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Message-ID: <50815asstr$1111907402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: VickieTern@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Corespondent by Vickie Tern 1/3 TG femdom F.m wife
Lines: 477
Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2005 02:10:02 -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


No fair reading this if you lack an 18 year old's ability to read
about  sex and yet remain virtuous. Or lack whatever age the law
requires.
 
 
 
 
 
                            Corespondent
by Vickie Tern
 
 
 
It worked out beautifully.  Better than we'd hoped, better  than
we'd planned, way better than we'd imagined.  Jeffrey was  easy,
just as Janice said he'd be.  And the rest was easier still!
 
I mean, I do love Ron, very dearly, he's my husband and my whole
life I  hope forever.  I want everything he wants, and I know he
feels the same  about me.  And he's fully accepted the fact that no
matter how much we  love each other and no matter how satisfying our
lovemaking -- and it is,  don't mistake me -- he can't ever fully
meet my needs. I'll always need  more.  He knows that's a fact, the
poor dear.  I've tried to  provide him with all sorts of
compensations, because I do care, deeply.   But that's how we are. 
We both accept what can't be changed.
 
He wanted an utterly undemanding marriage, one he can collapse
into, and  that's what he's got.  At work he's hard-driving, a
tough, decisive  administrator with a huge staff and enormous
responsibilities, a strong man  who gets things done and solves
impossible problems.  So of course when  he gets home he's
exhausted, he needs to unwind utterly from the day's  tensions.  So
he decided very early that when he arrives home he wants  to walk
into another world.  One where everything is decided for him,  where
he can completely surrender his mind and will and heart and soul
and  feel altogether cared for.  A world where he's never consulted
and has  no voice, where he's informed of little and chooses
nothing.  He told me  he wanted to leave all those decisions to me,
so he promised to agree with  every one of them and do everything I
tell him to do. 
 
"Everything?" I asked him when he first proposed this arrangement. 
When  he pleaded for it in fact.  "Whatever I decide for either of
us, you'll  accept it?  No questions, even?"  
 
And he'd nodded solemnly.  "Yes, Pam, I need exactly that,"  he
added.  And for Ron, a nod is an unbreakable contract.  That  was
that.
 
This was an incredible gift!  I couldn't hold back my tears!  
Because from the moment he first hinted at a need to submit  himself
altogether to my desires, I'd had more sex in mind as the thing  I
most desired.  Not from Ron, that couldn't happen.  You see, Ron  is
an extraordinary lover, but even during our honeymoon, when his
prick  was striving heroically to satisfy me, pushing in and out day
after day, I  was feeling certain stirrings and yearnings in my
loins that told me I needed  more.  That more would be better still. 
More sex than Ron even at his  horniest could provide.  That's how
I am.  
 
I stared at Ron disbelieving, so he added, "You do whatever  you
want.  Whatever makes you happy.  Whatever pleases you.   I'll
accept it.  I don't even have to know what it is."
 
I put it to him bluntly.  Looking him straight in the eye, I  asked,
"If I want to spend time with other men now and then, you  won't
mind?" 
 
He looked away for a moment, then back. and he swallowed hard.   His
voice quavered.  But his words were clear.  "Pam, whether I  mind or
not doesn't matter.  At work I decide everything, and what I  decide
is what happens.  Here I want you to decide everything, and  that'll
be what happens.  I'll accept whatever you decide as for the  best."
 
I wanted to be absolutely clear about this.  "Even if I use  those
men sexually?"
 
He swallowed again.  "If you do, then that's something I'll  just
have to live with, won't I?"
 
"Yes, you will.  Because that's what I'll do," I told him,  still
studying him closely.  "I love you, amd I don't want to betray  you. 
So I want you to know that I intend to have sex with other men  now
and then."
 
"I don't need to know it," was all he replied.  "You do what  you
do, and I'll try to be glad of it and happy for you."   He  looked
solemnly into the middle distance, absorbed, reconciling  some
uncertainty in his own head.  Then his face cleared and he  shook
himself and looked about for the evening newspaper.  He's  that
decisive!
 
So I did do what I did, and that very night.  I inaugurated  this
new phase of my marriage with a phone call to Kevin, the most
heavily  hung of all my old boy friends.  He was glad to hear from
me.  And  when I came home from Kevin's apartment at three a.m., my
hair all tumbled  and mussed, spraddle-legged, still leaking, Ron
was still waiting up for  me.  He asked only if I'd had a good time. 
I told him teasingly that he  didn't need to know.  He bowed his
head and said nothing more.  Yet  despite my stretched, gaping
pussy, that night I gave him more loving than  you can believe
anyone has in them, in sheer gratitude for the tremendous  gift he'd
given me.  I hugged him tight with every part of me except my  pussy
-- Kevin had stretched its opening and walls too loose for that.  
But whether he felt himself in me or not, whether or not all he
felt on  his cock was warm humidity and the slickness of Kevin's
cum, he understood I  was grateful to him, and that part of him felt
pleased, and the rest went  along.
 
So here's what happens nowadays.  I love dancing, so we'll go  out
to different clubs with different couples where the other man may
not  feel committed to his wife or girlfriend, they're swingers
maybe, and he'll  ask me out onto the floor, and then things happen. 
Or I'll accept  invitations from unknown men who come by our table
to try their luck, and  I'll kiss Ron goodbye when I leave the club
with them.  Sometimes I'll  just go out alone dressed like a single
woman in need of a night's  fuck.  Whichever, sooner or later I'll
see an attractive man who moves  just so, I don't know exactly how
so, but I'll feel a marvelous tension build  in me as I watch his
shoulders turn, or the angle of his head shift.   Maybe he'll only
be sitting, or listening to someone, or lifting a  glass.  I can
tell.  I'll invite him out onto the floor so I can  feel his moves
as well as look at them.  I'll press myself against him  just so.
 
He'll usually get all excited, what with a gorgeous woman like  me
dancing so close, and he'll get an erection.  It never fails.   Then
when I feel that engorged prick pressing against my belly, if  I'm
impressed I'll lose all pretense of respectability.  I've got  to
feel its soft head press against my cleft and then breach me,
penetrate  me, I've got to feel his cock slide long and luxurious in
and out of me,  pound me.  I've got to see which of us can wear the
other out  first.  That's how I am.
 
Not that Ron's not marvelous in bed.  He's still the best,  a
stallion, well-hung, with lots of stamina, that's a main reason why
I  married him.  He's utterly devoted to satisfying me.  But even  a
beefy hunk like Ron can't perform all the time, not the way I  like
it.  If he does somehow manage, he's never any good the next  day,
maybe even not the next night.  So that's when I'll begin  thinking
again about trying my luck somewhere else.  It's wicked of me,  I
know, but sometimes I begin making plans for later on even while
he's  still plowing me.  Why not?  I love it!
 
So we've worked it all out, and to his enormous credit he accepts
it  all.  I go roaming whenever the spirit moves me, as it often
does.   Even if it happens that he's ready and eager but I can't
stay, I've already  made other arrangements, he has to accept that
too.  We are married and  devoted to each other, and Ron knows that
he's permanently number one in my  affections, make no mistake about
that.  But if he gets horny and I have  a prior engagement Ron knows
that he simply has to be patient and wait his  turn.  
 
The poor man said he didn't want to know, so he never does know
exactly  when I've got a date.  He'll be sitting there after dinner,
maybe  watching television or reading his sports pages, maybe doing
household  accounts, still feeling washed out from work but
partially restored by the  great dinner I've cooked for him.  And
I'll come downstairs looking  provocative, maybe wearing a satin
draped blouse, braless, nipples poking  out, heavy on the eye
make-up, you know.  Dressed to go out.  I  love teasing him, getting
him really hot, so times like that I'll bend over  and give him an
affectionate kiss and promise not to be too late, maybe even  tell
him to wait up for me.  Or tell him I'll be really late, not  to
bother waiting up.  Either way it starts his imagination  running
wild and then I know he can't possibly get to sleep.   I'll
disappear out the door while he looks after me wistfully, his  cock
straining in his pants, trying to rise up and follow me.  Even  if
it's only been an hour or two since his cock finally fell out of  me
exhausted, unable to move.  Even if it's still exhausted and  stays
soft, it yearns after me as I go out the door, he's told me so,  my
sweet hubby.  And my heart's goes out to him every time -- it's  so
sad.  But it can't be helped.
 
I know Ron envies whoever I'm off to meet if only because he knows
the  other man can get it up and at the moment he can't, or because
the other man  is a rare treat I mean to enjoy and Ron isn't, and
that's why the other man  can have me and Ron can't.  It's so sad,
but it's delicious too!  I  love knowing that while I'm writhing my
cunt over or under that other man  Ron's whole body is writhing at
home in a jealous agony roused just by the  fact that he knows what
I'm doing and there's nothing he can do about  it.  When I tell Ron
that, he looks at me wistfully but only  smiles.  Does he get off on
it?  Oh, if only!  I never  know.
 
Though when I return he's never neglected.  I have to make it up  to
him, my poor Ron.  I want him to be a part of everything I've  been
doing.  So it's now a routine, I require it and he expects  it.  For
a few hours I'll heat up and gobble down another man's meat  and
potatoes, and then when I get home Ron gets to gobble the gravy. 
He  burrows his head between my legs and wriggles his tongue across
my clit and  between my labia, and he sucks all that juice out of
me.  And it feels  so marvelous, knowing he's there for me too!  So
utterly  satisfying!
 
Why does he do it?  He has to is why.  Not that I need to order  him
to do it, not any more.  These days he's always eager to clean  that
other guy out of me, because only then does he get to fuck  me
himself.  
 
It happened like this.  He broke the rules once.  He objected  once
when I came home with another man's cum dripping down my thighs. 
My  cum mixed in of course -- sometimes I soak my panties even
before I've left  the house just thinking about what's coming. 
Well, I crooked my finger for  him to follow me to the bedroom and
screw me again, to re-plant his flag in  me as always, to make me
his all over again.  But he just sat  there.  I raised one eyebrow
as if to say, 'Is there a problem?'
 
And he burst out with it.  "You say you need other men sometimes.  
Well, OK!  I don't like it, but I love you, so ... well, OK!   But
Pamela, it's humiliating, having to take sloppy seconds from my  own
wife!"  
 
That's what Ron actually said, can you imagine?  'Sloppy  seconds,'
that's what he called my allowing him to slide his cock into  the
passion juice other men have squirted into me when I've made them
as  ecstatic as they've made me, letting my stay-at-home hubby mix
in and be part  of it.  And using my whole first name, so formal,
not just "Pam"?   Talk about lack of respect?  
 
Then he went even further.  "Sometimes when you come home you're  so
gloppy, you're soaked in so much slop I can't even feel I'm  inside
you!"  
 
That's what he actually said!  Can you imagine?  Oh ho,  big
mistake!  To call that sweet syrup in my pussy 'glop'?  And  'slop'? 
I've gotten myself nicely lubricated for him, and he  complains?  He
should be grateful to those other men for preparing  me!  He should
be grateful I've come back at all -- maybe I've been with  better
men -- there aren't many but I do attract my share!  He should  be
grateful that better men have warmed me up for him.  He should  be
grateful that .... well, never mind, I was mad, so I decided really
to  rub his nose in the 'glop' whenever I got home, coat his face
and fill his  belly with the 'slop' so he'd count his blessings and
learn to love it.   So afterward he'd sleep next to me feeling
well-nursed, a comforted,  contented baby with that other man's warm
cum snug in his tummy. 
 
So I told him then and there that if he wants me to feel pristine
when  we make love after I've been with another man, well, he'll
just have to kiss  away all that cum himself, make me as clean as if
I'd never left home.   That I expect him to do just that from now
on.  That I insist on  it.  That from now on his loving mouth will
have to re-sanctify my lower  parts before I'll be willing to renew
our marital fidelity.  That when  it's only my own juices and his
saliva in me, and the other men have been  sluiced out of me
altogether by his tongue, only then will he get his  turn.  
 
Well, of course Ron balked, at first.  For a few nights he  couldn't
do it, so my legs stayed clamped tight shut when he tried to  poke
into me.  I really felt bad about it, but it was important --  one
of us has to maintain discipline.  There he was, walking  around
mournful and hard-up the next few days, his cock erect or  at
half-mast and obviously starved for attention, and I admit I  was
tempted to relieve him a few times, the poor dear.  For a while  I
thought he was going to violate our prime directive and  actually
masturbate himself, jerk off when I wasn't looking, but his  respect
for my orders did hold.  I'd forbidden him to touch himself  ever,
and that was enough, he never did.  Ron is so wonderful!   Sometimes
I feel I can't do enough for him, though I do my very best.
 
Finally he gave in and tried to give me the oral sex I demanded. 
I came  home early from a date and just looked at him, and he came
upstairs with me  and pushed his face into my disheveled and tacky
groin.  He wasn't bad  at it, I've been eaten out a lot worse, but
I could tell his heart wasn't in  it.  He just didn't want to
slather his face in other men's cum.   Some men are like that I
suppose.  But eventually he did get used to it,  and after a while
he was licking and sucking me with such gusto, savoring  my
different lovers with such pleasure, such a refined palate, that  he
could always tell who I'd been with, sometimes even whether that
person  preferred garlic or onions on his salads.  While he did it,
I always  made sure I was making loud moans I told him were only for
him.  
 
So the end result now is, Ron still gets sloppy seconds, only it's
with  his mouth not his cock.  If 'seconds' is the right word --
sometimes  they're thirds or fourths or fifths.  I never tell him
how many men may  have left themselves in me on any particular
night, or how many times.   I have my fun.  He swallows his pride
like a man and then swallows every  other man's.  Then he gets his
fun, and his cock gives my pussy even  more pleasure.  My beautiful
Ron!  I owe him the world!
 
And he's grateful!  He knows it could be a lot worse, because  it
once was.  Maybe a year or so after he'd first agreed to let  me
fill my time and pussy with little extras, I came down wearing one
of  my slut-in-a-sleazy-bar outfits and he actually asked me where
I was going  and with whom.  With an accusing edge in his voice, as
if he were  somehow the injured party!  Trying to make me feel
guilty!  Maybe  that particular night he suspected that the guy I
was seeing was a monster  down below, way better endowed than he
was, and his jealousy carried him over  the edge?  Big as Ron is,
some men are bigger, you know, and it happens  that this one was, I
confess it.  Maybe I'd given Ron that impression  without realizing
it?  All afternoon I'd been looking forward to that  huge prick
stretching my vagina open wide enough to accommodate a baby's  head
almost -- it would be like giving birth in reverse I was thinking.  
Maybe that made Ron feel inadequate?  Or envious?  I don't  know.
 
But I didn't much care.  His tone of voice made me so  resentful
that the monster prick I then galloped on for hours gave me only  a
few orgasms.  If you want to know, when push comes to shove it  was
hardly worth working it into me!  So when I got back I put  Ron
through hell.  For two months!  
 
Here's how.  I'd double-date with Bernice sometimes, and we'd  talk
about jealous husbands and how to deal with them and things.   She
had her ways.  So I stopped at her place and borrowed a  chastity
device I knew she wasn't using on her husband any more.  Then  as
soon as I got home I clamped it on Ron and then just left it there. 
 

For two whole months.  Just a simple plastic tube locked to  his
cock.  I could see it dangling and bobbling whenever he  walked
naked from the shower and whenever he undressed for bed.   Pink,
with teeny yellow flowers painted on it along with a slogan  in
delicate script reading "Remember, mine, not yours!" and my
initials in  magic marker. He couldn't help but read more and more
meaning into that  mantra every time he glanced down, every time he
tried to urinate by  straddling the toilet instead of sitting to pee
like a woman the way the tube  required.  He got the message.
 
Worse, he couldn't get hard at all while it was on him.   No
erections.  Worse still, what really stressed him out was he had  no
idea how long I meant to keep it there!  Maybe forever?  What  I
intended of course was for it to stay there until he finally
accepted  that the way things were was the way they'd be.  He had my
undying love,  he knew that, but he'd agreed, he'd even proposed it
nearly.  He had no  special claim on my body, only the ready access
guaranteed by our marriage  certificate, so he had no business
resenting anything else I did with it no  matter who I did it with.
 
When I'd first told him that I meant to use other men sexually I'd
felt  a little sorry for him, he'd looked so helpless.  So very
early on I'd  told him he could jerk off while imagining me fucking
those other men,  especially when he was waiting for me to come home
and was pretty sure that's  what I was doing that very minute.  I
know he abused himself a lot that  way, because sometimes when I
came home there was nothing I could do to get  him going, his cock
just dangled there limp and apologetic.  I'd be  thinking, poor man,
I've got to do something for him so he can enjoy himself  more, and
me too, but I couldn't ever think of what.  Sad.  Then  again there
were other times when the idea of me with other men would  so
hyper-excite him that he'd hold off, he'd be stiff from the moment
I  got back home to the moment he pulled out of me several hours and
countless  climaxes later, both of us exhausted.  
 
But during those two months in his chastity device he  couldn't
masturbate at all, even when he knew for certain that I was  with
other men.  That really drove him crazy.  He couldn't even get  hard
much less cum inside that plastic tube, not by his own hand and  not
by my mouth or cunt!  At most, dribble, the way I do sometimes.  
And that wound him up tight as a clock!  He took to doing  crazy
things with me!  Sucking cum out of me was nothing compared  to
other ways he tried to eat me when he couldn't get into me!   Men
can be such perverts!  I'd let him, of course.  He was learning  his
lesson.
 
One time he was so desperate to cut that plastic tube off and
liberate  his cock that I had to tell him if he ever succeeded I'd
cut his cock off  too, right at the root, and then I'd divorce him. 
Even though I'd never harm  him, not down there anyhow, and the fact
remains that I do love him and I  would never leave him, not for any
reason.  I knew that.  But he  didn't know it, the poor dear!  He
told me when I finally relented and  eased it off him that he'd
wanted to leave me many times but he just  couldn't.  That he'd
found he loves me despite everything.  I  melted into a puddle when
he said that!  And also, he said, get this,  even if he did leave me
he said, he couldn't stand the thought of walking  into some
hospital emergency room to have the plastic tube removed  by
professionals.  It would be too humiliating.  
 
Isn't that funny?  My tough, hard-driving but  much-cuckolded
businessman husband defeated by a plastic tube?  There's  a lesson
there.  Take charge of a man's cock and you've taken charge of  the
whole man, everything he thinks is his manliness.  It's all  vested
in his cock.  Take charge of his cock and he's yours for  life!  
 
When the two months were up, when for a few weeks there'd been  no
complaints at all, not even regretful glances, when I finally
unlocked  him, he burst out crying.  His relief and his gratitude
that I'd  forgiven him were that strong!  That was so sweet!  I gave
his  penis a tug or two of forgiveness and told him that if he
wanted he could go  right now and pull himself off into the toilet,
then flush it away, but to  hurry back because I'd just returned
from a Men's Club Social and was  dripping and sore and I wanted him
to comfort me.  That night he didn't  hesitate.  He was so grateful
he sucked all that juice out of me like a  bilge pump!  Bernice was
right about how chastity belts force husbands  to think they're
being noble, spiritually pure, like all the great  ascetics.  There
was not a word of complaint!  The next night when  I let him fuck
me, he was so incredibly grateful he was tireless!  Other  men may
have other distinctions, but I've got to say it, for  all-round
everything Ron is the very best!  The very best!  Make no  mistake!
 
So I took more of Bernice's advice and trained him carefully,  very
gradually conditioning him to limit his expectations, by letting
him  fuck me only after I've been with other men.  Never before and
never  when he just happens to want to.  It was hard on him, on both
of us, but  necessary, and he now knows that's how it is.  That's
why now he doesn't  mind my going out at all.  The reverse.  Now,
some days he's eager  for me to go get laid, so he can get his
afterward.  He even tried not  long ago to set me up with a work
associate of his, and I would have done it  too, even let Ron watch,
except that months earlier I'd been with that guy  already, and I
knew I'd pretty much used him up.  
 
Ron got to know the routine.  Whenever I'd come home from a  date
he'd eagerly clean out my cunt and only then climb into me, no  more
sloppy seconds but instead refreshed firsts, or whatever he  thinks
they are.  He tried not to masturbate much any more while  waiting
for my return and thinking about the cocks that were slipping  in
and out of me at that very moment.  Maybe he'd jerk off  other
times, but not when he was waiting for me to come home from a date.  
He didn't want to ruin his big moment!
 
So you can understand, he had no complaints.  But I've always  been
sure that he gets lonely, sitting at home by himself.  I've  often
felt sorry for him when I've been out partying.  A lot of the  time. 
I've wished I could do something about it, take him with me maybe.  
But none of the men I go with ever want to know there's a husband
hanging  around nearby looking mournful.  And no way would I ever
want to let him  get near another woman, let him pass the time with
her while I'm with my  date.  No way!  Are you kidding?  So he'd
watch me trip out  the door without saying a word, and he'd welcome
me back eagerly when I  returned, no matter when or in what
condition.  And he knew what he'd  then get to do, how he'd be
rewarded for his patience.  That was the  best I could do.  The poor
dear.  He really is so very dear!   Sometimes I'd feel just
heartbroken for him.  Though all in all he  seemed satisfied.
 
Well, this particular night he wasn't at all surprised when I came
down  wearing heavy makeup as usual, in heels, but wearing only
tight jeans and a  white silk shirt loose at the neck and knotted
just above my navel, no bra,  nipples rampant, geared for heavy-duty
seduction.  "Don't wait up this  time," I said. "There's no need, no
worry, I'm only going next door.  I  told Janice I'd look in on
Jeffrey while she's away.  I figure I'll  spend the night with him,
and I may not be back before you leave for  work."
 
He stared at me, but he only nodded.  He said absolutely nothing.  
I knew what he was thinking.  Next door lives Mr. Dork, that's  how
he usually referred to Jeffrey.  What does she want with him?   He
always called Jeffrey a "pussywhipped wimp,"  though that  always
sounded odd to me because Ron was certainly a world  champion
pussywhipped wimp where I'm concerned, maybe tough and  relentless
with everyone else but always happily submissive to my least whim.  
He knew that Jeffrey was nobody, a man who couldn't possibly be
anyone I  really wanted.  It had to be a favor for a friend,
something Janice had  asked me to do, who knows why.  
 
So he felt baffled, but he only nodded.  He didn't dare even  to
raise his eyebrows.  He's perfect, I thought, watching  his
carefully composed impassivity.  I do so love him!  
 
To reward him I gave him a grateful little wriggle of my rear end
as I  left, something he could remember when I was gone and his fist
felt free to  delve into his crotch.  No use saving it if I'd be out
all night.  
 
Then I was out the door, and crossing our lawn and driveway, and
then  standing next to Janice's door.  
 
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