Second Wife Ch. 05byCreamer©
While my date with Monica was fun -- especially when I used it as leverage to get Mary to humiliate herself later -- I didn't have a lot of time to pursue it the way I would have enjoyed. Things were getting pretty busy at work. April 15th was fast approaching and my new client had sprouted problems I hadn't foreseen. That meant a lot of long nights at the office, or busy periods in my home office.
It was a stressful time, but luckily I had Mary The Blowjob Queen at my disposal. On more than one occasion I summoned her to my office at lunch time and had her fellate me to completion behind closed doors -- which earned her a leering sneer from my secretary every time she waddled out, guiding her increasingly large belly while licking her lips clean of my sperm.
Or, if I elected to work at home, a simple shout would bring Mary running to my office, where I would just whip out my hardening cock and let her do the rest. She was still reluctant to capitulate so easily, of course, but I ignored her attempts at wheedling more delicate affectations and used her like a whore. She was on the clock.
She'd scoot between my knees and suck me slowly for half an hour, maybe forty five minutes or so, and then I'd cum in her mouth and she'd go back to work on the house. Then a few hours later I'd repeat. Or I'd decide I wanted to be entertained, and would make her sit in the other office chair and masturbate with a vibrator until she came explosively. Those were lovely -- and the cameras I had hidden to tape it were perfectly positioned to record her pregnant solo pleasure for posterity.
But despite the frequent finger-walks, I knew Mary was getting increasingly frustrated, and increasingly desperate. I knew it because her diary said so.
I find myself getting increasingly frustrated, and yes, increasingly desperate. Having Bill's cock in my mouth so often is tantalizing, and I still haven't gotten him to fuck me since before Christmas. I'm starting to have perverted fantasies, now, wishing he was still dressing me in silly costumes and forcing me to humiliate myself before fucking me. At least it was contact, and I was getting off. Now I feel more like a thing, an appliance. I find myself thinking about misbehaving just to get his attention . . . and then I remember what a precarious position I'm in. If I want to win him back, I must be patient, and persistent, and accept the penance for my sins that God has ordained for me.
That was music to my ears, when I read that. And I realized that the desperation could play well into my hands, if I arranged things properly. There wasn't any need to crush her spirit and her hopes -- not yet. Best to give her a little more line, provide a little whiff of hope to keep her involved.
The day after I read that passage in her diary I made a few calls and did a little research. My new assistant was getting things ready for a big mailing, and after I looked it over I decided to give myself the rest of the day off and meet my private detective. We couldn't really do anything more until we got responses back from the banks anyway, so there wasn't much harm.
I met Andy at Bull's, near his office downtown. He's a nice guy, a professional who works magic when you need him to. He had bugged Tim's place for me, and had let me know to come to him if I needed any more "special" (and not particularly legal) professional services. I welcomed him warmly, bought him a drink, and we stole away to a dark booth in the back to plot some nefarious deeds.
I outlined to him what I needed from him for the Plan to work. He considered silently and thoughtfully for a while, sipping his drink and looking off into space. Then he instantly refocused.
"I think I got just the guy for the job," he agreed with a sigh. "But it won't be cheap."
"Ten grand, probably. More, if it takes longer. That doesn't include my commission."
"Done," I said, instantly. "Call him and prep him. I'll get you more details as I have them."
"If you don't mind me saying it, Bill," he said with a sigh, "I think it's a waste of money. I mean, it's your business, but I've seen a lot of divorce cases -- caused a lot of divorce cases -- and this sort of thing almost never ends well."
"That's the risk I'm taking," I agreed. "And it has already not ended well. This is . . . well, I'm either trying to salvage the relationship or put a stake through its heart. One way or the other, I'm going to be able to have some closure."
"Seems a pretty bizarre way to get closure," he grumbled. "And expensive."
"It's only money. I'll make more. It's the peace of mind I'm after."
"I don't know, Bill," he sighed, shaking his head doubtfully. "Wouldn't just buying a boat and getting a twenty-two year old nympho girlfriend be easier?"
"Probably," I conceded. "I just know myself enough to know that if I don't do this now, I'll spend the rest of my life . . . wondering. And wandering."
"I still think it's pretty fucked up -- for the record."
"So noted. But the whole thing has been fucked up since this began with me getting told I'm getting a divorce. She's the one who started the circus -- I just brought the elephants."
I made a quick stop on the way home -- art supplies. There was an idea I'd been toying with for a while I wanted to try, and today seemed like a perfect day to do so. I pulled into the driveway and honked -- it took a while, but Mary eventually waddled out, and came to my window.
"What is it?" she asked, confused.
"Go throw your coat on," I said, quietly. "And put on your tennis shoes. I think today is a gorgeous day for a picnic."
She looked at the overcast skies skeptically, then saw the serious look in my eye and nodded. She returned a few minutes later with coat, hat and scarf -- the latter two being totally unnecessary. It was cool, and a little breezy, but not really cold. Gotta love the South for the climate.
When Mary climbed in the passenger side I could tell she was excited, but trying hard not to show it. "A picnic, Bill?" she asked again.
"Unless you feel like staying home and folding my underwear," I said with a sigh. "Look, I had a free afternoon and felt like being outside. I stopped at Larner's and picked up a couple of box lunches. Figured you wouldn't mind the outdoors, either."
"No, no, this is great!" she said enthusiastically.
"Good," I said, pulling into Kingswood Gardens. It's the local university's gardens, world famous for its botanical collection. It's also a favorite haunt of horny freshman looking to hook up -- in the summer time. In the winter it was nearly deserted. The flowers and the freshmen were equally discouraged by the cold. There were only a few other cars in the parking lot.
"Wow, this brings back memories," she sighed, longingly. I nodded -- we'd done a fair amount of courting at this park, when we first met. That made this a romantic memory. One I couldn't wait to sully.
"Wait," I called out as she started to slowly walk over to big iron gates that led majestically into the park. "Come here, first."
"I have a present for you." I beckoned her to join me around the back of the car, and she did. I tugged out the backpack I'd packed our lunch into, and then opened one of the items I'd picked up on the way home. Mary looked at me quizzically when I pulled out a smooth, chrome-colored sphere. Well, oblate spheroid, if you want to be technical. It trailed a single short wire.
I reached out and pulled down the stretchy top of her maternity pants, then dug into the waistband of her panties. She looked at me strangely, eyes wide in alarm as my fingers sought the entrance of her cunt. I found it -- warm, wet and inviting -- and pushed the sphere within, deep enough to keep it secure. Her back arched and she hissed.
"Damn, that's cold!" she complained.
I didn't reply -- but I did take a few moments to stroke her erect clit. She wobbled a little when I did that, but she didn't pull away. I could feel the little wire hanging out with the back of my hand. I kept teasing her clit until she closed her eyes, then pulled my hand out of her pants.
"What is that? Ben Wa balls?" she asked, trying to sound sophisticated. I had been the one to tell her about Ben Wa balls, years ago, and she had insisted she had no interest in trying them.
"No," I said, digging my hand in my pocket and retrieving a small little device. I thumbed the button 'on' and watched Mary lose her damn mind.
"UUUuuhnnh!" she groaned as the little wireless vibrator hummed up against her G-spot. "Bill! Stop it!"
"Sorry, you don't get to say that anymore," I remarked, casually. "But I don't want you to cum just yet." I flicked the switch off and she looked relieved.
"This is . . . distracting," she said as she began walking towards the gate again -- albeit more gingerly this time. I smiled to myself and followed her, the picnic basket in one hand, blanket over my shoulder, and the remote in my pocket. The thing had a range of about fifteen feet, which I established as I tagged the button again as Mary was walking through the gate. The sudden onslaught of sensation made her pause and tremble, and she shot me a dirty look -- but she kept walking. I caught up with her and took her arm. We looked for all the world like a happily married couple playing hooky and enjoying ourselves.
I buzzed Mary sporadically several times as we made our way through the park. It was pretty deserted -- we only saw two or three people the whole time we walked back towards the Arboretum section of the park, through the Asian gardens.
That's when we ran into Mr. Sholen and his wife. They were old family friends of Mary's, fellow attendees at her church and had known her since she was a child. She looked a little pale when they approached us, and I could almost hear her mentally beg me not to embarrass her. While her adultery was being whispered about pretty heavily in her congregation, the Sholens were older, less prone to gossip, and I knew she was hoping they hadn't heard about it.
I'll spare you the excruciating details. I kept buzzing her in fifteen second bursts throughout her conversation, making her squirm and moan at inappropriate times. I ended with a good one-minute long buzz that made her close her eyes and clutch at her tummy. Mrs. Sholen, of course, was concerned and asked if the baby was all right. Mary played it off admirably, saying that she was having a lot of Braxton-Hicks contractions and the baby was restless if she ate spicy foods. Mrs. Sholen took the opportunity to pull her aside and dispense a good five minutes of pregnancy advice, thirty years out of date.
That's when Mr. Sholen took me aside. I barely knew him, but he apparently knew me -- knew of me, I should say -- from Mary's dad.
"It's a hard thing you're doing, Son," he said, simply. "I don't know how you can take it. If I were you, I'd throw the bitch out on the street, but you taking her back in after everything . . . well, that's as much Christian charity as a man could be expected to give and more."
"After the baby's here, things will . . . change," I confided, quietly, as I glanced at Mary. She was uncomfortably trying to keep up with Mrs. Sholen's meandering advice, and just to keep her honest I gave her a little thirty-second buzz. "I can't see much of a future together, but I'm at least inclined to try to work things out. What happens then will largely be up to her."
"It's a hard thing, Son, but you're being pretty noble about it," he sighed, clapping me on the shoulder. I took the opportunity to rescue Mary from his missus, and we took our leave.
"God damn it, you almost made me cum in front of Mrs. Sholen!" she whispered harshly. "Dammit, Bill, do you know how—"
"Shut up," I ordered quietly. She started to say something and then thought better of it. "That's better. That amused me. And that's enough reason to do it. And I'm really starting to feel a need for amusement, today."
"Oh, God!" she whispered, as I gave her another jolt of the vibrator. "Dammit! That thing is strong!" she whimpered.
"It's supposed to be," I agreed, smugly. "C'mon. I think I know a good spot." She followed me, meekly, trying to maintain her composure as I stimulated her pussy with erratic frequency. By the time we got fairly deep into the arboretum she was trembling.
I gave her a break as I spread out the blanket just off the path and began laying out our lunch. Then I helped her get to the ground -- not easy when you're that pregnant.
"Thanks," she said, picking up a sandwich from her box and biting into it. "I'm starving."
We ate in silence, more or less, breaking it only to exchange idle comments. Finally, she could take the bullshit small talk no more.
"Bill, why did you bring me here?" she asked, sighing heavily.
"Why do you think?"
"So you can . . . sexually humiliate me."
"I prefer to think of it as an object lesson, or an amusement, but that works too." I turned the wireless remote on and left it on. Mary's bottom lip started trembling.
"Oh . . . God . . . if you keep that . . . up . . ."
"Yes, you're going to cum," I agreed. "That's kind of the point."
"I-if-f th-that's wh-what you wa-want," she agreed, squirming mightily. "I'll cum my brains out for you!"
"Yes, Mary," I whispered to her. "I want you to cum your brains out. For me. Because for much of our marriage you couldn't be bothered to work yourself up -- and now it's time to pay for that. So you're going to cum a lot, today. Right here, out in public, where anyone could happen by and see you."
"Oh God!" she whimpered, her eyes wide. Her hips were squirming around of their own volition, and she was biting her lip.
"And for my viewing pleasure, I want you to talk dirty while you're cumming."
"What? I can't -- OH! I can't . . . even . . . I can't even think right now --OH!"
"You will start talking dirty, right now. I want to hear what a filthy little slut you are."
"Bill, I—OH my God . . . I—" She was struggling visibly, now, leaning back on her hands, her coat open slightly, her heavy breasts peaking out from it. Her nipples were obscenely hard. She tossed her head back and pressed her thighs together as the mindless little toy hummed away next to her G-spot.
"Now, Mary," I said, calmly. "Start with how wet you are."
"Jesus, my panties are soaked! I can't stop . . . I'm a horny little slut, Bill, and I've got a goddamn vibrator driving me fucking insane!"
"A decent start," I admitted. "Continue."
"I . . . I want your cock in me so bad I could scream," she said, haltingly. "I want to feel it pumping in and out of my pussy and—oh God -- and hammering my clit!" She took a moment to shudder prettily, throwing her head back and showing me her neck. She forced herself back to coherency, but couldn't bring herself to look at me. "I want sex, Bill, I want your big dick pounding away at my pussy, I want it in my ass, and I want to suck your cock all day!"
"Now we're talking," I said, raising my can of diet soda in salute. "Tell me, Mary, how does it make you feel to know that your husband -- who you claim to love -- is going out and fucking other women?"
"B-b-bad-d," she stuttered, confused. "But if if that's what you want to do, then . . . then . . . you des-deserve it, Bill!" she said, ending her sentence by turning my name into a squeal. "Oh, damn, this thing is getting warm . . . and it won't . . . quite . . . let me . . . cum . . ."
I took pity on her and clicked off her tormentor for a few minutes. She still hadn't cum, she was just highly aroused, now. She looked at me with grateful relief, and tried to straighten herself. But she had that smoldering, horny look in her eye that I had sought to inspire for most of my adult life.
"I deserve it?" I said. "Perhaps. More importantly, you deserve it, Mary. You had a sweet thing and you fucked that right on up. So me fucking other women is part of your punishment for that. Your atonement. How does that make you feel . . . really? And be honest, now."
"I hate it," she whispered. "I love you, and every time you go on a date I spend the night crying myself to sleep, thinking about you with . . . another woman."
"Well, for my part, it's been invigorating," I said, smiling. "All that fresh, eager pussy, just waiting for my cock. Willing to do anything for it. And I get to let them, because you, Mary, you couldn't keep up your end of the marriage."
"I'm sorry I cheated on you, Bill," she said, sullenly. "I'm really sorry."
"Oh, the problems were there long before you met Dickless," I observed. "You were dragging in the bedroom for a year or more before you got distracted by a new, more exciting dick. You had a perfect life. All you had to do was fuck your husband, suck him off regular, and you were too self-absorbed to do even that. What kind of piss-poor excuse for a wife are you, Mary?" I demanded. "I never made you work. Your only real job was to keep me happy, and you couldn't even manage that. All those nights falling asleep because you were 'exhausted' from your strenuous day, all those headaches, all those bullshit excuses add up to one thing: you were being a lazy bitch, Mary."
"I -- I guess I was," she said, a few tears starting to pool in the corners of her eyes.
"Damn right you were. And now you get to stay at home, barefoot and pregnant, while I take out other women and fuck them, and you have to lick their pussy juice off my cock and think about it. All of which could have been avoided by the simple expedient of taking care of my needs."
"I'm s-s-sorry, Bill."
"Shut up," I said in a low voice -- something I never would have said before her infidelity. She had lost my respect with that. "I'm still furious with you. I still love you. I still hate you. But while I'm dealing with this tangled web of psychological issues, I'm going to fuck as many other women as possible. Young, cute . . . skinny," I added, knowing she was starting to really become depressed about her weight gain. "And they do all sorts of things my wife would never dream of doing, once-upon-a-time. Can you think of any reason at all why I should give up all that prime pussy for your sorry fat ass again? When all you're likely going to do is go back to your old habits?"
"I won't!" she insisted, a tear falling from her left eye. "I swear!"
"Bullshit," I growled. "If I took you back right here, right now, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, to death do us part -- If I made that commitment the sad, pathetic truth is that you would get bitchy and frigid all over again in just a few short months -- because you feel like I somehow owe you for the meager pussy you'd let me have."
"No, Bill! No, I'll fuck you anytime you want, I'll suck your dick, you can fuck my ass, you—"
"Liar!" I spat. "Six months. I give it six months before you'd have an attack of 'headaches' and 'exhaustion' again. First you'll prey on my sympathy, then you'll lower expectations with poor performance, and eventually you'll do as little as you can get away with when you bed your boring old accountant husband. And then we'd have to do this all over again, because as God is my witness, I will NOT go back to being a fucking money-dispensing appliance whose sole purpose is to provide you with a roof and a credit card."
I tagged the wireless remote again, unexpectedly, and she jumped with a start. "I will not let some bitch put me in the position of whacking off in the den at two in the morning because she won't give me some pussy -- or a little head -- when the mood strikes me. I will NOT be taken advantage of again. The next woman I marry will be far, far more compliant and eager than the pathetic excuse for pussy in front of me now. She'll gladly cater to my needs, not treat them as a burden or a chore."