tagLoving WivesWife is Slave For Him and Me Ch. 01

Wife is Slave For Him and Me Ch. 01

byAuryman©

The best way I can imagine to tell this story is to just jump right in. I'm not certain how it is all going to turn out, but it's been a real turn on so far. It could end up being not only fun, but very profitable for all involved. With the possible exception of Rosie. But that's a thought for later.

Rosie and I have been married nearly twenty-two years now. Our sex life was pretty hot for the first few years - she had a beautiful face and an above-average body. I'd been in three relationships before that, but I'd never been so completely stunned by someone's appearance.

We met at a friend's house. It was a completely coincidence. I'd stopped by Deb's house to pick up a pair of gloves I'd left there the night before and Rosie was sitting on the sofa watching television. I glanced into the room, our eyes met, and - well you can guess the rest. Her eyes were the kind that just grabbed you and pulled you in from the very first glance. We were married less than a year later. Everything about her was wonderful. Intelligent, strong-willed, career-minded, sensitive, and, above all, ready to get the hell out of Ohio and move to New York City.

The sex was great right from the beginning. I was into oral sex and light spanking, she was into candlelight and dirty talk. We learned from each other, nudging each other along slowly, adding more and more to our repertoire as we got to know each other better. It was amazing.

And the night life in New York City gave us all kinds of additional opportunities. Skimpy dresses at nightclubs to show her off, high-roller meals in expensive restaurants where we could play footsies under the table and fool around in the elevators. It was amazing.

And, it didn't last.

About five years into the marriage, things started cooling down. No seven-year-itch, it was something more subtle. We tried a few things to spice it back up, including videos, dirty stories, and even a few stabs at phone sex while I was on the road, but nothing took. Nothing turned up the heat.

There was one exception. There was a guy I worked with who we'd met at several social functions. He was divorced and somehow gravitated toward her from the first time we were all in a room together. With just a little nudging from me, she let him seduce her. She came home the next morning completely exhausted and walking on a cloud. I was torn between being jealous and being relieved that at least *something* was getting her turned on again. We spent nearly three hours in bed ourselves that morning. I'd never had sloppy seconds but if this was what it was like, I could get used to it real fast.

And I did. We both recognized how much it added to our sex lives and she screwed him nearly a dozen times in the following three weeks. Mornings, afternoons, nights, whenever he could (pardon the pun) fit it in.

The three of us even 'kind of' spent a weekend together in Las Vegas. We rented two rooms on the same floor. Bob took one and I took the other. Rosie made her way back and forth down the hall every few hours, getting very little sleep the entire weekend. It was completely incredible, both of us felt like teenagers again - all erotic energy and laughter.

But, that didn't last either. Of all things, Bob broke it off. He felt that there was something sick about it and that it offended his sense of morality. Here he was, fucking a married woman, and he got on his high horse about morality. We never saw him again and that was fine with us.

However, we never picked up that energy again. There had been some chemistry between Rosie and Bob that never sparked again with anyone else.

The years went past, jobs changed and we moved back to the Midwest. We'd occasionally have perfunctory missionary-style sex, but we'd flat-lined on passion. Rosie started gaining weight, eventually settling at a comfortable fifty-pounds-over. Her face was still a tantalizing balance between beautiful and sexy, but it sat above a double-chin that was hard to ignore.

All of which is prolog to what happened earlier tonight.

I'm writing this at two in the morning, sitting in an easy chair in a dark living room. I just finished my second Scotch and am trying to make sense of everything spinning around in my head. Rosie's asleep upstairs, exhausted. She spent the last three hours crying her eyes out and explaining herself to me over and over. This was after...well, let me start at the beginning.

I came home from work at around seven. The front room was dark, which was a little unusual. When I opened the door, I heard soft jazz playing and saw the glow of candlelight from the dining room. Wondering what might be going on, I set my briefcase on the floor, slipped off my shoes, and walked into the hallway.

"Is that you?" I heard Rosie's voice ask softly.

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"Come on in and relax," she said.

I walked down the hallway and into the dining room. There were a dozen candles situated around the room, a bottle of my favorite red wine and two glasses in the middle of the table. The table was bare, just the bottle, the glasses, and a white linen tablecloth.

"Would you like some?" a voice asked. I looked up into the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen and saw Rosie. She was wearing a loose white t-shirt that hung just below her belly. It was tied at the waist with a wide black sash. Her hair was slicked back in a look I'd mentioned to her several times before that I found very sexy. She was wearing several golden chains around her neck and a dozen or so small golden bracelets on each wrist. Her eyes and lips were both done in deep burgundy. I smiled a big, stupid grin. My Jezebel fantasy. My gypsy queen. A fantasy we hadn't touched in nearly twenty years. I felt my cock spring to life immediately.

The circuits in my brain blew. I nearly ran across the room and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close, our mouths opening, tongues jutting in and out, tasting each other, mouths sucking, biting, making silly and absurd wet sounds as our lips slid back and forth across each other. I felt her hand up and down my thigh, then it was unzipping me and she was reaching inside my pants and stroking me gently, slowly, remembering what I liked and executing it perfectly.

I reached around and cupped her ass with my hands but she pushed them away. I smiled and slid them up the front of the shirt, maybe she wanted nipple play. Again, she pushed them away, only comfortable when my arms were around her neck or waist. Meanwhile, her mouth and hands worked eagerly at me, mouth on my mouth, neck, cheek, ears, hands on my cock, my balls, palms rubbing hard over my nipples.

"Fuck me," she whispered, pulling the hem of the shirt up around her waist. She leaned back against the table, unbuttoned my pants and slid them down around my ankles, pulled me into her with one quick plunge, wrapped her legs around my back, feet pushing hard at the small of my back, hands continuing to defend herself against me touching anything but the table.

My cock felt her open up but we knew it wasn't going to work. Since she'd put on all that weight, the only way we'd really been able to get any kind of satisfaction was with me coming in from behind. Crudely put, there was just too much of her for me to get much penetration face-to-face.

"Come on, dammit, fuck me!" she yelled. I stared at her. This was different. Her frustration came as a surprise. She was pulling at me with arms and legs, but we weren't feeling it. My cock was fully erect, all seven inches of it, but only the first four or so were actually inside her.

"What's fucking wrong with you?!" she screamed, beating her fists against my chest. "Don't you like pussy? Huh? Come on, fuck me!" She was sobbing quietly, tears running down the side of her face. "Come on, fuck me! Fuck me hard! Be a man!" Her nails clawed at me and I had to grab her wrists. "Fuck you, you bastard! Bastard!"

She was crying now. Her legs relaxed around me, she turned her head and rolled onto her side as best she could with me still between her legs. She hid her face in her hands and mumbled. "He took a photo of me...he put a photo of me up..."

Over the next minutes and hours the story unfolded. I listened with a combination of curiosity, anger, excitement, and frustration. Several months ago, we'd talked about the possibility of using internet porn to get our sex life jump started. Rosie had been very reluctant to even talk about the subject, so the conversation didn't go very far. She kept coming back to how heavy she was and that she would just get depressed looking at all the hot girls on the internet getting what she used to get, doing what she used to do.

I told her that there were plenty of sites devoted to women who weren't supermodels. Treading carefully, I talked about girl-next-door sites, Plain Jane sites, and eventually brought the subject around to the BBW sites. Plumper sites. I kept it light and we actually laughed as we talked about it. But it never went further. We never surfed them, in fact, the subject never came up again after that first night.

That it, it never came up for the two of us. Evidently, it *did* come up for her. To make a long story short, she'd signed up at one and learned quickly that there was a surprisingly large number of men who frequented the site. She posted a photo of herself wearing a demure black dress and heels, face blurred with photoshop, and was flooded with requests for more. On a whim, she posted a photo of herself in a bra and panties, then a little more risque shot of herself topless with white satin tap pants and thigh-high white stockings. The response was incredible. She was swamped with requests to meet, offers to buy nude photos of her for outrageous prices and a handful of men who wanted to work with her on starting her own soft-core porn site.

Between sobs and apologies, she continued with her story. Things escalated between emails, online chats, then phone sex and had finally culminated a few weeks ago with her meeting a man in a hotel room.

To her surprise, he was black. She hadn't asked, he hadn't offered. They'd swapped enough mail and chats that she knew he was what she wanted and she'd arrived nearly incoherent with lust. They fucked for three hours that first time. She hesitated to describe him, but I pushed her. Six foot two. Two hundred twenty pounds. Late twenties. Muscled like an athlete and hung like a horse. They'd fucked face to face, doggie, every which way they could think of and she knew she was hooked. He'd filled and flooded her so completely she knew she would not settle for anything smaller than his weapon again. When he left, she had to nap for an hour before she could think clearly enough and walk comfortably enough to come back home.

"I don't know what I'm going to do..." she sobbed. "I want to be with you, but it's just..."

I stroked her head. "How many times?"

She pulled back and glared at me. "You bastard! Why do you have to ask me something like that?"

Calmly, I said, "I wish you wouldn't talk to me that way. I'm not the one who's feeling so bad about it, am I?" Pause. "Now, how many times?"

"I..." she looked up at me, eyes locking on mine. I saw that she was battling something inside herself. Something else was coming. Finally, she said, "it wasn't just him."

My body froze. I hadn't seen that coming. It changed everything for me. "Go on."

"He brought friends one time. Three of them." Her attitude changed. She adopted a voice I didn't recognize right away. "It was amazing." Then I remembered. It was the voice she'd always used when we'd tell each other our fantasy stories. Way back when. "It was amazing, David. I'd cum and cum and cum. It was like with Bob. You remember, Bob? Those days?" She pressed herself against me but I froze stiff.

She was confessing but I was feeling my hard-on growing. And she was getting excited too, her hand went back to my crotch and her fingers started gently working on me.

"What did you say about a picture?" I asked quietly. Her right hand was stroking my cock lightly and her left was cupping my balls.

"They took some pictures. I let them, I wasn't thinking..." she leaned forward and took my cock-head between her lips. When she pulled her mouth off, she stroked again with her hand. "He emailed me with a link and I clicked it. There I was. Naked, on my knees, one of them in front of me with his cock in my mouth, the other behind me and..."

I jerked slightly as I unloaded into her hand. She leaned forward and licked the residue from her fingers, still talking, "...the other behind me, inside me, planted deep up inside me."

She finished then stood up, pushing me back slowly. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. You need to tell me what to do next..." I was quiet for several minutes, not knowing what to say. Eventually, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and walked upstairs to the bedroom. I heard the water running as she cleaned herself up, then the sound of the springs as she crawled into bed.

That's it. I headed into the room here to get all of this down while it's still fresh in my head. There are so many aspects to this, so many angles. I'm not sure what the next step is, so I can't rush. I need to think this through completely. So many possibilities.

...to be continued...

====================

Feel free to take the hint and send me some suggestions. I have an outline but there's always room for input. Plus, there are always other stories to write.

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