Lynn and Bobby Ch. 01

"Speak to me Bobby boy. I want to hear you beg."

"Please don't let your buddies gang-bang my wife. Please don't make her gang-bang. Please!"

"God I love it! You tremble when you beg. Look over at your wife Bobby. Look at her spread those legs. Look at that pussy drip. She's a used-up bitch and she still wants to fuck. She'll do anything I tell her to do, because she's horny. Remember that redheaded bitch -- the guys were standing in line with their dicks in one hand and a can of beer in the other, waiting to fuck her. Bobby boy, your wife would fuck 'em the same way. Hell, I wudda had her gang banging before now if she was at my place and if it wasn't so damn much fun to watch a proud man like you beg and tremble. Damn, that makes me hard. Look at this thing in my pants Bobby. That's what your wife loves, isn't it?"

I looked at him. I was still trembling. Just do what he wants you to do, I told myself. You know what he wants to hear. He wants you to humiliate yourself. Just do it. Hang in there. Say it right for her sake. It was hard for me to talk, but I told him what I thought he wanted to hear. Please God I was right!

"My wife loves your cock because it's so big. She loves to fuck you because you make her come. I can't make her come. My dick is too small. She'll do anything you tell her to do, as long as you keep fucking her." I almost collapsed after I got it all out and I said a silent prayer it was what he wanted to hear.

"Oh Bobby boy, you said it so nice. And you trembled when you said it. You are so right. That's exactly right. Look at it. Look at my dick!"

He grabbed his erection through his pants and I looked down at it, like he wanted me to. I was going to do anything this degenerate bastard told me to do. We were close to the end.

"Well, Bobby boy, now you are going to give me one final pleasure. You've watched me fuck you wife for months. So now, I'm going to hear you say thank-you and you're going to really to mean it. You will feel truly grateful to me. And you being grateful, after what your best friend done to your wife, will make my dick hard as a rock. "

He sat there smirking at me. Waiting. I trembled. I waited, terrified.

"After I service that used-up bitch tonight, I'm gonna leave and I'm not coming back."

I closed my eyes and sighed deeply and before I even thought I said, "Thank-you, thank-you." I said it softly and my whole body was flooded with relief and genuine gratitude. But then I thought, that sadistic bastard is right. I mean it. He had fucked my wife for months and tormented us both, and now he had made me offer him my gratitude and sincere thanks. Jesus! I watched him sit there, smirking, stroking his erection and enjoying my gratitude.

Then he stood up and unzipped his pants. He took out that huge erection he had been stroking for the last half hour, stroked it in front of me for me to see. Then he walked over to the mat where Lynn lay on her back, still afraid to move, her legs spread wide, waiting for the orgasm she craved. He fucked her, not even dropping his pants.

I watched them fuck, watched her enjoy it, listened to her grunts, and said a silent prayer of thanks. Watching him fuck her, I thought maybe we're going to make it. Maybe, the nightmare is over. When those animal grunts stopped, and she started to tremble, he got up from her still trembling body, put that monster cock back into his pants, zipped up his fly, and walked out, without a word. He had not even ejaculated -- his pleasure had come from causing pain to Lynn and me and watching us suffer. And the sadistic bastard had made me say thank you, and mean it.

I looked at my wife, still on her back, legs spread apart, panting for air after working so hard to come. Between her spread legs she was dripping wet, from her own juices. The wet lips of her pussy were engorged from her sexual arousal and they gaped open, loose and wide after Bill's hard pounding. But that bastard was gone! At last, at long last, he was gone!

He had said she'll be a wreck when I dump her ass.

She had said when he's finished with me, I'll be desolate.

Well, we were through the nightmare, but I had work to do. Now, she needed me more than ever before. She was losing someone she needed and wanted and I had to help her through it.

******

Overall, Bill had stayed interested, for just about four months. Near the end, of course it was only his verbal abuse and humiliation of both of us that kept him coming back. He didn't enjoy fucking her any more, he just wanted to abuse her. He only serviced her to make her docile and submissive for his abuse. After that last night, he just quit coming to our house. I had done what seemed impossible at the outset -- a four-month intensive affair kept secret. None of our friends ever found out what was going on. Most of them said we were doing a great job, of keeping up Bill's spirits, after his divorce. Our social life had been normal the whole time and Lynn had behaved with our friends like the perfect wife. Now, our friends were delighted. Bill was getting over his divorce, he'd found a new girl friend, and we had helped him, when he needed it most. Yeah, we had helped him! I felt sorry for his new girlfriend, especially if she had the fetish.

I heaved a big happy sigh of relief. Then, when she realized he had left her, Lynn got viciously angry. Angry at me! She said I had treated him badly and it was my fault he left. She wanted me to call him, apologize, and invite him back. For over a week she shouted at me, cried at me, blamed me until finally she gave up. Our social life now came to a halt. We stopped going out. I told one of her close friends that she had had a miscarriage and the word got around. I lied and said we were seeing a psychiatrist for a mild depression.

Her anger went away but she began to deny he had really left for good. She came to believe that if she promised him just the right combination of favors and inducements he would return. She actually sat at our desk and made lists of things she thought he might like to do. She spent hours on her lists. I looked at one of the lists: it was disgusting, graphic, vulgar, sadistic, and played directly toward his need to humiliate us. Clearly, she understood the deviant part of his personality and was hoping to be his victim again. She spent hours trying to make her letters to him perfect. She even mailed a few and they came back unopened.

After four or five weeks, she finally admitted to herself that he was really not coming back. I was relieved and tried to reinforce this idea, telling her we were fortunate that he would not be back. Her reaction was as unexpected as her anger had been. She became absolutely desolate. She cried every day, all day, for a week. Her anger was gone, but this was worse. Then she stopped talking, just sat around the house doing nothing. She just sat there, staring into space, and thinking about Bill. She stopped putting on make-up and her hair was always a mess. She quit cleaning the house and cooking meals. I ordered in and opened cans and let the house get dirty. It was even a struggle to persuade her to take a bath. I got scared and I stayed home from work. I began to be afraid of what she might do to herself. I checked the medicine cabinet and removed most of the pills from the bottles that I thought might be dangerous with an overdose. I stayed home almost every day for nearly three weeks, afraid to leave her alone.

At last, almost three months after he left her, things began to get better. So slowly, it was hard to tell for sure. Her recovery was slow, but it was real. I could go to work now and soon I began to work almost full time. She made progress each day. She started to take pride in the meals she cooked. Her hair, nails, clothing all got better. I could work full time again with no worry for her. We went to dinner at the club. We went out with friends. Our social life returned. She was getting well. Things just kept getting better for several months.

As Lynn got better, I began to have hope for the future. It had been almost a year since the affair with Bill began and we hadn't made love. I couldn't. Just thinking about sex turned on that ballet of animal grunts and sweaty semen smells. Our old sex life was gone. But we cuddled and kissed and even tried to stimulate each other a bit. Occasionally I would eat pussy, but I still couldn't get it up to fuck her. Our social life had returned to normal. Our friends welcomed us back and said they were so glad Lynn was well again. She fit in with them again. I continued to let them believe her depression had been the result of a miscarriage.

As the weeks went by our life returned to something very close to normal, except in the bedroom. Maybe now was the time. Maybe it would help her feel better about herself, improve her self-image, if we could reestablish our sexual relationship. I could wait of course, if she needed to, but maybe she was waiting for me to initiate it. It might help her get better. I was very afraid for myself. Could I do it without turning on that ballet of sights and sounds in my head? Could I get it up? Could I shut out that ballet of sights and sounds and smells that seared my memories?

I got the hot tub ready. I was careful in selecting the right evening. We had a nice dinner at her favorite restaurant. We got home early. This was going to be a serious attempt. I didn't say anything to her, but it would have been hard for her not to feel that I had something in mind. We had a few drinks, smoked a joint, soaked in the hot tub, played with each other, and then went to bed. I was careful that we were not too drunk, or too stoned, we were just right. I was careful not to rush her. We were just about ready. I shut out from my mind everything but my love for her. My dick was hard for the first time in a year. Lynn reached down and took hold of me, and, then, there was a pause, I felt her body shake, and then she started laughing. She tried not to but she couldn't help it. I must have been a bit pathetic, compared to her memory of Bill. Anyway, she laughed. My dick just collapsed. Now, when your wife laughs at your dick, it's time to put it away! So, I laughed too. It just shriveled up! I remembered that first time she fucked Bill in the hot tub, how little my dick seemed then.

From the time of that failed experiment, we held each other and tried masturbation. I ate pussy. I gave Lynn some orgasms that way but they were never anything close to her explosive experiences with Bill. I still couldn't get it up. It could have been worse, I thought. We loved each other. We were close to each other. Our marriage was intact. Lynn's reputation was intact. We had hope for the future. And, just as important, Lynn was able to talk about Bill with something like reality. She realized what had happened to her, what he had done to her, and now she hated him. We had talked about her fetish and she had gone on the net to read about it. She still had trouble believing that a subconscious urge, a fetish fantasy, could have such a major effect on her life, but she was beginning to understand it. She talked freely about "that bastard" now usually controlling her emotions. We talked about him a lot. She was gaining insight. I wanted her to understand and learn to control her fetish. These were happy months. But the ballet still played in my head. The ugly memories were still there.

******

One Saturday morning, over a year after the affair with Bill had begun, for no reason I could figure out, Lynn suddenly asked me, "Who was 'that horny redheaded bitch.'"

"How did you hear about her?" I asked.

"I just heard."

"Tell me how you heard and I'll tell you all about her," I responded.

" I was just sitting here thinking about what happened with Bill, and I remembered one time we were laying in bed, getting ready to -- you know - "

"You were getting ready to fuck him."

"Yeah. And, I was playing with his cock and I said to him, 'I love my husband, honey, but I sure do need this big thing.' Bill burst out laughing as though I had said the funniest thing in the world. And then he said 'You're just like that horny redheaded bitch.' So tell me, who was she? And why am I like her?"

"Well baby, when Bill and I had lunch, the day after you first fucked him, he told me you had a fetish."

"Bill explained it to me using a gal we fucked in our Junior year in college -- the one he always called 'that horny redheaded bitch.' I don't know how he knew her, but at the beginning of the semester, he started bringing her up to our dorm room for us to fuck. She had big tits and a big, thick, red, curly haired beaver and I told Bill that it really turned me on."

Lynn laughed. "Mine turns you on. You like your beavers big and hairy. I think you married me to eat my beaver."

"No way baby, it was your cooking. Anyway, Bill told me she had a fetish and worshipped his cock. She would do anything for it. He used to make her strip, wear spike heels, and run around our room buck naked."

"Oh my God! You'd seen it before -- what he did to me I mean!"

"Yeah, well, when Bill was explaining your fetish to me, he used her as an example. He said, 'Every time that horny redheaded bitch spread her legs for me she always told me two things: how much she loved her husband and how much she needed my dick.' Then he said, 'Your wife said the same two things to me yesterday right before I fucked her.' Then he said, 'Bobby, face it, she loves us both -- you, and my dick!' Then he started to laugh. It was an ugly laugh."

Lynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Letting the air out slowly, she opened her eyes, and said, "I did say that to him the first time I fucked him. I was trying to make him understand I loved you and not him. And, I said it to you over and over. I wanted you to understand that I loved you. Every time I said it, it must have made you remember Bill laughing at us."

"It did. But, you're getting better now. You can talk about it."

"I can talk about how crazy it was. I felt it then but it's hard to understand it now. I was trying to tell you that I loved you but I had to fuck another guy because he had a big dick. Now, how the hell does a wife tell her husband something like that? How do I say it and not sound like a damn fool? I mean, it would be funny if it wasn't so damn sick. But, somehow you seemed to understand it."

"I did understand it. It was your fetish. Bill said it that first day. You were trapped by what was in your head and what was in his pants. I understood it a lot better after I read about it."

"God, I love you. I don't deserve you, after what I did to you, but I love you. I hate Bill, but I still see that big cock in my head and it turns me on. I'm still a crazy slut, but I feel so secure when you hold me in your arms. I feel so happy and safe when we just lay there together quietly."

"I love to hold you too, baby. You're not crazy. You have a fetish. You can learn to control it. Learn to understand it. Just like an alcoholic does."

"Well, baby, just talk to me. You can tell me anything. After what we've been through, I can handle it."

"I don't know how you can still stay with me after what I did to you. Near the end I was doing and saying bad things to you to try to keep Bill interested in me.

and I can still remember that I was starting to have fun laughing at you. I was beginning to get just like him. You were just somebody to laugh at. The big rock hard cock was taking me into the bedroom."

It hit me like a physical blow. She just sad exactly what her fetish was doing to her. She just turned Bill into a big rock hard cock. He was a cock -- not a man. She's already said I was a brave man to stay with her. Was she starting to understand how her mind worked when she was in love with Bill's dick?

"Oh God, it's not funny now," she continued. "You loved me -- you loved a crazy slut! You had to be a man -- hard as a rock - to take what we did to you and keep me at home. To keep me from destroying our marriage. I know that now. But Bobby, I can still see that cock in my head and I still want it. I love you for staying with me and helping me. I love you for being a man for me. And I hate that bastard who owned me just because he had big dick. But I still see it in my head!"

She understands what her fetish did! She's got that part figured out. But, the dick is still there in her mind. She has to learn to see something else. Something instead of that cock. This talk has helped her.

"Baby, that big cock will always be there. It's just like alcohol in front of an alcoholic. He needs it. He has to learn to handle that need. He has to learn to see something besides alcohol in that bottle. He's won his battle when he looks at the bottle and doesn't see alcohol, but instead he sees a destroyed marriage. You just have to do the same thing to handle your fetish -- to see something else instead of that cock. Like an reformed alcoholic."

******

Sometimes Lynn and I would sit and talk for hours about what had happened to us. Lynn seemed to gain more understanding of herself by talking. But she still saw that big dick in her head and it caused sexual arousal. I was hoping she would figure out a way to get control of it. Even hating Bill the way she did, sometimes it seemed to take over her mind. But talking was very difficult for me with the voices and visions and memories of the things she had said to me. You never tried to screw me and I was glad, because I was feeling so good that I didn't want to spoil it. Some things she said hurt. Hurt really bad! But I kept encouraging her.

"You'll learn to control it baby, just like the alcoholic controls his need for alcohol. He still thinks about it but he controls that need. " I used the analogy of the alcoholic because Lynn had known some friends who had been able to control their drinking.

"Yeah. Sure. What happens the next time I see a big one in the hot tub? You wanna watch your wife play with some guy's dick? Remember what it says in the books -- it's situational - just show me a big one and watch me grab it. If some guy with a big one gets a hard on, I'll probably suck him off. You can't even count the number of times you saw me on my knees blowing that bastard. Every time I did it, you had to just stand there, helpless, and watch me swallow a big, thick, creamy, mouthful of that bastard's hot come, and then hand me your handkerchief to wipe the overflow off of my chin. And he was laughing at you as I cleaned his cock and put it back in his pants. You knew from beginning to end that I wanted to do it. I wanted to suck him off, so he'd fuck me some more. I'm a slut! It's what I do. How the hell could you have put up with that? How the hell could you have stayed with me?

"I put up with it and I stayed with you because I loved you and I knew you were not a slut, but a woman with a problem she could get over - like an alcoholic has a problem he can get over. You can learn to control it just like an alcoholic. No more hot tubs with anyone but me. Just like an alcoholic avoids bars. You can control it as long as you know it's always lurking there, ready to grab you."

"It's more than lurking, Bobby, it's grabbing me. There's something I haven't told you."

"What is it darling?"

"I've been having this same dream for over a month now. I had it again last night and it's dreadful. I haven't told you about it, because it's so awful."

"Do you want to tell me about it now?"

"You won't like it. You won't like me for having it. It's about Bill."

"I may not like your dream, baby, but I'll still like you."

She took big breath and started on her story. "Sometimes I'll wake up at night and you'll be laying there beside me, asleep and the picture of that big cock comes into my mind and I start playing with my pussy like I did in high school. My pussy gets all wet and ready and I think about having that big thing inside me and after a few minutes I start to want it real bad. I hate Bill, but I want his dick."