A Load in Every Hole Ch. 01

I was an avid reader of Literotica before I ever dared write anything here, and much of my reading was in the "Loving Wives" category. I found the stories very erotic, but sometimes a little too simplistic and not particularly credible in their explanation why a "good girl" converts into a "really, really, really bad girl." This work uses some elements common to all such missives while diving into the basic question; whether a conservative, moral woman would ever turn herself over to a group of men for a sexual romp, and, whether her husband would really let her do it.

This is chapter 1 and parts of subsequent chapters have already been written, so it should be something I can parse out into enjoyable segments.

Everyone in the story is 18. Hope you enjoy.

Sunday Night (Mark's story).

The small adult theatre was brightly and audaciously lit, plainly visible even compared to the shimmery background around it. "All Over Again Adult Entertainment Center" the big sign read. I looked it up on the net; big, highly rated--4.8 votes out of 5, with an Arcade, a theatre, and miles worth of shelves of scanty outfits, vibrators, restraints, paddles and other sex toys, and conveniently located right near a cannabis store. Just the thing.

Today was our travel day to the annual conference of the American Association of Certified Public Accountants, in Las Vegas. I'd flown out earlier with my partners and Lisa, the lone associate making the trip. Of course, Lisa.

My name is Mark Terry. I'm the owner, along with Don and Mel, of a boutique accounting firm in Fargo North Dakota. Don and I went through school together, and Mel joined us when one of the big majors failed to make him a full partner despite his generating a huge book of business by his 35^th birthday. He was rough around the edges at first, but we weren't running a country club and he was a thoroughly competent and dedicated professional. That was 15 years ago, and we were now up to 22 accountants and a staff of 10.

Lisa, our associate, is young, personable, competent, and ambitious. She is also insanely attractive, with long golden blonde hair and a becoming, if not overly opulent figure. She'd been a capable small college basketball forward but was now a much better accountant. This was the team we'd assembled for the conference, rather the one or two who usually went, because we were doing a huge pitch to Threxxco, a military contractor on the cutting edge of drone development moving to Fargo. All our competitors were there as well, but we had the first shot on Monday and felt we could close the deal before the others even got their foot in the door. The entire team was staying through Tuesday evening on the assumption that Monday would be a late night entertaining the potential client.

I was anxious, just like I'd been for every day over the last several years. I assumed that when our daughters Allison and Carlyle to college our life would be simpler and quieter, but work had ramped up, becoming more complex and far more demanding. If I were being totally objective, I'd be forced to admit that my work filled my mind too much, to the detriment of my relationship with Mary.

But then, we'd been together since just after high school, she was my rock, and I was hers. Each of us over the course of our 22 years of marriage leaned on the other when our careers or family events challenged. I knew that she'd always be there for me. When darker thoughts percolated through my brain to justify my long hours at the office, I asked myself why I should go home to a cold house, occupied by an equally cold wife.

It wasn't fair to say, or even think that. Mary loved me warmly and wholeheartedly; I had no doubt of that. But that didn't mean that our bedroom was warm, even lukewarm. Sex had become unimportant to Mary, another thing to check off of her to do list like shopping for groceries or gathering the dry cleaning.

The adult theatre sign flickered again, and my crotch ached. I couldn't watch adult movies at home, Mary forbade it. She was the third of eight children born to a large polish Catholic family. Her older brother Paul had become a priest, and her younger sister ran the largest private Catholic School in Fargo.

Her mother and father were both blue-collar, hard-working, and insanely conservative on all matters of faith and personal decorum. Mary had taken all her life lessons from them. This was part of the package with Mary, and I knew it when we married, but it meant that if this mouse was going to play, he had to do it while the cat was away.

When I first set eyes on my Mary, I was convinced that she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She was already tall, maybe 5' 8" as a freshman already with long lustrous brown hair, big brown eyes, a pert little nose and full lush lips that set me to daydreaming of holding her hand and of giving her a kiss.

She was extraordinarily bright, which I learned as we shared several honors courses over the high school years. By her senior year, she had grown to a robust and athletic 5' 10" and was captain of our tennis team, winning the regional meet handily and placing highly in the state tournament both her junior and senior years.

But the trouble, for me at least, was that I regarded Mary so highly that I froze up entirely around her. I could talk easily with any girl in high school but Mary. With her, I babbled incoherently and couldn't get my ox out of the ditch to make normal conversation. It was not until she joined me at McAllister college in her freshman year there that I decided to cast caution to the wind and make my play for her, nerves be damned.

A simple calculation caused the breakthrough. I saw her playing tennis and when she bent half-way over to receive serve, it was the most erotic sight I had seen in my young life. Her legs were spread seductively, and the short tennis skirt did not cover her crotch. Her legs were long and perfectly shaped with strong muscular tapered thighs and an ass that gave me an immediate woody.

I daydreamed as I watched her obliterate a much older male opponent, what it would be like to run my teeth over her hamstrings from the ankles to her buns, then eat her out until she confessed unequivocal devotion, or came, whichever came first. And when she secured her victory and came to the net, shook the guy's hand and gave him a long kiss, my jealously flamed and I decided right then that Mary Bolski would be my mate, or I would crash and burn trying.

It turns out that Mary was just as anxious about me as I was of her, and for the same reason. I had something of a reputation in our high school as a ladies' man, solely because I dated a broad variety of well-thought of girls in my class, and in the two classes above me. I'm tall--about 6' 3" and have what I'd consider typical Nordic looks--blonde hair, broad shoulders, a tight waste and strong lower legs and thighs. I played safety for our football team and did both the high jump and pole vault in track. I kept my hair long, which made me look a whole lot more dashing than I really was.

I was muscularly well proportioned, with 7 inches of cock between my legs when it was fully energized, but I didn't get nearly as much action as my reputation would have suggested. In fact, my friends would have been surprised to learn that I didn't lose my virginity until my freshman year in college. Still, my looks and reputation intimidated Mary, just as hers had me.

Once this mutual revelation was laid on the table, we became friends, and talked every day, sometimes for hours a day, quickly discovering that we held strong feelings for one another all along--feelings so powerful that they had made each of us too nervous to act.

We were engaged before the end of Mary's freshman year. You would think sex between two normal, active, healthy 20-somethings headed to the altar would be easy and enjoyable, but it wasn't that simple. The problem wasn't animal attraction, we were enormously attracted to one another, and passion erupted between us at almost the slightest touch or look.

The problem was what to do with that passion once it was kindled. Mary's upbringing kicked in so much that I came to feel that there were two Marys. The first, which I thought of as Mary's "true self"--was a woman who dearly loved me, wanted me, and would have devoured me at the drop of the hat but for the conventions she'd been raised with. The second Mary was a conservative and puritanical presence that worked hard to snuff out true sexuality before it could "get out of hand."

Mary was one of the last women of her generation to insist that she be a virgin upon our wedding night. This internal conflict on her part led to endless compromises. It turns out that handjobs, blowjobs, and cunnilingus weren't really sex at all--go figure. This kept us from losing our minds until we could consummate our marriage, which we did on the first night of our honeymoon, five times, like crazed racoons.

Unfortunately, marriage and with it the certainty of commitment to one another did nothing to remove these shackles, it just delayed their application. We developed the same "bipolar" sex life we had before marriage. One sex life was consistent with our public appearance as a responsible couple and later as good parents, the other quite debauched.

For "public" Mary simple missionary position intercourse was "plenty good enough" but when we'd attended a party or dance and Mary had enjoyed a bit too much to drink, Hot Mary emerged. Hot Mary swore, she begged for it, she delivered blowjobs in the front driveway of our home late at night or on the drive home, she went to the store wearing no underwear, and preferred to take it from behind, if not in the behind, violently, energetically, and enthusiastically, often as I yanked her head up by the hair, tweezed her nipples or spanked her. Hot Mary enjoyed her weed and the sexual focus it brought, and we had several wildly orgiastic marathons under its influence.

But the way Mary handled our one experiment with cocaine became a template for her entire sexual personality, and, though I did not know it at the time, foreshadowed a very straight-jacketed sexual future. Mary and I came into a very small quantity of cocaine as a gag gift from one of my college buddies a year after we were married. We agreed to try it, booking a rural B&B cabin in a rustic forest setting for complete privacy. Being the nerds we were, we read up on it.

The results were beyond anything I could have imagined. The drug made me feel like superman and roughly doubled my sexual stamina. More importantly, my ultra-conservative Catholic bride turned into a sexual harpy, a ravening slut who abandoned every convention she had previously imposed upon us, sucking my balls and licking my taint, begging to be spanked, and at the end demanding quite loudly that I "fuck her in the asshole" and screaming through several orgasms as I did it.

Hot Mary was too weak a nickname for that woman, so I jokingly nicknamed her Incendiary Mary. In the days following our wild night, however, Incendiary Mary not only disappeared, but as happens only in Mission Impossible episodes, the Secretary of the Mary disavowed all knowledge of Incendiary Mary's existence. In fact, over the next twenty years Mary would not ever mention the evening again, nor respond to me it if I raised the subject.

I tried to assure Mary that it was just sex under the influence, and that I didn't think less of her for becoming more sexually liberal, but she was in no mood to hear it. Instead, she sat me down and explained very slowly and methodically that for her at least, cocaine was too good and that because we both had very strong compulsive streaks, she feared we both would soon be addicted, or that if she used it in social settings she might "become unfaithful." I was saddened that I would never meet Incendiary Mary again, but ultimately relented. It wasn't like I knew where to pick up cocaine anyway.

Once we became parents, any semblance of Incendiary Mary, or even Hot Mary, disappeared under the crush of work and family obligations. When our second daughter Carlyle arrived soon after, the situation only worsened, our sex life devolved into standard sex once every week to ten days after the kids were asleep, followed by immediate and exhausted slumber. When the kids graduated high school, I hoped our sexual relations would heat up, but it was not to be. We were set in our patterns, and by then Mary had taken on a job working remotely for a logistics company which, like my work further diverted from our time.

The worst, or perhaps best part of it, was that I was just as hungry for Mary as the first day I met her. She had matured beautifully at 42. She never gave up tennis, playing club rounds 2 times a week with two different groups, took long walks when weather permitted, did yoga and kept a membership in a local health club and gave it frequent use. This left Mary with a figure even more appealing than the that of her youth, with the star of the show remaining that muscular bottom.

Other men, even much younger men, were constantly sneaking peeks whenever they thought Mary and I weren't looking, even in church. In the first few years I was on the constant lookout for trouble from other men, but Mary never once showed an ounce of interest in their advances nor gave me any reason to suspect unfaithful activity, and over time I relaxed.

I too had occasional suitors, most often at the firm, but occasionally at the golf club or workout room, but like Mary, I paid them no mind. Both of us were into one another, for a penny or a pound. But in the quiet time, when Mary was away from the house and I was alone, or when I saw her in the company of men transfixed by her beauty, I yearned for the return of the seductress I held in my arms as a young man.

And into this fertile ground of longing our associate Lisa had landed. She'd come to the firm out of college, and I'd raised her from a pup in the practice. In the last several months, our relationship had become more complicated, and Lisa had asked me for advice on matters that were highly personal. I often left the office relieved that Mary hadn't been party to the conversation I'd just finished with Lisa, or she'd be spitting mad.

Our relationship became even more difficult due to an entirely accidental insight into Lisa's personal lifestyle. One evening when I was working late with Lisa, she reached into the lower drawer of her desk for the work papers on a report I had asked her to prepare on a long-term client. When the drawer came open, I was stunned to see beneath the old penda-flex style files, a large vibrating-style dildo.

She saw where my eyes had landed, flushed red, and shut the drawer quickly, but the of course I couldn't forget it. That night, and in the days following I imagined Lisa lying back on her bed, or even our restroom at the office, plunging the big purple cock I had seen in and out of pussy and before she grunted to a climax.

My sexual frustration at home was making it hard to follow the straight and narrow, and this afternoon Lisa had planted the first true seed of infidelity I'd encountered in years.

"I'm thinking of taking a walk this afternoon around eight," she had said, "It seems like everything is well patrolled, but it is Vegas and I'm a little uncomfortable with it. Would you mind accompanying me? At least until we get back to the Hotel?"

It was an imminently reasonable request, in fact, one any responsible employer would find hard to turn down. Imagine, after all, getting such a request, refusing it, and then having poor Lisa mugged or worse along her travels. I accepted.

But of course, the request wasn't innocent as it seemed. Lisa hedged and hedged and hedged, talking about how much she enjoyed working for me, about how great her debt to me as a mentor was, about how fortunate she felt to be part of our firm rather than one of the majors, but as the city blocks passed beneath our feet the cumulative message became crystal clear: "I want you. I have wanted you for years. If you'd like, you can have me. Here. Tonight. I'm not asking for marriage I just want you. My bed is seconds away."

I was tempted. So tempted that instead of breaking off the walk in the lobby as I'd planned, I accompanied her all the way to her door.

"Thanks, for the walk and everything," she had said.

"It's no problem, I answered. "Have to keep our star associate safe."

"You could come in, you know, have a drink... or something?" she asked suggestively.

"That wouldn't be a good idea," I warned. "I'm not sure I would trust myself not to do something really stupid if I got in there."

Lisa smiled fetchingly, then unexpectedly put her hand around the back of my neck, pulled my face to her, and kissed me briefly and passionately on the lips, sending just a bit of tongue my way to emphasize her hunger. I grabbed her wrist, pulled her hand away from me and extricated myself, stumbling back and stammering some inane comment about seeing her tomorrow before swiftly walking away.

Fifteen minutes later I was lying in my bed, desperately wishing to relieve the pressure in my groin, and the blinking lights of "All Over Again" were whispering for me to pay them a visit, that if I just went there, I could all my frustrations would be over. I got up, put on my walking shoes, grabbed the keycard, and headed out.

All Over Again was just as depicted on the website--a modern sexual menagerie. The place made my cock hard the moment I walked in. Neon everywhere, walls hung with dildoes ranging from size ordinary to preposterous, and shelves filled with every sort of sexual device and provocation known to man, giant posters of gorgeous women and hung studs on the walls, and an air of invitation to the libertine life throughout.

I was, of course, tongue tied. "How... how does the arcade work?" I asked the waifish young lady manning the front desk. I was not her first rube from the back country looking for a good time in sin city. Her manner was professional, friendly, and immediately put me at ease.

"Simple" she said. "You can use a card, or cash. We have over 400 different tracks. Everything you could want--straight, group, boy/girl, boy/boy, girl/girl, BDSM, BBC, you name it."

"What's that?" I interrupted. The girl seemed not to understand.

"What's what?" she replied.

"BDSM, BBC?" I specified.

She smiled indulgently, "BDSM means Bondage and sado-masochism. Where people tie one another up and tease or whip one another to enhance the fuck. BBC means 'big black cock.' These are interracial features where black guys take women, usually white women, not always, but usually."

"Oh, okay," I answered sheepishly.

"Any...way...the receipt on the card will read 'entertainment properties' so, no XXX or anything like that, but I can make change for you, or you can use the ATM if that's a worry. That big bunch of cards on the wall shows you the channels and what's on each of them. Pick a booth, I highly recommend you wipe down the chair with one of the Clorox wipes from the wall, then sit down, put your card or money in, and enjoy. If you don't want attention, don't pick a booth with a glory hole, and make sure you lock the door."

It was bizarro-world, I concluded, like Alice Through the Looking Glass, but with peckers and tits.

I walked the dark black rug down to the arcade entrance, the $200 I'd drawn from the ATM back home burning a hole in my pocket. The variety of offerings was dizzying. Small placards had a image, almost always of a nude woman, or a man for the gay offerings, in a sexual position, with a small caption beneath it. It was overwhelming, and I wasn't made any less nervous by the presence of several other men who passed through, looked over the catalogue on the wall, then went into the arcade. Most of the channels seemed to be very standard porn, though in great variation-- professionals hired to do a job and doing it in front of a camera.