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Message-ID: <34988asstr$1012356603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Margery Pinchwife <mpinchwife@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Candyman(MMF,wife,voy,mast)
Date: Tue, 29 Jan 2002 21:10:03 -0500
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Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "candyman.txt" begin>

The Candyman 
                     by Ovid 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/margery/www/
  
               "A thousand modes of Love are there" 
                   Ovid, "Art of Love," III, 787, 88 
          ---------------------------------------------
This is a story about sexual excitation.  It is for adults.  It
contains sexually explicit material.  If you are not
chronologically, emotionally, and intellectually mature, do not
read this story.

If stories explicitly depicting sex acts offend you or do not
interest you, to do not read this story.

However, it must be noted that this story does NOT contain any
violence, sadism, brutality, masochism, necrophilia, pedophilia
(children or teens), bestiality, gender transformations (literal
or figurative), incest, urolagnia, coprophilia, non-consensual
sex, or risley acts.  If a story without these activities offends
you or does not interest you, do not read this story.

What follows is a fantasy.  It takes place in a world where there
are no sexually transmitted diseases, and where the stranger who
comes to your door is not after your life or even your VCR.  
          -------------------------------------------

           My wife and I had been happily married for a number of
years.  Our sex  life, while good, was not as spectacular as it
once had been.  After two people have  fucked each other over a
thousand times, they know each other's likes and dislikes,  their
moves, their reactions.  There's a tendency to get into a rut, to
do things in the  same way time after time.  They no longer
experiment.  The ADVENTURE of sex  is gone. 

           It was with this in mind, that I decided to surprise
my wife.  I have the kind  of job where nobody worries about the
hours, only that the job gets done and done  well, so I'm free to
come and go pretty much as I wish.  One Thursday around mid 
morning, I left the office and drove home, carefully parking on
the next block so  my wife wouldn't see my car.  I cut through
our back yard and quietly snuck into  our house the back way.  I
was reasonably confident that at that hour my wife  would be in
the kitchen.  To be sure, I waited until I heard her rattle some
dishes,  and then I tip-toed up to the bedroom and into one of
the closets.  I left the closet  door slightly opened so I could
still hear and see.  My idea was to wait until she  came into the
bedroom, as I knew she would sooner or later, if only to go to
the  bathroom, and to surprise her when she did.  I hoped that
the element of surprise  would provide something new and exciting
to our screwing.  Little did I know. 

           About ten minutes later, someone rang the doorbell. 
My wife answered.  I  could hear most of the conversation from my
hideaway.  It was, evidently, a  salesman who introduced himself
as the Candyman, "I'm trying to introduce my  line of hand dipped
chocolates into the neighborhood.  I'd like to you try this one 
and, if you like it, I'd like to try to sell you our introductory
sample package." 

           Both my wife and I love chocolates, so I wasn't
surprised that she was  willing to taste the one he offered. 
"Mmmm, that IS good," she said.  "Tell me  about your sample
package." 

           "I'm offering this small sample at only one dollar for
two reasons.  First, I'd  like you and your family to taste my
chocolates.  Once you do, I've no doubt that  you'll want to buy
more.  And second, I'd like to come back next week and  interview
you as part of a survey about the different kinds of chocolates
you'll find  in the sample."  There was a pause while my wife got
the money and paid him.  Then she closed the door and, from the
sound of it, went back into the kitchen. 

           What then followed was a period of quiet, no clatter
of pots and pans, no  walking around, no closets opening and
shutting, not even the rattling of the  newspaper.  After about
fifteen minutes, I heard her leave the kitchen and start  toward
the bedroom in a slow, hesitant kind of step.  I slid toward the
back of the  closet so she wouldn't see me and prepared to give
her my surprise. 

           It was I that received the surprise.  As she came into
the room she looked  flushed.  She had slipped her left hand into
her half-unbuttoned shirt, and was  rubbing her breast, while
with her right hand she was pressing against her crotch.  She
stopped in front of the mirror and stood there, rubbing her
breast and crotch  for a minute or two, and then finished
unbuttoning her shirt, which she dropped to  the floor.  Her bra
soon followed and she stood in front of the mirror rubbing her 
index finger along and around the engorged nipple of her right
tit.  She pulled on  the nipple, then pressed it to the side and
then inward, hard against her tit, all the  while rotating her
pelvis and pressing on her crotch with her other hand.  I stood 
frozen in the closet, watching this display, which I had never
seen before, and  which I certainly hadn't expected. 

           Next she unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans, and
slipped her right hand  inside her panties.  She stood there,
still fingering her nipple and, evidently, now  fingering her
cunt.  Then she removed her hand from her panties, and I could
see  her finger glistening with cunt juice.  She stepped out of
her shoes and quickly  removed her jeans and panties.  Her hand
went back to her cunt.  Her index finger  rubbed around her clit
and then dove into her cunt and then back again to the clit.  I 
watched her repeat this process about a dozen times and then she
turned and  headed straight for the closet I was in. 

           At this point, I had no idea what to do.  I
automatically shrank to the back  of the closet, concealing
myself as best I could behind the clothes that were  hanging
there.  She openned the closet door and, luckily without a glance
in my  direction, reached up on the shelf for the dildo I had
bought her a number of years  ago, half as a joke.  I hadn't
realized that she ever used it in my absence.  She then  went to
the bed, fortunately leaving the door opened a crack.  Lying on
the bed on  her back with her knees raised and spread, she
returned to massaging her nipple  with her left hand.  With her
right hand, she rubbed the tip of the dildo around her  now
swollen and oozing labia and back and forth across her clit. 

           Her breathing was becoming audibly heavy as she slowly
began inserting  the dildo into her cunt.  It slid right in.  The
dildo was not particularly large (I  wanted one similar to my
prick, which is a little below average in size), but her  ready
cunt looked as if it could have swallowed a much larger one.  In
the closet, I  felt my prick pressing to get out of my pants and
had to struggle to control the  sound of my own rapid breathing
and the beating of my heart. 

           It then happened very quickly.  The dildo went in and
out barely a few  times when her body became racked with the
spasms of her orgasm.  This in turn  inspired her to drive the
dildo more rapidly in and out of her now sopping cunt.  As  her
groans and grunts reached a peak, I felt spasms run up my prick. 
Without  touching myself, I had come in my pants. 

           My wife lay there breathing slowly.  The dildo slid
out of her cunt.  I  quietly took several deep breaths.  I tried
to pull the cloth of my pants away from  my prick so that there
wouldn't be a cum spot showing. 

           We remained that way for five or ten minutes.  Then my
wife got up to go  to the bathroom.  I took advantage of the
opportunity, quickly left my hideout, and  quietly slipped
downstairs and out the back door.  I made my way through the back 
yard to my car, checked my pants for any tell-tale spots, and
headed back to the  office. 

           The next couple of times we fucked were enhanced, for
me, by the image,  now burned into my brain, of my wife cumming
in wild abandon while  masturbating with the dildo.  In
anticipation of finding myself in the closet for  another show, I
took the precaution of moving the dildo to a drawer, and made
sure  my wife knew where it was.  After using it during one of
our bouts that week, I  told her the closet was too inconvenient
a place when I wanted to excite her with it. 

           In the meantime, we both tasted the various chocolates
in the sample and  found them excellent.  We discussed our
preferences and I encouraged her to buy a  larger box when the
Candyman came back. 

           The following Thursday, I decided to sneak home again. 
I had no reason to  believe there was any connection between the
Candyman and my wife's show, but  they were linked in my mind. 
Again, I entered the closet undetected and waited.  This time, I
had brought some tissues with me so I wouldn't mess up my pants
if  there were a repeat performance. 

           Again, the Candyman rang the bell.  "How did you like
the chocolates?" he  asked.  After my wife enthused, he
continued, "I'd like to ask you a few questions."  He then
proceeded to ask her whether we liked the samples, which we liked
best,  did we have any suggestions, and the like.  The only
slightly unusual question was,  "Did you notice any difference
between the free chocolate you tried last week and  those in the
box?"  When my wife said she really couldn't remember, he offered
her  another one, which, he said, was the same as the one she had
tasted last week.  After eating it, she said it seemed to taste
the same as the others.  "No different  aftertaste or
aftereffects?" he asked.  "No, I don't think so." 

           She asked him if we could buy some more chocolates. 
"My husband and I  really like them," she said.  He only had the
small sample boxes with him, so he  sold her another for one
dollar and told her he'd return the following week with  some
larger boxes.  Again, once he left, there was the strange
silence, followed by  my wife's entrance into the bedroom, this
time with all her buttons opened.  She  seemed in a greater rush
this time, rapidly shedding her clothes.  No posing in front  of
the mirror like the previous week.  She lay on the bed and
fiercely rubbed her  clit as if she were angry with it.  Her
other hand squeezed and prodded her tits,  while her fingers kept
up the rapid pressure on her clit, occasionally dipping  between
her red, swollen and glistening labia to bury themselves in her
cunt, and  then returning to work her clit.  Just as rapidly, my
prick swelled to its hardest.  I  slipped some tissues inside my
pants, over the head of my engorged prick.  Then,  watching my
wife working her tits and cunt, I rubbed my prick from outside my 
pants, trying to time my orgasm with hers.  Both of us exploded
in seconds, she  with loud yells, while I struggled to remain
unheard. 

           Again, I retreated when she went to the bathroom. 
Again, the image of her  angrily flailing away at her cut
heightened my excitement whenever we fucked that  week.  Again,
we greedily gobbled up the small sample of chocolates.  And
again, I  found myself hidden in the closet the following week
when the Candyman called. 

           This time, he asked if he could come in and get a
drink of water while he  showed her the different assortments and
asked a few more questions for his  survey.  They chatted a while
as my wife selected the assortment she wanted to  buy, which he
sold at a very reasonable price.  Then he turned to his survey. 
After  a few preliminary questions, he again asked if there was
any difference between the  free taste he had given her and the
ones she had bought, particularly whether there  was any after
effect.  To help her, he gave her another free taste, which she
quickly  gobbled up.  "The reason I ask about this," he then
said, "is that it's a bit of an  experiment.  The free chocolate
contains an extra ingredient that some people think  is an
aphrodisiac.  Since it doesn't seem to affect the taste, I'm
thinking of  marketing it as a 'marriage enhancer,' but, of
course, I need to be assured that it  actually has some effect. 
Since it doesn't seem to have any effect on you, it may all  just
be a silly rumor and maybe I should forget the whole thing." 

           "Well," my wife admitted, "it's not something I
normally talk about, but I  don't want to mislead you and cause
you to lose out on your marketing.  It really  seems to be a
powerful aphrodisiac.  I wasn't sure after the first one,
particularly  since the chocolates you sold us didn't have a
similar effect, but after the second  one, I was pretty sure. 
Already, I'm beginning to feel the effects of the one I just 
ate." 

           "What are those effects?" 

           "A tingling that runs through my body, particularly
the tips of my nipples  and my clitoris," she replied with, for
her, an unusual candor and openness.  "I  have an overpowering
urge to rub those spots." 

           "Give me a moment to record this in my survey.  Don't
worry, there's no  identification with any names," he said. 
"There," he continued, "I've got it.  Now,  what do you do?  Do
you masturbate after I've left?" 

           I couldn't hear any response, but my wife must have
nodded because he  continued.  "Good, that's the effect I want. 
Why don't you now to try it with your  husband?  These two have
the aphrodisiac.  You can tell by the small gold spots on  the
wrappers.  When the time is appropriate, offer him one and eat
one yourself.  Don't tell him about the aphrodisiac effect.  I'll
come by next week to ask you how  it went.  Now I better leave so
you can relieve your urges." 

           She wasted no time.  No sooner had the front door
closed than she was up  in the bedroom ripping off her clothes. 
This time she showed renewed interest in  the mirror.  She moved
a chair in front of it, grabbed the dildo out of the drawer,  and
sat in the chair with her legs spread, pressing her feet against
the wall on either  side of the mirror.  After playing with her
tits, she began pressing the dildo against  her cunt.  From my
hiding place, I could see her cunt in the mirror as the dildo 
began to slide into it.  In and out she drove it, while she
rubbed her tits or her clit  with her other hand.  She'd push the
dildo almost completely in, and then slowly  pull it out, it's
surface glistening with the juices that ran so freely from her
cunt.  Slowly the pace picked up and she began to mutter words,
quietly at first, then  louder and louder.  "Yes, ram it in, yes,
yes, more, faster!" 

           Under the cover of her noises, I unzipped my pants,
and freed my rigid  cock.  Grasping it loosely, I began sliding
my fist up and down its length, keeping  the tissue ready in the
other hand.  As her pace and cries increased, I pumped  harder
and harder.  Then she let out a cry I thought could be heard a
block away as  spasm after spasm racked her body.  It was all I
could do to get the tissue to catch  the gobs of cum that spurted
out of my prick.  Surely, I hadn't been this excited  while
jerking off in a long time. 

           I escaped in the usual way, wondering how the
chocolates would work on  the two of us, and eagerly looking
forward to it. 

           Saturday, I was sitting in the living room reading
when my wife asked me if  I wanted a chocolate, and offered me
one.  As I unwrapped it, I noticed the gold  spot on the wrapper. 
"This is it," I thought and looked up to see her smiling as she 
bit into her chocolate.  I pretended to go back to my reading,
but it only took a few  minutes before the aphrodisiac kicked in. 
We reached for each other and began  tearing our clothes off.  In
a moment we were naked with my wife sitting on the  couch and me
on the floor with my head buried in her cunt.  I licked her clit,
then  dug my tongue into her oozing cunt, then back to her clit,
then around the labia,  into her cunt again, and around it in a
wide circle, even going as far as her ass hole,  a place from
which she normally kept me away.  At the same time, she grabbed
my  hair and pulled my head forward as if she were trying to
stuff it up her cunt.  With  her legs over my shoulders, she
pressed my back with her heels, so that between  her pulling my
head and her heels pressing on my back she established the rhythm 
of my sucking to suit her urges.  Then, not wanting to cum too
soon, she pulled  away and dove for my cock.  I was as hard and
big as I've ever been, but one  advantage of a smallish prick is
that she had no trouble swallowing it up to my  balls.  Her head
bobbed up and down and she wrapped one hand around my balls  and
pulled on them in the same rhythm.  When I couldn't stand it
anymore without  cumming, I pulled her off. 

           Together, we both realized that we were plainly
visible through the front  window from the street.  Any of our
neighbors passing by would have had front  row seats at our "live
show."  We rushed to our bedroom and started again.  I sat on 
the edge of a chair and began sucking her nipples, which were now
almost as rigid  as my prick.  She moved forward, straddling my
legs, and slowly began to lower  herself to my prick.  She
reached down and fitted the tip of my prick between her  labia
and then continued her slow downward motion until my prick was
completely  engulfed in her cunt.  Then, supporting herself with
her arms on my shoulders, she  began a lap dance that nearly
drove me wild.  Still sucking on her nipple, I reached  around
and began massaging her ass.  She reached down, took one of my
hands,  and began suckling my middle finger.  She positively
slobbered over it, leaving it  quite soaking, before she returned
it to her ass. 

           As my fingers ran up and down her crack, she leaned
forward and softly  whispered in my ear, "Stick your finger up my
ass."   This was something she had  never wanted me to do in the
past, so I thought I had misunderstood her.  "What?" I  grunted,
squeezing her ass cheeks, with the tips of my fingers still in
her crack.  "STICK YOUR GODDAMN FINGER UP MY FUCKING ASS!" she
shouted, as  she continued to rock back and forth on my prick.  I
didn't need a second invitation,  I slid my soaked finger into
her tight little hole and rotated around the orifice.  "FURTHER,"
she yelled,  "AS FAR AS YOU CAN REACH."  I slid my finger up  to
the third knuckle and with the tip, through the thin membrane
separating them, I  could feel my cock going in and out.  I took
my other hand off her ass and slid it  between us to massage her
clit as her motions got wilder and wilder.  "I'M  COMING, YOU
FUCKER," she screamed, "RAM IT IN!"  I let go of her nipple, 
lest I bite it off, and with a cry of my I, released a stream of
cum  that was lost in  the juices of her cunt.  We both continued
screaming as I pumped load after load  up her hole.  I could soon
feel our mingled juices dripping down my leg as, her  eyes closed
and her face distorted, she continued to cum for what seemed like 
hours.  Finally, we both collapsed, sliding off the chair onto
the floor. 

           True to his word, the Candyman returned the next
Thursday.  My wife let  him in while she bought more chocolates
and he continued asking her questions for  his survey.  He wanted
to know how the aphrodisiac in the gold-dotted chocolates  had
worked on the two of us.  "Wonderfully," my wife responded.  He
wanted  details.  Did I respond rapidly?  Did it get us out of
any routine we might have  fallen into?  Did we do things we
normally didn't do?  In different places than we  normally did? 
Did it add to our marriage?"  To all of these questions, my wife 
responded with emphatic yesses.  Would she like one now?  Again,
an emphatic  yes, followed by her usual "Mmmm" as she chewed it. 
Did she enjoy masturbating  under the influence of his wonderful
chocolate?  "Oh, yes," she responded, and  from my hiding place
in the bedroom closet I could feel the smile that must have 
covered her face. 

           "Would you let me stay and watch you?" he asked.  That
was a sudden  change of pace.  My wife said nothing for a moment,
then "No, I couldn't do that."  "Please," he said, "I get
terribly excited watching women masturbate.  I'll just stand 
there.  I won't come near you or say anything.  At the end, I'll
quietly let myself out  without a word.  Please.  As long as
you'll let me, I'll keep you and your husband  supplied with the
gold-dotted chocolates.  Please."  I could imagine what was 
going through my wife's head.  She was afraid.  It wasn't right
to masturbate in  front of a stranger.  But, at the same time,
the idea was exciting.  She had been  discussing these things
with him and he had been very objective and well-behaved.  And
finally, the idea of having a supply of those aphrodisiacal
chocolates for the  two of us must have brought back memories of
last Saturday.  On top of all that,  the chocolate she had just
eaten must have been working its magic, urging her to  stop this
discussion and get on to more sensual business.  "Well," she
finally  replied, "alright, if you promise to just stand by the
bedroom door and not come  any closer."  "Gladly," he responded,
and a short time later they both appeared in  my view. 

           This was the first time I had seen the Candyman.  He
was a nice looking,  clean-cut man, maybe five or ten years
younger than me.  He was slightly taller but  rather thinner than
me, with dark straight hair, a largish nose, and long fingers. 
He  stopped by the door and stood there while my wife continued
into the room.  She  turned her back to him and, hesitantly at
first, began to rub her breasts.  Slowly, she  unbuttoned her
blouse while she continued her gentle massage.  But then the 
aphrodisiac must have won out over any shyness.  She turned
toward him and in a  more exaggerated fashion continued rubbing
her tits while she took off her blouse.  After a few moments of
this, she stopped, dropped her hands, and said in a  exasperated
fashion, "Look, I can't do this if you're just going to stand
there silently  like a statue.  If I'm going to put on a
burlesque show for you, you've got to react.  I  want to hear
your approval, your encouragement.  'Take it off,' 'let's see
some tit,'  anything, even just 'yes, yes, yes,' so I feel like
I'm exciting you rather than the  subject of a scientific
experiment."  Then she turned her back and stood there, 
breathing deeply, as if the effort to come out and ask him to
show some excitement  had drained her. 

           Her outburst caught the Candyman off guard for a
moment, but, taking a  breath himself, he began to utter, "Yes,
yes, yes," at first barely mumbling, but then  louder and clearer
and more enthusiastically.  "Take off that bra, I want to see
your  tits."  This was all my wife needed.  My heart began to
thump as, from my hiding  place in the closet, I saw her take off
her bra and turn around, revealing her naked  tits to another
man.  My wife's tits are neither too big nor too small.  Enough
to fit  comfortably into my hand, they fill my hand but aren't so
large that they sag.  Her  nipples stood out as she cupped her
tits, as if she was offering them to the  Candyman.  Then, with
the index finger of each hand, she began toying with her 
nipples.  Up, down, around, and into her breasts she pushed each
hard, red nipple.  They seemed to get darker and the skin of her
aureoles got that shriveled look it  gets when she's excited. 
"Oh, that's good, that's nice, those tits are everything I've 
imagined them to be," he seemed to chant in time with her
motions. 

           She reached down to her jeans, unbuttoned and unzipped
them, while the  Candyman responded "Yes, get rid of those jeans,
show me what you've got."  She  stepped out of her jeans and
began rubbing the palm of her hand over her panty-  clad pussy. 
I freed my engorged prick from my pants and grasped if firmly
while I  watched my wife, wearing nothing but transparent
panties, massage her cunt and  tits in front of this man.  She
turned her back to him, bent over, and slid her panties  down,
giving him a clear view of her ass.  "Oh, yes," he chanted, "show
me that  ass, show me that gorgeous, soft, white, lovely ass!" 
She slid the panties down and  stepped out of them.  "Spread your
legs, I want to see your cunt," he cried.  She did  as he said,
bending over and supporting herself with her hand on the edge of
the  bed, her tits hanging down, she spread her legs wide.  Her
other hand snaked  between her legs and her index finger caressed
her cunt in full view of the  Candyman. 

           "Oh, god, what a pussy!  Open it up, spread the lips,
slide your finger in!"  he continued, as if he were directing a
film.  She did as directed, rubbing her finger  in and out of her
cunt, with the juices running down her hand and her thighs.  She 
wiggled her ass and pummeled her clit and drove her finger in and
out of her wide  opened cunt, while he cried "Oh, oh, fuck that
pussy, stick it in, I'm going to come  in my pants, oh!"  This
cry seemed to resonate with both my wife and me, for we  both
began cumming in response to it.  I rammed my fist up and down
the length of  my spurting cock, while my wife seemed to grab her
cunt as she shuddered and  spasmed.  She released a loud groan
that filled the room as she came.  She  collapsed on the bed, and
I could hear all three of us panting. 

           Finally, the Candyman spoke up.  "Thank you.  That was
one of the most  wonderful sights I've ever seen.  I'll leave
some gold-dotted chocolates on the  kitchen table as I go.  Next
week when I come, why don't you leave off the  underwear and wear
something a little sexier, maybe a tight tee shirt?"  And he
left. 

           Thus began a new routine.  Every Thursday, I would
sneak back into the  house.  This was now easier because my wife
took a shower every Thursday  morning in anticipation of the
Candyman, so I could slip in without worrying too  much about
every little sound I made while she was in the shower.  From my 
vantage point in the closet I would watch my wife putting on the
most obscene  show for another man.  Though he always kept his
distance, standing fully clothed  in the bedroom doorway, the
Candyman would urge her on, giving her suggestions  for positions
and moves, suggestions that she always acted on.  At his
direction,  she wore a different sexy outfit each week.  She
would answer the door for him  with her tits clearly visible
through a sheer blouse, or in a suit jacket under which it  was
clear she wore no blouse, or under a skin-tight tee-shirt mini
dress that barely  covered her ass.  She would pose in whatever
positions appealed to him, rub  whatever part of her body he
suggested, stick her finger in her mouth, her cunt, or  her ass
if he asked.  And always she drove herself to a frenzied orgasm. 
All this  time, I would be standing in the closet, my prick in my
hand, my heart thumping so  loudly I couldn't understand why they
didn't hear it, and cumming, sometimes  several times during the
same performance. 

           Between Thursdays, my wife and I fucked like mad.  She
would offer me a  chocolate and we'd go wild.  Fucking in the
kitchen, on the stairs, in the hallway,  any place at all.  She'd
blow me as I left for work, I'd blow her when I got home.  I'd
fuck her between the tits, up the ass, under the armpit.  I'd
fuck her with my  prick, with the dildo, with a cucumber.  This
was the most frenzied sex we'd had  since we were kids, only now
it was far more imaginative. 

           Then, one Thursday, as my wife was lying on the bed
with her legs spread  and two fingers in her cunt, the Candyman
said "I'm going to take off my clothes so  you can see me
masturbate."  As my wife watched, still slowly running her
fingers  in and around her cunt, he stepped out of his clothes
revealing his erect prick.  It  was the biggest prick I had ever
seen, almost twice the size of mine, long and fat,  with huge,
pendulous balls suspended below it.  Only his extremely long
fingers  allowed him to get his fist around that cock.  I was
stunned, and so was my wife.  She stopped massaging her pussy to
stare as he slowly began to run his fist up and  down that
monster prick.  Then, as he picked up his rhythm, she resumed
rubbing  her clit, faster and faster, in time with his stroking. 
I couldn't believe that I was  standing in my closet, pumping up
and down on my prick, while my wife and  another man were each
stroking away less than ten feet from me.  My wife's finger  were
whipping up a froth in her cunt while she stared wide-eyed at the
Candyman  pumping on his huge cock.  My own cock felt inadequate
in my fist, even though it  was spurting like mad.  The Candyman
came next, pumping out huge loads from  his giant tool, which he
managed to catch in his handkerchief.  Tremors ran with  my
wife's body.  With a massive shudder and a cry, she came.  By the
doorway, the  Candyman continued to milk cum from his prick
while, on the bed, my wife  continued her panting and shuddering
as orgasm followed orgasm.  In the closet, I  clutched my cock as
I came again, spasm after spasm running the length of my  prick -
a length that had always seemed sufficient but that now seemed so
small  when compared with the magnificence of the Candyman's
cock. 

           Then, with a "Thank you, that was magnificent," the
Candyman was gone.  My wife seemed in shock, lying on the bed.  I
began to wonder how long I'd have  to wait in the closet.  But,
eventually she made her way to the bathroom and I  escaped. 

           The next evening, seemingly out of the clear blue sky,
my wife said, "I want  to watch you jerk off."  I looked at her,
somewhat taken aback.  "Come on," she  said, "Now.  Take off your
clothes and get to it."  We went to the bedroom and she  sat on
the chair.  "OK, get started."  I asked her to take off her
clothes, too, but she  refused.  She then sat there watching as I
stripped and began fisting my cock.  What was she thinking?  Was
she comparing me to the Candyman, comparing my  cock to his
king-sized version, comparing technique.  Her expression gave no
hint.  But the recollection of her lying there naked pumping her
cunt while another man  with a huge prick jerked off was all I
needed to rapidly bring myself off.  When I  finished, she
cleaned off my prick with her tongue, kissed it, and said "Thank
you."  That was all. 

           The next several weeks repeated the pattern with the
Candyman.  I would  sneak in while my wife showered.  She would
dress in some obscenely suggestive  outfit and let the Candyman
in.  He would give her a chocolate, leave some for us  later, and
the two of them would come to the bedroom and put on a strip show
for  each other.  Then, with him serving as the director, they
would each masturbate in  ways calculated to visually stimulate
each other while they manually stimulated  themselves.  All the
time, I remained concealed in the closet, excited out of my 
mind, and pumping away on my own, second best, cock. 

           Then one week, as he was leaving, the Candyman said,
"Next week will by  my last visit.  I'm moving to Minnesota."  My
wife pulled herself up from the bed,  where she had collapsed
after cumming, and stared at him.  "I've grown so used to  these
visits.  What will I do?  What will I do for chocolates?  What
will my  husband and I do for the aphrodisiac?"  "As to the
aphrodisiac, there hasn't been  any for months.  Once you were
convinced of its power, I began lowering the  concentration until
I removed it completely.  The aphrodisiac has been your mind, 
the strongest one there is."  My wife's mouth dropped open (as
mine must have  done in the closet).  "Good chocolates you can
get anywhere," the Candyman  continued, "and I rather think you
won't have too much trouble finding another  participant for
these sessions, if you really want one.  In any event, I have to
move.  Let's make's next week's session a memorable one."  And he
left. 

           During the week, my wife and I discovered that knowing
the gold-dotted  chocolates had no aphrodisiac didn't make any
difference.  Of course, I wasn't  supposed to know anything about
it in the first place, but we had gotten so excited  about our
sex games that I certainly didn't need any aphrodisiac, and my
wife  surely behaved as if she didn't either.  However, between
bouts, she seemed to have  a distracted look, as if she was
thinking about something else.  I worried that she  might have
become dependent on the Candyman.  More than anything, I wanted
to  be present at the last session. 

           When Thursday came around, I did my usual sneaking
routine into the  bedroom.  Sure enough, something was different. 
My wife had set up our  camcorder on a tripod, right next to my
closet.  She intended to videotape the last  session and had
chosen almost the same viewpoint as I had from my closet.  I 
ducked into the closet and a few minutes later she came out of
her shower.  She  was dressed in a red dress that hugged her skin
from high on her neck down to her  hips.  Her breasts were
clearly outlined.  A barely visible zipper ran from her neck, 
down the front of her dress, between her breasts, to her crotch. 
 From there the  material of her dress fell to floor, but with
slits that ran up each side to her hips.  It  was clear that, as
was now usual, she wore nothing beneath her dress.  I had never 
seen this incredible dress before. 

           She walked over to the closet looking straight at me,
and for a moment I  thought she had seen me, but she only came
over to check the view through the  camcorder and make sure it
was ok.  She waited in the bedroom until the bell rang,  then
started the camcorder and went to answer the bell.  She let the
Candyman in  and a few minutes later they came in the bedroom. 
The last session was started. 

           The Candyman stared at the camcorder and started to
say something, but  my wife put her finger over his lips.  "I'm
making a videotape of our last session  and I intend to be the
director.  Don't say anything, just do as I ask you to."  He 
nodded in acquiescence.  "Begin by stripping."  The Candyman
removed all his  clothes and stood there naked, his prick hanging
limply between his legs, halfway  down his thigh. 

           My wife had stepped back to achieve the usual distance
between them.  Then she started.  Slowly she brought her hands up
her body, caressing it, until  they reached her tits.  Her hands
outlined her breasts and began rubbing them.  With the tips of
her fingers she rubbed her nipples which stood up and were easily 
seen through her skin-tight dress.  Her body began to rotate
slightly as she shifted  her weight from one leg to the other. 
 From the closet, I could see the Candyman's  prick begin to
stiffen.  Wy wife continued to caress her body, now moving her 
hands down over her belly to her crotch.  She press both hands
into her crotch and  rotated her pelvis around them.  She spread
her legs just enough so the material of  her dress in front of
the side slits fell between them her legs.  Gathering the falling 
material, she held it in front of her crotch and pumped her
pelvis back and forth.  Her bare pussy must have been rubbing up
and down the falling material.  She  looked at the camera and
smiled, then at the Candyman, whose prick now stood out  in front
of him, with a slight downward bend, like a fat fishing rod. 

           My wife moved closer to the Candyman and told him to
unzip her dress.  Tentatively, he reached to her neck and slowly
lowered the zipper to her breasts.  While she fondled her breasts
through her dress, she told him to keep unzipping.  He continued
lowering the zipper until he had reached its end at her crotch. 
Still  holding her breasts, she stepped back and continued the
rhythmic rotation of her  pelvis.  Then she buried her hands
inside the opened zipper at her crotch.  Through  the material, I
could see her fingers working at her pussy, the top of her dark
bush  visible through the opened zipper.  Again she moved closer
to the Candyman, so  that his hard prick almost touched her hands
at her cunt, and told him to pull the  dress off her shoulders. 
With one hand on each shoulder, he lowered the dress,  revealing
her tits with their engorged nipples sticking out and the
puckered areolas  surrounding the nipples.  The dress slipped
down to her waist, supported now by  her hips and the sleeves,
which had slipped to her wrists. 

           She stepped back, pulled her arms out of the sleeves,
and let the dress slip  to the floor.  Now, completely naked, she
smiled at the camera and began caressing  her cunt.  She rubbed
the fingers of both hands around clit, then downward to her 
swollen labia, which she separated to reveal their glistening
inside surfaces.  Spreading her legs further, she slipped her
right index finger up her cunt, while her  left hand rubbed her
clit.  She then lay on her side across the end of the bed.  She 
bent one knee upward so that her legs were open, her now oozing
cunt pointed  straight at the Candyman.  Her fingers churned up a
froth in her cunt and her pelvis  continued its pumping motion. 

           Then she looked again at the camera, turned to the
Candyman, and  beckoned him forward.  He approached her, with his
protruding monster prick just  at the level of her face.  When it
was almost touching her face, she sat up and  placed one hand on
it.  This was the first time I had seen her touch him, and 
butterflies surged in my stomach.  Holding his prick, she looked
first at the camera  and then back to the prick.  Her hand looked
tiny compared to it.  She brought up  the other hand, and with
both hands could barely encircle it.  The prick was as large  as
her forearm.  Forming a circle with the fingers of both hands,
she began to  stroke up and down the Candyman's cock.  Then she
cradled his pendulous balls in  both hands, gently gave them a
squeeze, and returned to stroking his prick.  Back  and forth she
stroked.  I could see the Candyman breathing in rhythm with her 
motions, and I could feel my heart beating to the same rhythm.  I
took my stiff cock  in my hand and stroked it in time with the
beat of my heart.  My wife was giving  another man a hand job
before my eyes, and rather than stopping it, I was  becoming more
and more excited. 

           But it soon became more than a hand job.  Holding his
cock up with her  hands, she began to lick the huge knob at its
end, as if she were licking an ice  cream cone.  Her tongue went
all around the head of his cock, the tip of her tongue  darted
into the pee hole, sucking up his precum, and then it slithered
around the  head again.  She opened her mouth as wide as she
could and tried to get the head of  his cock into it.  Although
she had no difficulty swallowing my prick to its root,  she could
barely get that giant knob into her mouth.  It filled her mouth,
as if she  had attempted to engulf the entire scoop of ice cream
in one bite.  Her mouth  struggled to move around the head, but
she could get no more in.  She freed his  prick from her mouth
and resumed licking it, first down the top side of it, then back 
to the head, then down the underside all the way to his hairy
balls, which she also  licked.  She continued this licking until
his entire cock was glistening with her  saliva, precum
continuing to ooze out of its tip.  She eagerly licked that up. 
And  while my wife was blowing another man, I stood in the closet
stroking my own  prick.  The excitement of seeing her lips and
tongue slobbering over that massive  rod was too much for me. 
Tremors racked my body and I began to spurt cum.  I  could barely
get the tissue up in time as my prick spasmed and shot its load. 

           But it wasn't over yet.  My wife stood up and led the
Candyman to the side  of the bed nearest me, and had him lie
motionless on his back in what was normally  my place on the bed. 
Then she went to the foot of the bed and began to crawl up  his
legs, licking his body as she went.  When her head reached his
balls, she  carefully licked each one, and then continued up,
licking her way up his cock.  She  snaked her way more and more
up him until she completely covered him, his cock  pressed
between their bodies.  Still she continued upward.  She moved up
until her  tits hung over his face.  He greedily sucked on a
nipple as she rocked her cunt from  side to side, rubbing it
across his cock.  Then she slid still further up until his entire 
prick was sticking up between her legs.  She reached down between
them and  nestled the head of his prick between her cunt lips and
began to rotate her hips  about the junction she had just made. 

           In the closet I could feel the pulse in my stomach.  I
had watched my wife  jerk off another man and suck him off.  Was
I going to stand there and watch her  fuck him?  And with a
camcorder recording it all?  Wasn't this too much?  Shouldn't I
rush out and stop it before it went any further?  But the fact of
it is that  I didn't want it to stop.  I wanted it to go on.  I
wanted to see her fucking that  monster prick.  It was the most
exciting thing I had ever seen.  My fist pounded up  and down on
my cock and it was all I could do to restrain myself from calling
out  to her, "Yes, yes, fuck that horse prick!  Hump it!  Fuck!" 

           But such a call would have been unnecessary.  My wife
had wiggled her  cunt down so that the head of the Candyman's
prick was now inside.  Slowly,  giving her cunt time to expand,
she wiggled lower.  First she would push down a  little, then
hump up and down until that part of his cock was thoroughly
covered  with her copious cunt juices.  Then she would push a
little further, capturing more  and more of that giant shaft
inside her cunt.  I could see her labia stretched around  his
cock.  Would he tear her open?  I had to reassure myself that a
cunt could  stretch to pass a baby, surely it could stretch
sufficiently to engulf even as fat a  prick as the one now
testing my wife. 

           Now she had half his cock inside her.  This must be
close to her limit.  My  cock had hit bottom on occasion, so
surely he couldn't go much deeper.  But the  elasticity of the
cunt must be incredible, for she continued to capture more and 
more of it.  Each time after a little more went in, she would
pull up her hips so that  her cunt rode up his rod, freeing all
but the head.  The shine of the juice on his  cock showed how
much of it her cunt had swallowed.  With the Candyman lying 
motionless though all this, she would then slide down and push a
little further,  holding it there so her cunt had time to
accommodate to the deeper push.  Over and  over she repeated this
process until, beyond belief, she had captured the entire giant 
cock, and only his massive balls remained visible. 

           My wife paused a bit, as if to catch her breath now
that she had the whole  cock inside her, and then began to pump. 
She rolled her hips from side to side, she  pumped her ass up and
down, she slid way up on the cock and then down to its  base,
with her hair flying around her head and her tits flopping from
side to side  across his chest.  The Candyman could no longer
stay still.  He began to respond  with thrusts of his own.  Now
withdrawing his cock, now ramming it all the way  in.  They moved
faster and faster.  Their faces distorted with what looked like
pain  but I knew to be pleasure.  The camcorder whirred.  Their
motion got wilder and,  in rhythm with it, I beat my own cock
more and more fiercely. 

           Somehow they managed to turn over.  Now the Candyman
was on top, his  ass in the air pumping up and down as he drove
his big dick in and out of my wife.  Her head whipped from side
to side, tremors ran through her body.  She began to  cry out. 
Then, a shudder went through the Candyman and he began to cum. 
So  filled was her cunt with his cock that the cum soon began
oozing out. Her body  trembled and shuddered, her eyes squeezed
shut, and wave after wave of her  orgasm swept across her.  He
continued pumping load after load from those huge  balls into my
wife, while she continued to grunt and spasm.  I joined in with a
burst  of cum that seemed to come from my toes. 

           Then all was calm.  The Candyman lay on top of my wife
for a few  minutes, then silently rose and dressed.  He walked
back to my wife, kissed each  nipple and her still dripping cunt,
and said, "I will never forget this," and was gone.  My wife lay
there with her legs spread, a huge puddle of cum on the bedspread 
between her legs, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of
her chest.  Finally,  after what seemed forever, she rose, turned
off the camcorder and went to the  bathroom and I was able to
escape, my hand filled with cum-soaked tissues. 

           When I returned from work that night, there was no
sign of the activity.  The camcorder was back in its usual place,
there was a clean spread on the bed, and  the red dress was
nowhere in sight.  After dinner, my wife offered me a chocolate 
and (as I pretended not to know) told me that we wouldn't be
getting any more, that  the Candyman was gone.  "I'll miss his
candy," I said.

          "Will you miss watching?" she replied.  Her question
stunned me.  I stared  into her unblinking eyes, caught my
breath, and finally responded, "How long have  you known?" 

           "Almost since the beginning," she smiled. "I kept
noticing that the closet  was opened, but didn't make anything of
it until I saw you running across the back  yard.  Then I put two
and two together.  I was angry at first, but then I realized that 
it excited me, knowing you were watching, especially since you
didn't know that I  was aware of you.  Every now and then I
caught a glimpse of you when the light  just caught your face or
your hand.  Once, I even saw your prick for a second.  Later,
when the Candyman joined me, I knew you were there.  I would look
over  there once in a while, but I didn't want you to know I was
looking for you.  That's  why I put the camcorder next to the
closet, so I could look for you without you  knowing, and so,
later, I could see everything the way you saw it.  All the time,
I  had this image of you in the closet, watching me and jerking
off.  Whatever I was  doing, that image excited me to a higher
level. 

           "Why did you want me to jerk of in front of you?" I
asked. 

           "I wanted your image in my mind, whenever I thought of
you in the closet.  As long as I had never seen a man jerk off, I
could imagine you in any way I  wanted.  But after seeing the
Candyman stroking his huge cock, his image began to  intrude.  I
needed to see you doing it so that your image would displace his
in my  mind." 

           "And did it?" I asked skeptically? 

           "Oh, yes," she responded, smiling.  "His prick is
bigger, but your prick is the one I love." 

                          THE END 
          ----------------------------------------
Comments to mpinchwife@yahoo.com will be appreciated.
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