Doing It for You Ch. 02byBuckyDuckman©
With Jill's help, I pulled my pants back up. "Thank you," she said, her voice quiet and shy.
"For what?" I asked, still smiling from the unexpected blowjob.
"For letting me do that," she said, her hand patting my crotch before coming to rest where it usually did when we were driving, on my thigh.
I laughed. "Wait, you just sucked me off and you're the one saying 'thank you?' Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?" I stole a glance at her before making the last left turn towards our house. After her shower, she took the time to blow dry her hair. With the amount of cum in her hair after her sex scene, she needed to wash it, but blow drying her hair always left it big and frizzy looking. But with the extra make-up or fake eyelashes, she looked like my Jill again.
"I know, I just needed that. I needed to touch you like that."
She nodded. "I think so. Do you really still love me?"
I patted her thigh. "More than ever," I promised. But was that the truth? I had just watched my wife, the only woman I have ever known in a biblical sense, fuck and suck five professional porn stars. She had taken it every way five guys could give it to her, in her mouth, hands, pussy and up her ass. For forty-five minutes of filming, Jill was a cock-hungry slut for them to use and in exchange for her time, we were six thousand dollars richer. Yes, we could fix her car and catch-up on bills. We could put a little away for the next rainy day and still have some money left to splurge, but was it worth it?
Leaning over the console, she kissed my cheek. "I love you, too. You know that, right?"
Turning into our driveway, I nodded. Sweethearts since our sandbox days, we could have been promised to each at birth for all it meant to our dating lives. We discovered sex with each other and never looked past the other for more, until today. On one hand, Jill hadn't done a thing with those men she didn't do with me. Indeed, with me, she swallowed. With them, cumshots were sprayed across her face and open mouth. On the other hand, her experience with other men was now five times my experience with other women. The math remains easy when you're multiply five times one.
Behind the closed doors of our house, Jill through herself at me. "I want you," she said, pulling at my clothes. "I want you inside me, against me, and in me." I didn't point out how she repeated herself. Instead, I found a smile that was covered up by her lips and tongue. The same lips and tongue she had used on me and those other men. I didn't mind her kissing me after going down on me. Not if she waited a bit. Not if we were still going at it. That was squeamishness we had never learned. I know some guys won't kiss their wife after they get a blowjob from her and guys who make their wife brush her teeth and gargle afterwards. If I was supposed to be that way, I never learned it. But now? Was I kissing just Jill or was I kissing the pricks of those five other men, too? I pulled away, kissing her cheek (wait, didn't those guys cum on those cheeks?), I kissed her neck (where all that cum had been running down in rivulets), and tried kissing her breasts (where she had smeared their orgasms right over her hard nipples, over and around the curves of her full tits). Was there anywhere my lips could touch?
In between pulling off her clothes, Jill stripped me naked, too, giggling as she had done tens of times before. My body reacted to the joy of the moment, the sensual impact of being so needy for one another that we could barely make it behind closed doors. Our clothes fell into a mixed pile near our feet and the naked woman in front of me was the same beautiful woman I had married. She caressed my body, running her hands over my chest, stomach, and finally pulling me towards our bedroom by my hard cock. "I want this," she said in her usual naughty voiced way. I followed her, admiring the slight jiggle to her ass as she walked. As if pulled on a string, my hand caressed her ass as we rounded the corner to our bedroom and our bed.
It's difficult for me to list ways and reasons why I love my wife. Our history is too long. Listing reasons why I love her is as foolish a quest as deciding when I started loving her. But how else can I describe how it felt the swimless summer when we were both ten? A broken arm kept me in a cast and fumbling to hold game controllers. And Jill? She brought over board games and spent time with me instead of swimming with the rest of our friends. The top shelf of our closet holds an avalanche of well used board games that still get pulled out on snow days and evenings when there's nothing good on TV. Playing Jenga or Sorry with Jill feels as much like a profession of our love together as being naked in bed with her.
Standing next to our bed, she insisted on kissing my lips again. I accepted the kiss, struggling to fight back enough demons to fake returning it. She caressed my bare flesh again. "How do you want me?" she asked, the twinkle in her eye matching the playful upturned corner of her lips. It was an invitation to play, an invitation I knew as well as the curves of her hips. She was mine for me to take however I wanted.
"Just lay down," I told her, unsure of myself. My doubt surged when I saw her brown eyes searching mine. What would she find there? I didn't risk it. "You heard me," I said, giving her ass a playful slap. "Get on the bed and lay there for me."
"Yes sir!" she said, a smile on her lips. Did she looked relieved? I don't know. It was too hard to think. I climbed into bed with her, letting her lie on her back as I positioned myself between her legs. With the ease earned from hundreds of repetitions, I guided my hard cock inside her shaved pussy, pressing myself deeply inside of her and resting there. My cock throbbed inside the moist warmth of her body's axis. I pulled back a bit, experimented with a thrust and repeated the motion, moving slow without realizing I was doing it. "Mm, you feel so good," she purred, her hands caressing the sides of my face, moving over my shoulders, before she settled with one hand on my back and her other on my ass.
I rose and fell against her again before realizing why I was moving so slow. I wasn't fucking her, I was probing her. I was using my hard prick to feel inside of her, to feel a pussy I had watched being stretched by the freakish length and girth of those porn starts. I wasn't fucking her pussy, I was testing it. Was it still mine? Did it still feel the way it was supposed to feel? Was she stretched beyond recognition or did she still feel like my Jill? I studied the length of every stroke and found her as wet, slippery, warm and as tight as I've always known her to be. This was my wife beneath me, regardless of what those other men had done to her with their porn star sized manhoods, she was still my wife and she still felt like it. More importantly, she stilled moaned like her, too.
"So good," she said again, squirming beneath me.
A lesser part of my brain screamed for attention. As good as that fat uncut cock? it screamed at me to ask. But I didn't. I kept those words to myself. Instead, I asked, "You're not sore, are you?"
She bit her lip, worry on her brow. "No," she said. "At least not today."
I remembered what the one guy had said to me, right before I started cheering her performance. "We're going to ruin her," he had warned me. "...until she's no good to you or any other man for at least a week." She didn't feel ruined to me. She felt like she always did; hot, wet, and needy.
"This is good," I told her, touching on of her breasts with my hand. I remembered seeing those other men clawing at her, clutching at her breasts in a testosterone fueled frenzy. That wasn't how I touched her, not ever. I loved Jill's breasts. Wait, loved? I mean, I love her breasts. I have always loved her breasts. I love their size and shape and the way her nipples grow dark red when she's aroused. Bowing my head, I watched between our bodies as I gently rolled her nipple between my finger and thumb, seeing her aroused nipple the same as always. When she moaned again, I looked up at her, seeing her eyes fluttering open and shut as a wave of pleasure coursed through her. I felt its impact between her legs, too. Her pussy muscles contracted and gently squeezed my firmness.
I thought of increasing my pace, of fucking her harder and faster. It's how we usually did it when we were doing it in a missionary position. I would vary how I started, sometimes with long, slow strokes while another time I might begin with shallow, teasing jabs. Regardless of how I started, the end was always the same; a mad frenzy of deep thrusts, punctuated by her orgasmic cries of pleasure until I erupted inside of her. I fought the urge to slip into that pattern. Instead, I told her, "Had me the lube."
Jill's eyes went wide before narrowing into slits above a wistful grin. "You're a naughty man," she teased, reaching inside the drawer of our nightstand for the tube of KY jelly. She kissed me, handed me the tube, and waited until I pulled away before she rolled over. "Like this or up on all fours?" she asked as I lubed my hard cock. She was laying on her belly, poking her ass upwards.
"That's fine," I said, wiping a small dollop of excess lube on her ass. Jill had first offered me her ass years ago, shortly after we were married. She was inspired by a porn movie we had watched together, inspired and curious.
In the following years, we began referring to her ass as her "joy hole." It was couple-speak, code between the two of us, and we delighted in our secret. Jill loved it up her ass. We had talked about it, exploring our minds as much as each other's bodies. The best reason, she decided, was because it felt wrong; somehow nasty, like a special secret we shared. We played with Jill's joy hole often, with fingers, toys, and my cock. Before today, the most erotic memory burned into my head was watching Jill masturbate for me and using our biggest toy inside her ass. That memory was clouded now with a new memory, the vision of these other men taking her ass with a sense of glee that rivaled anything we had done together. The memory was clouded by the way she had offered them her ass as if it meant nothing, just one more position for a seasoned porn starlet, that's all.
Usually, I played with her ass before entering it. I would lube her puckered opening, teasing her with a finger and then two. She never got to see how it teased me, too. My swollen cock would dance and ache with its desire to feel the warmth and extra tightness of her joy hole. But a dab of excess lube was all I could bring myself to offer her. My prick was well lubed. I had seen her asshole stretched by each of those other men. She would take it as I offered it to her. Moving into position, I aimed my glistening prick at her puckered open and pushed inwards with the same rote intensity as I had her pussy.
"Ow!" she said, crawling away from me. "Careful, baby."
That lesser area of my mind screamed again. "What's the matter? Did those other guys ruin you for me?" But I bit off those words, exchanging them for "Sore?"
"It's my ass," she said, sounding a bit annoyed. "Take it slow, okay?"
I nodded, a gesture she couldn't see, but she could feel the difference in my second try. I pressed against her, holding my prick against her joy hole with a firm insistence, but allowing her to open for me. She did and I slipped inside slowly. Once in place, I backed off a bit before pressing deeper. Again and again, I eased myself in and out in the ways I usually did. "Better?"
"So good," she said, pressing backwards and upwards to let me know she was comfortable. "More."
I felt a strange thing happening to my face and I realized, I was smiling. I conjured up images of her being fucked by two bulls at once, one in each hole, and found the image was difficult to hold. Overriding that image was the sensations of feeling my wife's ass against me as I rode her. Again, I realized I was probing her, trying to find how she felt different, but she didn't. Her soft, young flesh felt the same as anytime before. I was fucking my wife, my Jill, and she was enjoying it. Better still, so was I. Giving into the sensations of being inside her joy hole, I found my rhythm. I fucked her in the way I had in more times than we had ever bothered to count. I fucked her ass, felt her tighten beneath me, and felt the rhythm squeezes that match her cries of an orgasm. I came, too, with a deep, satisfying orgasm.
Laying across her back, still inside her joy hole, I murmured in her ear, "I love you."
"I love you, too," she said, craning her head backwards until we could kiss and my lips found hers.
We took the time to wash. I went first, knowing she would need more time in the bathroom. I dressed, waiting for her. I guess I sat brooding, thinking about our day, but I can't remember a single thought I had until I saw her coming out of our bathroom. She was naked, having hung her towel next to mine in rack. My eyes were drawn to her pussy, devoid of fur for her video shoot. I had never seen her pussy without any hair and it looked strange to me. She must have noticed where my eyes were focused because she touched bare flesh. "I feel like a little girl," she confessed, looking unhappy.
I crossed to her, giving her a quick peck on her forehead and a squeeze of her tit. "Not with a body like this," I said. Leaving her with the bedroom, I went into the kitchen for a beer and the living room for the couch and TV. A little bit later, Jill came out of the bedroom, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. She picked up the jumble of clothes next to the door and asked if I was ready for another beer before joining me on the couch. We drank beer and watched TV in silence until the TV was the only light in the room. I don't know how late it was nor how many beers we had, since Jill kept carrying away empties on her way to fetch me a new one. I know I had more than her, but not how many.
Off and on, the lesser part of my brain woke up to scream new taunts at me. "You know your wife's a slut, right?" it would scream at me. I answered with another sip of my beer. "They ruined her. She's never going to be satisfied with just you again!" it told me later. I answered with another sip. "What are you going to do when the people at work find out about it?" That one took several long draws to silence. "What about your parents? What about HER parents? Maybe you can watch the video together at Thanksgiving!" Beer remained the answer. What kind of man lets his wife do something like?" And beer had a problem chasing that one away.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled midway through a movie I was staring at instead of watching.
"Sorry? Baby, for what?" Jill asked.
"For letting you do that. I should have stopped you. A real man wouldn't let his wife do that." I tried to take another sip of my beer, but she stopped me. She pulled the bottle away from me.
"You heard me," I said. Feeling the effects of the beer, my voice was sharp and with an edge to it that sounded too much like the taunting section of my brain. Oh shit, was I going to start slurring and yelling like my dad used to do to my mom?
"A real man?" she repeated, her voice rising, too, threatening the beginning of one of our fights. It was the disadvantage of being boyfriend and girlfriend since before we born, which was how it felt most of the time. We could fight, dammit. We could yell, scream, and blow-up at each other in ways that had gotten cops called on us when we lived in that shitty apartment right after we got married. "What the fuck does that mean? You're not a real man?"
"You heard me," I mumbled again, knowing that when she started swearing, it was go time for a fight. "Way to pussy out, the lesser me taunted.
Jill screamed at me. "You are one hundred times the 'real man' of any of those guys!"
I stared at her and waited in silence. I was waiting for that lesser voice to say something. What was I supposed to say back? Was I supposed to point out how they had cocks bigger than mine? I'm not under-endowed, but I'm not a porn star freak, either. Or maybe I was suppose to point out how they all worked out more than me, even their muscles had muscles for pete's sake! Waiting for my lesser mind to make a suggestion gave it room to speak when it did arrive with words; the kind shitty, hateful words that a fucking numbnut Internet troll might leave on message board. "You sure looked like you were enjoying yourself!" I spat out.
She threw it back in my face with the practiced ease of someone who had know me most of my life, "Oh, and what did that hard-on you were wearing mean?"
"Oh, excuse me for getting hard because I saw my wife naked."
"You saw me do more than get naked and I don't remember seeing that hard-on fade."
Thinking fast, I let the lesser mind have its way again, "Oh, so you were doing it for me? That's why you came so many times, right?"
She stared at me, her brown eyes flaring at me in the washed out blue from the TV. Her jaw was set hard, like it was when she defiantly announced to me she was going to do it. Worse, her voice dropped down low, a menacing tone reserved for when she was extremely pissed. "Fine," she said, her voice dripping with ice enough reverse global warming. "You want to know why I came so many times? Do you really want to know what fucking got me off so fucking many times?"
"Go for it," I said, as ignorant as ever and too pissed to care.
"Because of the way you were looking at me. When I came out of that dressing room, all painted and dolled up like a fucking Barbie doll, you looked at me in a way I have NEVER seen before!"
"You looked like fucking porn star."
"Yeah, I bet I did. That's what I thought, too. I even said so before I walked out there. I looked like a fucking slut. And you... YOU! You looked at me as if I was the hottest thing you had ever seen in your life!"
She was right, of course. That's wasn't just the expression I wore on my face, it was the sensation surging through me at the time, too. I had always loved my wife, always found her beautiful, but seeing her with her hair teased, styled, and curled; seeing her with fake eyelashes that looked an inch long; seeing her with more make-up on her face at one time than she had probably worn through-out her entire life; seeing the bald, bare spot of her shaved pussy; see all those things had collided inside of me at once. I had spent weeks working the set of porno movies and had seen over a dozen starlets arrive on set, and never in those weeks had I gotten as much as half a hard-on. It took seeing my wife dressed up like a porn star to create that reaction in me. Worse, my beer addled brain reproduced that first glimpse of her for me and it had the same effect on me. I grew hard again. I wasn't "growing hard" or "getting hard." I went from flaccid to "hey buddy, let's fuck something" faster than I could control.
Jill wasn't done with her attack. "Do you remember fucking moaning? Do you have any idea how fucking hot that was for me? Yeah, so I had another man's cock in my mouth, big fucking deal! Do you think I cared about that? That didn't matter to me. What really mattered to me was seeing how you were looking at me. Hearing you moan. Even seeing you dropping that damn reflector. I know why you did it. For the same reason you busted your lip that one time. Tell me I'm wrong, dammit! Tell me I've fucking lying!"
I winced at her recall. The night I busted my lip was the first night with our new bed, the one with the headboard that stuck out. I came out of the bathroom, naked, ready for work and thinking she was still sleeping. But she wasn't. She played possum beneath our sheets until I walked into the room. "Feel like christening our new bed again?" she asked, tossing the sheets aside and showing me her naked body. Being playful, I stood at the foot of the bed and leapt on it. That's when my face hit the headboard and I busted my lip. Instead of getting laid that morning, I got three stitches in my lip.