Second Wife Ch. 03

Mary does give great head, and even after losing two loads in her sister's tight twat my dick was basking in the attention. I reveled in the knowledge that she was licking up her own sister's secretions as she pleasured me, and the way she was trying to pretend to be sluttishly enjoying the process was a thrill on its own. But it was still taking a lot longer for me to blow than usual. After a full half-hour of oral caresses, she pulled her swollen lips off of my dick and looked up at me while stroking it absently with one hand.

"Am I doing it okay?" she asked, concerned.

"Fine, fine," I replied with some disinterest. That got her – every good wife knows that anytime a man says 'fine' he's keeping something back. I watched her silently panic as she thought that her one saving grace in this fucked up relationship – her ability to suck a dick – was fading in importance in my mind. The panic lead to resolve, and shortly she was back to work, redoubling her efforts to get me off.

Another ten minutes and she took another break. "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

I considered. There was something . . .

"You can lick my asshole," I said, matter-of-factly.

"Huh?"

"Stick your tongue up my ass while you stroke me," I advised. "I've . . . recently discovered that I like my ass played with – who knew? So stick your tongue up there and wiggle it around some, while you're jacking me off. I'll let you know in enough time so you can swallow it." I sounded perfectly reasonable. She looked perfectly horrified.

"I . . ."

"Yessss?" I asked, patiently.

"I'll be happy to," she said, quickly, then lifted my balls carefully as I scrunched down a little more, giving her access to my back door.

She was hesitant, of course. This was not something she had expected, at all. It wasn't even something I had particularly been fantasizing about. But when her cautious tongue made contact with my hairy, sweaty ass crack, I let out a magnificent groan and grabbed the top of her head.

"Oh, YEAH!" I moaned, pulling her face deep into my taint. "That's incredible! Stick your tongue out, Mary – deeper! – that's it, oh, that's nice. Lick my ass, Mary. Lick it good, you filthy little slut . . ."

She started to panic as I directed her, but once I called her a 'filthy little slut' she seemed to relax and abandon herself to the depravity of the act. She twirled her tongue, licked in quick flickers, probed the center with the point, and orally caressed every section of my crack – all the while she stroked me with her dainty little hand. I continued heaping subtle abuse on her as I enjoyed her kisses – "oh, God, who knew have a slut's tongue in your butt would feel so good? You do that like you enjoy it . . . do you? Never mind, who the fuck cares . . . lick my ass, you whore . . . don't stop jacking me off, you can handle both . . . taste good, does it? You're not just a cocksucker any more, you're an asslicker now . . . hardly debutante material . . . God, if only I knew you were such a good asslicker on our honeymoon . . . oh, keep stroking . . . and . . . now, suck it, suckit, SUCK IT!" I bellowed, watching her scrambled to get the head back in her mouth while I was cumming. She got most of it, but she caught the first stray blast across the bridge of her nose, where it started to drip. She was madly trying to contain the rest, swallowing frantically. I put my hands on her head and helped keep her mouth pumping me dry until I collapsed back in my seat.

She slowly recovered from the blowjob, licking her lips and fingers and sitting back on her heels. Her belly was really showing large in her shapeless nightgown, and she looked a little miserable and humiliated. It was getting easier to stifle the urge to comfort her when she was like this. More progress.

"Was it . . . good?" she asked, shyly.

"It was all right," I agreed enthusiastically. "Gonna have to try that more often – a lot more often! I didn't know what I was missing. No telling how it will feel when you get the hang of it. You really are one hot ass-licking slut – turned you on, didn't it?"

"I – what? No, I—" she stammered, in a daze.

"Liar," I accused, leaning forward and thrusting my hand up her nightgown. No panties. My hand found her crotch and my finger found her opening, and just as I suspected her pussy was soaking wet. It spasmed around my finger as she closed her eyes in embarrassed humiliation. I kept wiggling it around, probing her G-spot with my index finger while my thumb toyed with her engorged clitoris, until she opened her eyes. Because of the way we were sitting my face was only inches from hers.

"Your pussy is dripping wet," I whispered. "Because you just sucked my cock and licked my asshole, and it made you dripping wet. The next time I inquire if you are aroused, I would recommend that you tell me honestly and without hesitation, or that violates our deal – is that understood?"

"Yes, Bill, please, don't—" she said, gasping, as I mercilessly thumbed her cunt. When she started to close her eyes again in involuntary pleasure, I relented and withdrew as savagely as I had arrived. She gave a powerful gasp in relief, but it was clear she had enjoyed the attention. "It won't happen again, I swear it!" she whispered.

"So if I ask you if you're horny, you say . . ."

"Yes! I'm so very horny! I want you, Bill, I—"

"And if I want to push you down and yank open that treacherous cunt of yours and slam it full of rock-hard cock, you say . . ."

"Oh, please, God yes, Bill, anything you want to do, any time, just do—"

"And your whole body is at my command? If I want your mouth? Your ass?"

"Just take it, Bill, whenever you want," she babbled as my tone became increasingly aggressive. "I'm here to do whatever you want me to!"

"Good," I said, finally, standing up. I took a moment to wipe the head of my dick clean on her eyebrows. Then I stepped around her as if she wasn't there, and headed up the stairs to my room, leaving her crouching on the floor of the living room, my sperm dripping from her face and nose. "Good night," I added as I went up to bed.

***

It was just before lunch the next day when I got a call from Monica, who had rung me on her cell during nap time at the Elementary school. She sounded lively enough, and she had a nice laugh and a good sense of humor. I could also tell that she was terrified of rejection and was relieved that I had been 'pre-screened' by Susan for her. We flirted good-naturedly for a while on the phone, agreed to meet Friday night. I was about to hang up when she stopped me, and took a deep breath.

"I don't know what Susan has told you about me—"

"She said you were cute," I offered. I could almost see her face wrinkled up in disgust.

"Well, maybe," she conceded. "But I'm also short, I haven't been on a date in a long time, and if you think—"

"Don't worry," I interrupted. "I don't think you're desperate," I laughed.

"Bullshit: I am desperate," she said, quietly. "Susan said you had a big dick and that you were a sure-thing. So let's cut through the crap, Bill: are you going to fuck me? I don't know what Susan told you, but I'm not ashamed to admit it. Are you going to fuck me?"

"Wow," I said, chuckling nervously. "Susan mentioned you were forward . . . yes, Monica, I'll fuck you. At least twice. I'll make you cum so hard you'll be walking funny the next day or two. I'm getting out of a bad marriage, and I've got plenty of pent up sexual aggression I want to blow on as much strange pussy as possible. If that means taking advantage of a young and innocent elementary school teacher, waving around my gigantic cock and my general affluence, and working out my frustrations on your poor little under-utilized pussy, well, you'll just have to indulge me."

I could hear her gasp at the bluntness of my words. "Shit. Yeah, you'll work. What else did she say?"

"That you'd probably volunteer for anal if I took you someplace nice. Are you that kind of slut, Monica?" It was strange, flirting and bantering about such intimate things with a woman I had yet to lay eyes on.

"Yeah, Bill, I'm that kind of slut," she agreed, levelly. "You take me out nice, fuck me good, I'll give you the back door."

"Friday, then?"

"I'll meet you downtown at Bull's, about eight?"

"See you there, Monica."

The rest of the week passed without too much else of interest happening. Oh, I was starting to have some issues with my big new client, but nothing that would interest someone outside the profession. Mary was still sucking me off pretty much any time I wanted, but we had barely spoken otherwise. I was focused on my date with confirmed slut Monica at the end of the week. After six years of faithful marriage, I was enjoying my new-found freedom, and the prospect of getting some strange pussy is always intriguing. Mary could tell I had something on my mind, but she knew better than to inquire. But I did mention that I wouldn't be home until late on Friday night because I had a date.

I could almost hear the wheels turning, the heart breaking, the sobbing and such. And when I recovered her diary on Thursday while she was out shopping, I found this little notation:

Bill continues to taunt me, unknowingly, about his affairs. It's not that he's waving them in my face – that I could probably handle. But the idea that he is out with other women when I don't know about it is killing me! Who are they? A real woman with a face and a name I can compete against, but these phantoms are impossible. Still, he manages to taunt me. Having to taste another woman's juices on his cock the other night made me livid – that was just disrespectful, and he acted like it was no big deal. He didn't even mention a date; just that he had been with "a client". Oh, God, is he fucking his clients now, too? That is just too much.

He just told me – again! – that he has a date this Friday night. We never went out that much before we split up. It tears me up to think about him preparing to meet this mystery woman – will she be the one he decides upon? Will she seduce him, lure his heart that much further from me and my fat ass? Will she be younger, prettier, sexier than me?

I can't think straight anymore – I know it's the hormones, but it's also this situation. I expected Bill to start warming up to me once I returned, but apart from the fucking blowjobs he hasn't touched me. We've barely spoken. He will sometimes ask about the baby, but only in very laconic terms. Not only are my hormones making me outrageously horny all the time, but I feel so utterly alone being so near to him physically, yet so detached from him sexually and emotionally that every time I see him I want to hug him, lay in his arms and cry, and bend over like an animal ready to be mated. But he just stares, grunts quietly, and unzips his fly and waits for me to drop to my knees. Oh, God, how long are you going to punish me for my sins?

From there it went into a long, self-pitying tirade about how it was everyone else's fault: mine, for not paying her enough attention, her parents' for not being more strict in her upbringing, Tim's for taking advantage of her moment of weakness . . . she had plenty of people to blame. She blamed the innocent baby for cursing her with the situation. Even God, apparently, bore some responsibility for her infidelity. She blamed everyone but herself. I shook my head sadly as I put the journal back exactly where I found it.

I was having pretty mixed emotions myself – there was still plenty of anger smoldering in my heart, but the weight of nearly a decade of intimate love was also there. Still, I could not give in to my nobler instincts. She had committed herself, and we had to see this thing through. The status quo would remain, I told myself, until the baby was born. And if her self-centered, self-pitying attitude persisted, then there was no way we could even consider a reconciliation. It was sad – not just for her lack of emotional development, but for how desperate she was feeling. As her best friend my heart was breaking for her. As her cuckholded husband I was still inconsolably angry, and the idea of her mental anguish brought me some measure of vindication.

I was waiting for her when she got home – one of the advantages of being in middle-management is more flexibility with my time – and after I carted the groceries in and helped her put away the perishables, I sat back down in the kitchen and watched while she put away the dry goods. She became a little self-conscious about my presence, and a wave of expectation built up as she balled up the plastic bags neatly. When she was done, I wordlessly unzipped my fly, and with a combination of relief and obligation she got on the linoleum and bent her head to the task she knew so well.

She was wearing an ugly orange maternity top and maternity jeans today, and had her hair up in a ponytail. She sucked with only moderate interest – this was a "business blowjob", a bean in the jar. She was methodical and uninspired, but it wasn't a bad blow. Indeed, there was something stimulating about her indifference – just doing one more household chore. I put my hand on the back of her head and started directing her, and she passively let me control the depth and intensity of her sucking until I groaned and spurted my semen down her throat. She took it obediently and without complaint, even issuing a loud, juicy belch afterwards.

Ordinarily I would have just pulled up my pants and gone back to work, but I decided it was time I started toying with my toy. I did stand up, my cock still dangling in semi-rigid repose, and I helped her to her feet. Then I pushed down her jeans and granny panties, causing her to stiffen with alarm. To her credit, she didn't struggle one bit, just put her hands on the table in front of her and allowed me to explore her ass.

It was bigger than the last time I saw it so close. Still plenty fuckable, but decidedly larger – about 10%. I caressed it a moment, and I watched in amusement as she writhed at the touch. Then I pushed my hand between her legs from behind and my fingers found the entrance to her cunt. She was wet, hot and wet, and my cock started coming back to life as I pushed a finger inside her and pumped it a few times. My other hand stole around to her front, briefly fondled her swollen left tit, then worked its way under her baby belly to discover her bush (she had let it grow back, a process fraught with torment and itchiness) and the clitoris within.

She spasmed suddenly as my finger found her button, and I gave it three or four minutes of concentrated stroking while I invaded her pussy. She was shaking, her knees weak as she approached orgasm, her breath coming in gasps and her eyes closed at the sensation. My cock was hard again, leaving a trail of fluid across her asscheek as I masturbated her. She began to wiggle around, as if trying to capture it in her crack, bending over to present me a better angle for fucking.

Then I stopped.

I pulled my fingers away and licked them a little. Pungent, but not unpleasant. Her butt quivered before me, anticipating a sudden penetration – nay, begging me for it.

I zipped up my fly and jingled my keys.

"I'll be working late tonight," I announced, and headed for the door. My estranged wife was hovering on the edge of climax, her pants and panties around her ankles, bent over the kitchen table. Her look was one of frustration and hurt feelings, as if she had been rejected. "And shave that cunt, too. Goddamn jungle down there."

And I left. And I smiled the whole way back to work.