tagLoving WivesSexy Sally, My Slut Wife

Sexy Sally, My Slut Wife

byJigs©

Authors Note: This is a story once published at another site under the name Sexy Sally & Boss Bob. For its appearance on Literotica it has been rewritten, its plot amended, and its category changed, although it does return with the original characters and parts of the original story. I have done my best to make it as fresh and interesting to those who may have read it in its previous incarnation as I hope will be to those who are reading it here for the first time.

------------------------Today at **Our Manhattan Apartment**

My name is Harry Fountain. I'm 35 years old, six foot one, 180 lb.. with brown hair that is receding in front and sparse on top.

At this moment I am sitting in an easy chair across my apartment living room from where my boss, Robert Simpson is making passionate love to my wife Sally. I am stripped to the skin. My fingers are wrapped around my cock stroking it up and down in a slow masturbation. Bob and Sally are as naked as I. She is sprawled on the couch, her legs spread wide. Her lover's face buried in her crotch, and his mouth is eating her pussy with the fervor of a man starved for the taste of a woman.

Sally was enjoying herself too, and being very vocal about it. "Ohmygod, please... on my clit! More tongue on my clit damn you. I'm going to cum... a little more, please. Just a little more. I'm almost there. More! Aghhhhaaaa!!"

That last passionate scream was in response to an index finger suddenly inserted inside her wet cunt up to the last knuckle . If Sally wanted more, Bob was certainly willing to oblige. His finger probed the tender walls of her pussy, plunging in and out, fucking her wet hole as if his finger was a slim cock.

Above that searching finger, at the top of Sally's slit, a little feminine nub left its hiding place as if peeking to see what all the excitement was about. It would pay for its curiosity. Unprotected, Sally's clit became fair game, and Bob's tongue lashed and licked across that raw nerve without mercy. Sally's body drew taut and stiff. Her mouth opened gasping for breath.

Bob raised his head and demanded of his victim, "Tell me about it sweet bitch! Tell me how good it feels. Beg! Beg me to keep on eating you. Are you ready to cum, Sally! Cum on my tongue! Cum for me Sally!"

Enraptured and paralyzed by the sensations that raged in her cunt, all the tormented woman could muster was a low moan. "Poor Sally!" was my first thought before my own agony added an amendment.

"Good God, how can I sit here and watch this?"

This was not a new question. For days and days now I have been struggling with how might reconcile my marriage vows to sharing my wife with my Boss. Sally, as far as I could tell, had no similar reservations or philosophical concerns. To the contrary, even as I watched, a strangled scream finally allowed her to fill her lungs with air, and without hesitation she loudly announced to me, indeed to the whole city of New York, the joy of her orgasm on another man's tongue.

"Oh Bob that is sooo good, OhmyGod, I'm cummmingggg."

"Not good enough my sweet blonde slut," her lover told her as his head dove back between those soft thighs and returned his talented tongue to a clitoris already stripped to a single flaming nerve. Sally screamed, and Bob again raised his head to speak.

"Cum for me again Sally. You must cum at least twice more before your pussy may have the use of my cock. Are you really ready? How badly do you want me inside you? Beg me for it Sally. Beg me to fuck you in front of your husband."

Yes indeed, for me to be listening as my wife begged for his cock, and then for me to watch as he fucked her, were major to Bob's pleasure. And damn it all, I must be quite as perverted and well trained as she because here I sit masturbating, listening and watching... watching as this man drives my wife into a sexual frenzy with his mouth and hands... watching as he prepares her for his penis inside her vagina.

How had my marriage come to this? How had I come to this? Where and how did I loose my balls and allow another man to fuck my wife while I sat by stroking my cock with my own hand?

------------------Flashback **Boss Bob & I**

As I said Bob Simpson is my boss. He is the CEO and President of the world's largest privately owned corporate conglomerate. I am a senior Vice President in charge of Marketing for the insurance company component. I have been with the parent company, or one of its wholly owned subsidiaries, ever since I graduated from college 10 years ago. Robert Simpson was a Senior Vice President when he first hired me, and from the beginning, he took me under his wing as his protégé. It was soon obvious to everyone that I was, and have continued to be, Bob's fair haired boy.

Bob Simpson is a man of considerable confidence, brains, and ability. At six foot six, 260 lb. of hard muscle, a deep baritone voice, a full head of salt and pepper graying hair, and a similar mustache, he is a imposing man who looks every bit the college linebacker he once was. "Boss Bob" as he likes to be called, can charm the birds out of the trees, or when he thinks necessary, turn a frown into a thunderbolt. The stare of those coal black eyes when he is displeased is something few people can ignore or ever forget. No one that I know of has ever seriously contested Bob Simpson's right to the title of "Boss" that he insists on with such pride.

In only seven years after graduating from college with his MBA degree, "Boss Bob" was promoted into the elite core at the top of the corporate ladder as naturally as a kite soars upward in a high wind. Now, ten years later, he is at the top of the pyramid. Only Antonio Carmine, one of the world's richest men who continues to serve as Chairman of the Board, has more rank and authority in the direction of this multi-billion dollar company, and nobody, not even Carmine, has more to say about its day to day operation.

As the company grew larger and more diversified, Bob was promoted from possition to possition, and always the job was bigger even more important than the one before. I simply tagged along behind him as his anointed favorite. With his support and influence I was jumped over a dozen or more men with more seniority, and who, as I must admit, had better qualifications for promotion. That didn't make me very popular with my fellow executives, but nobody has ever complained on the record because whatever Bob Simpson wants, Bob Simpson gets, and right now at least, Big Bob the Boss wants me to be a Senior Vice President.

Darla MacIntire has ridden Bob Simpson's coat tails in his rise to success in much the same way as myself. Darla is a striking redhead with an ample and impressive body. She is two or three years older than I, and was already the Boss's personal administrative assistant when I arrived on the scene.

One of the many mysteries about Bob Simpson has always been his sex life. He is not married. He makes public appearances with various women from time to time, almost without exception movie or society celebrities. As far as anyone knows, these women are simply props, carefully chosen to hype the occasion rather than anyone with whom the Boss might actually be sharing a relationship.

Except for such apparently platonic publicity companions, and an obviously close professional relationship with Darla MacIntire, no one seemed to be aware of any women in Boss Bob's life. Darla herself is married, and the mother of a daughter now in her late teens. Corporation gossip has long maintained that Boss Bob was fucking her on the side, but no one seems to have any personal knowledge of that as a fact.

The only alternative theory to Darla as Bob's mistress seemed to be that Bob was a fag. For someone otherwise so perfectly masculine, a homosexual preference didn't seem likely. Still, there were those who adhered to that possibility, and to them, I filled the role of the Boss's male lover. As God is my witness tho, until a year or so ago, sex was a subject I never heard Bob Simpson even mention, and he certainly had never made a sexual pass at me, or in my presence to Darla, or to anyone else. For all I knew and had seen, he was some kind of a monk who had taken a vow of celibacy.

----------------Today again at **Our Manhattan Apartment**

The two additional orgasms Bob demanded of her came quickly to Sally, and a third one to spare arrived immediately on the heels of the first two. Her quota met, she began to whimper and plead for her lover to fill her hungry cunt. "I did it Bob. I did as you asked. I came. Three times I came. Fuck me now lover. I need your cock so. Put it in me Bob... please. I'll die if you don't take me.

Bob was on top of my wife now, his hips between her thighs, his chest flattening her breasts, his face directly over hers where he could stare into her sky blue eyes. "Beg me some more my sweet prick teasing bitch! I have saved you Sally... saved you from a lifetime as a prick teasing little bitch. How does it feel now Sally? Doesn't it feel good to be the one begging? I want to hear you beg some more bitch! Beg! I love it! Just love it!"

"AllrightGoddamnyou," came Sally's breathless but bitter reply. I could see that she was in one of her resistive moods. Her words were clipped and perfunctory. She complied with her lover's demands, but her reply was cold and with little enthusiasm... at least at first.

"Its true! I was a prick teasing bitch, but you saved me. Now I beg you for your cock. There! I have said what you wanted to hear. Now fuck me, damn you." Then, as her resistance began to wane, she added, "OH God, I do so need a cock inside me. Give it to me. Put it in me... please."

"Not good enough Sally," Bob insisted. "Apologize. Tell us how sorry you are for being a prick teasing little bitch all your life. Tell us how it feels now to have the shoe on the other foot."

Sally's bluster emptied and was gone. Suddenly she was crying softly. "Please Bob, yes I'm so sorry I have been a teasing bitch, but I have tried to do better. I've done everything you've asked. I've spread my legs like a whore, and begged you to take me, even committing my adultery while my husband watched. What more can you want of me? I am so ashamed, but I love you and I need your big cock so much. Whatever you desire... I'll do it I promise, but please, please, you must fuck me now. Fuck me please!"

-----------------------Flashback **Sexy Sally & I**

That whore begging for her lover's cock was my wife, Sally. We were college classmates. Sally Truxel was a honey blond blue eyed knockout, the Sweet Heart of Sigma Chi, the White Rose of Sigma Nu, the Homecoming Queen, the Prom Queen, and queen of just about anything else that needed an every-man's-dream coed as a centerpiece. She knew she was a doll, and like most pretty girls she reveled in it to the point of being a bit of a tease. She never failed to show off her long almost perfect legs and full boobs whenever the occasion allowed, but of course always in a tasteful way consistent with her image of campus icon.

Until I came along Sally must have dated half of fraternity row, and a fair number of the athletes from the jock dorm, even some of the black ones if the rumors are true. How sexually active she was nobody seemed to know for sure, but there were a number of unverified (and probably unreliable) dirty stories with Sally in the staring role.

One thing was known sure about her, however. She liked to snuggle up close to her date on the dance floor. When the tune was slow and romantic, she would press her firm thighs and deliciously soft tits against her dance partner, and tease him with a sensuous sway of her body. When the music stopped, more often than not the poor guy had to escort Sally back to his table while trying to hide an embarrassing erection.

The word was around the student union that she kissed with her tongue, and that she was a 'hot neck' even if (maybe) she wouldn't 'go all the way'. Every would be stud on campus was sure that behind that saucy smile, there was a promise of pure raw sex that he could tap given the right chance. As a result, whether a title well earned, or simply someone's wishful thinking, from her freshman year on she was widely known by the behind-the-back nickname of "Sexy Sally."

While Sexy Sally was practicing her French kiss in cars parked in the woods behind the football stadium, I was studying the French language from a textbook. Although I lived and ate in a "frat house," I was always more at home in the Phi Beta Kappa reading room at the library. I wasn't a big man on campus, but the coeds thought I was presentable if not handsome, I was a member of a socially elite Greek letter fraternity, and I was generally thought of by my classmates, male and female alike, as "a good all around guy." Those are valued qualities on a college campus, and they exempted me from the classification of "nerd" that my reputation as a scholar would have otherwise surely earned for me.

How "Sexy Sally" and I became an item is a little hard to figure. I suspect that it was Sally's mother who decided that with graduation approaching, her girl needed a husband able to support her. Most probably momma Truxel had a heart to heart talk with her daughter and announced that it was time for Sally to cut the shit and start looking for her MRS degree.

My scholastic reputation as a brain had earned me an A-1 potential for post graduate success, and I fit all Momma Truxel's economic and social requirements. However it happened, Sally and I started dating early in the football season of our senior year. Midway through the basketball season, we became "pinned." That was the night she let me fuck her for the first time.

I'm almost certain Sally was no virgin on our first lovemaking (although she has never said one way or the other.) I was, but I did the best I knew how at the time. To all appearances I fumbled my way through acceptably. At least Sally seemed satisfied. Indeed "satisfied" might generally describe our sex lives thereafter.

By time graduation day came around, Sally and I were engaged to be married. We had a late June wedding, a honeymoon in the Bahamas, and I went to work for Bob Simpson in mid July as soon as we returned. As I have said, my promotions came quickly, and my salary, stock options, and perks increased accordingly. Sally and I had no children, but neither of us were interested enough in parenthood to even try to find out why not.

Sally loved the good life from her first taste at corporate headquarters in New York. Clothes and jewelry, maids, golf on Long Island, lawn parties with the Connecticut elite, and weekends at fashionable spas along the New England shore... these were all things that she enjoyed far too much to yearn after motherhood. I was wrapped up in my work, and just as self indulgent about our life style as she was. The two of us were contentedly living off the fat of the land, safe in the cocoon of luxury that surrounded us, when Bob Simpson took his first steps to seduce my wife and make her his mistress.

------------------Flash back **Boss Bob & My Wife**

It was about six months ago that this all began. With some heavy financial help from my corporation, we had purchased a very very expensive three bedroom, three bath, two level, apartment twenty floors over a shopping mall of exclusive shops and trendy restaurants on Manhattan's 5th Avenue. The address was practical as well as prestigious. We were less than two blocks, and a 10 minute walk, from the skyscraper where my (and Boss Bob's) offices were located.

Boss Bob began to often drop by our apartment for dinner. Whenever he worked late, or a social engagement made it inconvenient for him to go on to his estate home in Westchester, he would spend the night in our spare bedroom. After a while he more or less moved in and began to keep an extensive wardrobe there. By then Bob was sleeping over three or four nights a week at our apartment.

As far as I was concerned, his frequent presence in my home was only an innocent accommodation of convenience. We certainly had ample room for him. Sally was no cook, and didn't try to be. All our meals were prepared by, and brought in from, the restaurants downstairs. We had maids to serve the food, and to clean up after us, so neither the meals nor the housekeeping were any imposition on Sally. Bob was fun to be around, and his contributions to the household budget were generous. It all seemed like a perfect situation. Eventually, however, Bob's Mr. Hyde showed up.

As I got to know him better, it became apparent to me that Bob was not the asexual monk I thought he was. To the contrary he was a very smooth operator around women. He knew exactly how to stroke a female ego without alarming its owner. He flattered Sally at every opportunity, but for the first month or two he was always careful to be correct and proper about it. He complemented her clothes, hair do, nails, etc. always suggesting what a sexy and desirable woman she was without actually saying so. You could see Sally loved it, and was attracted to him.

Once he had overcome her reserve, and moved past her seeming indifference to his attentions (a first line of defense for every woman), he became more outspoken and direct. He began to tell her straight out how beautiful she was, how her hair shown in the sun, how good she smelled, how her smile made his day, and even how her mere presence could arouse a man (meaning himself of course).

By the time four months or so went by Bob was staying at our apartment so often that he was a fixture in our life. Sally had grown comfortable with his sexy flattery. She thought she knew him by then, and if she ever felt threatened by this dynamic and domineering stranger in her home, her concern had long since passed. Thus reassured, and enjoying the thought that she was still a desirable woman who could catch a handsome man's eye, Bob's new and more personal approach was clicking with her pretty well.

It was becoming more and more obvious, however, to everyone (except to me) that Bob was wooing my wife; and although she wasn't exactly encouraging him, she wasn't backing away either. 'Love', 'affection', those have never been important words in Sally Truxel's life, nor do I think she ever applied them to me more than perfunctorily. I am, I think, and always have been, more to her as a means to an end than as lover.

Bob was different tho. For the first time in her life Sexy Sally had met her match. This man she couldn't control, something that had never happened to her before, stirred her emotionally, and that had never happened before either. Moreover, there is no doubt but that Bob sensed her fascination and uncertainty. The longer Sally hung in an undecided limbo, the more determined and aggressive he became. The sex thing came more and more out in the open. What had been polite complements turned bold and bawdy. He would tell her straight out how "luscious" her "tits" were, and he would ask her with a leer she really needed the bra she was wearing.

Sally was a little embarrassed by this new side of our Boss Bob, but crude or not, She was clearly flattered by his attention and sexual innuendo. Somewhere down deep inside her feminine self, Bob had struck a cord in Sally. She was once again the beautiful and desirable "Sexy Sally" that college boys had lusted after a decade ago. She liked that feeling too much to let a little dirty talk upset her, or at least so she must have reassured with herself. I don't know whether she understood she was being seduced or not, but hearing no protest from her, Bob was steadily, if gradually, upping the ante.

One night after dinner, Bob started a conversation supposedly with me, but one clearly directed at Sally, about what great "stuff" my wife had. He said that a man should be downright proud to have that kind of "stuff" available to him in bed and he hoped I was taking the proper care and advantage of it. He then turned to Sally and asked her straight out whether she was getting enough regular cock, and did she enjoy it "... when I slipped her the man meat?"

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