CAUTION:

This is a story based on experience, and honestly told; some details and names are fictionalized to obscure identities of real persons and events. The ages of most of the persons told in the story were technically legal ages of consent in the state of Minnesota (for that matter in almost all states at the time). While the sexual activities described here involve "teenagers," these boys were not preyed upon by anyone, or coerced in anyway.  If anything, these " boys" were predators to my wife.

Installment 9—The Fifth Week—Tuesday: Slider and friends.

In the middle of the night Frenchy got up.  He had poured a glass of milk and brought it into the living room to drink it. What he really wanted, I guessed, was to wake me up and talk to me.

He turned on the light and sat on the easy chair watching me wake up. He drink his milk.

When I was awake he asked: "How you feel?" 

I said I was okay.  I asked about Karen. 

"She's okay," he said.  Then, added thoughtfully, "Lots more to come, dad.  You know that, right?"

I nodded.

"Okay." He stood up.  "Just so you know," he added, "I told her she has to cooperate or it's going to go really bad."

I said I thought she had.  He shook his head: "Not today.  Curtis and his gang are really pissed off.  They got cheated.  Jon's pissed too.  We still owe ' em for that bag."

He turned to leave, but turned back: "Just thought you ought to know."

Why did he tell me this?  What did it mean?

"Wait a minute," I stopped him leaving.

He looked annoyed, complaining: "I'm tired. You know," and made a gross gesture with his body, grabbing an imaginary ass before him and humping air; fucking my wife from behind had worn him out, he implied.

"I want to know something."

He preempted me: "Yeah, she cums when I cum."

"No, not that."

"Sucks my cock like a baby sucks tit."  Exaggerated her noises to illustrate. 

I raised up my hand.  He stopped teasing me, looked puzzled.

"Before this started." He sat on the arm of the easy chair to consider what I would say.

" Before. . .  when we first came, did you? Did she?"

He preempted: "Did I fuck her?"

I waited.  He grinned.

Then he said: "No . . ."

"But I'll tell you . . . Do you want a beer? I want a beer.  I'll get one for you too."

I felt relieved, but there was something. He brought back the beers for both of us, sat in the easy chair, drank some, watched me drink some, then began:

"Yeah, well I saw right away what she was.  You must not do it much," pausing for my reaction. "Anyway she let me kiss her.  She let me hold her close.  She kissed me back. And all that started right after only a couple days.  Then after a week or so, I got a hand up her front, felt a tit.  And yeah, you were right, I got my hand down the front of her pants too.  Inside her underpants too.   Got my fingers into her slit and she was wet and ready but nothing happened then iether .  She said no, no matter what I tried. But you know it , you saw it .  Still nothing really happened.

"Then last week, last Sunday, you went to bed early and the boys did too.  Except for Jon.  I told him.  So he hid, watching.  I saw him, and so I turned out the light next to the sofa so she didn't see him, and put on the show. I started kissing her.  Put my hands between her legs.  You know. And she was kissing me back and letting me feel her, so I unbuttoned her blouse.  She wasn't saying no. She let me unzip her shorts. I got my hand down inside her panties, and got my fingers into her slit rubbing her up, getting my fingers slippery.  She herself was feeling my hard-on through my pants.  So I unzipped and she put her hand inside and felt it.

"I pulled my dick out and she saw it. So I shoved her bra up to show Jon her tits and so I could suck on them.  And you know your wife just lay there letting me do it, saying 'We shouldn't do this . . .' and shit like that.  But not really trying to stop me, letting me (and Jon) look at her bare tits, holding my head while I sucked on her nipples.

"So of course I told her I loved her, kissed her tits and kissed her mouth some more and pushed her shorts and underpants down so Jon could her pussy and I could feel more of it.  I told her then: 'I want to fuck you.'  She argued and pushed me off and pulled her underpants and shorts back up, sat up and pulled her bra back down over her tits.  But she didn't button her blouse.  We talked.  We kissed.  I got her blouse off her.  We kissed some more.  I unhooked her bra.

"You want me to tell you the rest?"

He laughed at how I looked.  He said he wanted another beer.  "You too?"  I nodded.  He got another pair of beers. 

He sat, swigged his beer, belched, paused, sighed : "Yeah, once I got her bra off.  Giving her a good feel (and giving Jon a real good look). So I figured I was going to get some now, so I knelt down on the floor and grabbed hold of her shorts and underpants and pulled them all the way off her. She said nothing.  I got up onto her kissing her, feeling her wet pussy and she just let me.  So I got up and I was going to take off my pants but she said 'No, I can't.'  So I thought about it but while I stood there, she just lay there, naked in the light of the TV, legs spread wide open, and Jon and I both got a real good look into her wet pussy and so I got down between her legs and spread apart her pussy lips and looked at it real close and kissed it and stuck my tongue in it and she took a breath and put her head back and arched and mashed her juicy cunt into my mouth, to get my tongue in deeper."

He winked at me, swigged his beer, paused for effect: "So I went down on her.  I expect you never done that. She said she never did.  God, she was electric.  

"She slouched down onto the sofa cushions, and lifted her legs, spread them as wide as she could, arching, thrusting her cunt up for my mouth, and I put my tongue up into her as deep as could get it, tongue fucking her, licking and sucking on her little hot clit, and I got to tell you, man—I had never seen this before—Jesus, your wife came like a man, a load cream right into my mouth, just like man's cum." 

She never had done this for me.  I was astonished.  This was something unknown to me about her. 

He shook his head. "Ask Jon if you don't believe me.  Swear to god.  And when she was done, she reached down and pulled me up to her face and I kissed her with cunt juices on my lips and tongue and she loved it, kissing me and tonguing me to taste her own juices.  Wild shit."

"So," he sighed, "I didn't fuck her. Not with my prick anyway." He winked.  He stuck a wiggling tongue out it me.  I imagined what he had done.

He stopped and sat back, thinking about it too, I guessed.  He downed the rest of his beer.  I waited.  He was done with his story, I guessed, but I was not satisfied: "So, what happened then?"

"What you think ?, " he grinned.  He leaned near to me: "I wanted to make her suck me off.  I took off my clothes for her and I tried every way I could to get her to take it in her mouth; I got it in her mouth once for a little while and she did it a little, but when I started to give her something to taste, she took her mouth off it and shook her head and pushed me away and started crying and refused everything.  I tried to change her mind.  I told her again that I loved her, and I said things like, you know, 'I did it to you, mom; now, you do it to me; it's only fair.'  I tried finger-fucking her to work her up so she'd do it.  But she stopped me.  She got up, still crying, and saying she couldn't do what I wanted, and scooped up all her clothes and ran off to your bedroom."

Pausing, he summed up: "Left me wanking on my dick and wondering what the fuck."

He stopped again.  Finished his beer.  Said he wanted to go to sleep.  Got up to leave.

I said: "Wait . . . What happened after?"

"Nothing," he shrugged.  "Wouldn't let me do nothing. No matter what I tried. Not even feel her tits. Until, you know, you got her going."

I could not stop any of it, but I had to know.  I asked: "What's going to happen today?"

"Slider's coming over with some of his friends." He winked: "He's got the money now."

My imagination ran away with me.  "When?" I asked.

"Why?" he smirked.  He understood me well.  I needed to go to school but I did not want to miss it.  I should have to choose between my career and my sexual obsessions.  I knew what I would choose. 

Then he added: "Let's just say it's gonna be a daylight stripping."

"Does Karen know?"

"Yeah . . . Sure, she knows," Frenchy responded quickly,  "I told her what all to expect so she'll do what they want."

He said, "And she'll do it all too . . . things you can't imagine," with a smug smile and off he went to bed, to my bed, and to my wife whom he would wake up to put her submissive mouth onto his cock while he masturbated. I imagined it: her muffled involuntary pleasures, his easy natural dominance.  I could not sleep the rest of the night.  I think I got a little sleep about dawn. 

No one got up early.  I ate cereal alone.  Steve had not come home.  Larry was the first to get up.  He came out looking to see if anything was happening, then got his bowl of cereal and went back to his bedroom, looking at girlie magazines as he ate.  I peeked in to see and saw Jon watching him masturbate.  Jon looked up to see me and teased: "You wanna suck his dick?"  Larry stopped, looked up confused.  I looked at his little red dick in his fist.

I left without comment. 

Another hour or more, and I smelled them smoking pot.  Jon knocked on our bed room door.  Frenchy let him in.  Karen was in bed, I was guessing, holding up the covers against herself tightly, because she was naked underneath.   Larry went in too.  They shut the door. I was guessing they were smoking dope.  Frenchy had said he would get mom to do it too.  She did smoke some, I was guessing.  And in her marijuana high I am guessing Frenchy gently but firmly coaxed the sheet out of her clasp and slowly teased it all the way down and away from her body to expose her to them, and she lay back on the pillows, naked, spreading open her legs, letting Larry finger and ply her splayed cunt, making his fingers slick and shiny with her willing wetness, while she smiled at him sweetly and Jon watched cynically from my desk chair. 

Frenchy dressed as all this was going on, I supposed, for he was the first out of the room, leaving the door wide open. 

My wife did not care if I saw.  She looked at me stupidly from the bed naked, her feet drawn up and her knees shamelessly lewdly dropped apart, so that her cunt gaped for Larry's wide-eyed leer and probing fingers, her cheeks blooming warmly, her dancing eyes glittering with drugs and lust, and smiling mildly in her intoxication at her high and the tender sexual fondling she was receiving.  She squirmed on his Larry's fingers with a quick gasp, and giggling, sat up and squeezed her thighs onto his hand, holding it tightly within her own hands pressed to her lap, squealing, then reached up with both hands and drew Larry's chubby cute face down to her own to kiss him warmly with her open mouth and probing tongue. 

Frenchy came back and declared:  "It's time to get up, mom."  Larry looked back over his shoulder with disappointment.  Frenchy pulled Karen by her hand, naked, from out of our bed, naked but for the same dirty bobby socks she had worn outdoors yesterday, I saw.  He said: "Go take a bath."  He smacked her bare buttock sharply and she squeaked at it and put her hand behind herself as he raised his hand to spank her more and laughed girlishly running away from it.  Running from the room, her tits bounced.  I stepped aside at the door to let her pass.  Her glance at me was lovely and happy.  But I could see she was stoned.  She went into the bathroom.  She locked the door.  After the toilet flushed, I heard her start the shower.

It was nearly 2 o'clock before all began to settle out.  Jon got dressed.  They ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Frenchy asked me for money.  When I opened my wallet, he reached in and took all that I had - - maybe seventy or eighty bucks - - and called Jon and Larry and gave them several bills and told to go off and see a movie and eat out and not to come home till late.  Jon knew what to do.  He took Larry with him and Larry never worried or wondered what he would miss. 

They left the house and Frenchy went to the phone on the kitchen wall and called someone.  I heard him say: "Yeah, she's ready."

And she was ready.  Frenchy had seen that she was carefully dressed, her hair brushed - - - he did it himself as she sat on the end of the bed.  She was still stoned, sitting in her clean fresh bra and panties, holding her hands on her bare thighs.  She asked if she should change the sheets, meaning I supposed to receive these men her bed.  He said no and helped her stand and went to our closet, fished for a dress, and brought it to her—a blue chiffon, really too dressy. She looked at it with puzzlement. He helped her put her arms through the long sleeves. She turned to face him.  He buttoned it up the front, from the waist to the neck (the buttons actually ran all the way down the front to the bottom of its skirt.  He fastened the belt about her waist.  He stood back to admire her, nodding, asking my opinion. 

She glanced at me vacantly and turned to ask Frenchy why she was wearing this; " 'Cause they said they wanted to strip you themselves.  Thought being dressed up would make it interesting."

"You look real pretty, mom," he added, "I'd like to strip you myself."  And he embraced her and she kissed him warmly.  She acted like she was in love with him.  If she was, it was her revenge, but my fault. 

She nodded her understanding, but looked uncertain and perplexed.  He had left her barefoot and though dressed up, no pantyhose.   Too much trouble, I supposed. 

Frenchy brought her the bathroom and supervised her make-up.  He wanted red lipstick.

She was stoned, not drunk, so she was not clumsy but slow and careful.  Finished, Frenchy smoothed her hair and admired her, telling her that he loved her.  She wanted to kiss him but he refused, not wanting her to smear her lipstick.

She seemed to be dressed-up for a formal party. But it was not going to be that sort of party.  And she should know it.

We waited. I sat on the far end of the sofa near the window. She sat on the other end of the sofa alone, her hands in her lap.  Sitting up nicely like she was the guest of a formal party.  Nervous, I thought.  Frenchy stood in front of her rolled another joint and lit it and passed it to her.  She took one toke, then a second.  The third she resisted, but Frenchy insisted.

We waited for a good half-hour without the TV on and without talking.  Karen smiled at the sunny window, thinking god knows what.

When the boys arrived, it was obvious what sort of party it was going to be.  When she heard them, she stood up in anticipation; I could see it in her face.  The boys, noisy and rowdy, stomped up the stairs, deep voices; the door shoved open and a large black dog bounded through first.  Slider came next

The dog jumped up onto the front of Karen's dress, his paws to her chest, and she brushed him off, worried he might tear it.  He forced himself on her again and again. Slider had some trouble calming the dog at first; it rudely nosed Karen's crotch with keen interest.  She tried to push it off but it insisted.  Frenchy took the dog by the collar while it twisted back to Karen.  Slider and Frenchy laughed, Karen was embarrassed.

With the distraction of the dog, Karen did not see at first what I saw.  These were not boys who came in the door.  One was a young man her own age—lean and muscular; he made a sassy remark about Karen to the other man.  The other man was much much older, a middle-aged man, old enough to be her father, overweight and balding.  They came in leaving the door open, grinning and gawking at her. 

They leered at her.  Slider, nodding, said to them, "This is her ."

She looked up now. The presence of these men shocked her.  She blushed to see them.

Seeing her incongruously barefoot in such a fancy dress, seeing her hot blush clearly intrigued them both, especially the old one who looked to blush himself.

The older man looked amazed, and seeing me, looked uncomfortable.  He been told what to expect, but it was incredible.  Obviously she was not what he had expected.  "I'll be fucked," he said under his breath to nobody or everybody.

"Yes, you will," said Frenchy stepping forward to greet Slider.  They all laughed.  Except Karen or me. 

Frenchy gesturing toward introduced her to them. Then he tipped his head over toward me: "And that's her husband.  He wants to watch you strip his wife."  The old man looked at me and shook his head sadly. The young man said, "Hi," to my wife, like he knew her.  She replied, "Hi," shyly, awkwardly.  Where did she know him from?

Slider explained his friends to Karen, ignoring me.  The dog was his, he said, named "Blackie." The man who was Karen's own age was his older brother.  The man was his uncle.  He was the one with the money, he said.  Again they all laughed.  Except for me and Karen (who pretended she had not heard this part, and was petting the head of the dog who had escaped over from Frenchy and resumed shoving his nose into her crotch).

Slider took hold of his dog by the collar and told him to sit.  He did , looking at Karen with the rest of them.  An awkward long silence again, just the group of them staring at my wife who tried to smile bravely and ended up looking the dog whose ears perked up. 

Slider finally said: "She looks really nice." 

"Like you wanted, right?" said Frenchy. 

"Yeah," Slider looked her up and down, nodding toward his friends who seemed pleased as well, "Well, my uncle thought up the dress idea . . ." His uncle who had stood against the window, arms folded, taking her all in, nodded with a self-satisfied air.  "Yeah," he explained, "The dress makes her look like. . . Well, shit, look like what she is . . . some clueless pretty little housewife who's soon gonna find herself stripped of all her clothes."  They laughed and Karen looked down at the carpet so as not to consider what he had just said. 

While the Uncle leaned against the window, the young man had begun to feel more comfortable, looking about the room, moved closer, stepped about her, taking a look at her from the side, circling her as she twisted to follow with him her eyes as he did, sizing her up, appreciating what he saw, and nodding back at his Uncle he returned to stand with him to face her, both leaning against the window toward which she pivoted. 

Karen stood on display in her pretty dress, hands folded in her lap, glancing up nervously at them, then nervously aside.

The old man shook his head again in astonishment. Slider, who understood what they thought without speaking, said: "Yeah, I told you so." 

The younger one, who as I saw knew Karen from somewhere, asked her if so-and-so (someone they both knew) had been over to see her.  She looked at him anxiously, but did not respond. 

Frenchy explained she was stoned.

Slider said: "Good idea."

Slider and Frenchy stepped aside but still within her view, Frenchy listened to what he said and said: "Okay, but that's extra." Slider said: "Yeah, yeah." And handed over a wad of money.  Frenchy stuffed it into his pants, not counting it.

He stepped back into the room, looking Karen up and down too, and said to the whole group of them now talking privately, in front of her; she with her hands clasped in front of her, in her lap, anticipating.  They looked up, facing her, and Frenchy gestured: "Okay, fellas, she's all yours."

Karen knew of course, but she acted surprised, and her face changed to a serious self-conscious expression.  She put a hand up almost defensively as Slider approached her.

Her wasted no time.  He took Karen's upraised hand and swung her about, her skirt flared; she laughed with delight and surprise.  He said to the two boys with him.  "What you think? Nice, huh?"

She was flattered.  I could see that and their smiles and compliments pleased her.  How she could not understand this?

Twirling her under his hand, until she was dizzy, and stumbled, giggling, and he grabbed her and turned toward himself, gathered her against his chest, and kissed her.  She with her eyes open, did not respond, but did not resist him either.  He let her go and looking into her eyes he slowly unbuttoned the dress, from the neck, to the waist, flipping it open to show her bra, the tops of her underpants, then squatted and unbuttoned the dress to the bottom of the skirt.  It fell open to reveal her underwear, her bare legs.  Slider turned her so the men could see.  The old man ogled her; the young man grinned. 

She looked up at them. She looked anxious and aroused.  She looked flushed. 

Slider turned her by her shoulders back to face him.  Roughly.  And drawing the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her while holding it one hand, swept it up and tossed it sideways to drape over the back of the easy chair.

He turned her about forcefully to face him, looking into her surprised eyes.  He reached behind her, saying something I did not hear, and unfastened her bra, pulled it forward into his hands, looked at her tits with a smile, and tossed the bra to the floor. 

He told her to shove her underpants down.  She looked up into his eyes as she did.  The young man behind her wolf-whistled.  

She lifted her hands to push her hair behind her shoulders and at that moment Slider grabbed her arms, and twisted her violently to face the two men naked, holding her by her elbows, hands raised, unable to cover herself , even if she had wanted to.  Slider and the men watching assumed she would want to cover herself, out of natural shame, but she did not fight him.

Karen stood in forced display completely naked for them, embarrassed but not protesting; her eyes almost teary, she looked bewildered and anxious.  It made no sense to the old man: I could see him repeatedly shaking of his head—his incredulity that this young girlish wife so naive, was so casually, so impassively stripped of all her clothes in front of some men she did not know, without any real resistance on her part, nor any expressed objection from her cuckold husband who sat there cravenly on the sofa and looked on at all this—now held naked for these men—bug-eyed and blushing, but obviously savoring it, obviously personally sexually aroused to see his wife's humiliating nakedness in front of these men; his eyes darted to their keen leering faces and back to her teary eyes, her flushed face, feeding his sick sexual fantasies on the gross sexual craving he saw in their eyes, contrasting to her helplessness pathetic nervous anxiety—what a sick fucking bastard, he must be? 

And then god knows what else was she going to submit herself to do in front of him? 

His uncle commented over and over again: "I don't believe it." 

For what seemed like a very long time, Slider posed my poor embarrassed wife forcibly this way—her legs slightly trembled; she seemed to hold her breath fitfully. Slider squeezed his grasp on her arms so that her flesh looked pinched and he warned her not to move—so that these two smirking men leaning at the window could make a long lecherous consideration of her pathetic daylight nakedness ,  and talk about using her body like they were buying a cow for milk.  Asking them crudely for their opinion on her nakedness, Slider told the men that he himself really liked her big nipples.  They nodded. 

They were not going to tell her outright how pretty she was; they preferred to degrade her in nakedness; and not reassuring her and rather teasing her nastily, she craved to know that she was a woman they wanted, her eyes searched for some kindness, and she saw only insult and leers where their eyes fixed on her nakedness here and there, seeing how they grinned and leered, but she did not believe they cared about her, not really; she felt hurt.

Frenchy watched from the dining room. Always able to read Karen's mind, and anticipate her weaknesses and moods, called out to her sweetly: "Love you, Mom."  And she blushed and glanced back at him with a sheepish smile.  Still turning back to the men who were undressing themselves, she looked anxious.  I still sat on the sofa; she paid no attention to me, like I did not exist. 

Both men slowly undressed themselves in front of her while still giving her the eye and bragging to one another about what they were going to do to her. 

The first one to be completely undressed—except for socks (all these guys always kept their socks on, for some reason)—he was her own age, 21; his name was David.  I had seen him once or twice myself, I thought.  But where?  

Uncle Bob—who undressed more slowly, more self-consciously, but whose nudity was even more interesting to my wife, because he was the same age and shape as her father—lived on the same street that we did in a second storey apartment over Mr. Hanson's grocery store. My guess is he had seen my wife passing in the street below his window many times, though she might not have noticed him.  If she had, she would not have thought anything of his stares, being just an old man.  But I imagined, perhaps, he had fantasized crudely something like this, seeing her like this—what old man might not have had the idle thought?  But he could never have guessed it might come true.

Her jittering eyes followed their actions, fixing with curiosity on their rising thickening erections when they popped out of their jockey shorts.  The old man's cock especially interested her, it seemed.  Maybe because she had wondered about it because of his age, or maybe because he was uncircumcised; she had never seen an uncircumcised penis.

Seeing where her eyes had dropped, Slider said to his uncle: "If you want her to suck your dick, Uncle Bob, she'll let you cum in her mouth."  He looked astonished but leered and said, "No shit?" and Karen averted her gaze in embarrassment.

Now David, having undressed first and feeling his stiff cock, stepped up to her and Slider let go of her arms.  She dropped her arms slowly, her hands still held in front of herself limply, as she looked at David's hands reach out for her and feel her breasts, her  nipples , and looked down at him as he leaned  and lifted her breasts in his hands and put his mouth on first one nipple and then on the other, making them each wet and sucking them up to pointed tips.  She let her hands fall to his shoulders and looked warmly at the top of his head; he dropped his right hand to her crotch; from where I sat I saw his fingers probe and feel inside of her cunt, the fingers getting wet with her, slipping easily.  The lips, the florid folds of her cunt spread as he pressed and plied her there. 

Then David looked up into her eyes and she returned the warm pleasant gaze.  He said something nice to her; she smiled.  They kissed.  He continued finger-fucking her as he kissed her.  They kissed like lovers before us.  Warmly.  With open mouths. With eager tongues.

But then he stopped with a little laugh and Karen looked up blinking, like she had been caught in a naughty thing, and David turned sideways deliberately to reveal my wife's nakedness in the sunlight to Uncle Bob again: saying in effect, "you turn."  She looked up at the older man who was watching her and masturbating. She watched him masturbate with shameless fascination.

He waddled forward toward her masturbating as he stared at the other man's fingers frigging her.  Nearing her he put his hand on her hip and felt it, felt behind it, her buttock, his fingers between the cheeks of her buttock and into her cunt from behind joining the others.  He kissed her.  It surprised her, but it pleased her, I think.  He kissed her nicely.  He said something to her and she smiled shyly at him.

He took her hand as he spoke to her and put it on his erection.  David took her other hand and put it on his own erection. They stood apart from her, looking down at her nakedness as she looked down at theirs and felt the two erections in her hands, the old man's thick and stubby one touched her belly, the young man's stiff and thin one arched.  The young man fingered her cunt. The old man talked to her, telling her how sexy she was. 

The three stood in the light from the window naked, mutually masturbating; she smiling and they fondling her breasts, kissing her breasts, kissing her mouth, and talking to her about her body and telling her sexual things they intended to do to her. 

Meanwhile, Slider had undressed, and stood behind them listening and watching and masturbating, giving them a good five minutes to get her really worked up, before he stepped in close to her to get what he came for.  He put his own hands onto her buttock and then felt along her sides. Pressing closer, touching her naked back with his naked front, his stiff upright prick wedging into the length of the crack of her butt, he reached up from behind and underneath and cupped her breasts, holding them up to where the two in front leaned grinning to suck up her nipples.  She raised her head and turned to look at me—a lost stare, an open mouth, a flushed face—and, shifting her legs, widened her stance and stiffened, closing her eyes.  Slider had slipped his penis up into her cunt from behind and was starting to slowly teasingly fuck her. 

The other men continued to lick and mouth her breasts, frigging her quickly, and helping her hand to squeeze, fondle and pump their own pricks as she was being fucked to distraction. 

But Slider's fucking got harder and jostled her, shivering her tits, causing her to whimper, and her eyes closed, and her grip on their pricks lessened, so that at last Uncle Bob gave up and stepped aside, preferring the show of her nakedness, her hot face, her getting fucked; and then young David, taking the example, also stepped back to see and enjoy it.  Her eyes fluttered open, sparkling, to see them stepping away, her empty hands out in front of her, and she leaned lightly at the waist, feeling weak in the knees, and Slider grabbed her hips and pulled her hard onto his prick.  Her hair fell over the side of her face; I could not see her eyes.  She stumbled forward with the thrust of the Slider's fucking, so Uncle Bob reached out to hold her hand to steady her.  Slider's thighs slapped hers, his scrotum mashing her cunt.  Her cunt smacked mucky with his rough fucking.  Rhythmically her breathing and his matched, whimper and grunt.  When he ejaculated, he shoved himself as hard and as deep as he could into her cunt and groaned loudly, and my shameless wife squealed girlishly, and weakening in the knees, she went down on her knees to keep from falling; Uncle Bob holding her hand until she slipped loose of his grip to go down onto all fours in front of him. 

Slider went down with her as she went down, crouching over her back and reaching under her to grab her tits, and fucked her his few final strokes of ejaculation, and the two rested, him on top her back, she on hands and knees, catching their breath. 

He laughed happily, woozily righting up, and said: " Wooeee . .  .  God damn!"

When he backed out of her, pulling the length of his dick out slowly, watching it pop out and flip up waggling, shiny with cum and her juices, he looked down where he knelt between her spread legs at her lathery cunt.  White cum goo matted the hair about her cunt and about his testicles. Sighing happily he slapped her rump smartly, like a cowboy dismounting his mare after a good ride.

The sex that followed seemed almost planned in the way that the men knowingly cooperated and conspired to share their pleasures so rapidly and continuously.  Tag-teaming her.  Team-fucking her.  Still, looked at another way, for its frenetic heated action, it seemed more a wild free-for-all, a drunken feast on my wife's naked randy body and she moved, positioned, forced as they pleased, docile and ready, succumbing wantonly to her own sexual arousal.  The three men moved around my submissive wife, as she poised pathetically on all fours for their pricks, or knelt compliantly before them opening her mouth, or was leaned over the coffee table, or crouched holding or half-laid on edge of the sofa, legs spread, bating them, holding her buttock open with her hands, exposing her hole.  They poked their pricks into her mouth.  They poked their pricks into her cunt.  They fucked her two at once.  They fucked her one by one repeatedly.  She sat or knelt or crouched and sucked off one She sucked them off while one behind her fucked her.  She sighed, she squealed, she squirmed, she humped, she whimpered, she sighed, and she finally collapsed naked and exhausted on the carpet and curled up.

My own memories are like pornographic snapshots of the scenes.  Uncle Bob's big fat dick in her mouth and her breathing through her nose as he spent himself into her mouth, delighted at her response, her willing swallowing of his cum, commenting, "Jesus.  Look at that." Or seeing the boy, the young man, and the old man all taking turns, fucking from behind on all fours.  Fucking her so hard that her tits swayed.  And seeing how she started to fuck them back, seeing the sweat on their bodies glisten, hearing their thighs slapping loudly against her buttock and the smacking sounds of fucking her already cum-mucked cunt. Watching their wet livid dicks—the two young stiff ones, the old loggy and fat one—plunging and poking and mashing into her spongy cunt, her swollen cunt lips sucking back on or folding onto the cock stuffing her; she used the mouth of her cunt like her own mouth on it, wanting it, clinging to it.  Or then seeing her straddling that fat old guy while he lay on the floor, her butt and back to his face, as she herself did the fucking, fucking his stubby dick that seemed as wide around a beer bottle, stuffing her good, and she going up and down on that slick stout short plug-like dick with an involuntary moan and a lost look, then leaning over and bracing herself with an arm down on the floor and looking down between her legs at her own belly going up and down, to see his dick going in and out of her own cunt, shoving herself down on it so that prick went up inside up her as deeply as she could shove it and how she arched against it and squirmed with pleasure.

I don't know if it was marijuana, or if she had just given up after all, or if it was that their pricks were so much better than mine, or it was the excitement of fucking men their ages, especially one so much older—but she was completely sexually uninhibited with them. Her eyes glittered wild and bright or were hazed in dreamy abandon; she was so absorbed in keen feelings of sexual intensity, that she did not see me at all even if her unfocused stare turned my way, and she showed no shame for what they were doing to her or how abusively they handled her, my wife become a fuck and suck sex toy. But when pausing once while they maneuvered her, her focus on the plain circumstance she found herself in returned to clarity, remembering who she was and who they were and the whole sick scene—the living room, the sunlight on her naked body, these strangers, Frenchy grinning, and me on the sofa watching while their hands groped her body to guide her, their crude instructions for her to make another sexual submission blatantly spoken—she looked up at me just briefly at the moment and saw me looking at her, saw me clearly in the pause of action and so for just a moment she came to her self; but then an ironic coy smile came slowly to her face, her frank knowing look at me was sarcastic and unapologetic. She wanted to see how these men fucked her better than I ever had.  She was glad that I saw it.  She wanted me to see it.  And she wanted me to see how much she was loving it.

When she had been finally exhausted—or at least they had been exhausted for the moment and their dicks dropped limp and spent—Frenchy offered everybody beers and brought me one as well, but he did not bring one for Karen who lay on the floor, hunched over near her underpants and bra where they had left her from the last two-way fuck.  Her backside and the hump of her hip toward me, her head toward the window, her face turned up to its light, she had drawn her legs half-raised to her chest; I could not see her face from where I sat. But Frenchy standing over her did see her face, and he smiled down at her and asked her knowingly "You like that?" and nudged her with his foot; she rolled over on her back with a long sigh and put her arm over across her eyes and forehead so that I still could not see her face but for a slight smile.  Frenchy nudged her legs with his shoe, he tapped at her calves and told her: "Spread your legs, mom.  Lemme see it."  And he stared down smugly at the sloppy oozy cunt that gaped and drooled cum to the carpet.  Frenchy looked over to Slider and tipped his head toward the sight.  Slider nodded and pet his dog and spoke to him. "Go on, Blackie."  All he said and the dog, who had largely been disinterested the who time they three men had been fucking on my wife, now sat up alertly when Frenchy had turned my wife over onto her back and from where he sat in the dining room next to Slider had a riveted gaze between my wife's now spreading legs and what Frenchy had wanted to see. 

When commanded by Slider, the dog went immediately to between those spread legs and her gaping soupy cunt and put his snout into it and licked and lapped it up.  Karen started as from sleep and I saw how red-faced and oversexed she looked.  She tried to sit up, to reach for the dog's muzzle and fend him off, but Frenchy pushed his shoe onto her shoulder and said: "Lie down.  Be a good girl."  And she looked shocked and confused but had not the strength to fight him and Slider came closer to intimidate her, it seemed, and soon Uncle Bob—who'd pulled up his undershorts—stood so close that he obscured what I could see, while David had knelt at Karen's head and had pinned shoulder to the floor (though she was not really fighting it) and so she just let her head drop, turning her face away so that I could no longer see her expression; but I had seen it before she had.  She was not resisting this.  At Frenchy's instruction she pulled her legs up frog-like to spread open her cunt more for the dog's probing tongue.   

Obscene as it was, the men were not cracking jokes nor ridiculing her by side glances or anything of the kind.  They watched with serious intensity.  And Slider encouraged his dog quietly: "Atta boy, Blackie. That good? You like that?" 

Then very soon he said to Frenchy: "You see? See it?  What did I tell you?"

Now there was low dirty laughter.  Now there were humiliating remarks, filthy jokes, and everybody saw what they meant, but Karen and I. Uncle Bob saw it, and said again:  "Jesus, Christ, I  don't believe it." Then he stepped aside, looking over his shoulder at me with a smirk and a nod ,  so that I could see, turning his eyes down in the direction that I should look.

Karen herself had been let up by David, had edged up onto her elbows, half-sitting up, as the dog had turned his attention from between her legs to between his own legs.  Under the belly of the dog, the dog's penis was engorging, already thick as a cucumber, a swollen stick of dick lengthening as it swells out of a sheath of fur, extending quickly to the length of that cucumber, mottled in pinks and reds and wet as a cherry popsicle and in fact dribbling from the cherry blunt tip of it, a protuberance at the end, a sort of point that spurt quick syrupy squirts of what I supposed was his ejaculation or his pre-ejaculate—I did not know what—but it was spurting and dripping stains of it onto the carpet and as I watched the engorgement, the length of it unsheathing quickly enlarged, and the dog began a nervous whine. Karen looked up.  She saw it before I did.  She understood what they wanted before I did.

The dog had stopped licking Karen's cunt, had sat up and turned to his own belly and licking his own erection, licking the wetness of it, stimulating himself.  Then, pausing looked up toward me, panting.  Frenchy told her what to do—or rather he mocked her: "Come on, mom.  You know you want to . . . " She stared intensely at the dog's cock.  Slider and David, laughing, squatted behind her and were pushing her some, coaxing her to sit up, to move to where Blackie now had sprawled on the carpet.  Frenchy now—the circus master cracking his whip over her head—winked at me and looking at me sardonically as he said: "Suck that dog cock, mom."

Uncle Bob stared in disbelief.  Karen whimpered, she used her own weight and ambivalence to resist, responding reluctantly and heavily to their shoves and forcible lifting to get her up onto her hands and knees and edge her closer to Blackie's belly, keeping her eyes on the prize.

Slider took her hand and drew it to the dog's dick, and held her trembling fingers to touch it, to feel it.  She never said, "no."  That is what Frenchy would always say about this. When Slider let go of her hand, she was feeling the dog's dick by herself.  Looking at it and feeling.   Touching the tip of it, which was slippery and wet, making her fingers slippery and wet.  Stimulating him, the dog's cock danced and spurt a couple jets across his belly.  The dog looked up and leaned to lick the drippy tip of it. 

Frenchy said again: "Suck it, mom."  She did not immediately.  She felt it tenderly.  She watched it spurt once more before, even as it was spurting, she leaned and put her mouth over it and drank it, closing her eyes.

Bob said again: "Jesus."  Nobody said anything.  No jokes.  No wisecracks.  We watched my wife kneeling naked at the dog's belly, sucking his spurting cock, slathering her tongue on it, submissively receiving the frequent spasms of liberal juices spent by him, her whole mouth engulfing it, warmly taking a large length of it into her mouth, and swallowing eagerly.  She acted like she loved the taste of it.  Her face very red, she was obviously self-conscious and aware of her humiliation.  She made no noises except for the obscene liquid swallowing.  But she was also taking strong sexual pleasures from this. 

"Jesus," said Bob again, shaking his head, and it was incredible to watch. 

She was swept up and away by her own overwhelming sexual cravings.  She would do anything they wanted her to do at this point.

For her part Karen would not remember any of this, beyond the encounter with Uncle Bob and the young man and the shock of Slider stripping her in front of them and the wild intense sex.  But not the dog.   Never the dog.   Or at least she always looked at me completely blank when it go to this recollection.  Not that I would ever bring it up, except that in the aftermath, naturally, we talked about all that had happened and in the serial events of this memory, what happened with the dog was the most vividly recalled by me.  I could not bring myself to say it, but I expected her to admit it.  I wanted her to tell me how she felt, but she did not.  Perhaps, it was because she felt this was the point of her greatest shame, although there was a lot more to come. 

She continued sucking the dog's cock, the dog's cock spending into her mouth, until seeming to feel sick or suddenly aware of herself in the silence, all of us watching her with fixation and fascination, she withdrew her mouth, holding the dogs penis and looking at it as if she just then realized what she was doing, and sat back, drew up her knees, and put her head onto her knees.  Frenchy handed her his beer.  She looked up at him.  She was crying again.  He said: "You like that?"  She put her head onto her knees again.

The dog had got up and nuzzled her neck with his wet nose.  It seemed oddly kind.  But it was something else.  He jostled her.  He put his paws up onto her shoulders.  He wanted to fuck her. 

They wanted to see this.   It had been the plan all along, Frenchy later told me.  Frenchy leaned to whisper to Karen, to turn her, to position her for the dog.   Slider helped the dog.  Again without resistance or reply she submitted to him.  The dog mounted her from behind.  Slider aided the entry.  Karen's face lifted, showed the feeling of the entry.  Surprise.  Shame.  Arousal.  All of it at once, in the open-mouth and open-eyed expression, tears on her cheeks.  "God damn," said Uncle Bob.

The dog's paws about her waist, his chest upon her back, he humped her rapidly, his penis sticking her in swift sharp movements for a good minute.  The pleasure must have been so intense or the shame so overpowering, she burst into sobs; she sobbed and collapsed.  The dog stumbling over top of her confusedly tried to remount her, but she had fallen beneath him.  His pumping prick humped empty air, spraying ejaculation over her thigh, onto her buttock.

Now the solemn silence gave way to snickering hilarity.  Slider and Frenchy acted in tandem with a mutual wicked inspiration.  Settling the dog, petting him, Slider got him to lay and lick his dick, while Frenchy, laughing, with a wink to me, picked up my weeping wife by the armpits and with the help of David hoisted her bodily and spread her legs and made her straddle the splayed dog and poised her above it—Slider holding the dog's dick like a stick for my wife's ready hole—and lowered her slowly and neatly onto the long stiff red thing, taking the dick up into her cunt.  She sucked up air as she got it stuck up in her, whimpering, but she stopped crying.   She looked down, teary eyed and amazed, at the thing going up inside her and even giggled herself and the boys egged her on and Uncle Bob too got into the spirit of it, laughing as well.  

They helped her fuck it.  They made her rise and fall on her own legs, fucking the dog's dick, and the dog laid his head down, panting and enjoyed it.  And she enjoyed it too, fucking the dog like that, showing herself like that to the boys, fucking the dog's dick, the dog shooting up repeated hot jets inside of her, causing her own sexual excitement to repeatedly thrill her, to give her hot color and wild eyes, while the both of them—dog and girl—were breathless and peaking sexually.  

At this moment Frenchy looked over at me wryly.  Slider joined his look at me.  Uncle Bob and David.  They all looked at me, grinning mockingly, and Frenchy said triumphantly: "Look at your wife, man.  Fucking a damn dog."  And my naked flushed wife helplessly climaxed with emotional abandon, impaled on this thick long dog dick, squealing foolishly and quivering on it as it hosed her with hot ejaculation, which gushed from around the dick and cunt hole, like a spill of cream soup, and seeing this obscene perverse display the men cheered her on, teasing her, and laughing.

Embarrassed and self-conscious as her sexual passion was spent, Karen looked up sheepishly, and Frenchy reached out solicitously and helped her to stand up, gingerly withdraw from the big dog's long dick, and step away from it and the dog, which was sprawled on the floor and did not move for several minutes.  Karen herself was unsteady on her feet.  Frenchy embraced her and spoke softly to her.  She rested her head, eyes closed on his shoulders; he whispered to her, feeling round her ass.  They turned and he led her out of the room as the men were dressing and talking about the experience.  The dog got up and shook himself.  Slider brought him our mixing bowl full of tap water and set it in the dining room for him.  The dog was very thirsty.  The men all got beers.  No one offered to get me one.  They glanced at me with contempt, but otherwise ignored me.  I myself said nothing and did not get up from where I had sat on the sofa for the whole show.

Frenchy came back after some ten minutes or so, saying that he had put Karen to bed.  It was barely five o'clock.  They had been at it for three hours or so. 

Karen did not come out of the bedroom until long after dinnertime, almost 10 o'clock. Sleeping, I guess, for the most part. Although Frenchy had gone it to "check on Mom" and did not come out for hours. In the meantime Jon and Larry came home; Larry rattled on about the movie and Jon took up the easy chair in his underwear. About nine or so, Frenchy came out, giggling excitedly, and insisted that Jon join him in the bedroom.