A Load in Every Hole Ch. 03

At the cordial (not!) insistence of many commenters, I am moving this installment of the work to the interracial section of the site, even though this chapter contains very little content moving the story in that direction. If I do additional installments, they too will be posted there.

For whatever reason, this story just keeps pouring out, so I'm going to finish it, ratings be damned. I am contemplating what would be a unique way of finishing it if I can pull it off.

I am happy that many have enjoyed it and encourage those who did not to seek something else on the site they find more gratifying. Everyone in the story is 18.

Tuesday (Mary's story).

The alarm jarred me into wakefulness at 7:00 a.m. I was naked, which was unusual because I almost never sleep that way. Then I remembered why: my fantasy of Miguel and Mark's call interrupting it. I was touching myself and very nearly there when Mark's call came in so just stayed nude when Mark's call took its unexpected turn.

What a weird day I thought as I recounted it; my angry blowup at hearing Mark had kissed his associate Lisa, how I engaged the trainers during my workout, even teasing them a bit, my surprising sexual hunger, my explosive masturbation session using a big black dildo Mark had bought years ago and which had lay dormant in hiding, Megan's dinner therapy session, and then meeting Miguel, handsome Miguel, that rascal Miguel!

But the most stunning memory of the day was how Mark had reacted to my dalliance--with excitement rather than anger. Had Mark really said I could see Miguel again and that anything short of sex with Miguel is okay? More importantly, did he mean it?

"Did you really mean what you said" I texted as soon as I woke.

It was just 5;00 a.m. in Vegas so I knew I'd be waking Mark up, but his reply came back immediately.

"100%. Remember the conditions," he replied. An accountant can't help but be an accountant, I thought.

"Are you sure? Really sure?" I texted back.

"Really, really, really sure," he responded.

"Say it. Put it in print," I texted. So, what if I'm a little neurotic. I don't really believe you. I don't want you going back on your word.

"You can let Miguel kiss you" Mark texted, "--your mouth, your ear, your neck, or even your nipples, and he can suck them, he can kiss your legs, your thighs, even your clit, and he can lick it, bite it, suck it, but if he does that, you'll have a hard time meeting condition #2 (no screwing), so be careful. You can kiss him back, anywhere on his body, as much as you want, his mouth, his ear, his eyes, his nipples, and you can even take his cock into your mouth and do the things to him that you do to drive me insane. But remember, no screwing, and be prepared to spill the beans."

I was suddenly quite wet, and I hadn't even touched myself.

"Okay!" I texted back. My whole world was upside-down. For years we'd clung to monogamy like a life raft, every approach by a member of the opposite sex was reported and soundly rejected, by both of us--at least as far as I knew. That was until last Sunday when Mark kissed his beautiful young associate.

I stayed in the buff as I went about my business. I'm not sure why, it just seemed right. Brushing my teeth and readying for the day, I took inventory of my feelings. My call and texts with Mark were both calming, and puzzling. Being obsessive, my mind raged about. Does Mark's quick OK mean that my fidelity is unimportant to him? That he doesn't care enough about me to even wonder whether I screw around on him or not? Does he want out of the marriage, and does he look for me to commit adultery so he can document it? Is he looking for absolution because he stepped out on me with Lisa and can't admit it? If so, that's a damn sneaky way to get it.

It felt mildly threatening that he wasn't irate as all hell. I fretted over not revealing to him my masturbatory session with the big black dildo. Why could I tell Mark that I fantasized about going down on another man in his hotel room, and not tell him that I'd gotten off a couple of times from an inanimate object?

The answer came back to me, unbidden: because that ten-inch cock felt was utterly addicting, and you knew if a real one came around it would be a bigger threat to your marriage than a guy leaving for Barcelona in two days. That's why you didn't say anything.

I pulled my suitcase out of the closet and got going, gathering the things I thought would go best for a vacation in warm, sunny Las Vegas. I admitted to myself that I was circling the wagons--traveling to Vegas to put Lisa in her place and make sure everything was okay. But looking at my black one-piece bathing suit and plain vanilla clothing and underwear, I realized how ill equipped I was to do that. My wardrobe had become utterly dull, leading me to wonder if I had become just as dull as my clothing.

I put some basic cosmetics and a couple of days of underwear into the suitcase, deciding to get some new things before leaving, time permitting, or in Vegas.

I had opened the bottom middle drawer to gather a pair of hose and the memory of what lay beneath, and what it did to me the day before, came surging back to mind.

Mark doesn't have the right to know everything I did, I thought. I pulled the drawer out, retrieved the big dong and touched it again. I rubbed my hands up and down the shaft, loving the feel of the veiny beast and wishing I had the time to play with it again.

Just a nip I thought and licked the suction cup and plugged it onto the top of the dresser, right out in front where I could easily reach it. I watched in the mirror as I wrapped my fingers around it or tried to. They were about an inch too short to make it all the way around.

What would it be like to have one of these for real? I thought. Then why am I suddenly fascinated with this? Is it Mark's story fantasizing about the big black men taking me on instead of the woman they were really with? Don't overthink everything Bolskie! I thought.

I stared at it in the mirror. I lowered my face to it, rubbing the rubbery shaft against my cheeks and lips. I licked the oversized balls, then trailed my tongue all the way up to the bulbous head and tongued just below the ridge. Warmth spread to my thighs, and I realized that I had, without thinking, lowered my left hand into my crotch and begun massaging it.

There was a voyeuristic quality to last night's conversation with Mark I thought as I served the big tool. He wanted to hear about Miguel, to visualize him, to imagine what he'd done to me, and especially to hear me describe my fantasy. That was what had put both of us over the edge.

Coupling last night's sexy call with Mark's admission from the night before could only lead to one conclusion--Mark wanted to watch me make out with another man. No, "make out" was far too mild a term. That's something you do in junior high. Mark wanted me to do anything short of fuck another man, and his payoff was to hear a complete description of it.

"So, you want to watch me do this, do you baby?" I asked the mirror and went down on the bulbous head, pushing it past my lips and as deeply into my throat as I dared. At first, I could barely pass the entire head into my mouth, but as I worked it and it became covered with drool, I took at least five inches of the monster down my throat. My hand was wet.

The alarm clock on the dresser read 7:20 a.m.

Damn Bolskie, you've got to get a move on! I reluctantly withdrew from the dildo, wiped it down and threw it into the suitcase, then saw the remaining items below the drawer, all bought by Mark.

I didn't know whether I would use any of them or not. The only thing in the bunch that really attracted me was the cock. Touching these other things caused a completely different reaction--my anxiety to spike. No way I'm hand checking this suitcase--I'm not having some witless TSA agent open this up in front of a crowd. Still, I knew I was flying to Vegas with a purpose, and if it took some out of the box sex to fulfill it, that was just fine. Still, I was in the marriage preservation business, and I was at least willing to consider using any of the tools my husband had provided. So I returned one by one to gather the nipple clamps, fur-lined cuffs, a large bottle of anal lubricant, the dog collar and leash and tossed them all into the suitcase.

Megan! I reminded myself. She'd been desperate to hear about last night. And, she was right, Mark wasn't mad, he was thrilled.

"Surprising call with Mark," I texted.

"It's 7;25 fucking a.m." Megan replied. Three minutes later she texted "how did it end up?"

"With a bang!" I texted back.

"Now I'm awake," she texted with a smiley face. "Call me."

I dialed her cell, and she answered after the first ring.

"You were right," I said.

"Of course, I was right," Megan said sleepily, "about what?"

"Meg, you know I can't violate the rule. Nothing from the bedroom from me."

"Tease!" Megan challenged, "I'm your therapist! How do you expect to get good advice without making full disclosure?"

"You're going to have to live with it," I replied. "A rule is a rule."

"You mean like, forsaking all others? That rule?" Megan chipped. "I bet he got all hot and bothered when you told him about Miguel, didn't he?"

"How did you guess that?" I responded.

"Mark has layers you don't get. You just don't want to see them, but they're there!" she laughed. "Now, come on, just the nuts and bolts. What did you say about Miguel? What did Mark say when he learned about it?"

"I told him the whole thing. How good he looked, how sexy he was, that he kissed my cheek, copped a feel, that it made me feel jumpy and gushy, all of it."

"And?" Megan asked.

"He was genuinely excited by it, I think, at least that's what he said" I replied.

"Now for the bang?" Megan prodded.

"We did it... well... as good as you can do it over the phone. We did it together." I answered.

"Come on now. You can say it Mass-turrr-bay--shun. It's easy." Megan joked.

"Easy for you, maybe. I had been mass-turr-bay-ting," I said mockingly, "thinking about Miguel and was just about to... you know... get there..."

"It's called cum," Megan interrupted.

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" I objected. "When Mark called. I took your advice. Instead of clamming up I told him everything about it, and he made me tell him what I was daydreaming about just before he called," I responded.

"Which was?" Megan pried.

"Very erotic and... a little submissive, surprisingly. In my fantasy I ended up crawling across the floor of Miguel's hotel room on my knees and hands to go down on him."

"Holy shit sister! No wonder Mark got his ya-ya's off. Does he regret it now?" Megan asked.

"No. In fact, he's... encouraging it! He told me I could go see Miguel and that... you're just not going to believe this... I could do anything I wanted short of screwing him!" I finished.

"No fucking way!" Megan replied. "I never pictured Mark as the jealous type, but I never thought he'd be a cuck either! I figured it was good for some hot talk and that'd be the end of it."

"A cuck?" I asked.

"Don't you read?" Megan ridiculed, "it's a guy who gets off watching his girl have sex with other men. It's a kind of bird that gives away its nest, a Cuckhold, that's where the term comes from."

"It's not like that!" I protested. "Mark's not giving away anything, and neither am I!"

"It's exactly like that, you just don't want to admit it. You find another guy attractive, and Mark likes the idea of you playing the field a little and telling him about it. That's the definition of a cuck. Maybe cuck-light since he doesn't want you to go all the way," Megan said.

"Well, I haven't done anything. I haven't even called Miguel back," I complained.

"You will," Megan said authoritatively, "I guarantee you will. Especially now that Mark has given you the okay."

"How did he put it?" Megan continued. "It makes a really big difference how he put it. Listen to me on this Bolskie, I've made the mistake of assuming my guy was okay with something when he wasn't. You shouldn't make the same mistake."

"I texted him to ask him if he still meant what he said," I replied. "And he texted back, put it in writing!"

"Oh shit! This is so hot! Read it to me!" Megan begged.

"No! No way! That's between me and Mark," I answered.

"You're a cold-hearted bitch Bolskie, always have been," she followed.

"Come on!" Megan said, "please?"

"No, you voyeuristic ninny!" I laughed, "find your own guy... or guys... I guess," I answered.

"Just one time. Just read it once!" Megan continued.

"Okay," I replied, and read the little list from Mark of things I could do to Miguel, and that he could do with me."

"Oh fuck! Oh fuck!! God that makes me so hot! Can I steal them both? At the same time? Just for an hour or two! I'm not going to be able to get an ounce of work done all day thinking about this. One more time, please!" Megan pleaded.

"Last time, then I've got to go. Got a lot to do. I'm not wearing a stitch, my hair and nails look like crap, I don't have a thing to wear and not much time to get it fixed. I'm gonna knock him on his butt when he sees me the first time," I added, and read her Mark's text in super high-speed.

"You are so mean!" Megan laughed. "Okay, knock him dead, kid...and... do him once for me," she replied, adding that she expected a "full confessional later."

Since I was leaving at 3:45, I had plenty of time to accomplish at least a few things. I called my sister-in-law and got her to cover for the dogs, let them out and feed them. She was just happy that Mark and I were getting some time away.

My phone dinged. It was another text from Mark with an attachment that said "confirmation" and listed the United Airlines flight I was already on. Puzzled, I opened the file and found that Mark had upgraded me to first class. A smile crossed my face. Mark knew I would never choose to fly first class, but the fact that he wanted to give it to me made me feel appreciated, and I told him so.

I texted Roxy at the salon and got lucky. She had suffered a last-minute 8;00 a.m. cancellation of a full color and perm, so if I could get there by then, she'd meet me as soon as she dropped off her kids at school with plenty of time to do whatever was needed.

Reaching for my keys on the nightstand, I brushed against Miguel's card and knocked it into the floor. I retrieved it and held it in my hands, thinking. In the light of day, and unimpaired by three martinis, my choices seemed so much starker.

I no longer felt the strong desire for revenge that had motivated me the night before. It wasn't gone entirely; but the fire had been heavily doused by the candid conversation with Mark about how the kiss had happened. My hunger for Miguel was fueled from a different source: Mark's unapologetically voyeuristic reaction. He'd begged me to come to Vegas bringing in hand the story of what his wife did with another man. Could I do that? Even for my husband? I was surprised by how much the idea of recounting an escapade like that to Mark turned me on.

I would not do anything even close to what Mark suggested to Miguel, I concluded. No matter what Mark said. Then I thought, it would be cruel to simply disappear without so much as a courtesy call to tell him why I wasn't going to see him? I would just call and explain and give him a brief goodbye. I dialed the handwritten number on the card and it rang in the European beeping manner I had become accustomed to when contacting colleagues living in the EU from work.

"Hello," Miguel answered sleepily.

"Hello," I responded, "I... should have waited to call. I'm sorry. I just thought since you were from Barcelona..."

"Who is this?" Miguel asked confused.

"Mary," from Turleys, the bar, last night. You... gave me your number."

"Oh, yes! Mary!" Miguel responded excitedly, waking. "Yes, we are many hours ahead in Barcelona, but I have been here almost two weeks now and have adjusted to your time, and, I must confess, I had a little too much to drink after you left, but I am awake now, I promise you that!"

"Listen... Miguel... I just wanted to call to tell you that I won't be able to meet with you as I... wanted," I stammered apologetically.

"Oh?" Miguel responded, disappointed.

"Yes, as I mentioned, my husband is in a conference in Las Vegas and last night we made arrangements for me to go be with him."

"Yes, of course," Miguel responded resignedly. "Mary... was it... my touch? Did I go too far? I can be a stupid man."

"No, no!" I assured him, "it surprised me, of course. But I... I... think I didn't mind it too much," I admitted, not confessing to him that I not only "didn't mind it too much" it, but that it had set my imagination into overdrive.

"I am so relieved!" Miguel said, then asked: "when must you go?"

"I leave this afternoon, just before four o'clock," I answered.

"Then you must have lunch with me. Please, just lunch. I enjoyed our talk last night so much. I... am... alone here... and... am very taken with you, Mary, but I understand that your husband comes first. But please, please do me the honor of giving me just a little more of your time for a lunch."

That voice. That damned silken voice I thought, it's like he's the Pied Piper. For the second time in the morning my left hand had found its way between my thighs.

"I don't know Miguel. I have so much to do to get ready," I replied, ashamed for lying to take the safe easy route.

"Yes, of course. I understand, but you must eat too, no?" he said, persisting.

"Yes, a I suppose," I replied, laughing at his delicate attempt to corner me, "but it will have to be quick."

"Then we shall we meet at the same restaurant again?" he asked excitedly. "They were speedy, and it is near the office I am visiting here, and near you, I hope?"

"Yes, it's very near," I responded.

"It is settled then, one o'clock?" he asked.

"Twelve thirty would be much better. I don't want to get in a pinch to make the flight out," I responded.

"Yes, that will be fine," he answered.

I dressed hurriedly in jeans and a sweater, and twenty minutes later I was at Roxy's salon, the dogs were at my sisters, and my suitcase was in the trunk.

"Let's go with something new this time," I told Roxy. She'd been encouraging me to open my playbook for years, telling me that I had the kind of hair that would do a hundred different styles. But I told her that I didn't mind it straight and flat. It made my hair easy to wash, dry, and keep neat.

We looked at a booklet of styles, but I finally gave up and said, "just cut ten years off me Roxy, everything else will be gravy!" Roxy laughed and got to work. She called Mellie the nail girl over for a pedicure, manicure and color.

"What color?" Mellie asked, and to be honest I had no idea what to choose. I'd gone with a natural finish and French tips for so long I was out of practice thinking about anything else. Make a statement! I thought to myself.

"Pick something that tells every man in the building to stare at me! I joked. Mellie winked conspiratorially and got to work. Ruby red it was! Just after she finished cleaning and polishing the nails, she said, "you know, you really should work off these with your makeup. I'd love to do that too!"

I was a noted makeup-aphobic. I did enough to get by, but just barely. Mark didn't seem to mind, and frankly the prospect of trying to get the right makeup and missing brought needless worry. But today, thinking of meeting the dashing Miguel and wanting to blow my man Mark away as well, I was in the mood to try something new.