A Happy Marriage: Aubrey's Epiphany

Slowly, ever so slowly, Aubrey began to stroke up and down on Phil. After each long, slow stroke, she'd pause, sigh lightly, and smile. Her eyes were tightly shut and the corners of her mouth were turned up in a tiny expression of joy. She began to pick up the pace, swallowing at least half of that veined instrument into her bowels before rising up again. Phil was obviously being affected by this much tighter experience. His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back on the back of the couch, and his mouth opened every few seconds to show startlingly white teeth clenched in concentration.

Something was wrong, though. She was slowing down and now there was a look of anger on her face. What had happened? Had Phil failed her in some way? Glaring at me, she said, "FUCK. I can't believe what an incompetent little shit you are. How do you even keep your job? How is it that you don't die of being so stupid?" I hung my head. What had I done wrong? Or was this just some new scheme to torment me for her own pleasure? She grabbed my hair and shoved it into her crotch. "Do you see that asshole, bunglicker? It's dry. I'm not wet enough." I looked at it dubiously. It looked plenty wet to me, but I couldn't argue with her, not if I wanted to stay out of trouble.

"Listen, there's only one thing we can do, here. We've tried every way we can think of for you to lubricate me; apparently it wasn't good enough, so now you're going to lubricate Phil." No. Oh, no. Not this, too. Anything but this! But I was long past resistance--I was utterly broken, and the only thing I could do was obey. My role was humiliation. Phil didn't apparently care; in fact he seemed to think it was amusing, showing those many white teeth again.

I must have balked for too long, because Aubrey leaped off the couch and grabbed (what else) my hair again, positioning my head up above Phil's cock. "Make your mouth wet, toilet-face," she hissed, and I complied. "Open up." I obeyed. She pushed my mouth down around that plum-sized head and for the first time in my life I found myself sucking another man's cock. I closed my eyes against the humiliation, the degradation, and just let her move my head for me, keeping my mouth open as far as it would go. I gagged as he hit the back of my throat; she only laughed and pushed harder, lodging me into a deepthroat position. I now had the top six inches of Phil down my gullet. Apparently her cleaning hadn't reached this deep; I smelled her shit on him and no doubt it was in my mouth, too. Stroke, gag, stroke, gag, stroke, gag. She made me blow him for a good five minutes; then, for good measure, she forced me to lick all up the sides of the bottom half of his member, too. For a finale, just to be mean, she made me hold each of his egg-sized balls in my mouth for a few seconds.

Smiling, on the verge of laughter, she declared, "Now THAT'S a wet cock. Let's go, loverboy!" And with that she pushed me back down into my close-inspection position and jumped back onto the couch. She had no trouble getting him in this time; the previous stretching and my utterly degrading lubrication work had done its job, and she began riding up and down almost half the length of this massive tool. I had no idea how much of this thing she could take into her backdoor. I'd read once that with practice some people could fit an awful lot in there, but she'd only been at this for three months, hadn't she? Hadn't she?

She was riding him with reckless abandon now. Some part of my brain wondered how she'd gotten such strong legs, to be able to carry on like this for so long. Her tits were flying, up and down, up and down, making a slapping noise against her ribs on each downstroke. Her asshole was getting stretched open farther than I'd imagined possible. With a shock I noticed that she was taking three-quarters of this twelve-inch member into her bowels. She wasn't screaming, like before, but she was making small audible high-pitched gasping noises with each downward stroke. This went on for another five minutes.

Phil suddenly reached up, gripped Aubrey's shoulders, and pushed her down with what looked like all of his strength. Her feet shot out from under her and she sat on his lap, completely bottomed out. Completely bottomed out! My pretty, 5'6", 125lb, porcelain-white with a dash of freckles, 30-year-old wife sat there on another man's lap with twelve inches of throbbing, hard, veined, black meat buried in her intestines, her asshole stretched open to the size of a soda can. My nose was two inches from the lip of her anus and I could see how even part of the section of his dick with pubic hair on it had gone up inside her. Her perineum had completely vanished. Her cunt, still stretched out from its similar pounding a couple of hours ago, stretched up in an inverted U shape to accommodate this massive intrusion, the skin at the bottom of it stretched paper-thin by the tool lodged in its next-door-neighbor. No doubt the room in her pussy was needed; I couldn't imagine what would have happened to her if it hadn't been there.

She looked completely shocked, as though she'd never expected it (and she probably hadn't.) Her eyes were open wide and her mouth was in an O-shape. And slowly, steadily, with the inexorable power of a locomotive beginning to pull its heavy load down the tracks, she began to come. This wasn't like the other ones--it was unequalled in its power and inevitability. At its peak she threw her heard back, her face pointing directly at the ceiling, the tendons stretched wire-taut in her neck, and a ragged, enduring scream wailed steadily from her tightly clenched teeth. The biceps in her arms stood out in sharp relief while her hands gripped her own thighs, her fingernails digging in and drawing blood.

Nor was Phil unmoved. His orgasm was more conventional, but he shouted and hollered for at least twenty seconds, and his cock spasmed over and over again, pumping jet after hot jet of semen into Aubrey's bowels. He came so much that it filled whatever space was left in her and shot out the tight seams where her ass gripped the base of his member.

When the eruption was over, Phil took my wife by the waist and slowly lifted her off of him, inch after inch of his cock appearing, like he was taking off a sock. When he got to the head, that notorious head, she got stuck and he had to brace himself to extract it. Again the pop as it finally came loose, and he set her gently down on the couch next to him. Weakly, she muttered to me "Clean us up. Clean us both up, chode." I complied, cleaning first his member and thighs with my tongue and then opening my mouth under her asshole while she pushed what was still inside of her ass out with a wet farting noise. There had to be at least three ounces of cum still inside of her. On this final fuck of the evening, Phil had produced more than all the others I'd seen him do combined.

It was clear that the night was over. Phil kissed my wife tenderly once more, gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze, got dressed, and left. Almost instantly she fell asleep naked on the couch, snoring, a tiny dried rivulet of blood tracing its way down her ass cheek. I disobeyed her and removed the plug to take a shit, but then I put it back and also succumbed to sleep, curled up like a dog on the floor next to the couch.

We slept for most of the next day, not waking until late afternoon, at which point Aubrey explained to me the details of the rest of my life. I was her slave. She was my mistress. She would not be a cruel mistress, not after the night before when she'd had a chance to work out her anger and revenge against me, which debt she considered paid in full. Not as long as I obeyed the rules. Neither of us even thought about going back to our previous relationship. The new one, the master/slave, dom/sub one, seemed as natural as daylight, like we'd been doing it forever, like we'd been born to it. The rules were simple, too. I was never to speak her name aloud. I was never to look at her face. I was to go to work every day as though everything was normal. No one was to suspect that we were anything but a happy couple. When she entered the room, I was to drop whatever I was doing and assume the submissive position. I was to wear a steel anklet at all times to signify my servitude. But above all I was never, ever, ever to orgasm; never to touch myself, except to piss; never to look at another woman, and absolutely, positively never to be unfaithful to her. I was no longer a sexual being--I was her slave, a eunuch, except on rare occasions where she deemed me obedient enough for a sexual reward, like a dog striving for a treat. The fact that, biologically, I was still a horny 30-year-old male simply added to what she considered the delicious torment.

On the other hand, Aubrey continued her sexual development, going out every night. Sometimes she brought home one man, sometimes two, sometimes more, and always she fucked them in front of me (though never in as humiliating a way as that first night, which she called my "breaking.") She still required me to clean her of their filth almost every time. In a few months I'd probably swallowed gallons and gallons of semen. The humiliating "lubrication service" she made me provide to Phil was only required rarely, though it still happened. None of these men were so large nor so strong nor so productive as Phil, though some came damned close and sometimes, when she brought home more than one, they added up to more. On the other hand they were all larger than I was. I didn't see Phil again until much later, in circumstances both of us came to regret (though he regretted them more than I did, I'd wager.)

This was to be my life, but it was not to be sustainable, not forever, as I found out later. Not forever, and the remembrance of exactly how the situation fell apart fills me, to this day, with a blind red rage.

TO BE CONTINUED