A Conversation With The Devilbyhickoryfarmer©
You look nice today. Nice outfit, great shoes.
We'll cut right to the chase. I'm not really one for making too much small talk. You love your husband?
So you're driving to the mall thinking about your lover right now.
"Yes. How did you know that?"
I'll ask the questions. Let's stick to the subject. You love him. Your lover, that is?
Interesting, same answer as you gave for your husband. Which is it, lover or husband?
"What do you mean?"
I ask, you answer. You know exactly what I mean. Please don't play games with me, I know more about you and your thoughts than you care to dream. Which man do you love?
"I love them both. In different ways."
So your lover is a stud service, the husband is a meal ticket, is that it?
What is it then? Your lover is a stallion isn't he?
So he's the stud, the husband is dinner.
"Things change. I didn't know my lover back then."
So he fucks you and that makes you happy?
"He's never done that in his life."
What happened April 29th ten years ago?
"He made love to me."
There's a difference?
So the husband fucks you and the lover doesn't.
"Not always. Sometimes."
And you like getting fucked?
"But your husband fucked you Saturday night."
You hesitated. Don't like to think about it?
Why not? It's pretty commonplace, isn't it, your dear husband ripping into you so he can feel good, true? He doesn't give a shit about you.
Happened the first time, didn't it? You do recall that, don't you, sweet, innocent little Jane that you were.
"We were about to get married."
Oh yes, that's right, two days away from a legal wife, the twenty year old maiden so sure this was it and you had a visitor. Coming to get some pussy, wasn't he?
Of course that's what it was. He comes by, puts a fuck in you and goes back to work, leaving you laying there wondering what comes next.
"I don't like to think about it."
I suggest you do think about it, lady. Your dear husband to be came by, gets you in bed, sticks his pecker in you, breaks your hymen, makes you squeal, makes you bleed, ruins the sheets and then leaves you there wondering if he just knocked you up and you don't want to think about it? Please. You've thought about it every day since April 29th ten years ago, haven't you?
Wondering how different it would have been if it was the lover picking your cherry.
"Knowing it would have been different."
Why, because he's bigger down there?
"No....... Yes. Some."
Think he would have fucked you the same way?
"No. It would have been pretty."
Not like Saturday night. That was such a pleasure, wasn't it?
Come now, Jane, wasn't that just what you wanted? Your dear husband, having had a couple of snorts out of the bottle, getting you on the bed, pulling off your panties and shoving it in, just about passing out after he came and the whole time you know he was fucking somebody else.
"No, he wasn't."
Of course he was, dear lady. He was balling Wendy with the big jugs, wasn't he? It was Wendy he wants to fuck out, not you. You're just convenient. Available. Willing. You're pussy to him.
Absolutely he was balling the 40 DD tramp best friend of yours. He could imagine those big, heavy breasts, the nipples so hard, all pressed against him as he wallowed in it, couldn't he?
"Wendy's no tramp. I love her dearly. She's not. She'd never. Not with him. Ever."
Bet he thinks about you two going at it, you and Wendy, girl on girl.
"No. That's gross."
And sex isn't?
"What do you mean?"
You said it yourself, the act is gross. Really, be honest, a man takes his penis and shoves into you, sometimes nice, sometimes hard and rough. He keeps pushing until he comes, shooting all kinds of wet, sticky goo into you. That's not pretty, is it?"
"Depends on how it's done."
Ah yes, back to the way your lover handles you. So you would have liked to have been a virgin to him?"
"Yes. Very much."
Well, you were, one way.
"Yes, and I loved it. I loved it he let me."
Your first blowjob.
"I don't like to call it that."
Oh yes, that's right, you like it pretty. To Jane him, much more refined than sucking him off, isn't it? Strange, your husband not ever wanting one himself.
"He just doesn't."
But he'd butt fuck you again in a heartbeat if you'd let him.
"Yes, he would."
He made you a piece of ass for his 50th birthday and he'd do it again.
That's why you went to another man, wasn't it? Your husband absolutely fucking humiliated you fucking you in the ass. Hell, he didn't even use a condom, he stuck it in bare, banged you and then came in you. What was it, a day, two days before all of it got out of there?
Two days with your loving husband's semen in your ass. What a big man he is. What a gracious, obedient woman you are.
"I'd rather not think about it."
No, you'd rather think about that lover of yours, wouldn't you?
Think about how those eyes of his sparkle when he sees you.
Think about how your heart flutters.
How you can't wait to have another of those sweet kisses of his or feel the tenderness of his touch. How you love to feel him getting excited to have you. How you love him and how he loves you.
"Yes... Stop. I don't want to think about that."
Why not? Can't you feel his lips on yours. On your throat. His hand unbuttoning your shirt. You are wearing a flimsy little bra today, aren't you?
It barely covers anything, doesn't it? The little black one that turns your lover on so much he just has to have.
You can see him admiring the view, you can feel him unhooking you. Baring you. So ready to have his way inside you as a lover. As a man.
He's not your husband, is he?
Your lover respects you, and respects you as a woman.
"Yes. God, yes."
You can see him, you can feel him, doing what a real man does. Undressing you slowly, savoring every inch of your skin. Kissing. Licking. Dropping to his knees, hungrily mouthing your breasts, sucking so sweetly, so tenderly, as a real lover.
"Yes. Stop. Stop, please."
Why? It's better than your husband.
You love your husband.
But he fucks you.
You admit it, he fucks you, he doesn't make love to you. He hasn't. In years.
Your husband wasn't a virgin when he fucked you the first time, was he?
"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't care."
Yes, you do. You were, was he?
"Doesn't matter. It really doesn't. My lover wasn't."
Your husband made you a piece of ass.
He won't let you make love to him. Not like your lover does. Not on your knees, worshipping his manhood. Worshipping him the way he worships your body when he makes love to you.
"No. Stop. Please."
No, we're going to stop. You didn't stop your husband when he fucked you.
"I'm his wife."
That's right, the loyal, obedient wife who just drove past the mall. Care to explain?
"I don't want to shop. I want to go on."
To your lover.
You want him, don't you? You've been thinking of going to him ever since you got out of bed this morning, haven't you?
You thought about him because your husband humiliated you again Saturday night, in a different way. He fucked you.
You know he fucked you.
You want to feel what love is, real love, in the man you should have had from the very beginning.
To please him, to give yourself so totally it doesn't matter if it's your first time or not, it's the right time. The time when you, as woman, give yourself and your body to him, the true love of your life, to become one.
Then go, my darling. Be the woman you are. The one you need to be with that man you need. You love and you always will.
"Wait, I've got a question."
I usually ask the questions, pretty lady.
"Who are you?"
You make me laugh. It should be so obvious you've been wrong twice in your life, Jane.
When you married him was once.
"And the other?"
Calling me the devil.
"Then who are you?"