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Message-ID: <29937asstr$987797404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern 1/9 TG femdom F/m M/M wife
Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2001 16:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

New TG: Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern, 1/9 femdom, F/m, M/M, wife


Much explicit sex here, of kinds some think perverse and others enjoy.
Takes all kinds.  But please, no readers of a kind too young to 
read it lawfully, nor any others so impressionable they think 
any of this is real.  Reality is real, and fantasies are fantasies, 
right? 








                             Tiny Tim
                           by VickieTern

I shouldn't have trusted them any further than I could've thrown
them, Kevin and Marshall, and both of them are way bigger than me
and in great shape.  I didn't trust them.  But that didn't help.  

It was almost quitting time when they sauntered into my office, and
Marshall leaned over my desk and said, "Hey, Tiny, I hear you're
taking tomorrow off!  Your birthday!"

"My name's Tim, Marshall!  That's right.  So?"  

I was suspicious of those two, as always.  We're all three of us
Financial Service Representatives for the same firm.  Managing
investments for rich clients who don't want to bother.  But I work
alone, and they're some previous manager's newer idea, a team. 
That's how the company hired them, and we compete to see which way
works better, that's how the company wants it.  So from Day One
they were out to out-do me, to build their commissions by building
their client list any which way, including stealing my clients.
"Nothing personal, Tim," once Kevin explained in that reasonable
voice he uses on his client prospects.  "Just business.  We do it
better.  Or anyhow if we can persuade people we do it better that's
good enough."

So I'd return the favor and hustle their clients, and after a few
years of this push-pull we were just about even.  I had to watch
them every second -- they were always looking for an edge. 
Competitive, tricky.  They thought all's fair if it's "just
business."  It was habit for them -- when there was nobody else
around they'd trick each other.  I'm more a live-and-let-live,
who-needs-the-hassle type.  Steady and reliable.  "Soft" is how
they put it.  But around them I was always wary.

They started calling me "Tiny" maybe two years ago, because I'm
short and lightweight I thought, then they kept it up when they saw
it got to me.   Once during a brief truce they made friendly
noises, so we went together for an after-work drink at Charlie's,
our local bar, and I asked them how come my nickname "Tiny." 
"After P. T. Barnum's midget?" I asked.  "Or that old comic strip?"

Kevin said no, it was after that fat flouncy singer Tiny Tim who
used to sing old tunes like "Tiptoe through the tulips" in a high
voice.   "You got a lot of his mannerisms" he said smugly.  "Sort
of swishy.  Your wife says you'd make her a better girlfriend than
a husband."  

Kevin was as personable and persuasive with women as with clients. 
Handsome and unmarried, with enormous saleman's charm, and he'd go
for anything in skirts, young or old, married or single.  He went
through the female office staff like a bowling ball and claimed
he'd tumbled all of them -- married and single.  He'd even bedded
down Marshall's wife Ellen, once.  Becky, my wife, told me she
heard about it while showing a house -- she's in Real Estate -- and
she knows Ellen so she asked her flat out and Ellen confirmed it.

I could believe it.  Ellen was independent, lots of inherited money
and not much love for her husband.  When she was young Marshall's
savoir faire overwhelmed her, but she soon learned that he'd
married her for her money and not much else.  Like Kevin he still
played around, and gradually she'd reconciled herself to it.  He
managed the family portfolio because she had better things to do,
and that was after all his job.  Becky told me the word was, Kevin
took her on to needle his partner, but Marshall told Kevin he was
welcome to her, just keep her busy and off his back.  So Kevin
dropped her -- if a cuckolded husband doesn't care, what's the
point?  

They were quite a pair.  I was offended by their breezy attitudes
toward both women and marriage -- I care about my wife and my
marriage --  so I usually shut my ears to all of the office gossip. 
But you can't shut out everything.  

And now here was Kevin bringing my own wife Becky into our
jousting.  So I set down my drink and stared at him.  "You wanna
repeat that?" I asked him.  

Marshall quickly put on a sincere face, seemingly ready to
apologize for his partner.  "Hey, Tim, he's just making that up
about Tiny Tim," he said.  "He doesn't really remember why we call
you 'Tiny.'  All you've got in common with that pansy pop singer is
long hair."  

Sure it was long.  Becky liked it long.  I kept glaring at Kevin,
who didn't seem to notice, but I picked up my drink again.

"The real reason," Marshall said, "is that 'Tiny Tim' is what your
wife calls you when she's screwing me or Kevin.  She says that if
your dick was any smaller she wouldn't even be able to pinch it,
just waggle it back and forth with the tip of her finger like a
clit till you oozed a little and your voice went into an upper
register to tell her 'thank you!' and then you turned over to go to
sleep.  That's how come she thinks you'd make her a great
girlfriend!"

Okay, they were guying me.  I'm below average size, sure, a lot,
but they didn't know that.  It bothered me sometimes, but they
didn't know that either.  In fact, sometimes it bothered me a lot. 
It was a real problem for me.  I worried if Becky felt cheated that
now and then I couldn't even penetrate her at all unless she sat on
it -- if I was on top of her and I did get in it would flop out of
her when we began to move.  Especially when she was all wet and
passionate, I couldn't fuck her, she had to fuck me.  I'd asked her
a year or more ago if that was a problem for her.  She'd just
answered reassuringly, "Maybe for you, honey, not for me."  I never
asked her again. 

Now I was really annoyed that they'd mentioned Becky at all.  I
decided though that the better part of valor was to kid them back,
keep it supposedly friendly.  "You wanna check it out?" I asked
them.  "My dick?  Either of you wanna grab hold of it with both
hands and try to lift it?"

"Well, Tiny," Kevin said thoughtfully.  "That's my best offer so
far today!  Do you ask many guys to do that, take hold of it for
you?  You find it exciting?  What do you tell them you'll do in
return, suck them off?  Or do you just ask your wife to do that for
you?"

That did it!  "Listen," I said, as threateningly as I could.  "You
leave my wife out of this!"

Marshall gave Kevin one of those 'maybe you've gone too far' looks,
and Kevin shut up.  So I left it at that.  If they wanted to be
obnoxious, I decided, let them.  To avenge myself I called their
whole client list the next day and made some deals and got a few to
shift over to me.  And that ended our brief truce.

But now here they were in my office supposedly being friendly
again, Marshall leaning over into my face.

"Right, 'Tim' it is, your name's 'Tim,'"  Marshall said as if
feeling apologetic.  "We'll just call you plain Tim, not Tiny Tim. 
Sorry, Tim.  Don't mean to give offense.  We hear that tomorrow's
your big three oh birthday.  Is that right?"

"That's right!"  I was still wary of those two.

"Well, look, bygones are bygones, and a birthday's a birthday,
right?"

"I can't argue with that," I replied.  What were they up to?  "So?"

"So how about after work we stop off at Charlie's and you let us
buy you a drink in honor of your birthday?"

I just looked at Marshall, still leaning over my desk.  Then at
Kevin, standing further back with his perpetual wiseass look.  Both
of them trying to act civil.  

"Why?" I asked.

"Look, Tim," Marshall said.  "We been talking it over.  All three
of us've been wasting a lot of time and energy checking each other
out, always suspicious, chasing each other's leads and all.  This
seems like a good time to quit doing that, bury the hatchet, quit
trying to stick it to each other.  I mean who needs it?  You know. 
Life's too short.  Here you are already thirty!"

That sounded reasonable. I began to relent.  "My wife expects me
home," I said.  "She's got something special planned.  She wants
this to be a birthday I'll never forget, she says.  So I better
call her."

"That's OK, Tim," Kevin piped up.  "We already did.  Becky says
what she's got planned won't really be till maybe the weekend, when
you don't have to go to work.  She likes the idea, you going out
with your work buddies.  She thinks it's great we want to make it
up to you for all the crap we've caused you.  That's what I told
her we wanted to do.  She says sure, wonderful, make a night of
it!"

"You sure?" I hesitated.  

"Call her yourself," Kevin said.  "Look, buddy, enough is enough,
right?  How about it?"

"OK," I said.  "Five thirty at Charlie's.  I've got things to do
here yet."  They were right.  Life would be a lot easier if I could
trust them, forget about them, tend to my own affairs.  This could
be the dawn of a new era.

"Great!" they both said together, and left.  Marshall turned and
gave me a two-fingered wave as he reached the door and went through
it.  Maybe only one finger?

First thing I did was call Becky to tell her I'd be a little late
for dinner.  And to check up on their story that they'd called her. 
Because Becky could be incredibly jealous.  In our early days she'd
act as if any glance I gave a good looking girl in some restaurant
was an act of infidelity.  The last couple of years it had eased,
but still she always wanted to know where I was and when I'd be
home, all of my time away from her strictly accountable.  I didn't
mind, it made me feel wanted.  I never asked her where she was.  A
Real Estate agent's hours and places of business are always
irregular.

I asked her once why she assumed that girls were throwing
themselves on me.  "Because you're so sweet," she'd replied.  "Any
girl can tell at a glance that you're a nice guy, easy,
accommodating.  Suggestible.  Too much so.  Maybe available."

"Thanks," I replied.  I couldn't tell if that was a compliment or
a criticism, but I decided to leave it alone.  Lots of things Becky
said tended to be unanswerable.  That was an odd thing about her. 
She'd make up her mind, and then whether she communicated it or
not, that was that.  

This time there was no problem.  I told her about Kevin and
Marshall's offer, and she replied, "Sure, honey, take all the time
you need with them.  That Kevin sounds real nice.  Not at all what
you've been telling me.  Don't you think maybe you've been a little
unfair?"  

I sat silent.  Kevin was a terrific salesman, I knew, and obviously
he'd done a job on her!  This was one of those many questions Becky
was always asking I couldn't answer one way or the other.  She had
a knack for it!

"Maybe," I said finally.

"Tim, look how often you've come home aggravated about those two,
Kevin and Marshall, what they've been doing, poaching on your
client list.  Unable to eat dinner, sometimes unable to sleep. 
Sometimes for weeks!  They want to try to make it up to you now? 
You really can't turn down an offer like that!"

"No, I guess not," I said.

"I won't wait up," she said.  "Enjoy yourself."

And that's how come I was still leaning over the bar at Charlie's
at nine o'clock at night and I was four sheets to the wind, not
sure I could even turn my head without falling over, my new buddies
Marshall and Kevin on either side of me propping me up.  We'd been
drinking steadily for nearly four hours.  To me!  To birthdays!  To
the number thirty!  To women!  To all our customers!  To the
company!  The Sox!  The Knicks!  To getting pie-eyed and
shit-faced!  Which I surely was!

"Time to move on," Marshall said, sort of slurring.  Or that's how
I heard him.

"To what?" I asked, looking straight ahead.

"More fun, old buddy.  But first, one more for the road."

"Kay!" I said.  I drank down a glass he handed me.  Bitter water
this time.  "No more booze?" I asked.  "What's this?"

"To straighten you out!" he said, then paid no further attention. 
"I'll drive him," he said to Kevin.  "I'll get him there.  You two
follow as soon as you can."

"Right," Kevin said.  "I called about ten minutes ago.  She's
ready.  She said she'll be there when I come by."

Who knew what they were talking about?  They helped me stand and
get out the door and into Marshall's car.  I slumped and almost
immediately fell asleep.  A while later I woke up and we weren't
home yet.  We were downtown.  A fancy old part of downtown. 
Renovated residential.  Big old houses.  Fell asleep again.  Woke
up, more of same, they were pulling around the back of one.

"What's here?" I asked.

"A nice bed, Tiny," Marshall said.  "You don't want to go home in
this condition.  We fixed you up.  You'll like it.  Happy
birthday!"

Somebody came to help him half-carry me into a house.  Big old
house.  Odd.  A huge living room with deep carpets and soft chairs
and couches all over and lots of girls walking around nearly naked. 
Great-shaped bodies exposed to everyone, lacy bras with big ripe
breasts bulging out of them, teeny crotch bikinis, long lacy black
stockings and garter belts.  Some of their bodies with long thighs
and plump curves, some of them thin and willowy.  Takes all kinds. 
A few women wore those shiny satin fancy robes that showed the high
points of their nipples, or they wore black lace you could see
through, peignoirs Becky once told me they were called, she had
one.  And all of them sitting or standing and chatting with each
other, shoulders back and heads held high, all that skin exposed
and not one of them ashamed!  

But the really odd thing was, from the neck up they all looked the
same!  They were all of them wearing the same doll mask, a face
like on one of those life-size blow-up dolls, big wide blue eyes
staring straight ahead in all innocence, big, round, red-lipped,
cock-sized mouths permanently open and looking surprised. "Oh!" all
those faces said,  "Oh, let me suck your cock!"  And all the women
had the same long blonde hair, wigs attached to the masks I guess,
wavy hair that fell full around their faces and tumbled down to
their shoulders.  Creamy white naked skin everywhere!  

Two of these dollfaces came over and pressed their bodies against
mine, soft, warm tits, and one of them said "Just hold me around
the waist here, honey, and we'll get you upstairs and into bed." 
Which I did.  I was all the way asleep before my head hit the
pillow.

When I woke up, I could make out dim early morning light in a big
window across the room.  I stretched my arms far back for a big
yawn, then found I couldn't get them down.  I tugged, and realized
that they were tied to the bed with something soft way high
overhead where I couldn't see.  I squirmed and wrestled, then quit
for fear the knots around my wrists would get too tight and cut off
circulation.  I felt my legs tied together too, the same way.  Was
this some practical joke?

A warm yellow light suddenly snapped on, a bedside lamp.  There
sitting beside me was some woman wearing one of those wide-eyed
cocksucker masks.  Her long blonde hair fell all over a narrow
leather bra that thrust her boobs high up and way out and straight
at me!  They came toward me until they filled my field of vision as
without a word she climbed onto the bed and over me and sat down
straddling my crotch!  

No panties.  I could feel her slit naked and damp and hot against
the undefended underside of my bare prick.  Bare!  I'd been
stripped as naked as she was!  And I felt myself growing hard under
all that warm, moist pressure.  Her cunt pressed against my flat
tool and seemed to wriggle just a little!

She leaned forward, and both of those fabulous breasts fell out of
her bra into my face, the leather lifting them to my mouth from
underneath.  She rubbed a nipple against my lips and let out a
moan.  Oh, God!  I opened my mouth and then closed it again on that
fat nubbin, then began to suck, suck, pulling the whole engorged
peak of that generous breast into my mouth, closing my eyes and
pulling it deep inside and licking and tonguing away at it. 

"That's it, baby," I heard her whisper from behind her mask.  "Suck
me!  Lick me!  Make me excited!" 

I was only half-awake, but as my erection swelled I came more and
more aware that her hot wetness was now sliding up and down on my
cock, pressing it snug against my belly, making me as moist and
slick and yielding and eager as she was!

"More!  Suck more!"  Now her whisper was a low growl.  I sucked
more!  I nursed passionately!  A faint flowery perfume arose from
her breasts, and I filled my mouth with the exquisite flavor of her
skin!  And those long, swollen teats filled my heart and soul, and
my groin filled with a marvelous craving, a yearning for more, and
I pushed my hips up toward her voluptuous open cunt to increase its
pressure on my prick.  I was now rock hard, painfully swollen!

Then, suddenly the pressure ceased.  My cock felt nothing.  My
mouth suddenly was empty.  I opened my eyes.  There she was, this
wide-eyed, blonde princess with the perpetually open round mouth,
risen up on her knees, my swollen penis aimed straight toward the
middle of that mysterious dark space between her legs.  It's
helmeted head almost touched her slot and strained to get closer. 
I saw that her whole pussy area was shaved.  The tips of her
breasts jutted out, dark nipples and areolas poking at me.  I
couldn't help myself!  I lunged my midriff up as high up as I could
to push myself into that sweet spot, to enter her, bury myself in
her!  She lifted herself just high enough to evade the thrust, and
then she traced a long, dark-painted fingernail across my chest. 
It lightly scratched a nipple, and I cried out an ecstatic
"Ohhhhh!"

"You wanna fuck me, baby?" Her voice was now hoarse, tense, the
whispering gone gutteral.  Strained!  Lusty!  "You wanna put that
hard, hot pole into me?"

"Yes!" I said.  I could see my prick straining toward her, erect
beneath her. "Oh yes!  Yes!  Yes!"

"How much?  How bad?"

"Oh!  More than anything!"

"Beg!"

"Please!  Please let me fuck you!"

"Please?"

I remembered a ritual of childhood.  "Pretty please!"  

"With?"

"With sugar and honey!"

"Sugar and honey?  How sweet!  Whose is it?"

I didn't understand.  

"Whose cock is this!"

"Mine!" I cried out.  "My cock!"

"No," she said.  "Wrong answer!"

I caught on.  "Yours!" I said.  "It's yours!  It's your cock!  Take
it!  Make it all yours!  Please!"

"All right," she said.  "It's mine.  It belongs to me now!"  And
she sat down on it.  I slid in and her body surrounded her cock,
enveloped it in the sweet wet warmth of her quim.  Then when it was
fully inside her, all hers, my pelvic bone pushed against hers and
she began to writhe on it.  Ohhhh, bliss!  Bliss!  I thrust up and
up into her mindlessly, blindly.  In a few minutes she was in
orgasm, lifting her masked face to the ceiling and crying out a
breathy, rhythmic "Ahhhh!  Ahhhh!  Ahhhh!" to the air over me.. 
And I did the same thing a few seconds later, lifting my hips into
her and holding myself high there, my back arched like a bow.  And
then I came.  Buckets and buckets!  And more buckets!

Then with our crotches still tightly clamped together, my prick
still swollen and impaled inside her as deep as it gets, she
slumped over me.  I could still smell the perfume on her breasts. 
I could feel the full weight of those breasts on my chest.  Those
hands with their long, dark, red-tipped fingers came forward and
clutched my head on either side, covering my ears, taking
possession of it, and she leaned the forehead of her mask against
my face.  Becky liked doing that too sometimes when she was coming
down from an orgasm, just after we'd just finished making love.

Becky.  My wife.  Making love.  

My God!  OH my GAAAAHD WHAT had I DONE?  What had I just done!  

I'd just fucked another woman!  A whore!  This was a whorehouse! 
I'd been inside a whore!  I'd cum in her!  For the first time since
our marriage I'd been unfaithful to Becky!  To my sweet, trusting
Becky!  My jealous, suspicious Becky!

My cock immediately shrank and slipped out of this woman.  Now it
was a worm too small to close off the opening of her cum-filled
cunt, which was still clamped tight against my groin.  Warm wet
fluids begin to trickle out of her onto me.

"No!" I cried.  "Get off me!  I don't want this!  Get off me!"

She sat there a moment, those wide, blank, blue eyes staring
innocently at me.  That mouth saying "Oh!" in silence.

Then she suddenly whispered, "You didn't want this?"  

"Please," I said.  "Get off me!  Untie me!"

"You said 'Yes!'  You begged for it!  You pushed up for it, to put
it into me!  You gave it to me, your cock!  You told me it was
mine!  You couldn't wait to put it into me!"

I lay there, silent.  She seemed to be getting increasingly
hostile, angry with me for some obscure reason.  Her anger building
in some crazy, irrational way!  And I was still tied up!  

Now I was afraid of her.  With what I had just done, she could
destroy my marriage.  Just by telling Becky!  Oh, God!  How could
I have been so stupid!"

"You said it ...!  You ...!  You!" she said in that same hoarse
whisper, but now incoherent, irate.  Furious!  Was this woman
insane?

"Please!" I said helplessly, near despair.

In reply she shinnied up my body on her knees, leaving a wet streak
of slimy warm cum on my belly and chest and neck, and then she
lifted up her pelvis and she sat down on my face.  "You want this?"
she said.

'Oh, God!' I thought to myself.  'She's going to make me eat her
cunt!'  

Early in our marriage I'd given head to Becky often, enjoyed it
enormously, and I'd thought she enjoyed it too.  But a couple of
years ago she decided it was wrong, perverted.  Who knows why?  One
night when she'd been working late and we'd finally gotten into bed
and I made my muffdiving moves as a preliminary to our regular
lovemaking, she'd said, "No, Tim, I want the real thing!"  Then
when I finished giving her the real thing and was surprised to find
I still wanted to go down on her, she'd said,  "No more!  I'm
messy, you wouldn't like it!"  

The same thing the next time.  And the time after that.  So after
a while I'd quit trying.  She'd made her choice, and I chose to go
along with her.  Marriage was compromise.  A phase of our lives was
over, that was all.

But this masked whore gave me no choice at all.  Her soaking cunt
clamped down tight on my nose and mouth and immediately I couldn't
breathe.  My eyes peered up at her, past her bare mound, past her
belly, past those monumental breasts now hanging pink-tipped high
over me, peered up at that implacable, wide-eyed, innocently
surprised expression on the mask on her face.  And I couldn't
breathe!  She twisted her snatch down onto my face almost cruelly,
smearing my jaw and cheeks with my own cum mixed in with hers!  My
nose and mouth buried even deeper into her slit.  I heard a
sucking, sloshing as my head twisted back and forth trying to free
up a way to air, but I couldn't find an opening anywhere!  I was
drowning in cum!  Airless, about to die, asphyxiated in a whore's
cunt!  I looked at her masked face helplessly!

For a moment she lurched onto my jaw and my nose was uncovered, and
I sniffed in quickly, as deeply as I could, filling my lungs before
she slid back and buried my nose again between the lips of her
slit.  That one gasp didn't last long!  My eyes turned pleading! 
Hers looked down on me unperturbed!  "Oh dear!" her mouth still
seemed to say.  I suddenly realized that she wanted to kill me!  To
choke me to death!

Then she leaned way forward toward the head of the bed, up where my
arms were tied, and that lifted her buttocks a little and freed my
jaw.  I could gape my jaw open!  I opened wide and gasped air,
sucked it deep into my lungs!  Then she rocked back and clamped
down again and tensed her belly, and my open mouth filled suddenly
with hot, bitter, salty, slick gloop from inside her.  What was it? 
What  else could it be?  Our mingled cum now squeezed out of her
deep cunt into my gaping, gasping mouth.  Then she rocked forward
again against my nose, which sank even deeper between her fleshy
labia, clamped closed.  My mouth was free again, but to breathe in
through it I had to swallow those phlegmy excretions!  I did just
that with all my heart, and managed to gasp air once more before
she sat back again, and again I felt her muscles tighten as she
squeezed more of my sperm and her own fluids out of herself and
into my mouth!  Then again she rocked forward again!  I swallowed
again, then gasped air again!  It was as if she were spoon-feeding
me!  I realized that while I was gasping and swallowing, tonguing
and gasping, my nose was pleasuring her clit, rubbing it gently
through the slick lubrication.  Her breathing grew short, and her
rocking grew faster, until she began to make those same "Ahhhh!"
cries to the ceiling all over again, over and over!  Her pussy
spasmed, more glops of sticky cum squeezed out of her, and more,
and I swallowed them all!  And as she permitted me, sucked in air.

Then she leaned back once more, at her ease now, and wriggled. 
Again she buried my nose against her clit.  But this time it was as
if establishing who was helpless and who was in sole charge of my
life.  I looked up at her silently, my eyes pleading for mercy! 
Her wide blue mask eyes with those pursed "Oh" lips stared back
down.  She said nothing.  I whimpered in my throat with the last of
my spent air, my lungs now empty, exhausted, and I closed my eyes,
prepared to die for my sin, suffocated to death inside a strange
woman's cunt.

"You bastard!" she suddenly said.

No doubting it.  She was insane.  This was my last moment on earth.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?," she said in a hiss.  "Do
you?"  And suddenly she lifted up her whole body and sat her bare
bottom down heavily on my chest.  My face was free!  Despite her
thumping weight on my ribs I was able to suck in sweet air, and I
gasped and gasped, my chest rising and falling even under the
weight of her buttocks, until I could again speak.

"Who?" I said.  "What?"  

A terrible premonition now began to grow below my fright, something
deeper and more ominous than my recent certainty that I was about
to die tied to this bed, my body eventually tossed by the
whorehouse caretakers into some dumpster, there to be squeezed and
compressed and buried with cast-off garbage peelings and used
cardboard cartons.  "What?"  

That hiss was familiar!  It was an anger I knew.  But now not just
angry, but a choking paroxysm. livid fury!  Who?  Not my secretary,
she was never angry, though often stressed out and exasperated. 
Never angry at me, anyhow.  Who?

"They didn't tell you, did they?  Your friends.  Your so-called
friends!

I was still terrified.  "Tell me what?" I gasped.

"You went ahead and did it anyhow, didn't you?  With a total
stranger as far as you were concerned!  How could you!  How could
you!!"  A pause.  Then with a cold contempt yet heated fury, "How
often?  How often before this!?"

Baffling!  What did this woman want?  I started to babble excuses
at random!  "My friends brought me here," I said. "I didn't want to
come here!"

"But when you were tied up here you were all set, weren't you!  You
were more than willing!  You wanted to fuck me, didn't you?"  Then
in a calmer, clear voice, "You begged to fuck me, didn't you?  You
gave me your cock in exchange for me to let you fuck me!"

That last sounded horribly familiar when finally spoken in that
clear tone of voice.  Horribly!  I was stunned.  It was my wife's
voice!

"My God!  Becky!  Becky!  Oh, God, Becky!  What are you doing
here?"

end 1/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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