tagLoving WivesA Load in Every Hole

A Load in Every Hole

bybobfr©

Chapter 1

Mark Weaver closed the door of the tiny booth and sat on the vinyl-covered chair. His hands were shaking as he placed a ten-dollar bill face up beneath the flashing green arrows in the bill acceptor. The instant that the bill was swallowed the video screen he was facing lit up. The upper right-hand corner displayed the numeral "1" showing that he was watching the first of one hundred and twenty-five different channels. The upper left hand part of the screen displayed 5000 credits that he knew represented about a half hour, maybe closer to forty-five minutes of viewing time.

On the screen, a Japanese girl was sucking a smaller than average-size brown cock of a young Japanese man. Mark kept pushing the up arrows until the numeral "80" was displayed on the screeen. This wasn't the first time he had watched this channel. The evening before he had entered this sleazy adult bookstore with the peep show/video arcade in the back and discovered this channel. This particular channel featured a series he found especially exciting. In the series, pretty women took a load in every hole. He didn't know why but he found himself fascinated with the closeup shots of freshly deposited semen oozing out of swollen vaginas, rectums and being swallowed by lipsticked mouths. The few other channels that he had watched showed men pulling out and shooting on the woman's abdomen, her back or on her face. These videos didn't do anything for Mark.

Last night was the first time that he had ever ventured into a place like this. In fact he didn't really know--from a first hand experience-- that such places existed. If they did exist in his hometown of Fargo, North Dakota, they must have been well hidden.

He had been in Los Angeles for three days, with three more days remaining of an accounting practice management training conference. The successful completion of this conference was a necessary rung up the ladder that he had been climbing, hopefully, to a partnership in the national accounting firm where he specialized in corporate taxation. In the evenings, most of the men-- and a few of the women who were also attending the conference--would go out on the town in groups of twos, threes and fours. However, that wasn't for Mark. He wasn't a social animal, more of a loner.

The first two nights he had stayed in his room watching television, reading journals or a pocketbook, the materials that had been provided at the conference and dutifully calling home. Last night he found himself bored to death with the routine. He felt like he had been incarcerated. The small hotel room had become his cell and he was in desperate need of a pardon.

The hotel where the conference was being held was near the Los Angeles Airport--LAX as his more traveled classmates called it--and not convenient to anything else. There were no movie theaters, restaurants or shopping centers nearby. However, as he walked East, along Century Boulevard, he noticed a flashing neon sign in the distance beckoning him. The sign read: "Adult Book Store, 125 Channel Video Arcade."

Mark didn't know what possessed him to do it but he found himself drawn into the gaudy establishment. Instantly, he realized that he was very out of place. The two or three other men that he saw were wearing jeans and T-shirts while he was still wearing his grey suit, blue oxford cloth button-down shirt and a silk, burgundy tie. He saw row after row of video cassettes, adult magazines, pocket books and a section along one wall that featured what they referred to as "marital aids."

At the very back of the store were heavy red drapes with a sign over the entrance that read, "Video Arcade." He walked through the drapes and found himself in a long dark hall with small booths on both sides. Over some of the doors to the booths he noticed that a red light was illuminated. He realized that these were occupied and those without a light on were vacant. Before slipping into one of the vacant, cramped booths he looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had seen him.

He slipped a dollar bill in the acceptor and learned how the video system worked. In the cramped space he also discovered something about himself as he surfed the channels. Those videos in which the women were pierced, tattooed or had gigantic, silicon-enhanced, unnatural breasts were turn-offs. He also skipped those videos that had girl-to-girl sex. What he did find very interesting were the ones that featured women with very pretty faces and model-like bodies, women with faces and bodies more like his own wife, Mary, who was back home in Fargo waiting for his return.

Within a few minutes, he had surfed up to channel 80. He never did find out what channel 81 or any of the 45 channels above 80 featured. He was hooked. He couldn't believe what he saw. Just then a message flashed across the screen warning him to deposit more money. He quickly slipped a five-dollar bill in the slot beneath the flashing green arrows and bought more uninterrupted time. Just him, the darkness, the flickering images and his hungry, impressionable mind that was being fed a very different kind of sensory food.

The series he found so fascinating featured three black men who made love to very beautiful, seemingly amateurish, white women. One of the men was huge, very black and totally bald. Another, slighter, except for his enormous endowment, had dread locks cascading down from his head. The third man was very handsome with a much lighter shade of skin than the other two. Like the others, however, he too was similarly blessed in the genitalia department. Mark had no idea that penises came in such extra-large sizes.

Last night, Mark had spent an hour in the booth and watched as five different women in the video series willingly and enthusiastically allowed the three men to cum in their mouths, vaginas and rectums. Each segment ended with the grey liquid the men had deposited oozing from each pink glistening orifice. Before the first segment ended he was fully erect. He unzipped his trousers, fished out his swollen cock and stroked it as he watched the other segments of the series.

"Knock it off Weaver," he berated himself more than once. "Grow-up. You're forty-two, a professional, a pillar of your community, a devoted father and faithful husband. What in the hell are you doing in a sleazy video arcade holding onto your throbbing cock like a lovesick teenager?"

He didn't knock it off but kept watching raptly. Sometime before his five-dollars worth of credits ran out, a segment featuring a very pretty brunette appeared on the screen. He couldn't help but compare her with Mary. His wife and the woman on the screen had similar features. Both possessed wide-set brown eyes, long lustrous brown hair, full lips and creamy clear complexions. Within a minute or two the three black men had her dress off. The similarities between the woman on the screen and the love of his life didn't end with their very beautiful faces. He saw that both were tall and thin and neither had gigantic breasts. He knew that Mary's were a full B-cup and guessed the other woman's breasts were the same cup size. It looked as if the woman on the screen had never given birth whereas Mary had born two children but one could know it by looking at her flat scarless tummy.

There were, however, three very noticeable differences between the two women. The woman on the screen, who was deeply kissing one of the men while the other two fondled her breasts, was nearly hairless while Mary's pubic hair had never been trimmed except in the labor room each time she gave birth. Also, the woman on the screen had bright red finger and toe nails while Mary's were always natural. He remembered Mary telling him that she thought brightly painted nails were cheap. The final difference he noticed was the size of their nipples. Mary's were very small and pink while the woman on the screen had huge, turgid brown nipples.

Mark was certain that the woman in the video wasn't faking it. He recognized the same subtle encouraging gestures that Mary signaled to him when she wanted more. He didn't quite understand what was going on in his mind but he came to realize that he thought of the woman on the screen as his wife. In his mental substitution, it was Mary who was sucking the black cocks. It was her saliva that coated the three giant penises. It was her pelvis that pressed itself against the thick black lips locked at the juncture of her widespread thighs. Then, it was her pussy that surrounded and sucked in the long, thick cock of the black man with the dread-locks. Mary's asshole, not the strange woman's, absorbed every inch of the bald man's cock. In Mark's mind, the bright red lips and the mouth behind them were Mary's that made passionate oral love to the third man's huge, black shaft.

It wasn't a strange female who curled her toes and screamed out when she climaxed, to Mark--for reasons he didn't understand at all--it was his loving wife in the throes of ecstasy. As he watched other segments, he found that it didn't matter if the woman had similar coloring and features of his wife, in his mind each one became her.

There were two other differences, he came to realize, that distinguished this series from the others. He noticed that most of the women were married as manifested by wedding rings and that they tended to be a little older than the ingenues that performed on the other channels.

Mark was desperate for release but managed to hold off cumming. He planned to call home when he returned to his room and hoped that Mary would be in a playful mood.

As Mark left the book store last night, he sheepishly poked his head out the door and looked right and left to make sure that none of the people attending the conference saw him. Then he walked quickly back to the hotel.

Chapter 2

It was two hours later in Fargo than it was in Los Angeles, nearly midnight when he returned to his lonely, confining room. In his bedroom at home in Fargo, the television was on though Mary wasn't watching it and was about to drift off to sleep. Except for her and the dog, the big house was empty because the kids were at college and Mark was in Los Angeles. She had gotten used to him calling an hour earlier and thought that she wouldn't hear from him that night then the ringing telephone startled her.

"Hi honey." Mark said.

"Hi yourself love," she said dreamily. "I had almost given up on hearing from you tonight," Mary said, stifling a yawn, as she rolled on her side and curled up.

"Sorry, I should have called earlier but I was out for a while." Mark said as he slipped off his suit jacket and tossed it on the chair.

This was a surprise, Mary thought. She knew that he hadn't gone out with guys while he had been out in Los Angeles. He had told her that they just wanted to drink and cat around. "Where have you been?" She asked softly.

"Oh, I just went out for a walk. There's really not much around here, just other hotels, the airport and office buildings."

"So, where did you go?"

He was ashamed of where he had been, what he had been doing and feeling. Nevertheless, he had never lied to her and he was quite certain that she had never lied to him. He wasn't about to start now. "Oh, there was this place a few blocks from the hotel that I went into, kind of different . . ."

"What kind of place?"

" . . . just a place, a bookstore . . ."

"Mark! This is like pulling teeth. Tell me where you were and what you were doing."

"I don't think you really want to know."

"Oh, this is so exasperating. Will you please just tell me? I wouldn't ask you if I didn't want to know." My goodness, she wondered, what in the world does her husband of 21 years, predictable Mark Weaver, have to hide from her. She sat up in bed waiting for his reply, now very wide awake.

"Honey, I don't want you to think I'm a lowlife, or some kind of a sick pervert but the bookstore was an adult bookstore."

"So, did you buy some magazines or something? I remember that we both agreed years ago that we would never have Playboy or Penthouse in our home."

"No, I didn't buy any magazines, nothing like that. In the back of the store they had these private booths. You could put money in and watch hardcore videos." He recalled that once when they had been surfing cable channels they had come across "Real Sex" on HBO. After watching it for a few minutes Mary said, "let's not watch that stuff. Find something good." That was her, not so subtle, way of saying that the program was bad.

"So Mark, are you saying that you went in one of those booths and watched porn?" She asked accusingly.

He hesitated then said, "yeah, that's what I'm saying. There were a lot of channels to choose from and I watched for about an hour."

"Did you . . . did you . . . I mean well, did you masturbate?"

"Not really. I mean I held him and stroked him but I didn't cum."

"But did these videos excite you? Did they make you hot? Did you have an erection?" She asked lowering her voice and scooting back down under the covers.

"Mary, I'm sorry that I went into that place. It was kind of crummy and I suspect that its patrons aren't like any of the people we know . . ."

"You didn't answer my question Mark, did the videos make you hot?"

"Yes, they made me very hot. And yes, I had a raging hard-on."

"So the videos made you want to be with . . . to make love to the women?"

"Oh no, that's not it at all."

"I don't get it then. If the women didn't make you hot and you didn't imagine yourself making love to them then what did make you hot?"

Mary was the love of his life. Only the second woman he had ever made love to and the first didn't really count. Mary was also his best friend. Now, she wanted him to tell her what had made him hot as he watched the videos in the cramped booth in the seamy bookstore. Could he tell her? He had no choice because he had never kept anything from her.

He cleared his throat and explained, "there were 125 channels from which to select. Most of them weren't very interesting to me . . ."

"You said they were hardcore. I guess that means that they went all the way," Mary said as a matter of fact, not as a question.

"You're right. They go all the way. Anyway, as I was saying, I started with channel one and worked my way up. I skipped over those that didn't interest me at all and after a few minutes I stopped at channel 80."

"What was so special about that channel?" Mary wanted to know.

"I don't want to gross you out or make you mad but you asked so I'll tell you. This channel featured three black guys and one white girl. By the way, it was the same three black guys in every segment but a different white women. Anyway, on most of the other channels when the guys . . . you know, when they climaxed they would pull out of the woman's vagina or her mouth and well . . . there's no delicate way to say this . . . they would cum on her stomach or on her face."

"Yuck! That is gross. What was so different about the videos that you liked so much, the ones that were on channel . . . oh yeah on channel 80?"

"The men didn't pull out of the women's pussies or their mouths." He said. "They also came in their, you know, in their bottoms. Then the camera would zoom in for a close-up as the semen oozed out of their orifices. Let's see, what else?" Mark asked himself aloud then answered his own question. "Also, I think that the women weren't faking it . . . they weren't acting, they really got into it and always had tremendous orgasms."

Mary chuckled and said, "believe me Mark, you would never know if they were faking it. Remember that movie a few years ago with Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal . . . oh yes now I remember, it was called ‘When Harry met Sally,' well anyway, the point is, Meg Ryan demonstrated in a restaurant what a woman can do to convince anyone that she had an orgasm."

"Does that mean you've faked it with me?" Mark wanted to know.

"No my darling. I've never had to fake it but I understand that many women do. Anyway, tell me more about the videos. Sorry to have interrupted you go on."

"Most of the women were married, at least they wore wedding rings and the women didn't wear rings in any of the other channels that I saw. Also, they were a little older but I thought much more attractive than the females in the other videos. I didn't see any woman on channel 80 that had tatoos or had her tongue, nipples or navel pierced."



"Did the tatoos and piercings bother you?"

"No, they didn't bother me, but they did sort of turn me off, especially the extreme ones. I found that they distracted me from concentrating on the sex. The unadorned body, like yours, was much more of a turn on for me, much more attractive. I think it must be a generational thing."

"Let me make sure that I understand. You said that it was this series that turned you on but that you weren't turned on because you wanted to make love to the women. Do I have it right?"

"Right."

"Then Mark, tell me what it was about those particular videos that did turn you on."

"The way the women responded to the guys. I think I saw about five different segments, maybe six. I know that there were a lot more that I didn't view."

"That doesn't make any sense to me," Mary said into the mouthpiece as she furled her brow in confusion.

"Let me finish." Okay, Weaver, no more holding back you've got to tell her now, he told himself. "I couldn't help but imagine that it was you with whom they were making love."

There was dead silence on the other end. "Mary, are you still there? Are you okay?"

"I'm still here, I'm not so sure I'm okay," she said so softly he could hardly hear her.

"Well that's what turned me on so much. I thought of your mouth, your sweet pussy and your ass when the men stiffened and shot their loads. I wondered what it would be like to watch you do what those women did. Please don't hate me for telling you the truth."

"I don't hate you. I do wonder how you can still respect me when you think of me like that. You know I've never been with another man. I thought our sex lives were perfect. Now you tell me something like this. What am I supposed to think?"

"I'm sorry that I made you feel bad. It's just that as sexy as those women in the videos were, you're even pretty and sexier."

"You have to say that, you're my husband and you're feeling guilty."

"I'm your husband all right, but I don't have to say that and it's the truth. You know you're beautiful, you know how men look at you, even men at church. You know how much you like sex. You told me just a few minutes ago that you‘ve never had to fake it in you life. I'm sure you're right, not many women can say that."

"Are you going to go back to that place again tomorrow?"

He thought he knew what she wanted him to say so he said, "No hon, I'll never go back there again. I promise."

"You said that you thought there are many other segments that you hadn't seen yet."

"That's right."

"Maybe you should go back and see some more tomorrow night and then call me and tell me about them."

"Does this turn you on?" Mark asked incredulously.

"Your thinking of me doing those things sure does. I have to admit it."

"What are you wearing?" Mark asked.

"Just my favorite T-shirt and panties. You?"

"I took off my jacket and loosened my tie. Are you touching yourself?"

"I'm sort of rubbing it. The phone is cradled on my shoulder and I'm pinching my nipple with my other hand. Take off your clothes honey," she said.

Mark was still turned on from the videos but even more turned on by what his wife was saying and her reaction to his confession that was much different than he expected it to be. It didn't take him long to strip completely and flop down on the bed naked. He held the phone with one hand and his hard cock with the other. "I'm undressed now and laying down."

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