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Mine is a story of misunderstandings and misinterpretations, leading to mistakes of life-changing proportion.
I'm 52 years old. My hair, of which I still have plenty, has turned silver - nearly white. I am of average height, still standing 6 feet tall, down from my peak at 6' 2". Like many my age, I have let myself go, and developed somewhat of a pot belly. My belly, however, is the only fat on my body; although at just over 260 lbs, it's easy for me to give the impression of general obesity. I suppose it's only natural, if you see a guy with a pot belly, to assume that those large biceps (18 inches) and thighs (28 inches) are just more flab. In my case, they aren't. They're very hard, very strong muscle.
You see, although I am now viewed as somewhat of a nerd, I grew up doing hard physical labor, and my body responded to that stress by putting on muscle at a young age. As I grew older, the work got harder, and my body grew larger, putting on even more muscle. That process continued until I got my first office job at the age of 21. Sitting at a desk eight or more hours a day, when you are used to constant motion and heavy lifting, is a sure-fire way to pack on the pounds. So my work environment changed in a way that reduced physical stress, while increasing mental and emotional stress, and my body still demanded that I eat as if I were moving the proverbial 16 tons every day. I never could find a way to reduce that demand, and the only way I could fight it was exercise. For that reason, I spent many long hours in the weight room at the local YMCA, trying to control my weight. It didn't work to reduce my waistline, but it did help me maintain my strength and muscle tone.
So I have a big belly, and I'm sort of big all over, and people who don't know any better figure that I'm just another fat, flabby schmuck. It’s a false impression, but it, in combination with other errors of fact; it nonetheless encouraged more than one person to make one of those life-changing mistakes, as you will soon see.
I have lived with, and been married to the same woman for 30 years. She's a year younger than me, and together we've enjoyed many good times and weathered a few bad ones. Along the way, we took the time to have and raise three children, two girls and a boy. And yes, the boy is the youngest, and wasn't really in my wife's plans. I was thrilled, however, and after giving me the son I wanted, she had her tubes tied – to prevent further accidents.
The children are all grown now, my son having graduated four years ago, from the University of Florida. They've all moved on and found others with whom to share their lives and adventures, so now it's just me and Molly.
Let me tell you about Molly.
She stands about 5'8" in her bare feet, and weighs about 130 lbs. She has auburn hair, in which I've begun to notice one or two grey ones every now and then. Sparkling green eyes, with long lashes and eyebrows that she has plucked meticulously to arch in a way that always makes her seem surprised. Great legs... what else can I say about them? Perfect ass, womanly hips, narrow waist and a bust that perfectly balances a figure - a true hourglass - that still captures the attention of men of all ages, and makes other women jealous. And even if you got close enough to kiss her, her face could still pass for 30! Yeah, she's a looker, even at 51, and I enjoy showing her off.
Molly wasn't a virgin when we married, but then, neither was I. Even before we met, we had both already decided that being someone's "first" was less important than being right for each other. After six months together, we were convinced that we were, so we formalized it in a medium sized wedding for which her parents footed the bill.
After graduating from college, me in business administration, and she in social sciences, and we both lucked into pretty good jobs. Early on, however, it became clear that my job was going to bring home the bigger slice of bacon, and when my company moved the next year, we were faced with a choice of Molly keeping her job or us moving with mine. It was no contest. At first, she flirted with the idea of trying for work in the new location, but then decided it was time to get on with starting our family, and so she became a mother, and for the next 23 years, a homemaker.
I gradually moved up in the company, due mainly to the original owners being bought out by a multinational. Had that not happened, nepotism would have eventually forced me to look elsewhere for advancement. But it did happen, and three years ago, just as I was just beginning to think about a possible early retirement, I was offered the position of Chief Operating Officer for a territory covering the Eastern United States, from the coast to the Mississippi River. I figure to stay on for another year or two, and then retire with a much bigger nest egg.
Molly had a number of part-time jobs while the kids grew up, and after our son entered college, she had short stints with full-time work as we moved around the country with my job. For the last few years, though, we haven't had to move, so she's been with a company that provides contract support for Employee Assistance Programs, funded by the Human Resources departments in various local governments and industries. Her employment with Sam Hill Services, LLC, was also a factor in those life-changing mistakes.
As often happens in a marriage, the flames of romance and lust that raged at first, diminished with time; what started out burning brightly, became reduced to embers. This happened for all the usual reasons: the needs of the children, the demands of the job, other responsibilities, all of the mundane things that consume more than their fair share of the few available hours, leaving little or no time for two committed people to interact as lovers. As a result, one or both partners may develop feelings of unattractiveness and neglect. At the same time their self-image is taking a major hit, their sex life is becoming more predictable and reactive, feeding into the growing yearning for more excitement and a more fulfilling relationship.
One tragedy of that circumstance is that it doesn't end when the kids move out, especially if, as it often happens, the career of one partner or the other has just peaked, and the rewards of long years of labor have just started flowing in abundance. Just at the time that primary caregiver has reached the end of a long commitment of time and energy, and is feeling the least important, and most vulnerable, the other partner suddenly has even less time to be sympathetic and supporting. Is it any wonder that many marriages break up at that point? When that doesn't happen, it's usually because the former caregiver finds employment outside the home, and diverts all that excess emotional and mental energy into making the new job a success.
That is exactly what happened to us. Molly went through a series of employers before settling with SHS, but when she did, she put everything she had into it, quickly becoming their best-performing, highest-paid Counseling Specialist.
On the surface of things, it might seem that her career achievements had no down side, but pay attention: I had just reached a point in my career, at which I could begin to relax somewhat. I no longer had to prove myself - I had already done that - and I could afford to rest on my laurels.
I had finally reached a point in my life where I felt secure enough that I didn't have to put in hours upon hours of unpaid overtime, just to insure the future financial security of my family. I could finally go home at quitting time, or even earlier if I wanted, and spend time with my beloved wife.
Unfortunately, it came at a point where she was just hitting her stride in her new career, and now it was her job that was demanding extra hours, and business travel, and attention that I had expected would be devoted to me and our relationship. In other words, just when I thought we might be able to add new fuel to the fire and fan those old embers back into new flames, I found myself alone much of the time, with only my own imagination and impulses for entertainment. Not a good situation, from my perspective.
Upon giving it due consideration though, I had to admit that Molly deserved my understanding and support. She had, after all, supported me in my career for many years. Trying to be fair, I bit the bullet, thinking that at our ages, she would soon tire of the rat race and be willing to fly away with me. Besides, I still had some time before I intended to retire, and I didn't figure that there would be any major change in our relationship before then.
Those assumptions, on my part, also fed into the growing cluster of misunderstandings, and ultimately, into the coming life-changing mistakes.
Since I had an unexpected abundance of time on my hands, I tried to fill it in a number of different ways. At first, I began to accept invitations from my work associates, to meet at one of the many local watering holes for after-work drinks and conversation. I kept this up for a few months, but it was clear from the start that the invitations had been made for reasons politic, rather than any desire to actually be friendly with me.
I'm not dumb. Most of these people worked for me, and probably thought I was the root of all their problems, but for a while I entertained the notion that if I spent some time around them, just being me, I could turn them around. It didn't work though. The invitations didn't stop, but it became clear that there was little or nothing I could do to assuage the adversarial feelings, so eventually I stopped accepting the invitations. Oddly, everyone seemed to breathe a little easier after that.
Occasionally I would stop at a bar of a different kind, on my own. You know the kind I mean... one where pretty young women dance on a stage naked, or nearly so, while drinks are served by other pretty young women with scarcely more clothing. No, I didn't go there to buy sex. Even at our worst, Molly prided herself on satisfying at least my carnal urges, and she knew exactly what I was doing. I'd never made it a secret that I liked looking at pretty, naked women. She didn't really approve, but she knew that I wouldn't go beyond looking - and by the way, the only lap dances I ever got were the ones she gave me, herself, back when we were newlyweds!
Most days, though, I would go on home, and if Molly was there, we'd go out for a nice, but not necessarily expensive, meal. Otherwise, I'd fix myself a drink, and nuke whatever was waiting for me in the 'fridge. Usually it was one of those microwaveable things that are supposed to be somewhat dietetic. Sometimes there wasn't anything easily prepared, and I would order something delivered. After that, I'd usually ditch my work clothes and lounge around in my boxers and a T-shirt, reading, (rarely) watching TV, or surfing the Internet.
On one of those late, lonely evenings, I found this web site, Literotica.com, which hosted sex stories... remember how I said that people yearn for excitement? These stories were exciting! They talked about people doing things that I vaguely remembered hearing about, as a young man in high school and college, but never believed anyone really did! I certainly never even imagined doing them myself, nor did I know anyone who could believably claim that they did! Anyway, this web site had enough stories to keep me occupied, and titillate my imagination for years, if need be.
I started out reading the new stories, and soon realized that I could zero in on those types of stories that held more interest for me than others, so I started investigating the story categories. It quickly became apparent that even the smallest category contained too many stories for me to be able to read them all, so I decided to limit myself to 20 consecutive stories in a category, and rather than go straight through each category in alphabetical order, I decided to use the "story spinner" link, which selects a story at random, from the category.
My limit wasn't hard and fast... that wouldn't have been fair to either myself or to the many authors. You see, Literotica treats individual chapters as if they were complete stories, so pretty often, the "story spinner" would come up with a "story" that was a chapter out of the middle of the longer, "real" story. To make sense of that, when it happened, I had to go back to the author's "submissions page," and begin reading at chapter one.
On other occasions, it happened that I became keenly interested in stories by a given author, and I would read a number of those before moving on with the "story spinner." At other times, perhaps the stories in a particular category would tickle my imagination, and I would read more than my preset limit in that category, sometimes going back to it again after having moved on to the next one.
The bottom line: I spent a lot of time on the Literotica website, when Molly had to work late, and I'm not ashamed to admit that some of those stories inspired some very satisfactory masturbation sessions.
It was about four months after I found Literotica, plus or minus a few weeks, when the important events of my story, happened.
All during that time, I worked and came straight home, and if Molly was there, we enjoyed a meal together and, pretty often, had wonderful, loving sex before we drifted off to sleep. If she had to work late, I did my quick meal thing, and jumped on the information highway to read sex stories. If I was horny, I jerked off, cleaned up, and went to sleep. Sometime during the night Molly would come in and slip unnoticed under the covers. We'd enjoy a quick breakfast and try to catch up on our schedules before we both headed off to work. A pleasant, if not very satisfying, routine. Then one night, things changed.
I arrived at home at my usual time, and was pleased to find Molly's car in its place in the garage. I knew that something was up the minute I walked into the house: the lights were low, soft music played in the background, and a single candle burned on the dining table, which had already been set for two. Oddly, the place settings were not in their customary places: there was one at Molly's chair, which was to the right of my normal seat, but the other setting was not at my chair. Rather, it was to the left of my normal seat, opposite hers.
As I observed this, Molly entered the room and took my breath away. My pulse quickened as she approached me wearing a diaphanous gown, which wasn't really transparent, but clearly covered only her nude form. She kissed me sweetly, and I returned it to her with passion.
"Looks like it's going to be a special night," I commented, fondling her body.
"You have no idea!" she responded, giggling as she pushed me away. "Now sit down so we can get the show on the road!"
I started around the table to the place setting opposite hers, but she stopped me, saying, "Not there honey... I want you to take your regular chair while I put on the finishing touches."
As I pulled my chair away from the table, she advised "Why don't you go ahead and push it up against the wall, so it won't be in the way when the festivities start?"
I complied with her request, seating myself in the chair, which was then some two feet away from the table. As I did, she disappeared momentarily, returning shortly after I'd seated myself.
I hadn't noticed immediately, but when she returned, she'd brought with her a roll of duct tape - the cheap plastic kind. Before I realized it, she'd taken two wraps of the tape around my left wrist, binding it to the arm of the "Captain's Chair" in which I sat. I'd never appreciated being tied up, and her actions were beginning to upset me, so I asked her, "Just what the hell are you doing?"
"It's a surprise," she responded, "and if you don't want to spoil it, you need to calm down and let me finish this job!"
It hit me then, that she was probably, for the first time, setting up one of our few mutual sex fantasies – the one in which she invites Linda, our lovely, single, next-door neighbor over for some girl-on-girl action, as I watched. Molly wasn't gay, or even bi, but she likes how talking about the fantasy excites me, and inspires my sexual performance.
She'd mentioned our little perversion to that neighbor, on at least one occasion. After Linda got over the shock, she confessed that she had some curiosity about those kinds of situations, as well. She'd never admitted an actual interest in doing it, but she had made the comment that if it ever did happen, she wouldn't want me to join in, and that I would have to be restrained somehow, in order to insure that I didn't. Oh well. I guess I can’t be all things to all women.
I never thought it would really happen, but Molly's actions had all the earmarks! So, letting my imagination run away with me, and wanting to make things as easy as I could on my wife (and presumably, Linda), I ceased my arguing and let Molly bind me to the chair. It wasn't too uncomfortable, and looking at the bindings, I knew I could break them, if need be. Molly probably didn't know that, but then the bindings were more for Linda's peace of mind than anything else (I thought).
After Molly taped my wrists to the chair arms, and my ankles to the chair legs, she tore off a strip to place over my mouth. Looking at her with concern, I asked, "Is that really necessary?"
"Yes," she nodded, "It was specifically requested. If you want this to happen, this is the way it's got to be."
She waited for my reply, and after a few minutes of consideration, thinking that she’d let the cat out of the bag, I nodded. "Okay, but I don't like it."
"I know sweetie, but I hope that this evening makes it all worthwhile for you." she said, as she applied the tape, effectively sealing my mouth.
Sitting there in uncomfortable anticipation, I watched her walk into the kitchen and out of sight. I heard her pick up the phone and dial a number. Someone must have answered, because I heard her say, "Okay, it's on," followed by her hanging up the phone. She puttered around in the kitchen, doing who knows what for awhile, until the doorbell rang.
An understanding some of the layout of our house is necessary, in order for you to visualize the events that follow. We have a formal living room and a family room, on opposite sides of the main entry. Our dining room is moderately large, and open to the family room. One can clearly see the sofa and chairs, as well as the spaces between them, while sitting at the dining table.
My Molly flowed out of the kitchen looking like one of those classical marble statues you see in an art museum - you know the kind, the ones that display an unimaginably beautiful feminine body, draped with sheer, clingy fabric. How do they make marble do that? Anyway, as she moved gracefully across and out my field of view, going to answer the door, I noticed that she'd set up our video equipment in the family room.
We have collected a fairly large amount of video equipment, due in part to my being a techno-junkie, and in part to Molly's obsession with documenting our family life in pictures. We have no less than five handheld digital video cameras, and on this occasion three of them were set up on tripods, covering pretty much every part of the family room. Thankfully, none of them were aimed at me. The possibilities intrigued me. It appeared that Molly planned to create a movie of the evening's activities that we could enjoy in the future, reliving them even if her partner in the endeavor declined to repeat the experience.
While I contemplated this information, I heard the front door open and close, followed by the sound of approaching footfalls. I turned my attention toward the door to the hallway.
Imagine my surprise, and how I felt, when I saw that the person following Molly into our family room was not the lovely Linda, but rather Molly’s boss, Mr. Sam Hill, himself! I had no idea why he was here, but I was developing some suspicions, and they made me sick to my stomach.
Now, I have to tell you about Sam Hill. Sam was a big guy, and as black as they come. In good shape, too. He was not a muscle-bound dummy, though. He had a PhD in whatever subfield of social sciences or psychology he'd studied, and he'd built up a successful business from scratch.
In his personal life, he had many friends from all walks of life, and was known to be somewhat of a ladies' man. One rarely saw Sam outside the office, without a nice piece of arm candy - and I mean really nice! Like many well-to-do black men, he also had a predilection for pretty white women, usually much younger pretty white women.
Molly’s maturity notwithstanding, it belatedly occurred to me as they approached, that her meteoric rise in SHS might not have been based solely on her job performance and professional skills, and that tonight I was to be left with no doubt that my long-standing marriage was over. It appeared to me that I was likely to be cuckolded, before being given a divorce ultimatum. The reality of what happened, of course, was much weirder than even that.
After they entered, Sam walked around Molly and strode up to where I sat, taped to the chair. He looked down at me with a smug grin and said. "So is this the wimpy, fat white boy, who lets his wife get fucked by a real man - a real black man?"
Being in shock over the turn of events, and having the tape over my mouth, I was, of course, unable to respond. He turned and went over to Molly, who stood there smiling, apparently waiting for him to finish humiliating me before proceeding. He swept her into his arms and laid a kiss on her lips that looked like he owned her, and at that point I felt he probably did.
Gazing steadily at her, he said, "Undress me!" She moved to comply, and methodically removed everything he wore, down to his boxers. I didn't understand at the time why she stopped there, and it didn't last.
"The shorts, too!" he demanded. She looked at him with an odd expression and they conversed quietly. I couldn't hear what they were saying very well, but is sounded as if she might have said "That wasn't in the plan!" to which he seemed to respond, "Trust me!" After that short discussion, Molly went back to the task, slowly pulling down his boxers, eventually exposing his penis.
You knew it was coming. We have to talk about penises here. I'm no John Holmes, and I'm glad of it. He's dead, remember? And it was a direct result of his having a thirteen inch penis! More to the point, Sam isn't either, but when he kicked away his boxers, he was primed and ready for action. I'd guess that he had maybe half an inch on me in length, but no more girth.
How big am I? I'm average, just like the Kinsey Report says, pretty close to six inches when erect. The fact is, with only one or two exceptions, every man I've ever seen naked looks to be about the same size as me when flaccid. Remember, I told you I went to the YMCA regularly? Well at the end of every workout, I have to shower. Sometimes I use the Jacuzzi as well. You don't wear clothes either place, and you can't help but see other men walking around naked.
Even though I don't go out of my way to look at the other guys' penises, I can't help seeing them fairly frequently, and I tell you, they're all about the same, regardless of race or national origin! Kinsey says that on the average, flaccid blacks seem a little longer than flaccid white men, but that the erect penises of white men are, on the average, a little longer than the erect penises of blacks: and, almost all erect penises fall in a range of five and a quarter to six and a half inches. The freaks you might see in porn movies are just that: freaks.
I wouldn't know about that from direct experience, and I would worry if I saw a guy wandering around the YMCA showers with a hard-on, but I can tell you without a doubt, that Sam Hill wasn't significantly bigger than me, in any way! Couple all of that with my knowledge of Molly's sexual physiology and response, and I could at least breathe a sigh of relief that she didn't just ditch me for a bigger dick. There must have been some other factor influencing her decision.
As I sat there in shock, contemplating all of these fragments of thought, he broke the kiss.
"Want to take off the gown?" he asked. She shook her head vigorously.
"You look naked underneath it. Are you?" he asked. She gave him an odd look, but then nodded.
"Let’s move this to the sofa," he said, arms sweeping her up into his arms. He carried her over to the sofa and gently laid her down, following which he moved to cover her with his body, and began to kiss and fondle her. I still sat there, unbelieving.
They made out for a good ten minutes, as I wondered what I should do. It seemed that Molly fully intended to demonstrate her devotion to her new love, while humiliating me to the greatest possible extent. I had decided to bring my forced participation in this process to an end already when something else unexpected happened.
It didn't surprise me that Sam began to work Molly's gown up toward her head. It would have been in keeping with their apparent plans for blatant intercourse, in full view of my weeping eyes and broken heart. The unexpected thing was that Molly resisted, and when Sam became more insistent, she started yelling at him to stop!
"Sam! Sam! This has gone too far!" she yelled. "You have to stop right now!"
"Why is that, baby?" he pleaded, still trying to move the gown out of the way, "You know you want it! And from what you said, your wimpy husband wants it too! Come on baby, let's have a little fun!"
"Damn it Sam," she said, as he tried to wedge his knees between hers, "you're not gonna get that cock inside me! That wasn't part of either my plan or our agreement!" With that, she began to struggle in earnest, attempting to throw him off her body.
"Look here, you little white bitch,” he rasped, angrily, “you can't shake that pretty pussy in front of me like that and not expect me to take it!" Sam's next action broke me out of my frozen state. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and forced them over her head, then managed to jam his knees between her legs. It was obvious that, since she didn't want to cooperate, he intended to rape her.
Molly screamed.
Remember the tape? I told you it was that flimsy plastic shit, and she only used a couple of wraps to tie me to the chair. I hadn't tried to stop the action, because I thought she was no longer mine anyway, and that it was what she wanted. I just didn’t want to sit there and watch. Well, it became clear, when she screamed, that she wasn't up for what Sam had in mind, and I just couldn't stand by and allow a woman to be raped.
That plastic tape parted like warm butter, and I was on Sam like stink on shit. Big as he was, I'm not the wimp he thought I was, and I grabbed that sonofabitch by his neck, yanked him off my wife, and ran him headfirst into the door frame. It knocked his ass silly, and he went down like a rock. He rolled onto his back and I was about to put my shoe through his temple, when Molly said, "No, let me!"
She walked up between his splayed legs, and said, “Sam, you are a lying asshole!” then, with the toe of her "fuck me" pumps, she did her damnedest to kick his balls up into his cranium. It made me flinch, and he threw up all over the family room carpet.
He rolled up into a fetal ball, saying over and over, "Bitch! Bitch! I'm gonna file assault charges! You're fired, and I’ll see that you never work professionally again!" I let him go on for awhile, until he got his breathing under control, then I grabbed his chin and turned him to face me.
"Listen up, scumbag," I told him. "I saw you attempt to rape my wife. Look around you," I said, waving my arms around the room. "There were three cameras, recording everything that you did, including the attempted rape! What do you think your chances are of not becoming Bubba's bitch, when we show those to the police?" He almost turned white on hearing that, and he couldn't speak for hyperventilating.
Wanting to twist the knife a little more, I added, “And guess what? After the civil suit, Molly could end up owning your business!”
"Here's what’s really going to happen," I continued. "She may not be my wife anymore, but you're not going to hurt her in any way!"
"What do you mean, not your wife anymore?" Molly gasped.
"Shut up, you silly bitch," I snapped, "I'll deal with you in a minute!" She backed off in shock.
Turning back to Sam I continued, "If she decides to go back to your company for work, you will treat her with respect. You will not try to bully her into sex, either directly or indirectly, or I will personally see to it that you suffer for it for the rest of your miserable life! If she elects to leave your company, you will give her a good reference and normal, full separation benefits. You will not try to hurt her physically, emotionally, or professionally, ever. If I even hear of you touching her without her express permission, I'll make you sorry you were ever born. Understand?"
"Yeah, I understand," Sam grumbled.
"Okay," I said, "you stick with the plan and get your sorry ass out of my house. Don't even think about coming back here as long as I live here, or ever, without an invitation. Now get out!"
He then gathered his clothes and started to put them on. I grabbed his arm and shoved him at the door, saying, "What is it about get out that you don't understand? Do it now!" and he hurried out the door with his clothes in his arms. I watched to make sure he didn't stop before getting into his car and driving away. It was nighttime by then, so it was unlikely that anyone had seen him leave our house.
I turned back to Molly and said grimly, "Now, before I pack up and leave, do you want to try to explain to me about the shit that has gone down this evening?"
"What are you leaving for? And why did you call me a bitch?" she demanded angrily.
I held up my hand and said, "You can’t be as stupid as you seem, right now, but you obviously don't understand the situation. It's you who has some explaining to do, not me, and you'd better get on it right away!"
"I don't think I want to talk to you at all, right now," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.
"Well, then, you can scream and cry until you are willing to talk," I said, as I grabbed her arm and dragged her over to a dining chair. I sat down and threw her over my lap.
"Kenny, damn it! Let me up from here, and don't you dare strike me!" she yelled.
"We're way past you telling me what to do, slut!" I yelled back. "I'm going to get mine back, and you are going to tell me what the hell you were doing here tonight, or I'll beat your ass until we're both bloody!"
"You wouldn't dare," she answered, stiffly.
"Then why the hell do you think you are bent over my lap," I said quietly, as I jerked her gown up to expose her pretty, round ass.
Molly took a deep breath, presumably to argue with me some more, but she didn't have time to get started. I held her down with my left arm and raised my right had above my head. I brought it down with enough force to leave my hand print in red, glowing skin on her right butt cheek.
Giving her credit, she didn't scream right away, but she began to hiccup. It would have been funny, under other circumstances, but I had in mind getting some more definite proof that she was getting punished. I raised my hand again, and created a matching print on her left butt cheek.
That time, she did scream. And curse. And eventually cry.
I continued raining punishing slaps on her ass, pausing occasionally to ask if she was ready to talk. As might be expected, she was stubborn, and refused the first few times I asked. Eventually, however, crying and sobbing, she nodded her head and I let her slide gently to the floor.
I sat there watching her until she raised her face to look at me. Seeing her like that, her tears making her mascara run, and her lush lips turned down in hurt and sadness, nearly broke my heart. Nearly. Remember, my heart was already broken. I still had the fresh memory of my loving wife of over thirty years, in passionate embrace with another man! I still didn't know why, or even if, she changed her mind about rubbing my nose in their sexual liaison, and I needed answers.
"Well?" I suggested coldly.
"It was supposed to be a fun surprise for you!" she whined.
"How do you figure that?" I demanded. "How was I supposed to have fun, seeing you behave that way with him?"
"I saw your browsing history," she said. “I though you wanted it!”
"What do you mean?"
"A week or so ago, I came home late. You were already in bed, asleep. I had some research I needed to recover from the internet, a couple of articles that I'd read earlier, so I opened up the browser history to try to find them. What I found in the history kind of shocked me."
"Shocked you how?" I asked.
"Well, there was this one website called Literotica.com,” she answered. “I’d never been there before, so I knew it had to be someplace you'd visited on the web. I was curious, so I expanded the entry. There were literally hundreds of pages where you'd gone on that site. I opened the most recent one, and read it.
“It turned out to be a sex story. Then I opened the previous one, and then the one before that, and so on for about thirty stories. I read them all, and they were all the same kind of story! They were stories about men who liked to watch their wives with other men!"
"And you thought I was one of those men?" I queried, in shock.
"Well, it sure looked like you were interested! Anyway, I got this idea to try and do something that would light your fire... I wasn't, and I'm not now interested in having sex with anyone but you; on the other hand, I figured that it wouldn't hurt to let you see me make out and pretend to have sex with someone else. I thought it might give you a little thrill, and make you hot for me, the way it did for the husbands in those stories. I talked to Sam about it…”
“You told Sam I wanted to be cuckolded?” I shouted angrily.
“Well, not in those words,” she answered, defensively. “Sam is a professional in social work, just like me, and I was sort of asking for a kind of consultation.”
“I see,” I responded, flatly.
“Don’t go getting like that,” she pleaded, “I just wanted to figure out what to do! Sam had always been friendly, and very professional up to that point!” I didn’t respond, so she went on.
“Anyway, after I explained what I’d found, and what I wanted to do, he agreed with me that you would probably enjoy the experience, and volunteered himself to help out.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” I grumbled.
“Well, we talked about it after work, for a couple of days, and worked out a plan. I would set it up so that you could watch me make out with Sam, and pretend to let him have sex with me. He was supposed to keep his boxers on, and I was supposed to stay covered by my gown. At no point did I agree to actual intercourse! I know that he understood that, because he asked if I intended for us to have intercourse, and I most emphatically told him no!
“The whole thing was supposed to take place in less than twenty minutes, after which he would leave, and I would release you from the chair. I expected that then, you and I would be so hot for each other that, we’d probably skip dinner, and proceed to fuck like bunnies. Now your reaction has me all confused, and you're mad, and you've hurt me in ways that you never have before. You're even talking about leaving me, and I don't want that either!" She began bawling again as understanding began to seep into my brain.
“Did it never occur to you maybe that you ought to have spoken to me about this, before jumping into it with both feet?” I demanded.
“I wanted it to be a surprise,” She pouted, “and I didn’t want to give it away by seeming too interested in your porn preferences!”
“Well, what was the tape all about?” I demanded.
“It was part of the whole scene,” she said. “The men in those stories had to feel helpless and out of control, in order to enjoy what was going on. I wanted to give you the best possible experience, without going all the way!” She paused for a minute, remembering. “How did you get out of the tape bindings, anyway?”
“Just lucky, I guess,” I answered, not wanting to give too much away.
“Damn lucky!” she agreed, shivering and shaking her head. “If you’d been a minute longer getting there, he would have had me skewered; in spite of everything I tried to do to stop it!”
I pulled her back into my lap, sitting up this time. She came, reluctantly and gingerly. I took her into my arms and asked her, "How many of the pages did you visit?"
"Just the last thirty or so," she whimpered. I took a deep breath.
"If you had only gone back a couple more links," I told her, "you would have found that none of the rest of the pages held that kind of story."
"Huh?"
"I've been sampling stories on Literotica, by category," I said. "You just picked out the last category I'd been reading before you came home that night. If you were looking for stories that titillated me the most, you should have looked further back in the history. I was much more interested in stories from the Erotic Couplings, BDSM, and Group Sex, categories, and in the latter category, I mostly read the FMF threesomes. I read literally hundreds of those.
“In fact, the most... well interesting is the wrong word, but I can't think of another that applies... the most interesting thing about the Loving Wives category is the reader comments at the end of each story. After the first half dozen cuckolding stories, I only skimmed the actual story text to get the general plot before I went on to the comments. Some of the people making comments on those stories are in serious need of your counseling services. I'd go so far as to say they need legal guardians!"
"You mean you didn't fantasize about seeing me with other men?"
"Never. Not once in our entire marriage, nor even when we were just dating."
She was quiet for a moment before asking, “What about when you want me to dress up to go out? You seem to enjoy it when other men look at me, and that doesn’t seem too far removed from watching them touch me…”
“There’s a big difference in how it makes me feel,” I responded. “When you are out with me, and other men look at you, it makes us both feel good. You feel good, because it reaffirms that you are still an attractive woman. I like for you to feel good. In addition, it makes me feel good, in a selfish way, because I have something they want. Letting others touch you would give it to them, and that would make me feel bad!
“It’s the difference between saying look what I have, and you can’t, versus would you like to have some? Within limits, I’ve been willing to share how you look with another man, but not how it feels to hold you and make love to you.”
"I've been such a fool and I’m so sorry!" she cried, bowing her head and dripping tears all over my rumpled clothes.
"Aw hell," I said, rising up out of the chair. "Let's go to bed. You can make it up to me for a week or so, while I introduce you to some of my real perversions." And I carried her to our bed.