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This story is trashy. It’s an angry kink, cheating wife, husband’s revenge, unrealistic happy ending, stroke story with a light sprinkling of fetishes. Most everyone ends up happy in the end, (heh) and I’ve done my level best to make that realistic, but it’s not… this is a fantasy, a weird thought that got stuck in my head and writing it down was the only way to get it out.
I could have put it in loving wives, but it involves the husband willingly allowing, demanding, that his wife fuck other men, which is a kink so I decided on “fetish” instead. There are a number of fetishes mentioned, mostly near the end.
Many thanks to Daperling
(a top author here) and
(great stories!) and
(great stories!) for much editing and improvement.
The great “Hey All” even touched it. Anything wrong with the story is certainly my fault after they finished.
I guess you guys are always looking for a “Wing Man,” someone to talk you up to lonely women in the bar? But as always, a woman can do that job better. You wouldn’t believe the volume of eager pussy I pull for my guy.
No, I’m not a lesbian. I guess I’m probably bi ’cause there is at least one woman whose tongue I love, but I do prefer men.
Why? Why do I do it? Well, you see, he’s my husband.
No, no I don’t like sharing him. Every stupid slit he sinks his dick into is like a knife in my heart, but… it’s the only way I can earn him back.
I cheated on him, he caught me, and… well, my world exploded. My position at the church mission, my kids, my home for god sake! But honestly, my marriage, and the thought of losing him was what hurt the worst.
Looking back on it, I don’t really know why I cheated. I love him. I loved him from the instant I set eyes on him. He was all I wanted for a long, long time. I guess having kids and putting on a few pounds really messed with my vanity. It’s my biggest weakness; I’ve always been the “pretty one” in my family, and boys, then men have always followed me around. When that stopped, or actually just slowed down, I couldn’t deal with it.
After months of no one giving me a second look, I started dressing a bit… racey. Just a little lower on the tops, and a little higher on the bottoms; nothing obvious. But it was enough that someone at work noticed and flirted with me a bit. Nothing said, just his eyes. And a smile. And my hubby got his brains fucked out that night while I committed the first sin: I was thinking of someone else the whole time. I came like a rocket.
The progression from there was slow but steady, and before I knew it, getting that same hit of “you still got it” required being bent over between two cocks – two strange cocks – and getting filled with cum.
And my husband isn’t stupid; the cameras were rolling outside the windows of the cheap motel I’d booked in my maiden name for that particular encounter. But it was a few weeks later when I came home from work to find my husband stroking himself while he watched me get split-roasted on our big screen.
It was surreal. He just pointed to the floor between his legs and somehow I just obeyed. I thought he wanted me to suck him off, but he stopped me with a snap in his voice that told me it wasn’t ok. It would never be ok. He came on my face and blouse. But his face was like stone.
He ordered me to sit and stay. Like a dog. I realized that’s all I was, a bitch, and the tears started. He came back from “our” bedroom with my pillow and some blankets, which he tossed on the couch before turning away. A wailing sound was coming from my lips and soul, but I didn’t recognize the source anymore.
I screamed, and begged, and pounded the door, but it was done. I was alone, and I mean, alone… no one I could call, no one I could talk to, no one could help.
And then my phone chriped with a text from one of my many, many lovers asking for another hookup. I smashed it against the wall and sank into the couch hoping to die.
He had arranged for his mom to watch the kids, and when I used the house phone to call them the next day, she hung up when she heard my voice. I didn’t even try calling my mother; advice from the trailer trash was not what I needed. I wasn’t going back there, and I couldn’t go on. I was picking up a knife when he came out. I’m not sure he understood how far gone I was, but he seemed a little tiny bit kinder.
“There is a way back.”
“A…” I stuttered, shaking my head. “Back to…?”
“Back into our marriage. Back into a happy life with me if that’s what you want.”
“Do you want to remain married?” He demanded.
“YES!” I screamed, my brain finally kicking in. “YES! I want… I’m married, I’ll do anything, I’ll never do that again, I swear, ba…”
“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped at me.
It was a thousand times harder because he didn’t shout. I literally reeled back; he couldn’t have lezbiyen seks hikayeleri physically hit me and gotten a deeper reaction. In my entire life, I had never heard him use one single foul word. Not once. Ever. Nor had he ever snapped at me. And even with all that, the tone of his voice was… stunning. Powerful beyond imagination.
He pointed to the living room and I followed him to the couch. But he pointed to the floor again, and I took a shuddering breath and then took the first step down a long, long, very dark road to… redemption? Or just the promise of it? I still don’t know.
I kneeled before him.
And then I giggled hysterically, because it felt biblical and we had always been very modern, not going in for that “wives submit to your Husbands” shit. God I cuss like a sailor now; such a change in just a few months.
But he smiled. He smiled when I giggled.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he said, as that smile faded. And he wasn’t being sarcastic. That fact caught up with me as he continued: “Because if you choose to stay, it will be as my slave. My slave in all things. My slave in the kitchen, my slave at work, and yes, my sexual slave, but so much more than just that.”
I nodded automatically, and then realized I’d nodded. I was trying to understand what was happening to me and I wasn’t getting it.
“You will also make it up to me,” he continued, crossing his arms over his beefy chest. “You will make a complete and honest accounting of your sins, and then you will make amends for each and every one of them.”
He produced a pad and pen from the coffee table beside us and handed it to me.
“Write down every single man, or woman, you fucked or performed any sexual act with – from start to finish – with details of the exact position, act, and results. If he ended up cumming, I want to know where, and how much, and after how long. I want to see on the paper what position you were in, and did you cum, and most importantly, what exactly about the act made you cum.”
I started shaking. “But…”
Somehow I didn’t pass out at the horrifying reality of what I was facing. And then suddenly the fight was over and I knew it.
He couldn’t possibly have known all the men I’d been with over the months I’d been fucking around on him. But I couldn’t know what he knew. He could have talked to the man I’d been fucking the night I was filmed. And that man knew most of the men I had as regulars as he was one of my very first, and had passed me around to all his friends. And most of them were married and would fold like a house of cards.
I didn’t even know who filmed me, but I’m sure it couldn’t have been my husband because he had been at a school conference with the kids at that time. I’d begged off saying I had to work late on a last minute missionary emergency and he had, graciously, offered to fill in. So it was probably a PI, and god knows what else he had tracked down. And documented. With pictures of me… or more videos….
I’d fucked several men between the motel hookup and this confrontation. Two were new pickups from a bar one town over where I was getting quite a reputation for showing up hot and ready on the lunch menu. Twenty minutes driving each way left twenty minutes of fucking if a hot stud was ready and the bathroom was empty. Getting a movie of that would be difficult, but… well… no, it would be easy… I was always very focused on the sex.
So I couldn’t know which ones he would know about and which he wouldn’t.
I took the pad and started writing.
“Bob. I stroked his dick through his pants. The next day I blew him in the shed. He came in my mouth so there wouldn’t be any evidence.” I had to pause to stop my hand shaking before continuing, “I swallowed.”
I could hear him huff. I never swallowed his cum. God, I’d have done anything to eat his cum at that moment. I am doing “anything” now for the chance to swallow him again. Anything and anyone. But I didn’t know that as I was filling out the list.
“Ronny. First vaginal sex. Bent over two boxes of toilet paper in the store room. I didn’t undress, just hiked up my skirt. He just pulled my thong to the side and slid it in. He pulled out and came on my… ” I paused again, because I couldn’t bring myself to write it. My dear husband filled in: “Ass. Just write ass.” Again, I nodded and continued. “Ass, and then wiped his cock around to smear it. That’s when I came.”
“And what exactly were you feeling when you came? What made you cum then?”
I started to answer out loud, but he pointed at the pad. I steadied my hand and wrote.
“I was thinking about how quick I’d made him cum, and how pretty my ASS must look with his cum and cock rubbing over it.”
Yeah, apparently I’m a glamour whore. Being seen as stunningly attractive is what I crave; so making men come fast proves I am still attractive and gets me off.
“David. First… ” and I couldn’t write it. I just… couldn’t. But I’d been so fascinated with what it would look like to see a cock… in there… going in and out of me in that different position. I’d started playing with my back hole in the shower and watching my fingers go in and out of my anus in my shower mirror. It was so… hot. So when I overheard David bragging to his buddy Andy about how he fucked his wife up the ass, I just… but… to admit it…
“Write it or leave.”
“Anal. In his van. I came twice. Once when I looked over my shoulder and could just see his cock and how the angle was different. Then again when he pulled out a mirror and held it up so I could see it better. The ring of my anus was gripping his cock and being pulled in and out. I blacked out on the second cum and he finished inside me, so I don’t know how much, but a lot dribbled out on the towel on the way home.”
The list went on, and on. Repeats, new cocks, a few women, a couple. One gang bang. That split-roast.
I’d fucked 28 different people, maybe a hundred times. Probably. In the middle, the hookups started to run together and I struggled to remember all the details.
We didn’t finish that night and I cried myself to sleep on the couch again, staring at the confessional pad. He had used me to cum on again, this time watching a different movie of me, one from before the motel, in a bar bathroom. Probably six months ago. So he had known that long! Two men, one after the other, no names. When he started stroking himself I opened my mouth, but he ordered me to close it, saying I hadn’t earned the right yet. I didn’t clean his cum off my cheek and hair.
The next morning was Saturday. By sheer force of habit, I made his normal breakfast. It was served to him by a wreck: red eyes, rumpled clothing, mussed hair with cum caked on it. He smiled.
“Nice to see my slave adjusting to look the part.”
I’d not thought about how I looked, and when I realized it was like being hit by a hammer again. Southern women are taught to look good at all times. I started to get up and go primp, but he demanded I kneel on the tile while he ate. The pain in my knees was nothing compared to my heart. Looking back on it, I couldn’t believe I’d talked myself into cheating on him.
I think that was where I broke. I just gave up. I handed him my life at that moment, even if he didn’t know it. Or maybe he did. He fed me one strip of bacon and a few bites of eggs from his plate.
And then it was back to the list, on the carpet in the living room; him on the couch, me on the floor. Apparently he can read well upside down, because the questions continued.
“Where did the idea to visit the video booths at the sex shop originate?”
“Unknown. I met him at a bar after fucking the two above. He called me a slut and I slapped him. He just laughed and asked me if I’d had enough dick that night. I shook my head and he took my hand. I followed him to his car and to the sex shop. He took pictures of me with each cock between my lips. I put on my brightest red lipstick and he showed me each picture.”
“And what did you enjoy about that experience?”
“He said I looked so hot, and I did; I came several times looking at the pictures and jilling on the dirty floor. When I sucked him off, he smeared the lipstick wide and then down my cheek and took a picture to show me. He told me I was the hottest woman he’d ever seen, and I’d made him cum so much that my lips and chin looked like icing.”
“Go get it. The same shade. Do not clean up.”
I thought he was going to make me suck him off, but he just jacked off on my face again. He wouldn’t let me touch him. At least he was looking at me.
Eventually, the list was done up to my last infidelity. Then he made me read it back, try to remember more details, and write them in on the margins. I knew I wasn’t remembering everything, but I tried my best.
Finally he said it was good enough.
“I’m going to add a few more because I expect you may have forgotten some in the middle. Maybe 3?”
I just nodded.
“Answer me, slave.”
“Yes. I could have forgotten 3.”
“I know you are a stupid, vain women, but you are smarter than this. If you are my slave, then I am your…”
“Master. Yes Master, I could have forgotten 3, Master.”
It came naturally. I’d become his slave some time before, but now it was out in the open. We both knew it. These new roles began to settle into the space between us.
“You will not be my wife again until after you have made amends.”
I nodded. I had no idea what he meant, but it didn’t matter. He could literally have ordered me to kill myself and I would have. I was going to before he started this, so what did I have to lose?
“You will make amends as follows:
1. You will find 31 different women and watch me fuck them.
2. You will quit your job and make up the financial loss by charging your existing lovers for sex.
3. If they don’t want to pay to fuck you, I will sell you to new men.
4. Any new men you fuck will add to the total of women I fuck before we are even.
Do you understand?”
Nodding. Heart pounding. I hadn’t thought my soul had another drop of blood to bleed, but I’d been wrong, the thought of him fucking other women was the knife in my stomach twisting. Knowing I would be a working whore didn’t even register next to that.
“Do you agree?”
I was gasping, almost panting. I took a moment before I could answer.
“Master, thy will be done.”
“Do you agree?”
“Master, there is no need to ask, you are my Master, you own this… pathetic whore… and she has already agreed to any fate you choose.”
“No. Do you agree?”
“Master… I… yes, I agree. If it pleases you.”
“No. Do you agree?”
I really stopped to think about it. As bad as it was, it could be worse. Visions of him fucking younger, prettier, hotter sluts danced in my head. But I also had visions of being the younger, prettier, hotter slut for a john. Vain to the end.
“May I clean myself, Master? I need to be… attractive.” I hadn’t realized how much it was bothering me until then.
“Go. Get yourself washed up then dress and go to the salon. Get a new hairdo. Manicure. Waxing. Get some new dresses, hot ones, and some very sexy under-things. Google ‘Club Dresses’; I want that level of hot. If you are going to get me pussy, and earn your keep, you will need to look like what you are.”
I sobbed a little more, but I did get up and do it a few minutes after he left for work. I did all of it, and I did it up right. By that night, I was tarted up like a high dollar hooker. And… I loved it. Even then, with the knife still twisting in my gut, I loved looking like that. Knowing that men would snap around when I walked in the club. Women, thy name is vanity. It’s not even a bible verse, but I knew it was scripture for me.
And they did, snap around, when we walked into the club. All the men, and a few of the women. I know it doesn’t make sense, but I could feel every eye on me. It was like I was being warmed by laser beams. I glowed, I strutted, I felt powerful, alive, and just fucking vibrant.
I was trying to hold his hand, but he wouldn’t let me; he only touched my dress, never my skin. He pulled me over with a hand around the scrap of cloth that covered my waist and whispered in my ear.
“The blonde at the left end of the bar with her girlfriends. I’d like to fuck her.”
The pain nearly doubled me over, but I pretended I’d tripped and reminded myself that she would be the first one to make up the difference, if I could swing her. Luckily, she’d been one of the ones to glance my way, and when she did it again, I smiled as brightly as any southern belle could smile. And we can smile, honey; it’s taught from a very young age here.
“Hi,” Best pickup line in the book.
“Um… Hi,” her eyes flitted guiltily in my direction.
“My husband said he thought he recognized you from church?”
“Oh! Well, probably not, I’m not much of a pew sitter.” She smiled, turning back to her friends.
“I’m sure I’ve met you, I wouldn’t forget such a lovely lady,” he said, from beside me. I forgot to be hurt out of surprise at the tone of his voice. There was something to it. Something different. It was… commanding.
“Well, I volunteer for Habitat for Humanity, has your church done anything with them?”
Her friends shifted away, back into their own conversation, leaving her talking to us. A weak youngling separated from the herd.
“Dear,” he said, turning to me, “have you organized anything like that?”
“No, it’s not one of our registered charities. But perhaps before we met?”
“I’ve never,” he laughed, “and before we met, this stunning belle was underage.”
Somehow I smiled and agreed.
“I’m going to get us some drinks, why don’t you two work it out? What can I get you, miss? As a poor repayment for interrupting your evening?”
And he was gone with her drink order, and already knowing mine, and there I was with her, and my job, and my one hope for redemption.
“You don’t know how lucky you are,” I blurted.
“To have caught his eye. He is the best.”
Oh what the hell, I thought, might as well go for it.
“In bed. He is the very best lover I’ve ever had and I’ve had a lot.”
“If you come back with us, you will never regret it.”
Silence. She slurped the rest of her drink just staring at me.
My heart hammered as I reached out for her hand, taking her along. She didn’t even say goodbye to her friends. We met him with drinks in hand, and without a word, he sat them down on an empty table and took us each by the arm. He held my arm.
It must have been less than 5 minutes. In, pick up a cunt, and back home to fuck. Easy peasy. I started feeling sick. His hand on my skin burned.
The thing about watching your husband’s rock hard cock slide in, and out of, a young set of cunt lips while you lick her clit is that it’s actually very lovely. He was so handsome, his dick shiny with her, throbbing and veined and his tight balls slapping the top of my head. And I had to admit her pussy was gorgeous; wet and obviously tight and gripping him as he sawed in and out.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32