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Message-ID: <41006asstr$1045869003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Taken in Adultery by Vickie Tern 1/9 TG femdom
Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2003 18:10:03 -0500
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

This is a grown-up tale for grown-ups.  Those who shouldn't read it
shouldn't read it!




                      A Man Taken in Adultery
                           by Vickie Tern

                                 i.

I'm still happily married, I love my wife, and she loves me, and
though things now aren't at all the way they were, one thing is.
We're still of one mind about nearly everything.  Even more than
before, if that's possible.  We're still in tune.  Whatever she
says, it almost always turns out I was thinking practically the
same thing!  It's remarkable, really!

She sensed that about us from the moment she first saw me.  She
says I'm everything she'd hoped to find in a husband -- gentle,
supportive, venturesome, inclined to agree with her about most
things and always reasonable, dedicated to her work as well as
my own, a partner in a blissfully happy life.  That I'm also cute
looking was a bonus, she says.  She loves it, it keeps me kissable.
But it was never really essential, she says.  

She tells me these things now and then when I'm feeling a little
down, unsure about how everything worked out.  Bad day at the
office, a boss who doesn't seem to appreciate my efforts, a client
I couldn't satisfy, that kind of thing.  That's when she reminds me
how we met and agreed to get married, how romantic it was.  And then
she comes over and sits in my lap and kisses me ever so softly, and
reminds me how we decided to change the way we live for the better.
As we have.  And my heart bursts with joy.  I do so love her!

We met at a crowded office party, how long ago, seven years now? 
I'd arrived late and was just standing in the doorway, still in my
coat, absolutely  astonished!  Because there across the room was
the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen before, absolutely
self-confident and at her ease, standing near the punch bowl with
one hand on her hip, chatting with someone.  Her hair floated as
she shook her head to disagree, and then bobbed as she nodded to
emphasize something.  I was entranced.  She was perfect! 

Now, gorgeous doesn't usually impress me.  I've known lots of
gorgeous women.  I've always been lean and good-looking, with a
perky face and a button nose -- "cute" is the word they all use,
sometimes even "adorable."  That attracts gorgeous women, I don't
know why.  In high school, girls who felt threatened by 
hulking athletes always felt comfortable with me.  It was as if
I were one of them but my masculinity an additional advantage, a
chance for them to exercise their femininity.  In college too
-- a girl I went with for a while called me "dollface" so often
I got used to it.  I've had no problem with girls.

But there was this other thing about this one.  Even as I looked 
at her as she stood there talking to some other guy she seemed 
to be flowing toward me!  And she felt it too.  She stopped talking 
and turned her head and looked directly at me and then just stared.
Our eyes met, and there was nothing else to say.  A perfect meeting
of minds, in fact more like a blending of minds.  She nodded to the
person she was with and then threaded her way through the crowd,
and arrived, and stood right in front of me, and asked me my name.
I remembered it and told her. "Bob,"  I said.  

"Bob," she said.  "I have this strange feeling that we're going to
see a lot of each other.  And get engaged and get married and live
our whole lives together.  And that you aren't at all surprised 
to hear me say this because you have that same feeling too.  Don't
you?"  

It was so flaky, but she was absolutely right!  I did!  I nodded,
my eyes never leaving hers.  "Yes," I said, already making a 
lifetime commitment. "I do." 

"I'll get my coat," she said.  "Oh, my name's Carrie."  

Enough said.  We went straight to her place and straight to bed. 
And that was incredible too.  I knew what she wanted, and she knew
what I wanted.  We danced to each other's music, and gradually
became one person, our arms and legs clasping and grasping and
stroking and touching, our bodies wrapped around and sinking
into each other, our mouths everywhere on each other.  My heart
rose up and entered into her, and we became one flesh.  Even
before we became husband and wife, and that followed soon after
just as she'd predicted.   

We're still that way.  People ask how come, how is it we're the
most affectionate couple they know?  I always give different
answers but they come to the same thing -- we care for each other,
we feel with each other, we sense each others' needs.  We're happy
to meet each other's needs, or to see that they're met.  When
people are as close as we are, questions aren't necessary.  We
know.

After a few years we did find that we were too close, that we
weren't bringing new things to each other.  We both worked for the
same company, on the same schedules in the same places.  We'd see
the same people at work all day and then we'd see them socially
on weekends.  One day Carrie suggested it had gotten a little
claustrophobic, and I had to agree.  So we began to give each
other a little space, so we'd neither of us feel boxed in.  Not
separate vacations, nothing as radical as that, just each of us
free to do whatever whenever the mood struck, without any
explanations.  We'd mention when we'd be back so the other wouldn't
worry, of course, and then we'd take off.  Me usually to a
sports bar to watch whatever game was in season, or maybe pick
up a buddy and head out and go see a thriller movie I knew she'd
hate.  Carrie to a friend's house to gossip, or to a museum or a
shopping mall, or to see a chick flick.  We mostly had different
friends.  Eventually I quit my job with Carrie's firm and became
a consultant, and developed my own client list, which kept growing.
And just about then Carrie's career also took off.  More and more
promotions, with responsibilities to match.

Now we found we were at the other extreme.  Carrie got to the
office earlier and earlier and stayed later and later while I was
home working on more and more projects.  Or one or the other of
us were attending meetings or consulting out of town, often for a
few days at a time.  Even at night we were apart more often than we
were together.  We couldn't do couples things with other couples
any more, dinners or concerts or shows, we couldn't develop the 
kinds of lively sociability other young marrieds people enjoy.  We
were too busy, working too hard, too hard to schedule, too 
unpredictable.  Then when we did get together, usually we didn't 
want to share our available time with anyone else, we just wanted
to be with each other and tell each other everything we'd been
doing and make up for lost time.  Because we were more in love
than ever.  We still are.  And we still do.

When our incomes first went into steep curves we bought into a
suburban tracts on a curved street that ends in a circle and then
heads back down, each house buried in its own acre of wooded land.
We're one of the two houses at the very end, where the street
circles round and returns.  We see only cars headed toward one of
us, so we're fairly isolated.  We're sociable enough when we happen
to run into one of our neighbors further down the street, and
they're sociable too.  But the street isn't really a neighborhood. 
Everyone protects his own privacy and respects everyone else's.  I
guess that's why we all bought there to begin with.  

That's how it happened that we didn't even know the family in
the house next to ours on the circle had sold out to a couple who'd
already been living there for a couple of months.  We'd noticed
there were no more shouts and shrieks of small children coming at
us from above the trees, of course, and we'd noticed that for a
time clusters of workmen's trucks were going past us toward the
other house's driveway, doing renovations of some kind.  But we
didn't add up what these things meant.  Not until a routine
settled in, of cars coming round the circle past us toward our
new neighbor, then leaving by the same route. 

My office faced the front of the house, where through the trees
I could see what little traffic there was.  The same man in a
black Mercedes heading out every morning and returning every
evening, but sometimes not for a few days.  That was the man of the
house I supposed, sometimes gone on business trips.  Then there
were women who came for a couple of hours in little Toyotas or old
Chevvies (cleaning help), or in big SUVs (friends).  Occasionally
there was a really big SUV that left for a few hours around
mid-day, driven by an impeccably tailored and coiffed woman I
figured was the woman of the house. 

But what really spiced up my car-watching were the cars that came
whenever the Mercedes wasn't there.  Luxury vans or sedans with
distinguished-looking men in suits behind the wheels, professionals
or top business executives I figured.  But also expensive sports
cars -- a Maserati, a Porsche, a BMW, once a vintage Ferrari,
driven by vigorous men in leather jackets as often as not,
obviously men accustomed to handling fine-tuned power.  Often on
nights when the Mercedes was in some airport parking lot I assumed,
one of these cars would glide past us and disappear into the
driveway hidden by our neighbors' trees, then not reappear till
morning.  It was always gone before the Mercedes returned.  

I mentioned this to Carrie, and for a few weekends she watched the 
parade with me.  We'd look out the window as various cars came 
past and we'd smile at each other.  Then a few hours later
when they re-appeared and headed down the street Carrie would smile
again and shake her head.  Or I would.  Clearly these were not
workmen renovating the house for its new owners.  Whether the
husband in the Mercedes suspected or not, the lady of the house was
entertaining other men, prosperous family men from other suburbs,
maybe successful single men too.  There was no need for either of us
to discuss it.  We knew.  

But it was none of our business.  We kept meaning to go over and
introduce ourselves, carrying bread and salt or a cake or a Welcome
Wagon pin, some kind of traditional housewarming token.  Carrie
meant to, anyhow.  "We should go say 'hi,'" she'd say.  "We ought to
see if there's anything they need, you know?  See what they're
like?  We've never exchanged a word."   Then she'd add, "But it's
always so hard to find the right time!"  She meant a time when we
weren't either of us too busy or too elsewhere or the lady of the
house wasn't already entertaining her other visitors.

But finally, one sunny summer morning when Carrie was off at a
sales convention for a few days and I'd just sent off a massive job
and was breathing easy, I met the lady herself.  
           
I'd gone way down our front path barefoot to recover a carelessly
thrown newspaper, and when I reached the edge of the road something
caught the corner of my eye.  I looked, and I saw an exquisite
fairy-tale fantasy emerge from our neighbor's trees.  A tall, thin
woman in dainty pink chiffon floated out to the edge of the road.  
Her arms were bare, and her doll's head was tilted sideways and 
turned in my direction.  Her long dark hair swept her shoulders, 
and her huge dark eyes stared directly at me.  Her red lips were 
delicately pursed.   

She reached out a small, red-tipped hand and gracefully gestured
toward me in small arcs, as if she were clearing a path through
the air for me to follow, or perhaps as if conducting an orchestra
with one player, me.  For a moment I thought it was a ballet movement,
that she was practicing a dance of some kind.  Then I realized she
was waving me over.

It was all so unexpected.  I didn't move.  Then, "Hi!  Could you
come over here for just a bit?" she called out.  "I need to ask you
something!"

I came aware suddenly that I was not only barefoot, I was also
still wearing the oversized boxer shorts I use for sleeping, cotton
broadcloth with an open fly.  Nothing else, that was it.  Not even
a T-Shirt.  I was practically naked!

"Ah, in a minute?" I called back.  I intended to race back to the
house and leap into a pair of pants.

"I need you now," she declared with a superb simplicity.  "Please!" 
Then she turned to walk back toward her house without another word,
and disappeared almost at once into her trees.  Did she expect me
to follow her?  She did.

So I did, feeling extremely uneasy, very much out of place.  I'd
never before set foot on that tree-lined driveway, much less walked
down it and then turned onto the walk toward the house while
wearing only boxer shorts.  I felt more naked than ever.

It was a massive house, almost an estate, formally landscaped, much
larger than our own.  As I approached I saw her again, still all
pink fluff but now standing on the broad brick steps leading to her
open front door.  She gestured again for me to join her, so I did. 
And there I was, standing next to her, puzzled why she wanted me,
waiting.

"My husband Tom is unfaithful to me," she said.

Oh?  My mind registered surprise but also no surprise at all.  I
just stood there and said nothing.  Certainly nothing about her own
apparent infidelities during the few months since they'd moved in. 
If her husband found consolation elsewhere, didn't she deserve the
same?  Or whoever'd begun whatever it was they did when they
weren't together?  And what did this have to do with me?

"That's not a problem, not a criticism either, it's simply a fact,"
she continued.  "We have an open marriage.  Understandings.  We
both see other people whenever we wish.  And we tell each other
everything, so there are never secrets or suspicions.  We don't
cheat."

"I see," I said, trying to fill the silence that followed.  I saw
what there was to see.  I didn't at all see why she was telling me
this.

"I'm telling you now, right at the outset, so you can feel
comfortable about it.  At ease with yourself, not worry that we're
violating any obligations or proprieties.  Not worry for example
that right now you're standing here nearly naked and being invited
into a large house by a woman in a negligee who's standing very
close to you.

She was, too!  Her face was perfectly made up, her eyes wide open,
enormous, staring at me as if in child-like innocence.  She was a
trim woman in her prime who moved like someone who did Yoga
stretching and Jazzercize routinely, a woman with a tight body who
works out.  A few years older than me.  I supposed she does work
out regularly, I was thinking, given the volumes of visitors she
entertains.  But she'd said "Right at the outset."  The outset of
what?  I answered that question immediately with another question,
Who do you think you're kidding?  But I just stood there stone
still.  

She glanced down toward my shorts.  Was the fly open?  Was my dong
exposed?  Jesus, whether she could see it or not, it was certainly
enlarging, I could tell that much!  I didn't dare look to see.

"I'm sure you've seen men come see me whenever my husband's away,
and leave before he returns.  Sometimes staying the night when he's
away.  Haven't you?"

I nodded.

"I ask different men to satisfy my different desires.  Sometimes
my whims.  Each one becomes a specialist dedicated to one of them
and devoted to pleasing me.  I like it that way, and so does Tom.
hat way Tom doesn't have to cope with my more bizarre perversities
or kinks, and as long as he doesn't ever have to meet the men who
do cope, he doesn't mind at all that I have them.  Can you imagine
what some of my whims are?  What some of these men do between their
arrivals and their departures?  You must have wondered."  

There was a slight smile on her lips, and her eyebrows were raised 
high as she stared up at me, as if she were conducting a Sunday 
school catechism and expected prompt, correct answers.  

Suddenly her hips rotated, and the folds of her negligee fell open. 
Rather, they fell away from the large, ballooning breasts that had
pushed them open.  Huge breasts on such a pert, thin body!  One
hung out toward me fully visible, and another peered out ready to
join it.  The exposed nipple was aroused, distended, huge, primed,
ready!  My eyes fixed on it and stared.

Then I pulled myself together and forcibly lifted my head, and
looked at her with what I hoped was a stern expression.  I had to
represent common decency here.  "I have no idea what you do with
those men," I said.  I was getting very uncomfortable with this
kind of talk.  Even more uncomfortably, my penis was now quite
thick, maybe even erect and poking out of my shorts!  Probably.  I
still didn't dare look!

But she did.  She looked down and fixed her gaze on my crotch. 
What did she see?   "Oh, I think you do.  I think you know
perfectly well the kinds of things we do, my different men and me. 
This part of you certainly knows."  

And her hand snaked out suddenly, reached toward my open fly, and
grasped that intrusive penis.  It was indeed now fully erect, an
easy handle.  Surprised, I stepped back a pace. She held my cock
exactly where it was, her arm rigid, yielding not an inch, and I
had to step forward again quickly to ease the strain.  The outer
skin remained firm in her grasp, but the turgid shaft itself slid
out of her palm, then back in.  In effect I had begun to jerk
myself off with her hand!  As if to remove all doubt she
pulled on my prick again, then pushed back.  Then yet again. She
was jerking me off!  And all the while she was looking straight
into my face with those huge eyes and high, questioning eyebrows,
faintly amused by my bewilderment.  

Then with her hand grip secure, still pushing and pulling, she
reached up with her other arm and pulled my head down 
and kissed me full on the mouth.  Then held me there, kept her lips
there, and kissed me some more.  I wanted to step back, but now I
couldn't -- my cock was already stretched to the point of pain as
I tried to pull my hips back.  Maybe she'd pull it off altogether? 
She was so close to me she couldn't, I realized -- her belly
blocked the way.  No, we were nearly the same height and she had
long legs, it wasn't her belly, it was her mound!  Where her pussy
crease began!  And I was aimed straight toward it!  Again her hand
slid back and forth, back and forth, and now my treacherous cock,
rigid and eager, was cooperating in every possible way, straining
to dip into that slit less than an inch away.  It even throbbed
hopefully a few times.  And her kiss went on and on.  She locked my
mouth to hers, her arm wrapped on the back of my neck as her tongue
entered me.

"What was it you wanted to ask me?" I tried to say while her soft
mouth was still pressed against mine.  Pitiable!  Attempting
absurdly, hopelessly, to change the subject, trying to take my mind
off that soft hand gently pulling over and over on my engorged
cock, those soft, full lips still pursing and unpursing against
mine.  All that came out was a pathetic mumble.  Each of the words
of my question mouthed her lips and kissed her back and sucked on
her tongue.  

"Ohhhhh," was all she replied.

Finally she let go my neck and lifted her head away.  Walking
backward, her eyes never wavering from my face, she led me by my
prick through her front door and down her entrance hall into her
living room, then over to an overstuffed sofa.  "Sit" she said,
steering me gently backward by my cock.  I did.  

Then she mounted me, kneeling astride my body, and slowly,
languorously, guided my cock head to the mouth of her slit.  Oh,
God!  And still studying my face she lowered herself onto it!  Oh! 
My rigid boner slipped gratefully into her warm, wet quim.  Then
when she'd plunged me in all the way, and settled onto my lap with
my cock deep inside her, she said, simply, "Fuck!"

I did.  Soft, warm, slippery wet cunt gripped me tight, fluttered
slightly, and then began to pulse.  Carrie's never did that!  I
pushed up into her as high as I could.  What am I doing?  Am I
being unfaithful to Carrie?  Is it too late?  Then I lowered my
loins, down, then up again, even though she was now cinched down
onto me so firmly and gripped my cock so tightly with her pussy
that I had almost no room to rise.  She then began the strangest
hip rotation, a rolling with a light bobbing thrust downward,
repeated again, then again.  A half-smile spread over her face as
she closed her eyes and the rhythm of it began to possess her,
rolling her pelvis over me and into me and onto me, and then around
my cock as it surged and pulsated inside her.  The most exquisite
feelings grew in my groin and began to blossom.  I was straining
not to push myself inside her as deep as I could get, but I
couldn't help it, my cock felt as if it would burst without the
relentless pressure of that tight pussy periodically compressing
it, squeezing it from all sides at once, and I shoved into her with
all my might!  I tried again to sit there stone still, stiff and
unmoving, but my haunches rose and fell, none of it my doing, and
again and again I slid slickly in and out of her.  

Then she leaned forward and my face disappeared between those two
billowing breasts.  I was now buried inside dark, deep, soft, warm
titty flesh as she continued to roll and thrust onto me down below. 
Sweet delight rose up out of my cock and spread through my body
like a sunrise, then delicious feelings gathered themselves,
concentrated themselves, and broke free of earth in full flight
toward the stars, just as I heard her say, "Don't cum unless
you mean to lick me clean afterward."  As if to emphasize that
statement she lunged straight down, and her soft rump rotated and
wriggled tight on my thighs.  Pushing, pushing!  

And I was gone!  Gone!  Blissfully I arched higher, lifted both of
us up off the couch as I tried to weld my cock to her pussy for all
eternity.  Then I erupted, throbbed, spouted, spewed, squirted into
her, deep into her, over and over as she pushed back down to hold
me inside her entirely, to seal me in and take ultimate possession
of me. 

And it was over.  I had just been seduced.  My first fuck with
another woman since my marriage.  My first infidelity.  I had
betrayed Carrie.  And all I could think for the moment was, God
that was the greatest!

She paused and leaned back from me as we both breathed heavily,
enjoying the afterglow.  Her eyes were closed, and she was still
half-smiling.  In a kind of triumph?  Or was she just feeling
satisfied?  At what?  Another stupid question.  No, not so stupid
this time!  My brains began to flow back into my head.  "Kiss my
titty!" she breathed, eyes still closed.  And I did.  I took a
distended nipple into my mouth, and lightly nibbled on it, then
kissed it.  And released it and looked up.  This time her eyes were
open, looking down on me benignly, and there was no doubt,
triumphantly. She'd conquered me.    

As I realized what I'd just done I began trying to wriggle free,
to slip out from under her.  My penis softened a little, but her
thighs remained clamped to my thighs and I couldn't move.  Feeling
how well imprisoned I was, she let go the back of my neck and began
to caress my bare chest, the tips of my lightly perspiring nipples. 
It felt ... oh, God, not again!  I wriggled helplessly under her. 
In her.  And I started to grow!  I wanted more!  I closed my eyes
and pressed up at her.

"No," she said suddenly.  "There's no more time for another now. 
I'm expecting someone soon.  There's only just enough time for you
to lick me nice and clean again.  Think carefully, where do you want
to do it?  Shall we go upstairs so you can lie flat on your back on
our bed, Tom's and mine, and enjoy being one of my loving pussy
slaves while I sit on your face?"  Or would you rather do it here,
kneeling in front of me and bobbing your face into my pussy like a
sweet girl giving her darling boyfriend a blow job?  

Her whole weight was still pressing on my lap, her thigh muscles
imprisoning my legs.  I couldn't get away.  Do what?  I remembered
that as I'd risen into ecstasy she'd said that if I came into her
I'd have to clean her up.  And I had cum into her, deep into her,
gloriously into her, and my cum was now deep inside her, sprayed
over all the inner walls of her pussy, already leaking past her cunt
lips onto my balls.  It was unfair -- by the time she'd said it
I couldn't help myself!  But maybe she didn't know that?  No, of
course she knew that!  Would it have made a difference, would I
have stopped and pulled out if I could have?  No way!

She'd set a condition and I had to meet it.  If I came inside her,
I had to lick her clean.  Or who knows what else she might do. 
Tell Carrie?  I felt a blow in the pit of my stomach!  What a fool
I've been!  She knows I live next door!  She could drop over any
time for a neighborly cup of coffee and tell Carrie  what an easy
fuck she has for a husband!  My God, Carrie!  Carrie will sense
that this has happened, she'll know it the moment she sees me!   

I had to go!  I had to get out of there and clear my head, and
think!

"You're just like putty now, you know that?" she said, squirming on
my softening dick.  Was she talking about my dick?  "Well, which is
it?"

end 1/9

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