A Load in Every Hole Ch. 02

I quickly gathered a bottle of baby oil, the dildo and a fresh razor and went into the shower. I soaped my body and scrubbed myself clean, then shampooed my hair and set some conditioner in it. Every touch of my body seemed to create some lustful amplification of my nerve endings. Even raking my nails across my scalp to shampoo it sent shivers down my back.

I sat down on the large marble shelf we'd built into the shower when we remodeled it a couple of years ago, soaping my pussy with soap and luxuriating in the titillating tremors running straight from my pubes, then grabbed the razor.

Then I stopped short: I don't need to compete for Mark's affection. I'm his wife, his loyalty ought to be automatic. I don't have to become a little tramp just to keep his attention. I'm not going to do it. I put the razor back.

Unfortunately, throughout the entire internal debate I had kept rubbing my clit, and now it was buzzing. I realized, quite selfishly, that I wanted to know what it felt like to have a naked hairless crotch. How would the razor feel sliding over the sensitive flesh? How would it feel when my clothing touched my skin? Would it feel different when I walked around town? Sexier?

I lathered up again and spread my legs wide. The razor was new and sharp, but even so it was a fight getting my pubic hair under control. Fifteen minutes later I was completely slick, without an ounce of stubble in the shaved territory. I left a small thickly bushed dark triangle starting just about my clitoris. It made me feel sexy and it looked good.

The soapy touches and scrapes, and the daring nature of what I was doing conspired to intensify my hunger. I pulled my lips out of the way to keep them safe from the razor, and even that made me hot and eager. Now that I was completely shaven, I wanted to see myself again. I walked back out of the shower and hefted my leg back onto the counter as before. It looked amazing, and I paradoxically both took pride that seeing it would drive Mark insane, and scolded myself for caring how he would react.

Throughout, the huge phallus lay on the shower floor, its very size and shape challenging me. You won't do it! You're too big a prude and I'm too big for a little girl like you.

I picked it up and soaped it, the slickness giving still another layer to my titillation. The wall behind me was still wet, so I didn't need to lick the suction cup to stick it on the wall. I rinsed my hair before turning off the shower and pushing the suction cup securely onto the wall behind me at a height I thought would work. I tried it, but it threatened to invade my ass rather than my pussy, and that would have been a disaster. I pulled it free, and it left the wall with a loud pop.

I repositioned it a little lower and grabbed the baby oil. Squirting a healthy dose over it and between my legs, I used my hands to smear the clear liquid all over the thickly veined black obelisk, even on the monstrously large balls at the bottom of it. Though the package had bragged that it was the exact replica of some porn star, it seemed impossible to me that men could be this big.

I lined it up, using my left hand to hold the wall in front of me, and my right to guide it into my split pussy lips. The head was so big! At first, I didn't think it could enter me at all. I told myself to relax and take it easy and rubbed the big head up and down my slit until my lips relaxed enough that I was sure it would go in.

Oh... my... God... I thought as the big head popped through my lips into the wet channel beneath. The pressure it put on my pussy was enormous, unlike anything I had ever felt with Mark. There was this one boy in school, Sam. He was an offensive lineman or something on out football team. And he was a pig, arrogant, prideful, and conceited. But he was hung like a horse and the afternoon we spent together in his dorm left me both sated and sore.

But he blabbed about us doing it and acted as though being hung were all he ever needed to do to garner my interest. I dumped him the very next week, never even acknowledging his existence again when I passed him on campus. But lord it had felt good in the moment.

But nothing like this. This was way better. My pussy lips felt so tight wrapped around the cock's enormous girth and when I pulled away from the wall I felt them lag behind me as if to say "no, I won't let it go." Soon my body relaxed and accommodated it easily and I slowly worked in about half the monster.

And it was a revelation. It hit me in places I did not remember existed and produced such decadently pleasurable sensations that I quickly succumbed to them. A narcotic warmth spread from the front of my pussy to the muscles in the back of it and all the way to my anus, then ripped down my legs straight to my ankles before boomeranging back up into my breasts and neck. The tool was so big that it affected nerves in my anus, leaving me with an itchy need there.

My breathing became more rapid and erratic, and my hunger grew by the minute as the giant cock plunged deeper and deeper into me. What was it now? I thought, seven, eight inches? More?

What a sight I must be! I thought as I grunted and moaned and ground the huge cock deeper and deeper inside me. My insides warmed and became slicker, my arousal so strong that my body unthinkingly greeted the invader with a steady stream of liquids. I noticed a white foamy cream accumulate at the base of the black pole, something I'd never seen with sex with Mark. I picked up steam, grinding harder and harder into the large black shaft. It was as if every nerve ending in my pussy was being tweaked twice as hard as normal or more.

The itching in my tight little bum grew. I had never been into anal sex, and Mark and I had only done it that one time Mark and I had been given the coke. I had enjoyed it far more than I wanted to admit. It was a heedless wild bull ride. The cocaine doubtless had a lot to do with that, but the whole evening had been wild and thrilling, even modestly violent as Mark could not resist the temptation to yank my hair back and spank my bottom while he took me. But I hadn't wanted Mark thinking of me in that way and was able to convince him to quit it.

But Mark wasn't here, was he? I asked myself. He's in Vegas letting his associate kiss him. I grabbed the baby oil again and sprayed it all over my right hand and then onto the crack of my ass. I reached around and answered the call, dipping my slippery index finger into my rump. It popped in with ease and a whole new set of nerve impulses added to my thirst.

I was going so hard now that my ass was occasionally slapping against the shower wall, my hand trapped between the cold marble and hot flesh and my finger punched into my back door whenever I landed. Ten inches! I thought.

The sensations from the big black monster were quickly unraveling me, but my mind was pre-set on anger at Mark, so a twisted fantasy jumped to mind. I imagined that I was fucking another man, right in front of Mark, no idea where or how I'd met him, or how we had come to this, but we were in Mark's hotel in Vegas and I was fucking another man right in front of him.

I imagined Mark seated submissively on the floor of the shower in the corner. A big man, a big black man, yes, that's it, a huge strong black man, much bigger and stronger than Mark, was standing behind me and had his hands wrapped around my hips and was pulling me to him, hammering away at my pussy with his big finger in my ass as Mark watched helplessly, his cock hard and needy.

"You like that babe?" I asked our empty shower, bringing the fantasy further to life. "You like seeing a bigger, fatter, harder cock give me what I need? A bigger, better man? Huh?"

"I can do this a hundred times if I want" I ridiculed imaginary Mark, "I could have fucked around on you, dozens of times, but I never did it! You could have stayed loyal, but oh no, you had to have a little taste, didn't you?" I asked haughtily. Well now I'm going to have a little taste too! No, I'm going to have a big taste, a big, hard, thick taste.

"Oh look," I added, "he has his finger in my asshole baby. He doesn't even have to fuck me now baby, you know why? Because I'm fucking him. Look at me Mark! I'm fucking him, he's standing still and I'm jamming his big cock into me. Oh, shit baby, he's pushing his big fingers up my ass. Oh baby, it feels so good.

A climax unlike any I have ever had grew inside me like a spreading wildfire. Tightness gripped my chest and arms and a rolling numbness traveled to my feet, immobilizing my entire lower half and threatening to fell me. From my middle, the tightness spread outward, a rolling blazing ball of fire consuming me from within until it erupted throughout my system, leaving me a quivering mass of muscle and sinew capable of only a single thought, to keep that giant tool inside me until I was sated.

"Soo.... sooo... so... GOOOOOODDDD Marrkk, so good, so good, so good, yess, yesss, YESSSS, OHHHHH, OHHHH, OHHHHHHH!!!! OH MY GOD, OH MY GOOOODDDNESSSS I'MMMM CUMMMMMINGGG!!!! I screamed as I came, my clit and asshole contracting and expanding reflexively.

I grew lightheaded, collapsing onto the shower floor. The stiff black dong jutted from the wall inches from my head. Ordinarily, an orgasm this intense would have satisfied me for weeks, but today my body wasn't done yet, not even close. I reached between my legs and rubbed my clit sideways with three fingers, dashing them in and out across my tiny nub as my body rebounded and I worked towards a second titanic cum.

My face accidentally brushed against the big black cock dangling deliciously from the wall and I reacted without thinking, squaring up to it and taking the mushroomed head into my mouth, tonguing it and going down on the long shaft. A part of me, the source of which I could not account for, ached to feel the giant shaft in the back of my throat.

I bobbed on it only a minute, the drool sliding out my throat, over my chin and onto my breasts, before exploding again. It was different this time: the rest of the world grew dim to the point of nothingness and the entire world emanated from the small nub between my legs. My cum was so hard and fiery that my whole body lay twitching on the shower floor for several minutes before the desire finally bled out of me. I lay rubbing my pussy gently, extending the welcome spasms as I relaxed.

I then burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh girl!" I told myself, "you have got some serious shit running around in that brain of yours."

I got dressed and went looking for diversions to pass the time before dinner. I am analytical. Some would say too analytical. So, the questions I put to myself were "why?" Why would Mark roam? What did they do exactly? Is he telling me the truth? What was it that made porn so attractive to him? But I understood that I couldn't answer those questions until I got to Mark and saw the situation firsthand, so my thoughts turned to me.

Why the self-assessment of my body? What did I have to prove to anyone? And why the shaving? I hadn't been tempted to do that for years, so why today? Why did I flirt with Mike this morning? Why the fantasies of masturbating in front of him? Why am I so hungry all the sudden?

I queued the phrase "reactions to infidelity" in the Google search bar and started reading. What Mark had done wasn't true infidelity I knew, assuming of course that Mark was telling me the truth. But it wasn't far from it either. Study after study talked about depression, anxiety, anger, feelings of low self-worth, but two additional themes consistently emerged— hyper connectiveness and retribution.

The immediate reaction of most spouses was a desperate need to reconnect with the cheating spouse, to ensure that the third party went away, and their spouse remained. Ironically, though, eighty-three percent of legitimate spouses also responded that if their spouse cheated on them, they would cheat on the cheater and make sure the cheating spouse knew about it. In a short while I was all read out.

I bought a little more time by talking to the girls, but too briefly. I caught both between classes, but they were on the move and surrounded by their college companions. They had lives of their own to follow, and I wasn't about to share these issues with them, but it was good to hear their voices strong and happy.

So, my holding pattern options exhausted, the wait for dinner with Megan was painful. I logged on and worked as much as I could, getting well ahead of the next week's deliveries and even laying the groundwork for two and three weeks in advance. But still over two hours remained before my dinner with Meg.

One question, however, could be answered right away—why did Mark find porn so alluring? I opened my home laptop and for the first time in my life opened an "incognito" window—one that didn't record where you'd been or what you'd seen. Having no real idea how to go about doing a search, I typed the simple phrase "blowjob" into the search bar.

The results were staggering, dozens upon dozens of websites each with a seemingly infinite supply of videos of women giving men blowjobs. The women were young, old, black, white, thin, fat, big breasted, flat chested, the whole gamut.

The common denominator in virtually all these videos, however, was the finish. All these women were expected to take and did take "cumshots" from the men they were blowing. The reaction of the women seemed telling at first, most reacted by flinching away from the seed, and came to grips with it only when the man they were blowing made them. But some women weren't that way. Some women had clearly not only reconciled themselves to this ritual humiliation, but reveled in it.

At first I felt nothing but disgust watching these images. These poor women were probably forced to make a buck the only way their looks and bodies would permit, and the "amateurs," some of whom clearly weren't, were probably leaned-on by their boyfriends or husbands to accept this form of sex.

Over time, however, it became clear that some of the women in these videos were not only agreeable, but excited about the finish. They legitimately relished taking their men in their mouths and letting them finish there, or feeling the hot cum as it splashed across their faces, even into their eyes. More surprising, the encounters showing honest enthusiasm turned me on. It started as a small buzz between my legs, but grew. Not long after this revelation, I found myself lying on the bed with my laptop on a nearby pillow, massaging myself between the legs. I was shocked not only at my reaction, but that my body had so quickly rekindled desire after two unearthly orgasms.

Feeling both self-conscious that I was being drawn in against my will and quite guilty, I abruptly shut down the website I was watching and closed my laptop. On reflection, an understanding of how porn works developed: porn was like the water you pour over a walkway, it moves and flows into the cracks and crevices presented. Porn worked the same way, I thought, it found what you liked, what turned you on, then the unlimited supply infinite variety filled the crevices. The realization made me want to know what kind of porn Mark watched.

I thought about texting Mark several times during this down period, but couldn't figure out what to say?

"Pissed!"

"Screwed myself with a big dildo."

"Pretended that I did it right in front of you with a big stud to show you what it felt like to be cheated on."

None of that would help, but I didn't know what would.

Finally, the appointed hour came, and I dressed for the dinner donning the best looking little black dress I had in the closet. Not sure why I went upscale, just wanted to be comfortable and confident. Megan was late, as usual. I ordered a Cosmopolitan to settle my nerves and downed it well before Meg flounced in, gathering admiring stares along the way as usual.

"Whoa!" she said, "judging by the empty drink and the look on your mug, this must be bad."

"Mark's been unfaithful!" I blurted.

"Bull! Mark? Eagle Scout Mark? No, fucking way!" Megan replied.

I downloaded the entire story to her, concluding with how I didn't see how I could trust him now, how angry I was, even how I'd flirted with Mike at the gym. Megan listened patiently at first, but as I continued, her look changed to semi-patience and then to scorn. I understood that something was brewing and at my urging, the dam finally broke.

"Okay, say it," I demanded.

"You know what the problem is here?" she asked.

I waited her out because she was pausing for dramatic effect, holding my hands apart as if to say "well, that's what I'm here for."

"You're stupid. That's your problem" Megan blurted.

"Well screw you!" I shouted out loudly and stood up to leave, "I come to you for support, and this is what you give me? That I'm stupid? That's your sage advice? What kind of friend does that?"

"The best kind," she answered calmly, grabbing my wrist to hold me in place until I calmed down. "The kind who loves you so much that she tells you what you need to hear even when it's going to piss you off. That kind. Now, will you listen to me?"

"Maybe" I replied, settling back into my chair only slightly mollified.

"The only thing that surprises me," she began earnestly, "is that it took this long for it to happen. Mark loves you. I mean, he absolutely adores you with a passion I have never seen anywhere else. We've spent days' worth of time together throughout our lives at parties, gatherings, vacations, and I've never seen him so much as look at another woman and certainly not respond to one.

You know it too. You never even look at him when some woman is trying to flirt him up, because you just know he's yours, guaranteed. But he's a stud Mary, an absolute stud. Try to see him the way a single woman on the prowl would see him: handsome, big, athletic, rich, smart, successful, kind, caring. He's in the top 1% of the top 1% of the top 1% of all dudes.

And he's human, babe. He's human."

Megan's words rang in my ears like an unwanted siren. Mark had said the same thing, "I'm only human, just a man."

"Let me ask some questions, and don't get defensive, okay?"

"You can ask, I won't guarantee that I won't take offense" I replied tartly, still stung by the "you're stupid" comment.

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. How often do you two do it?"

"Is this going to be all about sex?" I asked.

"Of course, it is!" Megan exclaimed as if speaking to a particularly dull student.

"About once a week," I answered petulantly.

"About?" Megan asked.

"All right, sometimes once every ten days, things come up!" I said defensively.

"Uh-huh. And who initiates it? Who makes the first move?"

"Mark," I replied. "How am I to know if he wants it unless he tells me so?"

"Okay, and... positions?"

"Ordinary stuff, I guess," I answered, becoming increasingly self-conscious at what I was describing in a public setting.

"Anything kinky? Toys? Movies? Threesomes, foursomes? Swaps?"

"No! Of course not! We don't need anything like that," I said self-consciously. "Mark has brought some things to the house, but I don't use them. He didn't want to throw them away, so we've kept them. They're safe under lock and key. We never have used them, well... except...."

"You used one today, right?" Megan said.

"Yes, how did you know that?" I asked tersely.

"It's basic Merr," she responded. "You hear about him stepping out, and you go into fight or flee mode. The masturbation is the fleeing part of it. The thought of losing him scares the hell out of you, so you make up a harmless fantasy with some anonymous dude to get yourself off and make yourself feel wanted and maybe punish him. I bet you fantasized that you did it with Mr. X right in front of Mark, didn't you?" she finished.