Just Another Day At The Hendersons

To the readers: I have intentionally omitted physical descriptions of the characters in this story, other than as necessary to illustrate a particular aspect of the storyline. I think that gives the reader greater freedom of imagination and identification with the characters. It's a rather long story, but I hope you enjoy it. I know I did writing it.

I arrived home from work about the usual time, finding Cindy in the kitchen, as usual, preparing dinner. I walked up behind her as she was mixing something on the counter and gave her a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Hi hon," she said without turning around, "So how was your day?"

"Fine. Nothing all that newsworthy. How 'bout you?"

"Oh, same as usual. The idiot next door, Mr. Bailey, came over again to complain about Roach digging under the fence and getting into his yard. I told him we had tried to reinforce the dirt with wire so he couldn't dig through, but Roach apparently found another spot to dig. I told him we'd work on it this weekend, and in the meantime I'd keep Roach tied up. Honey, we've got to do something about it. If that idiot comes over one more time, I'll . . ."

"I'll get on it Saturday." I looked out the window into the backyard and could see Roach, our Jack Russell terrier, tethered by a ten-foot rope, which allowed him access to his food and water dishes, and shade, with plenty of lawn to do his business. He was just laying there with his chin on his forepaws, obviously unhappy with his restraint. "You'd think a three-year-old dog would have learned by now. As if we haven't chewed him out enough about the digging. Well, he can just suffer until I can get the chicken wire laid down."

She shook her head. "And . . . Tommy got his report card today. He got another D in math. I really thought he'd improved over the past couple of months, but he says he just doesn't get it. I actually do feel sorry for him. I know my first year of algebra was one of the worst times of my life."

"I'll have a talk with him after dinner. Maybe we need to think about a tutor if his teacher can't bring him around, just to get the basics down. From there, I don't see why you or I can't help him the rest of the way. Geez, it's not that hard, once you learn the basics."

"Okay. We'll talk about it later. I need to concentrate on what I'm doing, or this damn soufflé will be more like a pancake again."

"What else's on the menu? Smells good, whatever it is."

"Stuffed pork chops. I told you last night that's what we're having."

"Oops, I forgot. Oh, by the way, Friday night's rapidly approaching and we haven't made any plans. Tommy'll be sleeping over at Rick's, as you know. Hate to waste the evening."

"I know. I've been thinking about it, but I haven't been able to decide between John and Larry."

"Well, let's not wait until the last minute." I had to raise my voice when she turned on the electric mixer. "It'd be a bitch if we called John, or Larry, and find out they're busy Friday. You remember the last time we called Larry at the last minute, said he had a date lined up that he couldn't break."

"Bill, that was the night before. We've still got three days."

"Fine. When you decide, you call this time. But when one or the other of them tell you Sorry, don't blame me if you get stuck with little old me Friday night."

"If neither of them can make it, I'll just call someone else. It's not like John and Larry are the only ones we can call."

"Hey, you're the one who said you were trying to decide between them. You wanna call someone else, that's fine with me. It's not me they'll be fucking." As I said this she turned the mixer off, my voice not immediately adjusting to the sudden silence.

"Shh! Tommy's in his room studying—keep your voice down."

"Sorry." I turned down the volume on my voice box accordingly. "But honey, seriously, I want you to have a good time, and I don't want you to have to settle for one of the other guys just because John or Larry isn't available. Call tonight, okay?"

"Promise. Do you want me to invite him over—whomever I decide to call—for dinner, or would you prefer we just make it cocktails and sex?"

"Mom! What time's dinner?" Tommy called out from his room.

"About thirty minutes. Make sure you wash up before you come out. Don't make me have to send you back."

"All right," he muttered in barely audible tones.

"So, which will it be? Dinner or . . .?"

"Depends on who it is." I didn't have that much of a preference as to who was between my wife's legs—with minor exceptions—but some of the guys were lousy dinner companions, and I didn't relish having to sit there making small talk while we ate supper. With them, I'd just as soon have them get down to business as quickly as possible with a minimum of social banter. I had to go easy on this, knowing that Cindy enjoyed a more gradual seduction before she jumped into bed. I didn't want to spoil her fun just because I wasn't all that good at small talk. "A couple of the guys have never eaten here before—dinner that is (I chuckled a little)—hard to know what kinda food they like."

"I caught that," she said with a sneer that morphed into a grin. "Tell you what, let me give John a call as soon as I put this in the oven. If he's available, we'll have spaghetti. He likes that. And if he can't make it, I'll call Larry, which means making my mom's fried chicken. Give me a few minutes."

I pulled a tumbler out of the cupboard and grabbed some ice from the fridge, to which I then added a couple fingers of Crown Royal. I sipped the drink and looked through the mail that was sitting on the counter next to the phone. I grimaced. Bills, ads . . . more bills. Since Cindy had stopped working last year, I was a little more sensitive to our expenses. The looming likelihood that Tommy was going to need braces certainly added to the concern.

"I'll be right back, and please, don't slam any doors or go stomping around—or we'll be having spinach crêpes, instead of soufflé," Cindy announced as she trotted off to our bedroom and closed the door behind her. It was one thing for me to sit there and watch other guys boinking her, or listening to her telling them to fuck her faster, or whatever, but heaven forbid that I should overhear her talking to any of them on the phone.

She came back to the kitchen ten minutes later, just as I was pouring my second drink. "I guess it'll be chicken. John's got a cold or something, said he didn't want to give it to anyone else. Larry . . . well, let's just say he is very much looking forward to it. And I doubt that he means my chicken." She failed to stifle a naughty giggle. "He needs to confirm that his usual babysitter's available, but he doesn't expect a problem. He'll let us know if he hits a snag."

"Then Larry it is. If I recall correctly, the last time he was here the two of you tried anal for the first time. That was one of the few times I wasn't here. From what you told me, anyway, it wasn't exactly fun."

"Yeah, I still don't like it. Doesn't matter who it is, or how he does it, I just don't feel comfortable with it. Now, if you wanna stick your finger, or your tongue up there—no problem. I'll take good old-fashioned fucking, thank you very much." She said the 'F' word sotto voce, in deference to Tommy's proximity.

"Well, as long as he knows that you don't like it that way, I'm sure he'll respect that. Larry seems like a pretty considerate kinda lover, as least from what I've seen."

"Yeah, he is. Only reason we tried it the other way last time was cause I unexpectedly started my period—didn't know it until he started fucking me, and you know how I hate to do it when I'm that way. Guess I felt kinda guilty, you know, not being able to do it with him, so I figured I'd try the other way again. Hell, next time all he's gonna get is a blowjob. And by the way, I thought I asked you to pick me up some more tampons the last time you went to the store. Forgot all about it; just realized you didn't get any."

"Sorry, I'll get some when I go shopping for Friday's dinner. You're not in need of any anytime soon, are you?"

"About a week, probably. Just don't forget, okay?"

"Will do, but why don't you just make out a list of what you need for Friday. I know I can always run to the store if you think of something at the last minute, but let's do it the easy way. All righty?" Since Cindy became a full-time house maker, she elected to assign the shopping chores to me. I didn't mind. "Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, Larry's gonna have to settle for a blowjob next time you misread your calendar."

"Mind not being so sarcastic? Last time I heard, you're as big a fan of our little adventures as the rest of us."

"Just trying to be funny. Forgive me?" I went over and held her face in my hands, kissing her fully on the mouth. "That reminds me," I said as I finished kissing her and had returned to my drink, "If you need more smokes, be sure and put it on the list." Cindy and I both used to smoke, but I'd managed to give them up a few years ago. I never gave her a hard time about it, but I also had told her many times that she needed to buy her own, instead of me being some kind of enabler to her addictive behavior. She did a few times, but being the pushover that I tend to be in some matters, it didn't take long before I was getting cigarettes for her, along with her fucking plugs. Wouldn't trade her for the world.

I didn't mind having Larry over for dinner, since at least he knew how to carry the conversation, even if it was mostly about his former job as a cop. He had busted a kidney in a freak accident on the job, and took a medical retirement several years ago. Since then, he'd supplemented his pension with part-time work as an instructor at the police academy. Cindy had met him at a back-to-school night a year ago, his own daughter a classmate of Tommy's. Larry was divorced, his wife having run off with another man, effectively abandoning her daughter and readily giving up primary custody to Larry. He was spared any support payments, but I knew it wasn't easy for him to raise a young female teenager by himself.

Nine or ten months ago, Tommy was invited to a birthday party for Larry's daughter, and that's when Cindy developed an attraction for him—and vice versa. Cindy had been into the shared-wife scenefor at least a year at that time, and was ever on the alert for suitable candidates. I also had my eyes, and my mind, open to men that I thought she might find interesting, but her judgment in that regard carried greater weight and, dare I say, intuition.

She came home from the party that day and told me about Larry. I could see the shine in her eyes reflecting the glow below, as she described him to me.

Cindy took the initiative and made an excuse to go see him a few days later. I'm not real clear on what she said or how she said it, but I did believe her when she told me she didn't have any physical contact with him whatsoever. Just the same, Larry was invited over the following weekend—and has been fucking Cindy ever since.

Larry comprises one-eighth of her Stable, as she calls it. They all have their own stories, common in some respects, yet as individual as in the ways they pleasure Cindy. There have been three or four others that were part of the stable for a while, but for one reason or another they went on to other, not necessarily greener, pastures. I suspect that Cindy might have influenced their departure, either through dissatisfaction with their techniques, or their personalities. Both factor heavily in what pleasure they give her—and by proxy, me. Some guy can ring every bell in her belfry, give her toe-curling orgasms, but if he turns out to be a jerk, he's no longer welcome at any of her thresholds.

John, her other favorite, has been with us almost from the beginning. For Cindy, he's like the proverbial old pair of shoes—easy to slip on and comfortable to wear. He still manages to bring her to wonderful heights, perhaps not as excruciatingly mind-blowing as in earlier times, but enough that she still desires his company on the occasions when she just wants a comfortable fuck. I like the guy, too. Another of the dinner guests I enjoy spending time with. And watching the two of them together is still enough to get me off.

There are times, however, when Cindy is in the mood for more than just comfort. It's usually around the middle of her cycle, when her body is telling her of her need to breed. Even though she's on the pill, there's still something pressing her to get a little more wild. That's when she opts for Randy or Greg. They're gentlemen, but they're younger and more aggressive, often fucking her two or more times in a single evening. More than once she's gotten sore from the relentless pounding, and had to resort to dispensing blowjobs to give her pussy a much-needed rest.

The fact that she had a preference this Friday for either John or Larry, told me that we were in for a comfortable evening. Which was just fine with me.

To set the record straight, I am not what is commonly referred to as a cuckold. I do not have a need to be humiliated or debased by having my wife ravished by some bull who takes pleasure in giving her whatever it is that I'm pathetically incapable of providing. And I am completely straight, having no interest in physical contact with Cindy's lovers, nor partaking in the questionable practice of chowing down on her freshly inundated cunt. I'll leave eating another man's come to the fetishists, bi's and closet gays who get off on that particular aberration. I simply enjoy the incredible sight—sounds, smell, etc.—of watching another man come unglued while he's driving my wife absolutely bonkers. And, fortunately, she prefers to only have one lover over at a time, not really enjoying a gangbang of two or more guys working on her. It's easier that way for her to focus on what she's doing, and easier for me to follow the action.

Another consideration of the sharing practice is where the men deposit their semen. When it's just me and Cindy, I actually prefer the standard delivery method as deep into her vagina as possible. I have let it go on her tummy, her ass, on her breasts, and in her face, but that was either for the novelty or in some instances at her behest when she was feeling particularly raunchy. Needless to say, I've sent many a load down her throat, but blowjobs are a different animal altogether. I pretty much leave it up to Cindy and her partner; I rarely orchestrate what they do and how they do it. If he decides to let it fly outside her pussy, that's between the two of them. I don't get an extra charge out of seeing the money shot, just knowing that it is happening. Matter of fact, seeing it oozing out of her afterwards, when her pussy lips are swollen and flushed, as she lies spent with her legs apart, is a truly sensual sight to behold.

The final point I should go ahead and discuss is what I do while this hot scene is being played out. Most of the time, I'm sitting or standing near the bed, or wherever they happen to be engaged. I usually wear a robe—probably due to modesty—with nothing under it, so I can readily stimulate my genitals as I watch. Although there have been a few times that I was overcome with the intensity of the scene and ejaculated while they were still at it, most of the time I save it until they're done. If I can't wait until he leaves, Cindy obliges me with the use of her mouth, which is divine. If I've managed to keep a rein on my impulses until he's left, Cindy routinely takes a quick shower to clean off/out his residue before I take my turn at ravishing her. I never fail to experience the most incredibly satisfying releases I've ever known.

Since the question almost always comes up, allow me to take a few minutes to describe how Cindy and I got started with this sexual pastime.

As is probably the case with most couples who have ventured into this taboo practice, I was the one that first got the notion that watching another man with Cindy would be a real turn-on. The fantasy increased in its intensity and the vivid images it evoked. Once I got up the nerve to share it with her, this led to pillow talk, which provided reinforcement when Cindy got noticeably hotter whenever my fantasy was described. It became a regular part of our lovemaking, with me titillating her to new heights with descriptions of other guys banging her silly, or eating her till she uncontrollably came in their faces.

The prospect of the fantasy becoming a reality would always hit a dead end whenever I subtly suggested it. She was, and always had been, fairly conservative in her sexual expressions and practices. Sure, she gave me blowjobs, enjoyed a good vibrator, and so on. But the idea of group sex, albeit a highly stimulating fantasy, was something other people did. She humored my fantasy, even providing her own embellishments on it when we employed it in our sex play, but drew the line when it came to ever actually doing it.

I guess if there was a single event that turned the tide, it was the morning that I had to stop by the house to pick up some paperwork I had forgotten and left on the kitchen table. I found Cindy on our bed, her housecoat open with her legs bent and apart, as she was fingering herself to a very rousing orgasm. She moaned and whimpered as it came for her. I stood at the doorway until she finished trembling, before I made my presence known. Now, you have to understand that Cindy masturbating was nothing new or in any way something to hide—she often did herself in front of me in the preliminary stages of our lovemaking, or even during intercourse, and she never concealed the fact from me that she did indulge herself on a regular basis—but for some reason me witnessing this very private interlude was unsettling for her.

She was startled to see me, and tried to cover herself with the robe. I sat down next to her and started caressing her body through the material, then under it. She was in the waning stages of excitement, but was still very wet. It was unusual to see Cindy as vulnerable as she was at that moment. I took advantage of it by working her back up to pre-coital levels of excitement. I pulled down my trousers and shorts to my ankles and quickly mounted her, remaining dressed above the waist, with my shoes on. As I fucked her, and she responded with energized enthusiasm, the idea popped into my head that maybe this was a good time to broach the subject again.

"Tell me, honey, what were you thinking about when you were doing it?"

"I don't know. Just . . . oh, God, this feels so good!"

"Tell me. Were you thinking about being fucked? Or getting eaten?"

"Oh, I was . . . I was getting fucked . . . I . . ."

"It wasn't by me, was it?" I said softly.

Oh, geez . . . unh, unh, unh . . . oh, God!! She bucked through a terrific orgasm.

I slowed the thrusts, letting her recuperate a little, then slowly resumed the pace.

"It wasn't me, was it? Tell me, honey." I spoke as soothingly and non-accusatorily as I could manage at the moment.

"No . . . it wasn't." She kept moving her hips in concert with my jabbing thrusts, her legs pumping frantically.

"Did he make you come? Did you come big when he was fucking you?"

"Oh, yes . . . oh, God, yes . . . keep doing that, it feels so good."

"He's fucking you again, right now. I can see him fucking you. He's gonna make you come again, isn't he?"

"Oh, Oh . . . oh, shit, I'm coming . . . I'm coming!"

I pushed her through another body-wrenching release, then soon followed suit with my own.

I finally rolled off and laid beside her, my chest still heaving, her own breathing ragged and spiked with small convulsive shudders.