottom up and down on his rock hard pole. “Oh jeeze, Mia. Mitch didn’t lie, you got some ass on you.”



Her tone ass landed with a solid thud on his thighs, over and over again, as his huge engorged cock disappeared inside it each and every time. Part of me was disappointed to see Paul finally driving anal on Mia. Only because he had the bullshit notion he was entitled to it, and I secretly enjoyed lording it over him. But every thud of her ass announced the spoiled brat was at last indulging in my prized treasure, and Mia was just giving it away, taking his big cock deep and dutifully.



He let go of one cheek to squeeze her perfect, teacup bosom, and then mouthed it with urgent fervor––like it contained the elixir of life and he meant to drink Mia’s tit dry. He spanked her hard and lifted her off, his cock popping out and revealing the tunnel it made inside her. Taking a moment to position her in front of the Lazy-Boy, with her head resting on the seat, he kneeled behind her, and spit several times into her tunnel. His cock then took a quick plunge into her pussy, for more of the au naturel lube, and only then submerged into her asshole again. He fucked like that for several minutes, as she rolled her head across the leather seat and girlishly murmured how wonderful it felt.



His attention sharply focused only on the penetration, truly fascinated by his dick busting in and out of her snug buttery burrow. He brought his feet forward, squatting over her, and angled her down, with her head against the floor and her ass sticking upwards. Being folded at the waist gave her a big stout ass, which she needed, because Paul wasn’t just thrusting into her anymore––from this position his dick had a downwards path, and that meant the weight of his body was being dropped onto Mia’s bum, forcing her cheeks to bulge outwards upon impact with an incredibly loud smack, and to hammer all eight-and-half, fat inches completely inside. Mia grunted each time he landed on her, which only inflamed his malicious assault.



“Oh god, Paul, you’re really giving me one.”



Veins had appeared at his temples, and he could barely speak. “Ooo fuck, I really am.” He moved a little to the left, and began spanking her ass cheeks hard. “Shit, I’d love to give Presley’s some of this.” I could see his legs straining to keep up the bombardment, and then he palmed her ass cheeks and began pushing off her with the assistance of his hairy arms. Sweat poured down his face, turning him into a glistening lunatic. “I so need to fuck Presley like a whore, just one time.”



Was that what he was doing right in front of Mitch, and with me watching from outside, fucking Mia like a whore?



Swatting Mia’s side, he rolled her forwards and lifted by her waist. Her shoulders settled on the ground with her back against the chair, and her knees swung back alongside her head. Now he had her ass in the air, where he could work it without squatting. He spit several times on his finger, and dug them into her butt. Then he was in, standing over her and banging straight down into her chastised chasm. There was no question about this new position––Paul was absolutely banging her like a whore, which left me crushed but also jacking-off like mad.



I’d forgotten about Mitch until he spoke up. “Whoa man, Devin’s way tripping if he wakes up to you totally spelunking in his Kind Bud like that.” Neither Paul nor Mia had it in them to laugh at the moment––in fact, I doubt they even heard him.



Paul squeezed the base of his shaft, pushed deep inside her and then shook it around. “This is how I’d like punish Presley’s pretentious asshole––right here, like this.” Instead of cherishing my priceless Lamborghini as I do, Paul performed a rigmarole of grueling tests, like one would a cheap rental car. Business law had created an even bigger self-centered monster, for him to blatantly bang my wife so voraciously.



“Know what I’d really like to do? Dick dive on her!” He pulled out, leaving her wide open, and then punched his cock back in. He repeated the move several times, with Mia gulping every time his cock hit bottom and his knuckle struck her perineum. “Oh yeah, right like this, dick diving in a whore’s ass.” Preasly had left a serious dark demon inside him, but Mia, finding herself in the blitzkrieg of this marauding, ass-hungry oppressor, only materialized stronger, and certainly showed no signs of needing help. He added spit to the mix as his cock came out, and soon his cock slipped in with such ease it enabled him to increase the speed. Mia’s body recoiled so badly that he had to hold her steady with his free hand. “Oh fuck. Look at that asshole. Look how hollowed out I got it.” Then he stopped for a moment, his dick lodged in to the maximum, and slowly pulled out. “Oh shit, Mitch, you hear that?” Of course Mitch heard, because I heard from clear outside. As his au naturel lubed up dick slid in and out, it made a surprisingly, lurid, wet sound. “That’s her ass talking, man, and it’s telling me how much she likes my dick. Mmmm, oh yeah, that’s a whore’s ass alright––just begging for dick.”



“Dude, what you’re doing now would totally kill Presley.”



Paul then looked down at Mia’s face, her chin pressed against her chest and her sweaty pink curls splashed about her forehead and over her left eye. She breathed heavy through clenched teeth, but her right eye stared intensely back up at him. His mission to crush some ass slipped from the forefront of his mind, as their engaged eyes spoke in a way words could not. Her feistiness pit against his domineering arrogance was always the cause of some tension. As good of friends as we’d been, I knew if the two of them spent a week in the cabin alone they’d end up killing each other. But now they were face to face and fucking, and their firecracker chemistry exploded between them.



“I almost forgot about you down there, Mia.”



She rolled her eyes and halfway smiled.



“Wow, I think I became someone else for a minute there. You OK?”



Her rosy cheeks lifted into a smug smile. “I’ve had Mitch. You’re small potatoes compared to him.”



She meant to push his button and she did. “Is that right?” He put a finger into her snatch and pulled it out dripping wet. “Look at that. You like this, don’t you? You like having your ass punished! I can’t give you enough, can I?” He sucked her juice from his finger and then poked it in again. Both of her holes were then fucked in unison, as she squealed delightfully from below and gasped for air. He leaned over and reached down to feed her the juice off his fingers. “Taste that? My cock is making you so wet, little Mia. And you can’t stand it, can you? You can’t stand that a male chauvinist prick like me gets you so sopping wet.”



As the fucking resumed, their eyes remained locked, like two boxers in a ring. He spanked her ass, spread her legs like a wishbone, and gave her everything he had. And although her body squirmed and her breathing stuttered through an orgasm, she continued to defiantly stare him down. When it came to sex, Mia was into a little humiliation, I knew that, but it was near heart stopping to see it that roughly dished-out by another man.



“You have a serious slut side, Mia. I’m owning your asshole like a whore’s, and the harder I fuck, the harder you seem to come.” He pulled his dripping fingers out of her snatch and wiped them on her thigh. It was no longer about playing Connoisseur to the Killer Kind Bud or a Presley grudge fuck fantasy, Paul now put the feisty little Mia in her place with an extremely hard, balls-to-wall bang session––something I’m sure he’d longed to do from the very first day the outspoken hottie stepped into his life. He then knelt behind her, pried open her loose butthole with his fingers, and spat several times into her rectum. He’d been working over her ass for almost thirty minutes, and appeared to be preparing for another half-hour. I have to admit, I was incredibly impressed by both their stamina.



Barely audible, Mia incited, “I want you to come in my mouth.”



“What did you just say?”



“You heard me.”



“Say it again.”



In a pseudo porn-star’s voice, she repeated it louder, “I want you to fucking come in my mouth.”



He stood up. “Let me get in two last dick dives, and then it’s all yours, baby.” He then punched his eight-and-half inches into her freshly lubed butt, and yanked it right back out. He maintained eye contact and practically bounced her off the floor by shoving it in so hard. His ‘two last dick dives’ turned out to be more like two-hundred––he just couldn’t stop butt bludgeoning her. I watched in disbelief as he smacked into her over and over like some hydraulic powered machine. She finally had to beg him to come in her mouth before he’d stop.



Paul ended up melting into the Lazy-Boy with Mia’s face buried in his lap, sucking him off. Both of them were sweaty and exhausted.



Mitch saw an opportunity and came over to lift Mia’s ass, leaving her on her hands and knees. He broke out a condom and lube, and as he fingered the lube into her butt, he declared, “I’m so fucking this.” Her back quivered into an arch, the mere thought of his words involuntarily exciting her. He then eased his way in, penetrating her ass much gentler than Paul had. He had to go easy––my boy Mitch was damn near eleven inches.



“Oh the memories!” He poked it in a little deeper as Paul chuckled. “Man, when we were going out, Mia so made me wait an eternity to split some ass.” Then he slapped the heel of his palm to his forehead and shook his tangled hair. “What am I saying, she totally took a trunk full of meat on the first date.” Paul laughed out loud this time, and Mia, while still sucking his cock, swung an arm backwards, nailing Mitch in his thigh.



Paul then mouthed words in complete silence. “Seriously, on the first date?”



Mitch triumphantly brought a fist down in front of his own face, and shouted, “Boom!”



Paul broke into laughter and Mia lifted her head. “Am I doing all this for nothing?” Paul didn’t answer, instead he grabbed the back of her head, put her mouth to the light-house, and with a renewed interest, began pumping her throat. Similarly, Mitch began to drive his monster in with force, spanking her sweaty rear as he did.



Mia was getting totally rocked, cocks busting into her from both sides, and mine sprang up hard enough to bat one out of the ballpark. Paul stood up, locked eyes again and gave her Irish-exotic face a throat-bruising bone. She spit and drooled, her mascara bled, she whimpered faintly, but her green eyes gleamed with more radiance than ever. Behind her, Mitch used her sphincter to mark off ten-inches on his cock, while reaching around to frig her little puss towards a wet smacking crescendo. Both guys were grunting loud, and their wet bodies clapped against hers. They were being extremely noisy, making me grateful for the solitude. With his fist, Paul made a ponytail out of Mia’s pink hair and used it to jack her mouth on his cock. His balls smashed against her chin and the sound from her throat was louder than anything yet, like Vin Deisel plunging a clogged drain. Not to be out done, Mitch slammed his dick completely into her ass, all eleven inches, the meaty impact echoing through the house, and then followed it with the lighter sound of his balls whapping against pussy.



Not in my wildest dreams did I ever anticipate seeing my little Mia impaled between my two big friends, a cock going in one end and another in the other. They amusingly appeared to be connected, like Paul and Mitch were lumber-jacks pulling a dick shaped saw through her.



In the back Mitch kept on squeezing his monster in with full force, and the son-of-bitch was in great shape and capable of ramming her harder than Paul or I ever could. It surprised me, too, because Mitch was so laid back about everything, yet here he was, teeth clenched, muscles rippling, and absolutely destroying Mia’s ass with his iron giant. He was competitive, that was the thing, and I’m sure I was witnessing a one-ups-man-ship on Paul. Then he slowed down, almost to a stop, and grabbed Mia’s ass cheeks.



“You hear that, Paul?”



Paul was still feeding cock to Mia and on the verge of unloading. “You mean the sound of my dick poking her tonsils?”



“No, dude! Her ass––it’s taking to me.” Using his hands he flapped her thick butt cheeks back-n-forth, making her crack appear like a talking mouth, while speaking for it in a girl’s voice. “Oh Mitch, I just love your huge dong in my soft hole.” He started fucking her deep again, still flapping her butt cheeks and now garbling his words. “Oh god, it’s hard to talk with so much meat in me. You’re so much bigger and better than Paul. On god I love your dick so much, Mitch. Fuck me harder!” He did. “No even harder!” He did. “No even harder than that!”



By now he was jam-packing her wobbling booty at blistering speeds. I had never seen anything like it––a man pretending to have a conversation with an ass whilst fucking the hell out of it. Only Mitch could pull off something as asinine as that. “Oh god, stud, your gonna make me come. Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m so coming.”



Then the oddest thing happened, Mia actually came. Her back humped up, her toes curled over, and she moaned sweetly over Paul’s dick. That was enough to set Paul off, and he pushed her face into his abdomen and broke into a fucking war cry. Their eyes remained engaged throughout, and her cheeks fluttered, letting me know a hot load was splashing against the back of her mouth as she struggled not to gag. He pulled her head slightly away, grabbed his cock, and then squeezed the last of his come directly on her tongue. “Oh fuck you, little slutty Mia, you get all my come.” She licked his shaft, catching a final drip, and then swallowed, glaring seductively up at him the entire time. Paul was left speechless, and then he walked over to the couch and sat down. And this is where I came, shooting a load onto the doorframe of Paul’s cabin.

Bethany didn’t write this story and that is the greatest tragedy of all. She’d earned a scholarship to UCLA for journalism and poetry, and the one short story she allowed me to read struck me as sensual, razor-sharp and pure genius. It was frighteningly angry, but also vulnerably deep. If she wrote the story you’re reading now it would’ve been a work of art both loved and hated, but ultimately loved, as Beth was. Hopefully I’ve captured a fraction of her spirit, we’ll see.



She stopped writing in her second semester at UCLA, deciding her teachers were full of shit and losing a scholarship. Her sister, who I always found to be jealous of Beth and quite nasty about it, suggested Beth try modeling, since no matter how badly Beth fucked up, she’d always be too pretty for her own damn good. That’s roughly the same time I met Beth, and to my knowledge she hasn’t written anything since. So this is Bethany as I knew her, unpredictable, sexy, opinionated, strong, poetic, passionate, and wife.



About eighteen months ago, after fighting horrible Labor Day traffic leading into Santa Monica, I came home to find Beth tapping a pen on a glass desk, transfixed on my computer screen. She was dressed in her thin white sweats but had apparently skipped yoga class.



“Beth? Everything cool?”



“No it isn’t cool. Look what Sherri just sent me.”



On the monitor glowed a professionally lit picture of Beth laying face down on a pool table with her ass raised in the air. She wore a pair of black lacy panties with eight-ball graphics centered over her butt. Her ass took up most of the frame with her torso hidden behind, making it impossible to tell if she wore anything else. Her head lay off to the side, her black hair hanging partially over her face, and she stared back at me with steely blue eyes and a far from innocent smile. In the background stood the out of focus mid-section of a man wearing a suit and holding a full shot glass. But the overtly sexual focal point was her gorgeous juicy ass in the tight eight-ball undies. I grew hard the instant I saw it.



“I knew when I let that huge asshole talk me into this shot it would end up going to print. Brad pushes it, and I’m not the only one who says so. If I give him a little cleavage he asks to lose the whole top. So the one time I let the jerk ‘try something a little more exciting‘ this is what happens.”



“What’s Sherri say?”



“She thinks it’s great!” Beth threw the plastic pen at the monitor. “She says it’s nice to see me loosening up, and that it should be a huge boost to my career.”



“Is she right?”



“It doesn’t matter––she’s supposed to have my back.”



Sherri is my wife’s lesbian agent and has continued to represent my wife despite Beth’s reputation of being difficult to work with. Looks-wise, my wife is well aware she’s out of everyone’s league, and typically behaved icy cold towards any man bold enough to flirt, which photographers like Brad loved to do. She also got a little soapboxy whenever they nudged the shoot in a sexual direction, and I can only imagine how annoying that was. On one occasion she violently scribbled lipstick all over her own face and affectively ended the session. It’s not that Beth had real issues with men­­––trust me, our sex-life was sound and there were several lovers before me––it’s more or less she felt competitive with them, and hated being trivialized into a pretty face and cute tits by a masterful photographer executing his vision.



“Look, Sherri loves a good ass as much as I do. Face it––you have a great ass, take pride in that.”



“Really? Well Sherri sent the type that goes with it. Read it!”



The shot was intended for a Svedka Vodka ad, and the top line would read, ‘It’s you’re shot!’ and then continued at the bottom of the page, ‘Take it!’



“OK, its suggestive, but-”



Suggestive? People are going to open up a magazine and see a full page invitation to fuck me.”



I laughed, which didn’t help the situation.



“Look baby, you have the most deep seductive eyes, like a poet’s, every shot of them makes me want to fuck you, too.”



That’s not the same and you know it.”



“Maybe not, but I still think you’re making more out of this than you need to. And like Sherri says, you’re getting a bit of a reputation so this might help alleviate it and line up a little more work.”



“So you’re totally OK with––well like Parker staring at this when it goes to print.”



Parker was my big macho friend and boss who really liked to talk up the ladies.



“I’m fine with that.”



“Really?” She suddenly smiled, totally holding back laughter. “And what if he took it into the bathroom and pulled out his disgusting little worm and started jacking off and making that monkey face he makes every time he says ‘Let’s get it on!’” Beth could barely finish without completely cracking up.



“I’m not even going to entertain that thought.”



“What if he tells you about it afterwards? ‘Oh man, Beth’s ass looked so righteous in that ad, I had to totally stroke myself!”



We were both cracking up now.



“This is precisely why you freak out over stuff like this––you think every man behaves like a Viagra stuffed horn-dog.”



“But if he did, you’d be fine with it?”



“Yes, because it’s my shot, not his, and I’m taking it!”



I picked her up and carried her laughing into the bedroom as I took one last look over my shoulder towards her picture on the screen. Damn I wanted that ass in a bad way, and the lucky man I was, I soon had it!



I quickly pulled off her jeans and tossed her on the bed. I then jumped on top of her and made out for a minute before grabbing her leg and posing her like the ad.



In an effeminate voice I used the words of Brad the photographer. “Let’s try something a little more exciting, shall we?”



“Very funny, but Brad is more of the Parker type.” I slapped my hands on her tight butt cheeks. “He’s all muscle and gross, fake-baked tan, and he can barely keep it in his pants long enough not to hit on every model he works with.”



“Really?” I yanked her underwear down. “I guess that makes sense, only a straight man could truly grasp the beauty of your booty.” I then spanked that beautiful booty to accentuate my point. “Goddamn I love your ass.” I leaned down and bit it, and bit it hard enough to make her yelp.



“The photo has you a little worked up, does it?”



“If you only knew.”



I quickly buried my face between her cheeks and feasted on her creamy snatch. The thought of my feisty wife submitting for a photo drove me wild. She laid face down, ass up, and totally surrendered to a devouring of her lady parts. As I brought her towards orgasm I stopped just long enough to ask a favor––let the ad go through. And when she surprisingly agreed to it, my dick turned full-on concrete. I quickly dropped my pants and stuck my cock in her juicy little depot, making her hum like she’d sunk into a warm tub.



“You really are all the same. Even my own husband sees me as nothing more than some hot piece of ass he can stick it in.”



I pumped her doggy style as hard as I could and teased back, “You cook a pretty good meal, too,”



I was always horny for my wife, but that Svedka Vodka photo turned me into a real sexual deviant. As a result we did it almost every night for two weeks straight, and then another straight week when the ad finally went to print.



***




I’ve been referred to as weird, but only by friends and always in an endearing way. It’s actually one of the reasons Beth fell for me. What I’m about share next, however, would’ve certainly caused Beth to either shake her head in disgust or laugh herself to pieces.



I was on a business trip in Maine, representing my company at a boat convention, and in the evening I clicked through cable channels from my hotel room bed. While I never caught the name of it, I happened upon a softcore action flick on Cinemax that changed my life forever. It featured Arab terrorists holding a general’s daughter hostage, and a secret-ops team commanded by a James Bond wannabe who was called in to rescue her. The top billed Actress was the chick playing the kidnapped daughter, but it was a female soldier serving the American team who was absolutely the best looking. In fact, she was way too hot to be in such a cheesy skin flick, and I only watched in the off chance she’d shed a few clothes.



Then about three-quarters into the film, the secret-ops team traced a terrorist internet broadcast announcing the execution of the general’s daughter, which led them to an old factory in the Middle East. Time was of the essence, and the American team of black clad assassins stealthily raided the abandoned factory.



The hot soldier had a slightly tighter outfit than her fellow assassins, and her steely blue eyes and pink lips glowed from the slits in her black ski mask. She positioned herself on the top most catwalk and functioned as sniper while the rest of the men searched ground level. Just as she locked sight on an Arab patrolling a row of shipping crates, a huge hand grabbed her from behind.



After a blurry second she was suddenly held by one terrorist while an enormous bearded Arab reached for her mask. Her knee met with his groin, which obviously hurt but ultimately just angered the giant into shoving her back against the wall. His hands then patted over her chest until he felt something strange underneath her jacket, and tore it open to find a pair of tits.



So I got my wish, the scathing hot girl actually showed her goods. They were every bit as beautiful as the rest of her, and her awesome military posture presented them quite proudly.



The huge terrorist did rip off her mask then, and revealed her pretty steely eyed face. He smiled brutishly and she spit right between his eyes. They briefly stared each other down––clearly only one would live to end of the film, and given the fact she was a super secret-op, odds were in her favor despite the current predicament. The big Arab then grabbed a handful of short stylish blonde hair and dragged her down the catwalk, while the second guy trailed excitedly behind.



In the kill room where the general’s daughter was held, the terrorist leader received word on his ear-piece that an American soldier had been captured. He then ordered them to take the daughter away and start the camera recording.



The secret-ops commander had just spotted the guy patrolling the shipping crates and whispered to his team something must be wrong if their girl hadn’t taken him out. A soldier operating a laptop and tracking the broadcast reported the execution had begun. They all watched over his shoulder as the terrorist leader appeared on the little screen and blamed the tyranny of American Pigs for what they were about to witness. The small team jumped into action, shooting the terrorist guard and desperately looking for the kill room.



Back inside the kill room, the female soldier was carried through a huge steel door. To my surprise she was completely naked, with two men carrying her legs, two men carrying her arms, and the big guy still holding her by the hair. They flipped her onto her stomach and set her on a table placed in the center of an otherwise empty room. It was too short for her to lie on, so she had to kneel. They tied her hands and one guy pressed her face against the cold metal table top, which left her ass sticking straight into the air. There were roughly eight terrorist all jumping around her excitedly and chirping a bunch of nonsense.



For a moment I thought they were going to gang rape her, and I actually grabbed the remote control to spare myself the grizzly sight. But this was a softcore action flick filled with bad jokes and nothing quite so dark, so I braved the outcome, banking the cool sexy soldier would be saved by her commander and troops.



The terrorists then argued about the best way to execute their alternate victim on live Internet, going back and forth between shooting, hanging, or stabbing her to death. Through the entire film the terrorist were these bungling dumb-shits, and their leader had grown increasingly annoyed with them.



The huge Arab she’d spit on earlier suddenly let out a shrieking war-cry and produced a hand grenade from his jacket pocket. The rest of the men watched in disbelief as the giant man tore out the pin with his teeth and ran up behind the hot soldier. With her ass still raised in the air he slammed a meaty paw on her squishy cheek, and punched the grenade into her asshole. They filmed it from the side, making it appear as if his whole hand plunged in. She gritted her teeth and her eyes grew intensely wide, while another Arab kept her head to the table and the big guy struggled to dig his arm deeper into her butt. It was a joke out of an Austin Power’s movie at this point, and they went to the extreme of having him burry his oversized arm all the way up to his elbow, causing his jacket sleeve to bunch up at the crack of her ass. The Arab holding down her head yelled out, “Fire in the hole!” and everyone dropped to the ground and hid in the corners of the small windowless room. The big guy then began to pull his arm out only to find she’d clenched her ass and trapped his hand inside. As concern emerged in his eyes, he braced his free hand roughly on her ass cheek and struggled to yank out the arm lodged deep inside her bowels.



Despite the fact it was all filmed as a joke, the implications of it were just so wrong that I shouted out loud in my hotel room, “Who thinks up this shit?” I mean, I’d fallen for this cool hot girl in the last sixty minutes. While her commander banged every bimbo informant they met, she’d roll her eyes and stay true to the part of the steely-eyed, tough soldier who performed most of the killing, and then without warning, she’s suddenly naked on a table with some giant dude trying to rip his arm out of her ass in the most ridiculous, humiliating scene ever imagined.



The Arab finally leaned his forehead against the top of her butt, tightened his grip on her left cheek, made the scariest face you’ve ever seen and, screaming, popped his arm free and dove for the floor.



Outside, her commander stormed the factory halls in search of the kill room, until the soldier with the lap top again alerted him to the events of the broadcast. The commander turned white as he realized the naked girl with her ass in the air and a grenade up her butt was not the daughter, but rather his favorite soldier.



Then came a shot of the terrorists huddled on the floor with their fingers in their ears, waiting for the loud pop. And as orchestral thunder built up, I was shown a cropped frame of her ass crack that rapidly zoomed out to her entire body kneeling on the table, surely an indicator she was about to blow.



The image on the soldier’s laptop turned into static right as they all heard a loud bang from across the building, and immediately charged in that direction.



Meanwhile, the terrorist were coughing as they got back on their feet in a smoke filled room. The leader ordered them to retreat out the back door as the big bearded Arab landed a hand on his shoulder. He asked the leader if he’d made Allah proud, and the leader angrily scolded he’d almost killed them all. He then looked disgustedly at the giant arm with the sleeve still bunched up around the elbow, and carefully poked it away from his shoulder with a gun—obviously not keen on being touched by the same arm used to defile the girl’s asshole.



The terrorist escaped that incident, but after they outrageously offed the hot soldier I stopped paying attention



Instead I puzzled over the girl who played the female soldier. It blew me away that a good looking talented actress would agree to such demeaning warped scene. While the violence was so toned down the grenade apparently vaporized her into smoke, the nudity was damn sure real. She may have only acted as if some guy’s hand was jammed way up her ass, but the guy’s other hand was squeezing on her butt cheek, and he was clearly into his role. And during her final shot, the very brief close up of her butt, the extreme bend at her waist meant her ass cheeks were pulled apart just enough to expose her cute little anus to the camera. I doubt she realized how much could be seen at the time, but zoomed in so close there was no way any viewer missed it. So not only did she show bush, something the other actresses failed to do, her asshole made a cameo. In a mere five minutes I saw her in a completely different light. Undoubtedly that scene limited her career, too, because no matter what roles she took afterwards or how great she acted, she’d always be remembered as the girl who had a grenade shoved up her ass. I’d even bet my house someone’s made a looping gif of the big Arab punching the grenade up her keester, which routinely gets attached in angry forum postings, because there can be a no bigger, toe-curling fuck you than that.



I fell asleep early that night and in the early morning I dreamt of the movie. Dreaming, I watched the cast filming the grenade scene as if I were one of the crew. The crazy part is the hot soldier happened to be played by my wife, and I suddenly realized why I’d been so attracted to her in the first place. It took seeing Beth in the role to recognize how much the soldier reminded me of her. Beyond sharing the same gorgeous steely blue eyes they didn’t look much alike, but they both possessed a cool scathing attitude and an untouchable allure, they both way out classed everyone around them and they both didn’t take crap from any man. And like the character in the film, my wife is the last person in the world to have her bare ass in the air before a room full of men, yet there she was.



They were about to film the scene where the huge Arab inserts the grenade, when Beth stopped them to argue how the scene made no sense, because her character would never let herself end up at the mercy of a bunch of imbeciles. I had to admit, she did look out of place kneeling there naked with her ass presented to the room like… well like she had in the ad for Svedka Vodka. And it dawned on me––the way she’d posed on the pool table with her ass taking up two thirds of the frame came surprisingly close to the girl getting fisted on the metal table. Perhaps I was incorrect in thinking my wife would be the last person in the world to do this scene. My dreaming brain further merged reality with fantasy by adding the eight-ball panties she wore in the photo shoot, which now hung around her knees so Remy, the actor playing the big Arab who fists her, could do just that.



The actors in my dream grew annoyed with my wife for delaying the shot, and most wandered about the tiny room grumbling. What my wife missed was the longer she delayed filming, the longer she had to stay in that position, and the longer the cast and crew would stare at her perfectly displayed asshole, which they unabashedly did.



The director argued the scene was not only relevant, but the most gratifying scene of the film. He asked Remy for his opinion, and he whole-heartedly agreed.



The thing about my wife is she loves to hassle men for behaving like men, and challenging the director actually put her in a good feisty mood, so with a wry laugh she asked the entire cast and crew, “So everyone here would rather the bad-ass female take a grenade in her butt than hold her own with the terrorists. You all really think that’s what my character deserves?”



They did, and Remy joked, “And not just your character.”



She laughed. “You huge silly asshole, Remy, so you’d actually want to shove a grenade up my butt.”



“More so by the minute.”



That cracked up the entire room, including her.



“Guys are so fucked up. Fine, let’s film this already.”



The director then cried action and Remy squeezed her butt cheek and jammed his fist in, while my wife gritted her teeth and groaned “Uh, Uh, Uh, Umph!” She rolled her head towards me, and with a piercing stare and wicked smile, asked, “You do realize you’re dreaming about some guy shoving a fist inside me, don’t you?”

I woke up suddenly, finding myself sweaty and hard.



I went to my suitcase and pulled out the Playboy I’d packed. It fell open to the ad for Svedka Vodka, featuring my wife on the pool table. I then waited three hours for it to turn nine on the west coast so I could phone her.



My dick grew hard again the instant I heard her voice. I confessed to staring at her picture at that very moment, and then to having had a dirty dream about her, although I kept the details a mystery. I was surprised to find her receptive to a little nasty talk, so I asked her to pose like she had in the picture, but totally naked. She gave me some shit about it, but she finally complied, or at least said she did, and then fingered herself towards orgasm as I jacked off, squirting come across the glossy page adorned with her eight-ball undies.



I was stuck in Maine another two days, and again found her tolerating a little long distance role play, even when asked to imagine her hands tightly tied behind her back. I can’t explain how exciting it was to hear her cooing into the phone as I thought of my dream. It brought on such elation to have my wife submit to my kinky desires, that on my last day I bought her a stylish green vinyl jacket and boldly purchased a pair of handcuffs.



In person it was too embarrassing to even bring up our phone calls, let alone the idea of handcuffing, so I waited until after dinner, slipped them into the pocket of the green jacket, and laid it on her pillow to discover.



As I said, my wife is not the submissive type, and when she found the handcuffs in the pocket she rolled her eyes and dangled them in front of her like a dirty condom.



“Are you kidding me?”



I smiled guiltily. “Surprise!”



Luckily for me she found them more amusing than offensive and we kidded back and forth until she finally asked for the keys.



“This is what I get for letting you have your fantasy phone sex, huh?”



I pulled the keys from my night stand and tossed them over.



She held them in front of her. “So let’s try these out.” She jingled them when I didn’t immediately offer over my wrists. “You don’t trust me?”



I actually didn’t trust her, she had way too much mischief in her eyes, but I also wanted to call her bluff. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter who wore the handcuffs, it was turn on enough having my wife explore her sexual side.



I put out my wrists, and she brought the handcuffs underneath them––then stopped.



“You should remove your shirt first.”



I did as asked, and she openly stared at my chest.



“That’s better.” She took hold of my wrists and I felt her hands tremble, and that slight tremble instantly transformed our roles. I felt stronger than ever. My half naked body was seriously turning on my hot model wife, and I congratulated myself for spending so much time in the gym.



She decided it would work better if she cuffed me behind my back, and I tried not to smirk at her growing uncertainty. I suddenly realized it might be the first time she’d ever initiated sex between us, and openly craving cock must have been awkward after constantly mocking my gender’s inability to keep it in their pants. I compliantly turned around and brought my hands together over my butt. Again she brought the cuffs up to my wrists and stopped.



“Aren’t you going to resist a little?”



I pulled my hands away, which met zero resistance as I slipped free of her grasp. She grabbed them and tried to reposition them for cuffing, but when I lightly struggled again my hands broke free a second time.



I’ve playfully wrestled with my wife before, and for a skinny little girl she puts up a pretty good fight, so I could only assume she’d allowed me to get free.



I wrestled her arms, and only when placed on the defense did her battle grow spirited. But for a guy who benches reps of ten with two-hundred even, it didn’t take much to pin her on the bed and cuff her hands behind her back.



“You huge ass, you better hope I don’t get free or you’re sooo going to get it.”



I spanked her butt and then raised it enough to pull down her skirt. She fought against it, but only for show.



“Oh my god, you are such a pervert. Let me go!”



“Don’t make me gag you.”



“This is totally what I get for stepping into my husband’s fantasy.”



I striped off her blue panties in one hard yank. I then balled them up and shoved them in her mouth, cutting her off mid sentence. From then on she was all mine, and oh the terrible things I wanted to do.



I spanked and kissed her bottom, and relished the idea of sticking my pinky into her ass, but feared it would genuinely upset her. After turning her over and unbuttoning her shirt, I helped myself to her precious little titties. My tongue met her lithe nipples and circled delicately. But soon her legs hung over my shoulders and I drove her pussy like a prize fighter pinning her to the ropes.



She spit out her underwear, which could have been done at any point, and came hard for her man. I watched her body squirm. Her knees were trapped over my shoulders, her hands trapped under her body, her shirt flipped open so her tits jostled freely, and her black hair streaked against her sweaty face. I almost cried she was such a beautiful sight.



One thing became clear, even though she couldn’t admit it to me or even herself, this was now as much her fantasy as mine. I couldn’t exactly call my wife submissive, but she definitely took to being restrained. The bratty bitch in her liked it rough. For all her outspoken girl-power competitiveness, being overpowered in the bed made her cream herself crazy.



***




The Svedka Vodka ad garnered Beth more work in the following two months than she’d seen the entire prior year, just as her agent said it would, and most were higher profile, with one series running in GQ. Even more amazing, she’d loosened up considerably when it came to the risqué sessions.



For one ad she wore a black skirt, pink tennis shoes, a black body stocking, and a pink ribbon around her neck. No bra meant her coral nipples glowed plain as day through the shear transparent stocking.



Even better was a session she did for Tallia Orange. They cut her hair into something like Elvis’s, applied a dense layer of midnight-blue eye-shadow, long fake lashes, and put her in nothing but a white, men’s, dress shirt, unbuttoned down to her navel. A fully clothed man stood behind her, and she kneeled facing away from him, arching her back so her shoulders and head rested on his abdomen, and held onto his tie like a rope. His face poked out of the shot, while hers stared straight at the camera, her eyes glowing like blue neon over a brothel door and her lips puckered full and relaxed, as if quivering from cold or lust. Her unbuttoned shirt buckled on the far side, so the profile of her tit was exposed. She looked so ready to fuck I couldn’t stare at it without getting hard.



It was tame enough I could tack to my office wall, and I did. She was so heavily made-up it took Parker, my boss, a week to recognize her. When he did, he said, “You better keep a lot of ice on hand, because your wife’s so hot she’ll burn your dick off.” I gave Parker a knowing smile just as my phone rang, and he left my office shaking his head.



Beth was on the line, and her agent just received word they needed her for a follow up to the Tallia Orange ad. The bad news––they planned to pair her up with Brad, the photographer who shot the Svedka Vodka ad and the overbearing masculine type Beth has a problem with. I tried telling her it didn’t matter, but she wanted to back out, fearing he’d try to push the limits on an already racy campaign.



“Tallia Orange needs something they can print, so he’s bound by that.”



“I know, but he just likes to shove his camera where it doesn’t belong and I know I’ll say something and be branded the mouthy girl all over again.”



“Pretend it’s me. Pretend we’re in our bedroom alone and the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Or just think of the money!”



I hid my excitement over the fact she’d more than likely return from the shoot ready for a night of handcuffs and love making. My excitement turned to disappointment, however, when I learned the day of the shoot fell on the same day I had to be in Maine meeting with a group of old rich men interested in purchasing Parker’s super yacht



Super yachts are amazingly cool. They are basically mini cruise ships, and this particular one featured seven decks and a pool. Parker purchased it for ten million from some guy in Spain desperate to sell, and spent six years and another two million restoring it. I honestly don’t think he expected to ever unload the thing, since he priced it close to a hundred million, but I’d chatted up some old guy at the Maine convention, and he called me back, very interested. Parker needed me there for the final deal, and I expected to earn one hell of a commission as a result, so as much as I wanted to be home when Beth returned from the shoot, there was no getting out of the trip.



The following week I flew to Maine, where Parker and I met the old rich guy at his Cape Elizabeth estate. He happened to be the president of an ultra elite yacht club, and it was the club who planned on jointly purchasing the ship, so we presented to nine members of the club board in his huge courtyard overlooking the Atlantic and backed by a grove of reddening maple trees.



By the time we headed off to dinner, Parker was confident I’d made the sale and treated me to five-star restaurant in town. We headed back to our hotel around ten with a couple Martini’s in us, but I couldn’t fall asleep as I was running on West Coast time, and so I called Beth while I spread out on a queen size bed. She answered with an irritated “Hello,” and I immediately knew things hadn’t gone well at the shoot.



She’d done as I suggested, pretending I guided her through each shot instead of Brad, and for the most part she relaxed and did as asked. It wasn’t until he spanked her that she snapped, and then yelled for him to punch her in the face, shouting, “Punch me as hard as you can. Do it, I want you to. You want to lay one on me––I know it, so just do it, please!”



She then ran to a side office and took five minutes to gain control again. When she returned she claimed to be especially accommodating just to prove he couldn’t get to her, a move he totally took advantage of.



“He had me lay over this guy’s knee and the guy pretended to spank me with the belt, like I was a little girl! I totally have Brad figured out now––he wants me to be a bitch because he likes to force bitches to do degrading shit––that’s how he gets off. I always knew he hated women, I just didn’t realize his boner depended on it.”



“Hates women? Couldn’t he maybe just like to objectify women? He is a photographer, after all.”



Beth wasn’t hearing me, she only wanted to vent, and so I let her––for over an hour I let her.



I flew back to LA early the next day, grabbed my car from the lot and drove home as fast as I could.



As I turned down my street I spotted a fire truck blocking our driveway, and coldness trickled down my spine. Then I smelled it, the pungent stench of burning plastic, and my mind flooded with a vision of a burnt-out bedroom window and a smoldering bed. The side gate hung open, so I parked on the street and followed the cobblestones into our backyard. I saw our metal trashcan pouring out white smoke in the middle of our patio, and three firemen surrounding Beth. One of them held a clipboard out towards her, but her arms remained locked across her chest. She wore only a large T shirt, and probably nothing but underwear underneath.



“Ma’am, this isn’t an admission of guilt. This just says we were here. You can still dispute any penitential fines.”



“The problem is I didn’t ask you to come.”



“The problem is it’s illegal and dangerous to burn gasoline and plastics.”



“It wasn’t like I was burning tires or trash.”



“There were gasoline flames as high as your roof and I could smell plastic and rubber. Look, if you wanted to get rid of your clothes, just donate them.”



“Why, so some woman can turn anorexic trying look good in something only a twelve-year-old should fit into?”



“Without a signature I guarantee they’ll turn it over to an investigator.”



“I didn’t have to let you in!”



I stepped in then, introduced myself and signed his paper. As I did, he explained there’d been a report of a fire and it appeared my wife had filled our trashcan with gas and burned several shoes and items of clothing. She fled inside without saying a word to me. As soon as the firemen left I walked over to the remaining pile of clothes. I grabbed the vinyl green jacket I’d bought as a present, the one I hid the handcuffs in, and carried it with me as I went inside to hunt her down. I found her sitting in our sofa, her arms still locked over her chest.



Beth weighed about one-twenty––she was thin but tone. She had perfect curves and hips slightly wider than her shoulders. Any skinnier would have detracted from her beauty. She once explained how the super models filling the pages of Vogue and Elle are beyond thin because all the women reading those magazines fantasize about being skinny and young, and models that aren’t walking skeletons tend to land in garbage catering to men, like the Tallia Orange campaign.



“OK babe, I get it. I know it sucks that all the big-time fashion gigs go to bone thin little girls, but did you really need to burn your clothes?”



“I’m tired of looking at my fat ass in them.”



“Now you’re just being stupid! Your ass is a miracle from god, and it isn’t fat.”



Her forehead softened some, and then tensed up like she was about to cry. “I just want to kill him. Can I? Can I just kill Brad?”



I laughed and reached for a hug. She wrapped her arms around me tight and squeezed me intensely. I comforted her, at least for the night. I realized then she’d missed our little bondage game more so than I, in fact, her bruised ego couldn’t heal without it and she only became worse.



Over the next few weeks she grew increasingly depressed, barely speaking to anyone and rarely leaving the house. I felt horrible for encouraging her to do the shoot and wondered if she’d ever snap out of her funk.



Little changed over the next month, and then on a Friday morning I noticed several bruises on her thigh as I dressed for work and she slept in. It troubled me throughout the day, as I came to the conclusion she’d taken to hitting herself, and I grew anxious to get out of the office and back home to her.



Then at four-thirty, Parker rapped on my office door and told me we were heading out for beers. Apparently the check had cleared and I’d officially sold the super yacht. He also slipped me a commission check for a million-five, and I could barely focus on all those zeros as I laughed aloud.



He dragged all fifteen employees down to a sports bar on Washington to celebrate, and announced to everyone how I was the man of the hour. My head spun. I knew my commission would be big, but I’d suddenly become rich.



Parker then disappeared to take a quick piss, and on his way back, pulled me aside to ask if my wife was on the wall. I had no idea what he meant, until I remembered the corkboard in the men’s room littered with pages out of Playboy and Penthouse. I shook my head no, but he said I’d better go check it out, and I did.



When I stared at the board running the length of the bathroom wall, the air in the room compressed and I felt as if my body was being crushed inwards. I had the panicky feeling everyone knew my dirty little secret, because not only were the pictures of my wife, they were of my wife tied up with belts. They had to be from the session she shot with Brad for Tallia Orange and while they didn’t use the image of her being spanked like a little girl, what actually made it to print wasn’t any better.



Before me hung a three-page fold-out of three separate images. On the left was a shot of my wife from the waist up, heavily made up and staring at me with inescapable I’m-going-to-fuck-you eyes. She was completely naked except for a belt wrapped around her chest, squeezing her tits and concealing her nipples like some bondage inducing tube-top. The way the soft flesh squished out from either side of the stiff belt made her tits seem huge.



The photo on the right focused on her bare ass. She had a man’s belt fastened around her waist, but it did nothing to change the fact it was simply a photo of my wife’s pronounced, bare ass.



The image in the center featured her kneeling between two men in suits. Everything above their shoulders and below their knees was cropped out. Again my wife was naked, but without even a belt to cover her up this time. Her tits were right out front, every nuance of her nubile nipples captured in stunning detail. With her teeth she pulled a belt free from the trousers worn by the man on her right, while her hands unfastened the belt buckle belonging to the gentleman on her left. Her poet’s eyes stared right at me, glistening with unquenchable desire. The picture offered a story––these two guys were about to fuck the hot little bitch between them, my wife. That was the reason someone pinned her ‘fashion ad’ onto a board full of pin-up girl smut.



Beth must have been buck-naked for the entire shoot. Counting Brad, the photographer, she was buck-naked alongside three fully clothed men for several hours. She was buck-naked when Brad actually spanked her––skin on skin contact. No wonder Beth freaked, it was far more degrading than I could’ve imagined. I grew harder by the second.



I couldn’t stand it. Even though I was the man of the hour, I had to see her immediately. I returned outside and was straight with my boss, telling him those photos gave me a sudden urge to see my wife.



He toasted me and winked. “You and me both, brotha.”



I laughed and downed my beer.



“Show your little mamma that check, that’ll ensure you get it on!”



Beth was right, he did make a monkey face when he said that.



From the bar I made a quick stop by Neiman Marcus and then raced home. Upon arrival I found Beth lying on the couch with a book. I tossed the Neiman Marcus bag on her stomach and she dropped the book flat against her chest.



“A present?”



“You haven’t been right, and I thought you could use a little cheering up.”



She opened the bag, peeked inside to see a coiled up Tallia Orange belt and shook her head.



“Really? This is my present? This is what you thought I needed to cheer up?”



I had a check for a million-five hiding in my pocket, so no matter how deeply I dug my grave, I could instantly eject at any moment.



“That’s only part of the present. Here’s the rest.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, then queued up a picture of the men’s room corkboard with her Tallia Orange spread smack dab in the middle of all that smut.



She took the phone and held it before her. I knew an ocean raged within her, but her face remained stone.



Finally she looked up while handing it back. She smiled but her eyes told a different story. “That’s really great! You’re right, that’s just what I needed––to be reminded of the most humiliating ordeal of my life.”



My optimism only grew––I wasn’t afraid of her self loathing anymore. I grabbed the belt off her lap and gave it a snap.



She opened her mouth but froze before saying anything, and then finally sat up and reached out her hand. “Oh fuck it, let’s go.”



Once on her feet, she practically dragged me to the bedroom. I got the feeling nothing had changed for her, but I’d managed to momentarily distract her stormy head with a horny impulse straight to the crotch. I quickly bound her wrists with the new belt. I grabbed a second belt from my drawer to wrap it around her face and kept her balled up panties trapped inside her mouth.

Her pussy looked so gorgeous that I couldn’t figure out what to do to it first. I started with my finger, gently circling the lips and finally breeching the gates into the warm stuffing box beneath. With my other arm I managed to get her whole ass into something like a head-lock as I fingered her harder. Her pussy was mine, and my perverse imagination crashed against the forefront of my mind like the sea into a shore line of rock. I reached over and took the pink vibrator from her night stand. I stuck it in and worked that pussy over good.



Then I took notice of her precious bottom, and images from my dream brought up the biggest wave of perversion yet. With her ass high in the air and in my complete control, I slowly worked the pink plastic vibrator into her butt. What can I say, it had to be done.



A third of the way in I let go and her tight sphincter held it in place, so it poked out like a flagpole on the side of a building. I stepped back and stared. It was beautiful. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Beth was bound and gagged, her ass jutting upwards, round youthful and flawless, and vulnerably presented for my perverse mischief. Then there was the vibrator, glowing with the red evening light from the window, like a marker indicating her ass had been claimed, manhandled, desecrated.



I was suddenly compelled to say something a little mean. “Betcha Brad would love to photograph this.”



It caused her to lose it and freak out. With her belted hands she tried to pull the other belt free from her mouth. I quickly moved beside her and unfastened it from the back. The belt fell, she spit out the balled up panties, and then she really let me have it.



“That’s the best you can do? Tie a girl up so you can stick a stick in her butt and stand around completely full of yourself? Is that what it takes to feel like a man?”



I was stunned. Maybe I’d gone a little too far, but still. She hadn’t moved, she remained on her knees with her ass in the air, vibrator and all.



“Pathetic! Why don’t you get it over with and just stick it in your own ass already.”



I lost it then, grabbed the vibrator and pushed it further in.



“Shit! That’s it––let me know how you really feel.”



I did! I began to jam the vibrator deeper, then in and out. I fucked her ass with our little plastic friend like a madman. Finally I jammed it all the way in.



“Oh fuck! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!”



I grabbed her hair and yanked back her head as I furiously worked the pink rod in and out. Our pink friend was thin, smooth and lubricated, the flesh of her asshole was slick and oily, and welcomed the speedy trespasser with quivering solidarity. It glided through her sphincter so smoothly the flesh didn’t fluctuate with the motion, it stayed as still as a hole in a wall with Pinky darting through. She was speechless, and probably coming. I was agitated, confused and totally out-of-control excited. For the first time in our marriage I understood Beth’s insanity. My own heart had become that of a poet’s, and sights, sounds, yearnings, pain all flowed through me in wild passionate rhythms, and satisfying the rhythms took precedence over reason, which screamed for me to stop.



It dawned on me how close I’d come to recreating my dream, the dream where Beth played the hot assassin who paid dearly for her profession with her ass. And from out of nowhere I remembered the old rich man who bought the super yacht, the one with enough cash to buy anything. He played a part in this somehow. As my thoughts returned to my wife’s behind and the slender pink rod inside it, I suddenly had a premonition of how my obsession would play out, in fact, it seemed to have all happened before and every detail had been seared into my brain. I feared for my wife and myself, but a torrent of passion drove me forwards.



I gradually lost interest in the vibrator and flipped her over for a fuck. I trapped her bound hands over her head, and kissed her with an open mouth. Her legs locked around my butt, and I came with our cheeks pressed together, watching the last of the light fade behind our thin rose patterned curtains.



Twilight left the room blue and dark and the vibrator was hidden in the shadows on the floor. I rolled off her, undid the belt around her wrists and she immediately hugged me and proceeded to curl up into my lap. I held her like a child, caressing her hair and kissing the top of her head. She wouldn’t speak and wouldn’t let me go. She needed to be cuddled, and so I held her for close to an hour. Our demons had been vanquished, and the sex and shouting and insanity now seemed eons ago. The entire house turned pitch black. I kept her safe as a calm peace settled over both of us, and for a moment I lost my obsession, and let go of the old rich man, Brad the photographer and my troubling dream.



***




Absently staring at the beige cinder block wall separating our backyard from the alley, I took a sip of coffee and let the smell and warmth calm my nerves. The sleeves in my bathrobe were getting damp from the dew on our glass patio table, so I pulled a sleeve back as I set down the cup and hit send on the email with Beth’s Tallia Orange spread attached.



I pressed my phone back to my ear. “OK, it should be on its way.”



“Give it a minute, my mail’s slow.”



While waiting I closed down the browser window displaying the billionaire’s yacht club and a second window showing a large still shot of a camera and machine stamped text, reading, “Brad Court Studios.”



Brad came back to the phone. “That’s the model your client wants? Listen, even if she goes for it, she’ll probably ask two grand before doing the kind of shit they’re asking.”



It was so bizarre to hear my wife’s price and I spaced out for a moment trying gauge what it meant.



Brad must have taken my silence to mean I’d reconsidered, because he spoke up quickly. “Look, I can probably talk her down to fifteen hundred, but I could get you a decent girl for half that. Also, check out that chick’s eyes in the center photo, there’s a crazy bitch living in there. You have no idea what she’s like to work with. I’m going to need an extra five-hundred if it has to be her.”



I stopped myself from yelling, and calmly reasoned, “You want five hundred extra bucks to photograph a pretty girl in the nude?”



“Don’t get me wrong, I’ll enjoy it, it’s just gonna be rough. And given this is some obscure newsletter for some super elite yacht club, there’s zero visibility on this, so there’s nothing in it for me beyond the money.”



I already didn’t like the guy, but if anyone could get the shots I wanted that jack-ass could, and I begrudgingly agreed to his price and hung up the phone with shaking hands.



I stared at the beige cinder block wall again. It suddenly dawned on me I finally had the money to knock it down and put up the double slated wood fence Beth wanted. Hell, I had over a million dollars coming my way––I could buy a whole new house. And with Christmas only a month and half away I pictured myself handing Beth the keys to a Porsche, or passing her an envelope stuffed with airline tickets for a trip around the world.



Breaking the news of the money should be magical like that, and not a band-aid to tide over her depression. If money came into her life right then that’s exactly what it would be––Beth would spend and spend until she felt numb, and whatever brief change it made would inevitably end right back where she started.



I quickly closed down my email when the sliding glass door to the patio opened and Beth came through the doorway wearing nothing but panties and a tee-shirt. With a sexy smile she thanked me for making coffee and cradled a large cup of it in both hands. It was the earliest she’d been out of bed in months, and appeared vibrant and content. Maybe last night’s game of tied up wife effectively lifted Beth out of her funk. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, nothing meant more to me than seeing Beth happy, and the little present I’d secretly schemed for myself became more important than ever.



***




On Friday Beth and I ate dinner at Taix French Cuisine in Echo Park. Seated across the table from her I noticed a change in her appearance. I was still getting used to her black flowing hair having been cut short, but that wasn’t it. Beyond the allure of her blue poet’s eyes and flawless beauty, something else popped her out from a crowd. Maybe it was only me, but my bondage loving wife acquired a dark mystique even more compelling than her looks.



After our soup arrived I asked if she had any jobs coming up, trying not to sound so interested as to give myself away. She claimed not to, but her eyes dropped towards her soup. For a moment I wondered if she’d accepted the job and planned to keep it from me, but I couldn’t believe she’d accept that kind of work without my consent.



Our entrees arrived and she began cutting into her tomato and mushroom crepe, and then set her fork down.



“OK, I’ve been offered a great paying job, but it’s for that guy Brad, and it sounds extremely strange, so I’m hardly considering it.”



“It’s extremely strange?”



She lowered her voice and leaned a few inches forwards, so I did the same.



“Strange! I’d be nude, but what’s strange is it’s supposed to be for some kind of newsletter going out to a group of wealthy men. Apparently they are very secretive with it.”



“OK, that’s a little strange, but it also means you don’t have to worry about anyone seeing, right?”



“I knew you’d say that. I kept it from you because I knew you’d try to talk me into it, and I need to be sure about this.”



“I’m just saying…”



“You’re just saying I should strip naked for the camera any chance I get. Men are just so predictably simple. The only reason I’m considering doing this is the money. I’ll get a thousand for day’s work, and that’s unheard of.”



A thousand? Apparently my wife’s price was lower than I’d been told.



“So what’s stopping you?”



“I told you, it’s a newsletter for some rich, old, pervert’s club needing a few nudie pics to accompany an article. Doesn’t that strike you as pretty weird? I’d be a spy in it or something. Brad didn’t give me too many details, but he said they were perverse enough to make the old perverts ask for discretion. Just when I thought men couldn’t be any more fucked up, life presents me with this.”



“Well it’s your decision, babe, and if you decide to do it you don’t even have to show me the pictures.” Guilt stabbed into my stomach knowing I’d be the recipient of the final pictures, a fact I’d planned to keep secret until they were in my possession.



She relaxed and had a few glasses of wine, and as soon as we arrived home I led her to the bedroom and tied her up tight. After forty-five minutes of intense sex, I held her close, where she whispered excitedly into my ear how she’d procure at least one of the photos for me.



At the time, I couldn’t have been happier.



Another week crept by and I heard nothing more about the shoot. Then on Thursday a strong wind picked up, sending wave after wave of elm leaves tumbling up our street as I headed towards a dark house. I smelled the same burning petrol smell as the night I came home to find firemen in our backyard, but it was only my mind playing tricks, there was no fire to be found. Her car sat angled in our driveway, and inside the house I went from one black room to the next calling her name.



Then I entered our bedroom, and on our bed laid a single print of Beth tied up at the feet of a big U.S. Soldier in camouflaged fatigues. A second soldier pushed her head to the floor, his hand smashing her furry Russian military hat embroidered with a hammer and sickle emblem on its front. She wore a grey tee-shirt but from the waist down was naked and beautiful. Being shot from the side no actual privates were visible, and it came out so perfect I had to reach into my pants and give my dick a few strokes.



“Is that right?”



I retracted my hand and turned around to see Beth standing naked in the doorway, lightly drying herself with a towel.



“Where’d you come from?”



“Where do you think?”



“Didn’t you hear me calling?”



She sighed. “I just needed to soak and listen to the wind awhile longer.” She then motioned with her head towards the bureau, where two belts lay over its top.



Her poet’s eyes lacked their depth. Clearly she’d had an extremely emotional day leaving her a mere husk of her usual self. She was… defeated? But the belts where out, waiting for me, so whatever happened left her in need of my bondage. Yet something was wrong––so wrong I wondered if I could go through with it. I wanted this more than anything in the world, but not with a dark, defeated Beth. Reason screamed that I was on the verge of losing her for what I’d done and was about to do, and I froze standing in the middle of our bedroom.



Beth had never been molested or even badly jilted, so her darkness was a bit of a mystery to me. At best I had a weak theory. She was the youngest of three sisters, and probably her father’s last hope for a son. Her sister claimed Beth was daddy’s little princess, but she was wrong. He coached her at baseball, took her to car shows, let her help with his sports column, and pretty much raised the son he never had. I imagined Tatum O’Neal in The Bad News Bears whenever those stories came up.



Then came high school and the two semesters she spent at college, where a promiscuous student spoon-fed herself men and wrote elusive jeering poetry. She was daddy’s little nightmare, and scarred him so deep Beth worried he wouldn’t give his rebellious daughter away at our wedding.



I knew the aggressive tomboy lived on, but lived alongside an inordinately sexual woman. So in many ways a male dominated society wasn’t her worst enemy––she was. And I hoped that maybe, just maybe, being tied up and forced to be a woman allowed her to fuck like mad without betraying the spitfire rebel who took on the world. It was a weak theory, but the best I had.



“Don’t tell me you lost your stomach for this now!” My cheek lit up as her hand slapped my head to the side. My eyes settled on the printout, and tightened on the image of her face shoved to the ground. He’d done exactly as I’d asked––she was helpless, subdued, deserving.



No article existed but I’d invented a topic, which was a comparison between the cold war and the war on terror, and asked him to support it with pictures of a captured Russian spy being searched for bombs. I thought of my dream, were Beth argued with the cast and crew as she lay naked in front of them. She’d given Brad a similar earful during the shoot, I’m sure of it.



Between the slap and the photo, I was back in the game. In silence I prepared her like a dish meant for the most ravenous of appetites. She cooperated and moaned frailly as I tightened the belts, and then again when I slid my fingers in and out of her butt, and followed up with the pink vibrator. The fight in her was totally gone––she just took it. Beth wasn’t Beth, I missed that, but my dream had come true, and spurred me to deal out an extra hard thumping on my wife’s raised up juice-box. I banged her hard from behind, my cock furiously bottoming out. Like I said, my wife wasn’t one of those bone thin models––she actually had an ass, a fit juicy ass that rang like a snare drum when I smacked it. Amazingly enough she began to shove back against me. She was even more determined than I to get every last centimeter of dick jammed in her cooch. I watched her ass thud against my hips, her perfect drenched pussy swallowing up cock, and my finger dip in to the last knuckle. I could not believe what a horny bitch my wife became. I hit new heights, my ears ringing with blood and my dick painfully hard with it. I wondered if they touched her ass or if they roughly stripped her naked, maybe even brushing a tit in the process.



I quickly removed her gag and forced my cock into her mouth. I remembered something she’d said one night while out drinking with our friends, “I could never even get a guy to try different foods, yet they all think I should happily ingest their come––yeah right!” Her attitude apparently changed since then, because she surly knew my intentions and made no effort to pull away. She flinched with a loathing scowl when I erupted, but stayed on, and her delicate throat rose and fell, swallowing one hell of a load.



We both collapsed then without saying a word. Minutes later she twitched, and I knew she’d drifted into sleep and sunk into a dream of her own. I started the dishwasher and locked up, and then lay awake for hours. Instead of lying in the afterglow of the most gratifying fuck of my life, I found myself listening to the wind beat against our window, smelling an imaginary petrol fire, watching her eyes travel beneath their lids, and worrying who I’d wake up to in the morning.



***




Brad’s studio was actually an apartment in Westwood where he both lived and worked. The living room was cleared of furniture and set up with lights and equipment. Off to the side was a glass desk where he sat at his computer in nothing but ripped, baggy shorts. He only shot in digital format, so he pulled up his work on a twenty-four inch monitor and walked me through the photos he described as ‘usable’.



It started with my wife fully clothed in a Russian, military long coat and a soft furry hat sporting a hammer and sickle emblem, and flanked by two large U.S. marines clutching her shoulders. In the next few images her face revealed slipping courage as the men slowly removed her coat and patted down her sides for weapons. The intensifying fear in her poet’s eyes tore into my heart––pleading for a decent man to rescue her, but she portrayed the enemy here, making the eminent lack of mercy cruelly exciting. As they stripped her collared shirt off one arm, her other pressed against her chest, trying to hide her tee-shirt covered breasts. Next her hands were tied as our boys in green removed her boots and pants. All three of them turned forwards, as again they clutched her shoulders, only this time they’d forced her to her knees. The men were fiercely poised, there heads tilted back, looking down at me. My wife’s head also tilted back, the furry hat having slipped down partially over her eyes, and her mouth hung crookedly open, dreading her predicament.



My skin flushed with heat when her underwear came down. Each marine lent a hand in tugging her skimpy panties away, exposing her shiny smooth ass. She stood between them again, bent over with her ass facing forwards and her hands tied just above it, as the two marines slipped on rubber gloves, preparing to take her body search to whole new level. There were several photos of them running their hands over her body, and one where they searched her mouth.



Brad turned his chair towards me. “I had a good idea of what you were looking for, so you are really going to appreciate this next batch. I just still can’t believe she agreed to it.” He brought up the first image, with Beth’s ass consuming most of the frame and one set of gloved hands holding her cheeks while the other inserted a finger into her butt. As my consciousness receded in disbelief, he continued to flip through images of two marines fingering my beautiful wife. I hadn’t asked for full on penetration. I’d expected shots from the side like in that cheesy, softcore, action movie where they faked it. But there kneeled a huge marine grappling with my wife’s waist and ass, while his buddy issued a warcry and worked in a second finger. Then something appeared in her ass––a stick of dynamite! It was longer and fatter than the pink vibrator I’d used, and looked twice as obscene.



I verged on losing my shit, and stopped Brad, telling him I needed to be somewhere. As I paid in cash and collected a DVD, he told me he’d had a beer with the guys after the shoot and they jokingly came up with a name to use for the article.

“What makes her tick? Get it? Like a bombs inside her.”



“I’ll pass it on.”



“OK. And hey, now that I know what this chick is capable of, please let me know if you ever need more.”



“Sure, sure.”



I hated the guy. His body seemed unnaturally tone, tan and hairless. He had shoulder length dreadlocks, a big bleached smile, and shallow granular eyes. He just didn’t respect anyone or anything, I could tell. I headed for the door as quickly as I could.



“One last thing––I left a real short movie on there for laughs.”



Once home I slipped in the disc and picked up where he’d left off. I was terrified to see anymore, but had to. Several more sticks of dynamite were supposedly pulled from her bottom, until a stack of six lay on the ground by her knees. Then her cheeks were pulled dramatically apart, with a timer held between them, suggesting they just extracted it from her ass. Brad’s words echoed in my head, “What makes her tick?” The final shot featured both marines leaning their faces against either side of my wife’s ass and giving a gloved thumbs-up, the stack of dynamite along with the timer sitting directly underneath. They’d hit pay dirt, and looked quite proud of themselves over a job well done.



I was destroyed, but also hard as hell. There was still the short movie, and impulsively I clicked on it. My hand slipped into my pants as a shaky camera focused on her butt. I highly suspected the movie was filmed without her knowledge. Brad could be heard saying they were going to insert this stick in a little deeper to reinforce the idea it was coming out, not going in. Instead of giving him lip the way I’d imagined, I heard her compliantly agree, but asked them to go slow. The dynamite was then steadily shoved inside. The marine’s meaty hand looked as if it exerted strength to move it, until she finally asked him to stop. He did, but Brad complained, saying it was only halfway, and just a little further would make it all the more convincing. At this point I further understood why my wife hated him so, and shared her sentiments entirely. I guess in an attempt to loosen her up the big marine began moving the red stick in and out. He gradually moved it faster and I could hear Beth begin to grunt. Even though her grunts sounded very sexual, I convinced myself otherwise. The marine announced he was making progress, and he had. It only took a minute of fucking it to spike it nine inches deep. She asked for the picture to be taken quickly, and Brad told her she was doing great and looked fantastic. The movie ended there, and left me masturbating fiercely as my heart ripped in two.



“Is it everything you hoped for?”



I almost fell out of my seat at the sound of her voice. I struggled to simultaneously pull up my pants and close the Window’s Media Player before she could see. Unfortunately one of the images was open, and I knew her question was in regards to that. I finally found the nerve to face her, but speaking was out of the question.



“Actually I should be relieved,” she laughed, walking towards me. “I was only ninety-nine percent sure you’d set this up, so I’m glad to know some old perverts aren’t staring at those right now.”



I still couldn’t speak.



“You haven’t answered––are they everything you hoped for?”



I managed a guilty smile.



“The minute Brad told me I’d be tied up so guys could stick things in my hiney, I knew you were behind it. I’m not stupid.”



“I know you’re not stupid.”



“Oh, you can speak now? So then, is it everything you hoped for?”



At this point I wanted to tell her no, I had no intention of them actually penetrating her privates, but then I feared she might slip into a serious funk knowing Brad took advantage of her.



“It’s hot enough.”



Her eyes narrowed. “So now what?”



I rolled my eyes towards the bedroom, figuring it would be the quickest way out of my predicament.



“I figured as much.”



Inside our bedroom I undressed my wife and brought out the belts. Having just been revealed for my part in her humiliation I felt in heinous violation of her trust, but the images it produced left me turned on enough to proceed. I slid the belt along her tummy and she moaned. I then grabbed her face and stared her straight in the eye. She smiled but couldn’t take it, turning around and placing her hands behind her back for me to restrain. As I ran the belt around her wrists, I wondered who the fuck this compliant bitch was, because the spitfire I loved had completely withdrawn. This slut wanted my dick and nothing more. This slut gave up her ass for two complete strangers. Maybe I couldn’t look her in the eye, but I could fuck her––that much I could certainly do.



I replayed the movie in my mind as I nailed her bent over frame. She just took it as Brad spoke in my skull, complaining until she took it nine inches deep. And then I slammed her faster to a speedy tempo replaying of the marine jamming the stick in and out of her ass. I reached forward and removed the belts from her wrists––there was no need to restrain her. She let a guy shove a stick of dynamite up her ass. She was a slut, so why restrain a willing slut? Gaddammit, how could she let them do that to her!



I was coming apart at the seams. I was a train wreck crashing through her tunnel. Anger weighed heavy on my forehead, love trembled in my hands, and passion pulsed through my cock. It didn’t take long for me to climax, and I came so hard and fast I almost fell on top of her.



I scooped her into my arms and crushed her tightly against me. She cooed and curled up along my chest. “I’m numb. I want to stay numb like this forever.” She wasn’t numb, she was going through hell––I could feel it.



When I was eight my dad cut a branch off our walnut tree and I found a monarch cocoon stuck to the gnarled bark. I thought it was beautiful, until I realized it wasn’t empty. The caterpillar spun a cocoon so strong and safe the butterfly inside never escaped it. The same incomprehensible sadness I felt then crept up on me as I held Beth, but I forced it down until she fell asleep in my arms.



I once believed we’d found something totally our own. I once believed our obsessions were compatible and generated an excitement I’d never known existed. I’d believed we had something that we’d never share with another soul. I was wrong, our obsessions were destroyer her.



The next morning before I headed off to work I stood over her prone body. Asleep she appeared her old self. I loved her. I needed her. I couldn’t lose her. It seemed almost cruel to mention the million dollars now. I needed to reach her some how, but not that. I shook her until she rolled over and stared up annoyed.



“I promise you, I’m sorry.”



She rolled back without responding. I hesitated for several minutes, and then climbed back in bed with her. I kissed her neck until she finally turned to face me again, and then I planted one on her gorgeous lips.



***




Over the next three days I treated her like a queen, making gentle passionate love to her. The belts stayed in the drawer, just laying with her was erotic enough.



I came home on Thursday to find she’d cooked a meal and set the table. As we ate she announced her decision to quit modeling. Part of me wanted to convince her not to, the part that craved seeing her beautiful body exposed to the world, but I knew her decision was the right one. She was happier than I’d seen in weeks, and her glorious, blue, poet’s eyes were emerging day by day.



Then, as luck would have it, I had to do a quick weekend trip to oversee delivery and close payment on a ten-meter Cabin Cruiser in Mexico. Everything was cool between Beth and I, however, so I didn’t worry for a second I’d come home to a burning trashcan full of clothes.



I arrived in Puerto Vallarta on Friday night, and tried to get in touch with her after checking into my room, but she never picked up. I tried several more times, and I assumed she’d gone out and couldn’t hear her cell, and if that was the case, good for her. Still, I can’t say it didn’t leave me slightly concerned.



When I failed to reach her all day Saturday and then again on Saturday night, I knew something was wrong. On Sunday morning I popped open a Corona and stared at the row of palms between my hotel and the ocean, and then spit out my first sip when her sister finally answered, and confirmed Beth was there. Relief and beer poured over me, until her sister started to give me hell for the photo shoot I’d set up. My brain dumped all plausible explanations as to why Beth would tell her about that, and none of them made sense, but the shame of it was huge, and I sat in silence as her sister repeated, “How could you? How could you do that to her?” I then repeatedly asked her to put Beth on the phone, raising my voice every time I said it until her sister finally hung up. She altogether stopped answering my calls after that.



I tried to make sense of it, things had been bad, but everything was fine when I left. I never felt like I’d truly paid my dues for setting her up, but it wasn’t like Beth to run to her sister.



When I arrived home Monday afternoon I called her sister one last time, and left her a massage that I would be heading to her place in one hour, and would talk to Beth one way or another. She called me back five-minutes later, and this time I immediately apologized and quickly explained I’d fucked up but intended to fix it.



“If that’s the case, then why dear god did you have her do it again? Do you have any idea what a complete mess she is right now?”



“Fuck, just please let me speak to her.”



“She doesn’t want to. And I wouldn’t let her even if she did! DO NOT COME OVER HERE!” She hung up before I could get in another word.



I took several deep breaths as our conversation echoed in my brain. She’d asked me why I’d done it again, what did that mean? What had Beth told her? I pulled a beer out of the fridge and held it to my forehead. It struck me then––a sick possibility too fucked up to even think about. I pulled my phone out so fast I dropped it on the floor. My hands were shaking as I picked it up and called back. I left a message about there being a mistake––I just needed to know one thing and to please call me. I then sat motionless at our dining table until I jerked forwards and threw my beer against the wall.



When her sister finally rang, I tried as hard as I could to sound calm. My one question was, “When––when had Beth modeled for this shoot.” Her answer was Saturday––the same day I arrived in Mexico, and a dagger plunged into my chest.



“It wasn’t me! Tell Beth right now. Tell her it wasn’t me.”



Beth nosily took hold of the phone, sobbing something awful. “Just leave me alone!”



“Beth, listen, it wasn’t me. I didn’t set up a second shoot, I swear to-”



It was too late, she’d already hung up while shrieking the most wretched sob I’ve heard in my miserable, fucked-up life.



Goddammit!



A half-hour later she called back. I never answered. I couldn’t bear to hear what happened, and I didn’t know where to begin picking up the shattered pieces of our life.



It was dark outside when I finally picked up my phone again and dialed. I didn’t expect him to be home, but he answered. He asked what was up, and after pausing I asked if my clients had contacted him for another photo shoot. He answered yes, and I then grumbled how it was funny since they didn’t know who the fuck he was.



OK dude, I looked up your client. Those old guys wouldn’t ask for the kind of work you wanted, so I looked you up.”



“Is that so?”



“I get it, sort of. Bethany’s your wife, dude. I ain’t judging, I’m just doing what I’m paid to do.”



“So who was your client on Saturday?”



“That’s not your business, is it? And it doesn’t matter, because I pay my models and it’s all under contract.”



“is it? Is it?”



“Yeah, it is. Look man, I think you got me all wrong. Or do you just want a copy, is that it?”



I still wasn’t sure exactly what happened, and that’s the only reason I didn’t scream into my phone and managed a calm silent response.



“You don’t have to say it, I know it’s hard. Look, I’ll put them up for FTP tomorrow and email you a link and password. Cool?”



“Yeah,” I mumbled, not feeling cool about it in the slightest.



“Alright then, fucking enjoy, dude! I know I did!”



I got off the phone and held it in my hand, staring at its dead screen. I don’t know why, maybe I hoped Beth would call and tell me it was all a joke. I then picked up the broken beer bottle and washed the shiny brown drips off the wall. I never could dwell on problems I couldn’t solve, always turning away to face the ones I could. So even though my marriage teetered on a cliff, I found myself focusing on Brad. My hands closed into a fist. The pictures would never make it to his FTP, that much I could ensure.



It had to be near eleven as I stared up at Brad’s small balcony jutting from the second story. I took hold of the iron fence surrounding the lower unit and pulled myself upwards. I wedged my Reebok sideways in between the iron posts and placed my weight on the top cross bar as I grabbed the cement base to his balcony. A dim light became visible from inside his apartment as I steadily raised myself up the metal railing.



I knew it was crazy, but it was beyond me to stop. The clouds parted before me, the world cast a blind eye, and righteous indignation guided me inside.



The kitchen light was on, but no sign of Brad. I headed towards his computer and stopped when I heard him in the bedroom. He had company––extremely fuckable company from the sound of it. I heard the bed thump and Brad shout out, Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!” Jesus was he giving her some.



I stopped staring at the bedroom door, confident he wouldn’t hear me with all that going on, and took a seat behind his desk. His photo directory sat smack dab in the middle of his desk top. The images from the job I’d orchestrated we’re labeled with a date, so I found and deleted them quickly. Finding the ones from Saturday, however, meant opening each directory and waiting for the thumbnail images to load. Slowing me down was the fact about fifty folders lived in that single directory.



The noise from the other room increased, with the girl grunting like she had something plugging her mouth. A loud spank followed, and Brad shouted, “Oh that’s it, that’s the ass I love.” Whoever belonged to that ass must have loved him back, because that ass took a devout pounding. It actually got to me, like overhearing a porno and imagining what position could produce such a wet squishy sound. It even caused my dick stiffened up right as a row of thumbs loaded showing Bethany naked from behind.



I knew the photos existed, yet I must’ve held on to some stupid notion I’d gotten it all wrong––a grave misunderstanding straight out of some romantic sit-com, but there was no denying the truth now, and the evidence hurt. I slowly scrolled down to the next row as it loaded. One of the Marines from the last shoot had returned, but this time he wore painter pants and using a brush painted his palm blue. Another row of thumbs and a blue hand print appeared tucked into the hem of Beth’s jeans.



I heard a loud thump from the other room, and the shuffle of feet. I froze, remembering where I was. Brad’s voice then asked if she was OK. Apparently he’d accidentally fucked her so hard she fell off the bed. “Sorry, babe,” he laughed, “I just couldn’t get enough. Your pussy’s smoldering! There we go, now we’re back in business.” The bed then shook and their bodies clapped together once more.



Their activities caused a full on erection even as I confronted the pictures of my wife about to be taken by another man. I needed a heavy dose of reality to get my mind off the slut in the other room, so I scrolled down quickly through the numerous rows of loading thumbs, and double clicked on one at random. The picture viewer popped open and displayed a hi-res image of my wife’s thighs. On each was a bright blue hand print as if they’d parted her legs.



My dick stayed hard.



In frustration I closed the picture viewer. I would’ve smashed the monitor had I not entered illegally.



Without realizing what I was doing, I opened another image, and felt a blow to my stomach as it showed a red print across her ass, slightly spattered and obviously from a spank.



I popped open several more, and several more hand prints in various colors appeared. She had one over her tit with the fingers pinching her nipples. Another showed the fingers along the top of her pubic hair, so the palm had to be resting on her privates. Soon she was covered in them, they’d explored everywhere, and left an artful documentation of their journey. Before I knew it, I’d reached the end, and felt an odd sense of relief. I thought they were going to fuck her––I thought I’d see strange dicks driving into my wife’s snatch––but instead I stared at Brad’s attempt at near tasteful art. They were almost respectful. I felt my love for Beth return ten-fold. This wasn’t nearly as bad as the shoot I’d arranged. I could live with this as long as she could. But that was the thing, she clearly couldn’t. And even if she thought it was at my request, I didn’t understand why she’d agreed to pose for the pictures knowing she’d leave me for it afterwards.



I quickly went back to a shot where Brad caught her laughing. She bent over slightly as the guy pressed his palms onto her back, making hand prints resembling angle wings. She actually appeared to be having fun––maybe even behaving a little flirty. So could it be Beth got off on all this? Had she agreed to the shoot because she secretly craved the testosterone infused attention her unchaste behavior brought on? And maybe the anger that precipitated our recent sex life didn’t come about until later, after her initial excitement died down? But I was gone––her husband wasn’t around to give her the one thing that always sorted her out––our little game of bondage. So she instead ran to her sister for support.



Fuck! If that’s what happened I knew I could fix our marriage. I could win her back––I had to.



I deleted the last set of images from Brad’s computer and pocketed several memory cards sitting on his desk. I seriously doubted he’d backed up his work beyond that.



Then I noticed a flashing icon on the tool shelf. A bright red dot pulsed next to the active folder, and as I moused over it a small movie viewer revealed an armature porno. It then dawned on me it wasn’t a movie being played––it was a movie being recorded. Brad and his lady friend in the next room were on camera.



I expanded the window to full screen and watched the two of them going at it like animals. She was blind folded and gagged with thick strips of velvet. They were both sweaty messes, and must have been going at it at it for quite some time. I was fairly certain the girl was unaware every inch of her naked body was being recorded, but what did she expect climbing into bed with a douche like Brad.



He had her on her back, her legs over his arms as he rocked forwards and pushed in. Being able to see them offered an element of romance which sound alone failed to betray. He caressed her stomach and planted kisses along her calf. I had to hand it to him, she was pretty fucking cute, probably a model like Beth, so there must be something to the guy if he can bed and pleasure a smoking hot chick like her.



She grabbed his biceps and pulled, encouraging him to give her more of his dick. Wow, she wasn’t just hot, she was also a little slutty.



To think, I came there worried my wife had cheated on me and instead found a front row seat to some other hot chick getting the high hard one. I decided to celebrate by slipping my hand down my pants and stroking my hardon.



Brad let her legs fall to either side, then began squeezing her tits together. They inflated against one another with her nipples going cross-eyed. His lips sealed around one areola and then around the other. He mashed her tits closer together still, darting his tongue left and right, from one supple button to the next. They glowed scarlet red, and he practically devoured her entire right tit into his mouth. His right hand traveled to her pussy, and splayed the lips apart as his dick continued to slide inside. Her fingers tore across his back, and she moaned against her velvet gag. The little slut loved it!

On a recent afternoon I was kicking back with a buddy, on the patio of my favorite watering hole. We had downed a few cold ones, when he asked if I “really” liked watching other guys doing my wife. He knew that Jodi and I were swingers; and that, most of the time I was an active participant. He just couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea of me as spectator. It didn’t help any, when I told him that the only thing Jodi liked more than hot and nasty sex was hot and nasty sex in front of an appreciative audience! I tried explaining that it was a total turn-on, whether I was watching my wife’s face as some guy pumped a load of cum in to her mouth, being there as a lover sent her screaming through an orgasm, or to see some guy’s cock, wet and slippery with her juices pistoning in and out of her body. He didn’t get that it wasn’t just some guy doing her; but that it was really us sharing in an erotic experience. And then, when I told him that was true, even if she was only telling me about some encounter I hadn’t been there to witness, he just shook his head. So, I gave-up, ordered another round, and then told him a story. Maybe you’ll get a kick out of it too; anyway, here goes!



Sure the possibilities were endless, but every idea either Jodi or I threw-out that Saturday evening rated a ho-hum! Well it did until I suggested an erotic game some swinger friends had turned us on to. Simply put, we would join the crowd at one of the local bars. There, the plan called for Jodi to pick-out and then pick-up some guy. The idea was that she would invite the lucky winner out to the parking lot for one of her killer blowjobs. I would, of course be right there watching. Jodi accepted my challenge, reminding me, “Yeah, but all you get to do is play voyeur!”



It was a couple of hours later, when Jodi strolled in to our den. Her dark eyes glittered like diamonds above a grin full of sensual promise. Glossy black and curly, Jodi’s hair tumbled caressingly over bare shoulders. And wow, my hottie of a wife was dressed to kill! A jade green cami top left her tan midriff bare, as it clung provocatively to her otherwise bare breasts. And if she bent over, those firm, round, 36-C beauties would be on full display. But then, it was Jodi after all; and considering that a black patent leather skirt barely covered her ass, I figured she’d be doing a lot of bending over. That was of course, whether or not she was even wearing panties, something I was betting against! Either way though, Jodi’s long legs, tan and bare disappeared in to gleaming black, high heeled knee high boots. As for me, well I felt positively shabby in black polo shirt and charcoal chinos, not that anyone was going to notice me anyway!



We chose a club not far from the local College. The place was hopping, but we got lucky and snagged a couple of seats at the bar. Uncharacteristically nervous Jodi made quick work out of a pair of Tequila shots, and was working on a Margarita when she banged an elbow in to my ribs. Target acquired, she called an excited, “Wish me luck,” hopped off her stool, and started across the dance floor.



Hips swaying enticingly, Jodi walked right-up to a table where four college aged guys eyed her approach. The guy my wife was grinning down at was big, football player big. And when Jodi leaned across the table, I figured it was as much for my benefit as his. Sure, her would be stud had an unrestricted look at my wife’s bare breasts! Meanwhile, I and anyone who happened to glance over had a terrific view of her very curvy and very nearly bare ass. And I’d been wrong; she was wearing a thong!



Jodi routinely dances dirtier than most pole-dancing strippers. And in front of her newly acquired audience, she put on quite the show. But the third song up was a slow one, and they both took full advantage of it. Jodi spent most of it whispering in to his ear, and he spent most of it groping her ass. And after that song, I got to buy him a drink. Then, because my game playing tease of a wife figured it would be a kick hearing me ask, she asked, “So bob, why don’t you tell Danny what you have in mind…I don’t think he believes me!”



Jodi stood beside Danny, unashamedly stroking the bulge tenting his shorts, while I explained that we liked playing sex games. And to give him credit, he did buy a round of shots; even if it was only after I told him, “Jodi loves sucking cock! So Danny boy, it’s your lucky night, because the show-off wants me watching while she performs!”



Shots quickly downed, a clearly impatient Jodi gave us each a quick, but still hot little kiss. Then, after proclaiming “OK then, come on boys,” she shot me a wink, grabbed Danny’s hand and started for the parking lot. Feeling just a bit dorky, I followed along behind them. But things improved rapidly once we were outside. And then, when Danny looked back over his shoulder, flashing me a wink as he reached up under Jodi’s skirt, I told myself, game-on! They stopped once, and I’m sure it was only a coincidence that a boisterous gaggle of student types was approaching. Whatever, she pushed Danny up against a wall, arms around his neck as she delivered what sure looked like an absolutely incendiary kiss. And apparently Danny enjoyed having an audience too. Anyway, while one hand held Jodi’s skirt hiked-up, he had the other one busily fondling her exposed ass.



We had parked in a far corner of the lot. And except for the fact that our car was parked practically right under one of the parking lot’s lights, it was, well sort of semi-secluded! I wasn’t sure what to expect. When our friends played the game she usually positioned the guy in the passenger side seat. Then, she would lean in through the open door, while hubby watched through the driver’s side window. That sounded sort of creepy to me, so I was glad when Jodi walked Danny around to the front of the car. I moved quickly around to where I could lean against a wall, in shadow, but with a great sightline.



Clearly in control, Jodi had Danny backed-up against our car. And forget about stealthy, she was giggling like a schoolgirl, hands gripping his shoulders as he struggled to get her top tugged up. Then she was kissing him, and I figured it was the raw animalistic intensity of that kiss that distracted the poor guy. Anyway, to my surprise, and long before that kiss had burned-out, he had abandoned my wife’s bared breasts. At least the fool had showed enough good sense to have grabbed a double handful of her bare ass. But then, Jodi had wriggled out of his grasp. Stepping back, and snickering mischievously she had given Danny a look I read as, let’s fuck! And when Danny hesitated, she didn’t! In one fluid move, she pulled her top off, and tossed it on to the car’s hood.



It was Danny’s move. And I wanted to whoop, when he stepped in, sweeping her off her feet, his hands supporting her ass as her legs wrapped around his waist. Only that move left me thinking, forget blowjob, it looks like you’re going to wind-up watching that guy fuck her instead! But no; instead, after Jodi said something I didn’t catch, surprisingly, Danny put her down. And down is just where my wife went!



From a squat, Jodi reached up, unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped Danny’s shorts. He wasn’t wearing underwear, and when she tugged those shorts down, up sprang hard cock. I managed to stifle a chuckle. I figured Jodi had been expecting a cock worthy of Danny’s otherwise impressive size and was at least a little bit disappointed! Still, she didn’t hesitate, whooping an enthusiastic “Yummy,” as she leaned-in and latched on to his hips. So I watched as her flicking tongue raced up and down Danny’s cock, slowing only so she could swirl it in turn around his balls and that cock’s head. Well the big guy had a hand tangled in Jodi’s hair long before her lips closed around that head. Then, wham-o, and with one sharp downward bob of her head, she had an “Oh fuck,” bellowing Danny deepthroated.



In a move that was pure Jodi, She batted Danny’s hand away. Then, she laced her fingers behind her back. And with me muttering “Lucky bastard,” head bobbing she began rocketing her lips up and down that suddenly wetly glistening cock’s full length. Jodi loves performing that little trick; but I was thinking slow it down, or there’s going to be a quick end to our game! Apparently so had Danny! But, she backed off, and that’s before he pleaded, “Please baby, slow it down!”



The terrible tease began popping just the head of his cock in and out of her mouth. But, when Danny groaned, she relented…sort of anyway! Only I saw the mischievous glint flashing in her eyes as her tongue licked its way down that cock’s spit slicked shaft. And when it stopped its flicking, it was just so she could snug her lips around his balls.



Jodi still had a mouthful of balls, and was holding on to a fistful of cock, when one of the guys Danny had been sitting with unexpectedly popped-up. Leaning back against the wall beside me, he blew out a long slow breath, before sounding-off with a rather obvious “Fuck, that’s hot…wow!” I gave him a brief glance, and by the time I looked back, Jodi had a mouthful of cock, and a handful of balls. So, I went right back to watching my cock-sucking wife delivering as promised. And then, right after our newly arrived spectator told me his name was Jack, I heard him yelp, “Oh shit!”



Oh shit was right; because, Danny had just taken Jodi’s head between his hands, and was doing an absolutely righteous job of fucking her mouth. So in front of an audience of two, three if we’re counting the guy yelling, “Fuck yes…I’m gonna cum,” my wife began gulping down cum. Absolutely riveted, we watched the stuff squirt from the corners of Jodi’s mouth and run in rivulets down her chin. And of course, Danny went right on powering his cum erupting cock in and out of her mouth. Then, making sure she got it all, Jodi wrapped a fist around that cock, pumping it wildly, franticly working to coax loose one final climactic eruption of the white stuff. Only she missed her timing; and oops wound-up getting it splashed across her cheek.



I didn’t notice him slip away; but suddenly, Jack was standing beside his buddy. And while I watched, he introduced himself to a wide-eyed Jodi. But then, those eyes narrowed; and suddenly, my grinning wife had me nervous. And yeah, I desperately wanted to know what she was whispering about, and in such conspiratorial tones no less. Well, right after watching her wipe the smears of cum off her face, and then casually lick the stuff off her fingers, I found out!



Bare-breasted and grinning, Jodi walked right up to me, and then, she issued a challenge. “Still want to play lover,” she asked. Then, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder, she told me, “The boys are…ah, well sort of hoping for more! So I’m thinking, if we invite them over…well gosh, I’d really be able to put on a show!” And honestly, I would have agreed, even if she hadn’t added a snickered, “Come on, I dare you!”



We were in the den, the boys leaning against our pool table and taking long nervous pulls on their beers. I was standing by the bar, mixing a margarita for Jodi. I’d already told them that like back in the parking lot, I’d only be playing spectator. More importantly, and meaning it, I let them know that anything Jodi was up for was fine by me! And not long after that, Jodi sauntered in, wearing her version of “Something more comfortable.”



Jodi still wore the boots, but black fishnets stockings covered her legs. And I was betting the only thing under the short, black silk robe she wore was a garter belt. She collected her Margarita and stood gazing at a pair of suddenly very nervous looking guys. And when neither of them made a move, Jodi sat her drink down, tsk-tsking as she performed a slinky strut that left her standing right in front of them.



Head cocked provocatively, Jodi pulled her robe’s tie free. Then a pair of subtle shoulder shrugs sent it sliding down her body to the floor. Her legs were spread, one hand resting on a jutted hip, while the other one flicked that tie like a silken whip. I saw her catch Jack’s eye, and then with two long strides, she was standing right in front of him. Then, without a word, she tugged a surprisingly compliant Jack’s arms around behind his back, and secured his hands with her silk tie.



Danny walked over to join me, still shaking his head and nattering about how he should have left the asshole in the parking lot! But he turned in time to watch Jodi give Jack a long lingering kiss. It ended, and I think Danny actually growled when Jodi dropped in to a crouch. Working quickly, she got Jack’s pants undone. She yanked them down, and the cock that popped up actually ripped a startled, but triumphant gasp out of her. Not looking at all shy, Jack stood there sporting the over-sized cock Jodi had expected to find on Danny. It was long, I figured eight inches, and not only was it thick, but its head was just freaking enormous!



Striking like a snake, Jodi wrapped a fist around that long cock’s thick shaft. And then, forgoing the, “Yummy,” I expected to hear, my throatily purring wife popped that giant-sized head in to her mouth. And when she swallowed it whole, it was Danny who practically gasped, “Fuck me…shit, she took it all!”



Obviously enthralled by Jack’s jumbo-sized equipment, using just her lips and tongue, my grandstanding wife put on a virtuoso performance. And when she wasn’t licking, flicking, or sucking, her vigorous bobbing was bouncing the head of that cock in and out of the hot, wet, and definitely tight confines of her throat. Well I knew the look, and Jodi wasn’t just turned-on, she looked positively orgasmic! But it was an amazed sounding Danny who muttered, “Shit dude, she looks like she’s gonna cum!”



I was nodding in agreement, when Jodi sucked Jack’s swinging balls in to her mouth, slapped a fist around his fat cock’s shaft, and began wildly pistoning it up and down its full length. And suddenly it wasn’t only my wife who looked ready to cum! Jack cut-loose with a strangled, “Now, oh fuck…now!” But, my Poor wife wasn’t quite fast enough! She did manage to direct some of Jack’s first fountaining stream of cum in to her open mouth, but most of it wound-up splashed across her face. Then, and it was almost comical; Jodi’s head was bobbing like it was spring—loaded, but Jack went right-on franticly thrusting his hips in a vain attempt to keep his cum spurting cock buried deep in her throat. And then when Jodi stood-up, I really did want to laugh.



Jack’s hands were still tied behind his back. And with him backed-up against the pool table, the poor guy wasn’t able to dodge the cum laden kiss my shameless wife gave him. Then, she left him standing there, while she strolled over and picked-up her drink. So I walked over, untied Jack, and handed him a cold bottle of beer.



Looking very much in charge, Jodi walked back over to the pool table and hoisted herself up on to it. Then, lying back with her elbows braced on blue felt, she carefully positioned her high heels, one in a side pocket, and the other one in a corner pocket. Satisfied with her position, she called out, “Come on boys, it’s my turn!” Jack was on the move before she finished asking, “So Ok, who’s going to be first?”



Danny and I wandered over, but I stopped where I had a good view of Jack’s wig-wagging tongue. Jack was standing, bent over, hands resting on Jodi splayed out thighs, and already energetically plunging his tongue in and out of her pussy’s glistening pink opening. Danny had walked on around, stopping behind Jodi. She was still propped-up on her elbows, grinning coquettishly as her gaze shifted back and forth between jack and me. She ignored Danny, until he reached around her, engulfing a breast in each of his big hands. And when he pinched a pair of already popped-out nipples, Jodi threw her head back and almost snarled a commanding, “Hard Danny…do it, I love it hard!”



Maybe Jack felt snubbed, because he stopped tongue-fucking Jodi, eyebrows pinched as he looked around questioningly. But with a shrug he leaned back in, and used his thumbs to spread her pussy’s soft pink lips apart, leaving her clit exposed to his attacking tongue. Jodi squealed, “Yes, do that,” and Jack looked-up long enough to flash me a wink.



I assumed Jodi’s command had been directed at them both, and apparently so had Danny! Anyway, when I checked he wasn’t just holding her nipples captive between his thumbs and a pair of rotating fingers. Not only was he twisting them as if he thought they unscrewed, but he was doing it while repeatedly giving them sharp tugs. Just watching that bit of sensual torture hurt, but Jodi only growled out an insistent, “Ooh, ooh, yes…OK, OK…now, hard!”



My eyes were on the bounce, but Jodi’s were scrunched tightly shut. Her head was thrown back, back arching as an orgasmic surge tore loose a guttural, “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck yes I’m cuming!” Then, in typical Jodi fashion, she began screaming demands for “more,” and didn’t seem inclined to stop! Her two conscripted horn-dogs seemed only too happy to comply. But even Jodi can’t cum forever, and finally wound-down!



I hadn’t noticed that Danny was still dressed, not until he started stripping anyway. And I figured if he thought he needed to be naked, he most likely had something in mind other than doing some tongue-fucking. Well that was Ok with me; and besides, I figured Jodi would be eager to take-on something harder and bigger than tongue. And with that in mind, I had a plan!



It was me who pulled Jodi’s boots off, stripped her out of garter belt and stockings, and then helped her to her feet. And then, it was me who retrieved that silk tie, using it to secure my naked wife’s hands behind her back. She didn’t object, the mischief glinting in her eyes demanding, bring it on! I couldn’t resist; ordered “Bend over,” and then gave her ass a cracking swat. But then, seeing how ready to pounce Danny looked, I altered my plan. So, instead of sending her off to the bedroom with instructions to wait, on her knees, and in the middle of our bed, I led her over to Danny. “I think there’s something Danny wants,” I told her. “And if you ask real nice, I bet he’ll tell you what it is!”



Not about to beg, with a derisive sniff, Jodi spun on a heel. Then, she did a slow hip rolling strut over to my leather recliner and assumed the position, and with her legs spread, and her ass in the air, she waggled it invitingly. It was all the invitation Danny needed. But I liked that before he grabbed her hips, he took the time to bang a swat off her ass first. Jodi’s yelp was almost lost in the slap of flesh on flesh as he drove in to her. Jack and I stayed put, watching Danny bang-out a truly ferocious fuck. Unfortunately, it was a short lived fuck. Jodi barely had time to scream a solitary, “Come on, yeah…fuck me!” And then, grunting and snorting like a maddened bull, Danny slammed in one final ass slapping thrust, grinding his hips as Jodi squealed, “Yes, do it…oh god yes, cum in me!”



I left Jodi’s hands lashed behind her back, back on plan as I ordered, “Wait for us in the bedroom!” She was glowering, but when I barked, “The boys and I will expect to find you kneeling in the middle of the bed,” she scampered-off.



Turning my attention to her young studs, I rather needlessly asked, “Having fun guys?” After their enthusiastically delivered assurances, I told them, “Well Ok then, she’s all yours; and really, anything goes! I’m sure you two notice Jodi likes it hot and nasty; and trust me, stop isn’t in her vocabulary!” And having decided to let the anticipation build, I suggested another round of beer. Needless to say, those beers disappeared in about a New York minute!



Seeing the look on Jack’s face when he spotted my bound and obediently kneeling wife, I got out of his way! He practically leapt on to the bed, coming up laughing, and with both hands full of boob. Well, the big head of his big fat cock was poking out from between Jodi’s legs, and it almost looked like she had a cock. And I was contemplating the erotic possibilities, when jack pulled her head around for a kiss. Then, and without any urging my wife settled chest down, legs spread, and her ass in the air. Jack grabbed for her hips. But, unlike his buddy, he didn’t just slam it in with one powerful thrust. He ran the head of his cock in and out of her a few times; and then, with a whoop, he buried it balls deep.

This story is written in response to someoneyouknow’s superb story, ‘A Taste Of Cock’. If you haven’t read it I urge you to do so first; it really is rather good — and I’m not the only person who thinks so. But, as I read it, I not only empathised with the main character, I also couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be the ‘other’ guy. That got me thinking and so this version of the story was born.



To make the stories gel I have, from time to time, lifted sections of dialogue directly from ‘A Taste Of Cock’. Similarly, although I have added and enlarged, the basics of the story are the same. As this borders on plagiarism I contacted someoneyouknow and asked his permission first. He was gracious enough to give this story his blessing, and, for that I am sincerely grateful.



On with the tale…




So, yeah, I’m in the entertainment business. Well, that’s what I tell my mum. The web site says I’m an ‘escort’ or ‘chaperone’ depending on which button you click but it comes down to pretty much the same thing. In my job I need to be easy on the eye, easy on the ear, acceptable in all company and, above all else, a good listener.



Because it’s not what you think, it’s really not. While, yes, there are the birds who want a no strings quickie and the occasional lesbian who needs a dinner companion so she can stay in the closet, the vast majority are bored and restless housewives who just want, for once, to be the centre of attention. They spend their lives being their husbands arm candy and, once in a while, they want their turn. And that’s where I come in. A little wining, a little dining, an appreciative ear who tells them that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, they’re still young and desirable and then it’s off to bed for the big ‘O’. And I never leave my clients wanting. I live and die by the old adage, the customer always comes first; several times if she can manage it.



But then, once in a while, there’s the oddity. Oh, I’ve done my share of kinky stuff, although it’s not as common as people think, but, from time to time, there’s one that stands out. I mean, take the assignment I had other day, weird or what?



It all starts when Julie, OK, no, not her real name but no one uses their real name in my business, anyway, this Julie, she books me for a straight wine and dine. No sex, well, not unless she changes her mind later. I’m to pick her up at Euston Station, take her to this little restaurant I know, and, for the evening, she’s Cinderella and I’m Prince Charming.



When I get there she’s a bit of a looker. OK, not top model or anything and it’s been a while since her eighteenth birthday but, compared with some of the clients I get, she’s a dream. For starters she smart, dead smart. She’s obviously been to the hairdressers that morning and she’s taken a bit of thought over how she’s dressed; dead sexy without being in the least bit slutty. What’s more, she’s no stranger to the gym and she’s as fit as a fiddle. Part of me is hoping that she does change her mind about the sex part because, as soon as I see her, I’m definitely up for going back to her hotel for a little how’s your father afterwards.



We sit and we chat and it’s all going well. However, there’s something on her mind. I can tell there’s something she wants to ask me but she can’t quite find the words. Time to turn on the old charm, find out what she wants and then give it to her. The restaurant isn’t quite the place but it has a great balcony overlooking the Thames. It’s a nice night and it’s quiet and I just know she’ll open up easier if we’re out of doors. I suggest we take our brandies out there and she agrees. There we are standing side by side at the balcony rail looking out over the river and it’s just perfect. I make sure my hand is available. We haven’t touched yet, not beyond the obligatory peck on the cheek when we met, and, if she puts her hand near mine, then that’s a sure sign that we’re moving on to the next stage.



“Dan,” she starts. OK, so I know, I’m no more called Dan than she’s called Julie but, as I said, you don’t use real names in my game. “Dan, you must have had some strange requests in your time. Have you?”



I glance across. She’s staring out over the river and she doesn’t want to catch my eye. Here we go, I think to myself. I wonder what this one wants?



“I’ve had my share,” I reply. “I think you’ll find me pretty broad minded and totally unshockable. Why don’t you tell me what you want and we’ll take it from there?”



“It’s not for me, it’s for my husband,” she says, her voice gaining in confidence now that the Rubicon has been crossed. “I want to give him a rather special birthday present and I need someone like you, some one with your… qualifications to make it happen.”



“Sounds like fun,” I reply. I always say that, well, unless it’s children or animals. If you tell the punter that you think their idea is fun then they can relax and that’s when you get the nitty-gritty, that’s when you get what they really want. “Tell me more,” I prompt.



And she tells me. Well, I’ve known worse, I’ve done worse, and it’s looking like easy money for not too much work. We agree a price. She baulked at first, but then they always do. However, I stood firm and, in the end, she came around and, with that out of the way, we agreed a time and place. We swap mobile numbers, I give her the one I keep one just for client work, and organise an outline plan.



So it is that, a few days later, I’m knocking on a front door of a house in suburbia. It’s nothing special either way, you know the sort, hey, you probably live in one. I’ve know better areas and I’ve know a heck of a lot worse. Hey, I came from a heck of a lot worse. The door opens and there she is. Wow! If she looked good when we met in the restaurant then it had nothing on how she’s looking now. She’s wearing this slinky little outfit in dark red and it’s only just long enough to be decent. As we walk back into the house I’m checking out the view and I’m pretty sure that’s all she’s wearing. I’m not seeing any panties, that’s for certain. Although it’s not part of what she’s paid for I’ll have no complaints if I end up getting a little action with that sweet arse.



Once more we run through the plan. Her husband is due home from work in ten minutes and I’m to go into the spare room to get ready and wait for him. She closes the door and I get my kit off and put on my robe before settling down on the bed. Fortunately I brought the paper to read so as to pass the time because hubby was a little later than planned and, once he arrived, she had to do her bit first. Suddenly her head appears around the door.



“OK, he’s ready,” she whispers. “You know what to do.”



“OK,” I whisper back as I stand up and take of my dressing gown. “Will this do?”



She looks down and gives the old meat and veg a long hard look.



“Perfect,” she replies. “Now, you know where to stand.”



“I’m on it,” and, with that, I make my way to their lounge as planned.



A few moments later and it’s showtime. Julie comes back into the lounge but this time she’s leading her husband who is stark naked, blindfolded, and with his hands handcuffed behind his back. He’s also sporting quite a hard on. Julie has obviously had some fun getting him ready. She gives me a wink as she guides him to the centre of the room and has him kneel down. He’s apprehensive but as horny as fuck. She bends down and gives him a kiss and, at the same time, she’s giving me a nice view of that perfect arse of hers. her husband isn’t the only one getting stiff, which, given what’s coming next, is a good thing.



“I love you, you know that, don’t you?” she says to her husband.



“Yes, and I love you too,” he replies.



“Do you trust me, really trust me,” she needs the reassurance.



“Of course I do.”



“There’s someone else here,” she drops the bombshell and, of course, he’s shaken, really shaken but, noticeably, his hard on is as firm as ever.



“Who… who is it,” he asks.



“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him. “I just want you to know that I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you. You have to trust me. Please say you’ll trust me.”



He’s a bit quiet at this point. Quite frankly it could go either way.



“I couldn’t forget what we were talking about the other night,” Julie says a little urgently, filling the silence. She too is aware that it could all go wrong. “And the more I thought about it the more I knew I just had to see it. The more I knew I had to go through with it. Please, honey, will you trust me?”



He’s just knelt there but even with his eyes blindfolded you could sense the wheels churning within him.



“I want to see you suck another man’s cock,” she whispers.



There was a bit of a pause.



“I… I don’t think I can,” her husband whispers back.



“Please, for me.” Once again she bends down and kisses his face. “I want to see what you look like as you suck on a cock, as your lips wrap around a hard shaft, as you take it down your throat. I’m horny just thinking about it. Please, for me.”



Another pause.



“Yes,” he replies at last.



“Thank you,” Julie replies as she gave him another hug. She beckons to me to come closer so I went and stood right next to them. “At first I’ll guide it in and tell you what to do,” she continues. “But I want to see you on your own, sucking on him, your head moving back and forth, his cock filling your mouth. Will you do that for me?”



Her husband didn’t answer directly but just opened his mouth. She reaches out, grips my cock and guides it in.



Whatever qualms he might have had seemed to evaporate as soon as I was inside his mouth and, although I wasn’t completely hard at first, what he lacks in skill he’s making up for in enthusiasm.



“That’s it! Suck it! God that looks so good!” Julie urges and, taking my cue from her I up the tempo a bit. However, I slightly overdo it and his head jerks back so Julie tells me to go a bit easier on him.



And then she starts giving him lessons. I mean, how bizarre is that. I’m stood, buck naked in these peoples lounge while she’s crouched down beside him giving a master class on how to give a blow job. Hey, I didn’t mind. It wasn’t the first time my job had been to stay hard until the customer had had their fill. First she’s telling him how to suck, then to lick it like a lolly and then to swirl his tongue around the tip. That produced a groan of pleasure from me and Julie looked up and gave me a smile.



Meanwhile her husband is really getting off on it. He’s given up on the lessons and is simply sucking my prick as if trying to see how much he can take. Julie is loving this. “Suck on it,” she growls. “Yeah, like that. Take him down your throat.” She’s right down beside him, watching intently. She has her arm around his shoulders and her free hand is tucked up under the hem of that dress of hers.



Now that he’s got into it, her husband seems to want to experiment. He stops sucking and goes back to licking me like a lollypop but, that’s not quite it. Each time he goes downwards he goes lower until he’s licking my balls. I lean forward, pushing them towards him and give him an encouraging groan to spur him on. He’s all over them, licking and sucking and loving every minute of it.



And then, without any warning, she steps in and pulls him back. She motions me back a step.



“Come here baby,” she says as she pulls him to his feet and, with me following on behind, she takes him to the bedroom where gets him to first sit and then lie down on the bed. It takes a moment or two to get him comfy, what with his arms behind his back and all, but she gets him organised at last so that he’s lying on his side with his head hanging over the edge. She gives me a little nod and, bang, I’m fucking his face again.



“Now we’re going to see how good a cocksucker you are,” she says as she climbs on the bed with him. She’s urging him to deepthroat me and, as an incentive, she’s going down on him. He’s obviously not doing well enough for her because she breaks off and lifts her head.



“Relax,” she tells him, “you have to open your throat and relax. Like this.”



Now she’s taking practically everything he’s got and, in turn, he’s finding the right angle and I’m right at the back of his throat.



“That’s it, that’s it, you’re doing it,” Julie breaks off from deep throating him and scoots up the bed so she can really watch. She’s now lying along him, her face inches away from where my prick is fucking his mouth and she has her hand wrapped around his prick and is tugging away like crazy. All the time she’s telling him to go deeper and it’s as plain as day that she’s getting off on it as much as we are.



And then, suddenly, she pushes me away. ‘What the fuck, now?’ I’m wondering but, of course, I didn’t say anything.



“One more thing, and you get to decide how you want it,” she says calmly. “Do you want to taste him here on the bed or have him hold you down as he fucks your face?”



I’m not sure the poor guy knew or cared that much but he managed to croak ‘here’.



She then guides me up onto the bed and arranges him so his head is lying on my hip. That’s all he needed and, without any urging from either of us, he’s deepthroating me again and she’s back down the bed watching.



“Oh baby, he’s gonna cum soon,” she says excitedly. “This is for you, this is for you.”



Her mouth clamps onto his prick as I continue to pound into his face. Now, it’s bad business to come before the customer and I’m having to hold back but I didn’t have long to wait before he’s shooting his load and she’s swallowing every drop and, that was kinky enough to set me off and, he’s still coming as I’m pumping my load into his mouth. I wasn’t sure that he would swallow but he’s in seventh heaven and determined to take every drop he can get. In the end I’d had enough and had to withdraw.



“Oh my god, baby!” She squeals. “That was beautiful! I want you more than ever. Please tell me you loved doing that. Please tell me. I want to hear you say you love to suck cock.”



“Yes, I love to suck cock!” he shouts. She’s scooted back up the bed and it’s all cuddles.



And I know when I’m no longer needed so, I get off the bed, pick up the envelope from the dresser, go back to the spare room, throw my clothes on and leave. As I sneak out I can hear them at it, hammer and tongs but my part was over. Part of the deal was that he should never see me, never hear me. I was never there, I was just the cock he sucked, no more, no less.



Except, there’s always the chance of repeat business.

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