Abbi's Excuses Ch. 01

I make more money in tips in a week than he makes in a month of salary. It's all 'under the table' too, so no deductions. Plus I get to walk around naked and dribbling cum out of all my holes and over my boobs and thighs, while nasty men and women cheer and tell me what a slut and a whore I am. I love it all.

Too bad ol' Pete will be stuck in Denver, in a lonely hotel room, doing a useless job, while you and I PARTY. Yea. I changed the combination of the safe where all our money is. I'll tell you the combo when you get over here, tonight. Think of it, Tanya, my husband, locked out of his own safe, so he has to come begging to me for anything important. My stiletto-heel pump on my tiny-dick husband's neck.

Tanya: OK, slut, see ya on the 4th. We'll open the doors at 8 PM. You can send off your first rocket at midnight. Figure 50 shots of spunk, 4 times each. That's over 200 squirts of cum up our slutty cunts. Girlfriend, we'll be swimming in cum and rich up to our ears in tips.

Abbi: Bye, slut!

That was the last call on the flash-drive, as transferred to my laptop. I was seething.

Watching the two DVDs (#3 and #17) didn't help my disposition much. What can I say? Both were amateur productions, indifferently lighted and showing Abbi and Tanya having sex with my boss, his sons, and my co-workers (men and women). She even was shown having sex with my attorney and my financial advisor.

Disk #17 made me mad, as it was the most recent, and showed my wife screwing a small army of men in our own marital bed. She was DP'd. Made 'airtight.' She swallowed cum out of a glass which she'd oozed cum into, squatting down on the floor, surrounded by commenting men and women, on what a cum-swallowing whore and slut she was.

I had the last of the Wednesday as a working day, so I called Hans, but only got Shayla, his secretary. She was anything but efficient, as she stuttered, telling me that the return portion of my trip had been cancelled, and that, 'yes, I was stranded in Denver for at least a couple of months. Sort of an un-announced working vacation, until she could locate the 'lost paperwork'.

But then, completely out of character, she asked for my hotel room and number, which I gave to her. Fast as she could, she signed off and hung up.

Not being dumb, I quickly figured out a plan. I couldn't call an airline and get a one-way ticket home, as it would be confirmed to Hans and then the jig would be up. Nor could I charter an aircraft, for the same reasons. There wan't a train connection anywhere near my house in Southern California from Denver.

But, I could rent a car going one-way, which I did, getting a luxury sedan. Next, I went to the hotel's ATM and got the maximum amount of cash out of both company credit cards for this date. Tomorrow, I'd max out the cards again, gaining plenty of money to hide my drive expenses back to Southern California. I'd pay for motels and food along my drive back to my house in cash, insuring that I could arrive 'home' before the 8 PM 'door opening' to confront my fucking-around wife and get her served for divorce, right there in front of her fucking friends and lovers.

Getting room service, I had a burger dinner and waited for a call from Shayla, who'd always been a 'straight-shooter' to me at work.

Shayla was a 6' tall, coal-black woman of middle age, not skinny but not fat, wearing long braids, soft-spoken, long legs and wide-hips, with the most exciting set of nipple-pointed boobs a man could want.

Boobs that were—at least until now—off-limits to me as a married man. Given Abbi's calls and fucking around on me, I was going to be a divorced man ASAP. Maybe I could wangle a date with this ebony woman, after I was officially free.

True to my informed intuition, about 9 PM, I got a call from Shayla. A call from her home, which had never happened before. I got quite an earful. Basically, she was completely aware of the prolonged adultery that had been going on for the last 2 year and she was sickened by it. Just about everyone who worked for The Plavics Company had fucked my wife and/or her friend Tanya, one time or another. Often they had fucked both women, many times.

I'd been a laughingstock at work and in town.

Besides the moral and cheating aspects, it was clear to her that Hans and his sons had stopped caring for and working to advance their own company. They had borrowed money against the assets of the company, then re-borrowed money against the current profits, and finally borrowed even more against the monies that they had acquired by borrowing in the first place. Lie piled upon lie. A perfect recipe for a business about to go bankrupt.

As I drove the Interstate from Denver, Colorado to and into the town where Plavics was located, in Southern California, I had lots of time to think over what I was going to do once I got there. Sure, I was going to file for divorce from my cheating spouse, but now, I couldn't use my own family lawyer, nor contact my financial advisor for advice. Both were 'compromised,' having been drawn into Abbi's sphere of sexual control and manipulation. Both were fucking my wife, while I was gone.

So, who else was doing my woman? I reviewed my notes from the calls and from what I could see and her on the two DVDs, each time I stopped for gas or to take a break, or in the motels I used during the trip. It seemed that nearly everyone I thought I could depend on—men and some women—were smeared with Abbi's or Tanya's sex juices.

I'd need a couple of lawyers: one to sue for divorce, but another to help with the other lawsuits I was planning. I'd need a new doctor and medical clinic, a new bank, pharmacy, car garage, etc. My financial and personal life was now an open book to my slut-cheating wife and her slutty friends

I talked this over with Shayla, when she was home, as I called her from my various motels. She conformed what I'd already known. The Placics Company was her employer, too, and was, for all intents and purposes, the unofficial 'owner' of our small town. In other words, if you didn't work for Plavics or have a job that depended heavily on servicing Plavics employees, you pretty much didn't exist.

Both Shayla were going to be un-employed soon. If Plavics ever shut down, I would likely loose my house and Shayla would have to move out of her apartment.

It looked like the only ones who'd come out of this mess were Abbi and Tanya, as they could access their 'tip-jar' of money made while fucking their brains out. So far, separating her love for me—back 2 years ago—from having lot of sex had worked in her favor. From the content of the calls, it was very clear to me—and now to Shayla—that her 'love' for me had long ago evaporated, replaced by orgasms produced by legions of shoving, pushing, penetrating cocks and some strap-on appliances or silky-fingered lesbian sexing.

Abbi was getting rich cheating on me and having the time of her life doing it.

Sitting in the motel, the last night before driving into town, I realized that I really didn't give a damn about Abbi's sexing. Let her screw herself silly. Just without me and my hard-earned money.

My love for my wife had fled, once I'd listened to her fantasy-complaint that she couldn't be satisfied by my one, single, pathetic 4" cock—somehow forgetting that I presented with a solid 8" of thick, long-lasting, loving, skilled-in-use erected cock.

Now she need a gang of cocks, at least half a dozen, to cause multiple orgasms ... orgasms which didn't last, but instead, caused her to need more and more hard, erect men, to 'scratch the roaring itch' her cheating cunt had become.

I just wanted a clean break from her, from her 'friends' and my co-workers, and from The Plavics Company. There'd been lots of calls from commercial 'head-hunters' over the past years, trying to get me to quit Plavics and come to work for other manufactures. I had several patents that brought in money, related to both high-temperature and low-temperature adhesives, that had become whole-industry staples. I even had a couple of patents related to marine applications, as contaminated by seawater and by presence of petroleum products, including liquid natural gas.

Hell, I could afford to take a couple of years off, doing nothing and even support Shayla, too (as I knew what she made as a secretary-receptionist, there at work). Single, and unencumbered with a house or furniture, I could literally live and work anywhere, even providing Shayla with a modest place to live.

Having turned in the car I'd rented, I arranged to meet Shayla at her apartment when I got in, day or night, it being the July 4th holiday. She'd be waiting for me. I agreed to have her drive me to my house—not home, anymore—on the night of the 4th, so I didn't have to drive, as Shayla expected me to be crying and distraught when I went inside my house, now to be housing a 50+ person orgy.

Telling her I was full of icy rage didn't help one bit. She even patted me down for weapons, "just in case you really loose it and try to kill the nympho bitch or her fuckers." She let me keep my small, belt-mounted multi-tool, but had me tape up the knife blade and blunt the point.

This was a no-nonsense woman.

While there, at Shayla's apartment, I typed out and printed a letter to Hans, owner of Plavics Company, stating that I quit, effective immediately and listing his fucking of my wife over the last 2 years as the reason. I also sent out other letters, terminating my relationship with my attorney, with my financial advisors, bank, pharmacy, garage and car dealer and with my family doctor, listing that same reason. These letters were mailed to the box outside the Post Office, well before my planned last visit to my house and the planned orgy within.

Online, I cancelled all our joint credit cards from our bank. I withdrew half of our savings and half of our checking amounts. Again, online, I altered my life insurance policy. Basically, I did all the things that a divorcing man should do, as portrayed by advice from the Internet.

Again, online, I checked out a new attorney, physician, pharmacy, bank and financial advisor about 4 towns away from where I used to live, as I never wanted to sleep another night in the house I used to love ... or even touch my cum-addicted, gang-cheating slut-wife, who still lived there.

Shayla simply sent Hans a letter stating that she quit, as well. No fuss, no bother. Just send her last check in the mail. No references needed. "Go fuck your chief engineer's wife some more, and don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord naturally split ya!"

Then, taking Shayla out for lunch, we planned our simple strategy for visiting my former home, starting about 10 PM tonight, which was the Fourth of July. During lunch, we both noted the hot, dry Southern California Santa Anna wind had picked up, and listened to the no-burn fire-advisory that was broadcast on my rental car's radio. That car had every bell-and-whistle, and I longed for the much more simple red Jeep that both Abbi and I had in the garage.

Dumb adhesives engineer, it never occurred to me that my deep-dark ebony woman-friend and co-conspirator might have had other plans for me and my white-man's thick 8" of loving cock-flesh.

Back at her apartment, we both relaxed on her couch. We'd talked ourselves silent on what might happen tonight and what I was going to do, anyway.

"As far as I'm concerned, right now, you're a single man and I'm not letting you go without at least a cuddle. Why don't you run your finger through my braids, while I relax back on you, here?"

"Uh, Shayla," I asked, "even though I'm a white guy, I know the rules. Don't touch a black woman's hair. At least, that's what I was taught, back in school."

She actually giggled, saying, "Go ahead and touch my head, my hair. The braids are real. No weaves or extensions. I've been growing it out for 5 years, as of now. Go on, loose yourself in part of me. Here, let me help."

Shayla guided my hands and fingers into the mass of braids, making sure I had two good handfuls of hair. She said, "Oh, that's nice. I love how you feel up there. Come on, man, pull me around. You can control where my head goes. I'm relaxing, laying back on you. Pull my head around. Get us close. I love you controlling me."

Our lips touched, as I pulled and she willingly followed. It was electric. Her eyes widened. She guided my left hand up, around her shoulder and then, palm down, onto a lovely, thin-blouse covered breast. Involuntarily, I squeezed and she sighed, crossing and re-crossing her legs under her short skirt.

"Ahhh, I like that, you pull my hair so good and then you squeezed my tit. Come on, guy, slide your hand inside my blouse and feel out my bare tit. Feel my big, hard nip. Ahhh, like that, I love it. Hide inside my braids and kiss me some more."

She added, right then, "More kiss. Get both of those white hands on my dark brown tits. Yeah, like that. Get me outta my blouse. Yeah, get it off. Yeah, I don't wear a bra when I'm with people I trust. Ahh, I so trust you to maul my tits. Ohhh, ahhh, yeah, throw the blouse on the floor, I trust you. Pull my hair. Ungh, yeah, squeeze both my dark tits."

"Come on, guy. Your woman doesn't want you any more, but I do. Pull on those nips. Twist. Ohhh, damn, they belong to you now. They're your tits. Use them. Oh, Gawd, I'm cumming, just on my tits."

Shayla looked up at me, as we were both covered in her braided hair, and she said, very plainly, "Use me!"

She humped her butt off the couch and I knew it was an invitation to pull down her skirt's zipper, which I did. She shimmied out of it, then demanded that I rear back and look at her. In lust! She was naked. Pussy shaved bare.

Gasping and breathing hard, Shayla said, "Look at me, lover. Look at your dark brown, almost blue-black woman. I don't wear panties, either, when I'm with someone I trust and that's YOU. Look at my pussy. I'm shaved, just for you. I trust you to look at my dark body and want to take me, use me, fuck me, deep and hard."

"Get outta those clothes. Yeah, like that. Oh Gawd, your cock sticks out so far and it's hard. Your woman was just so wrong. I want it inside me. Don't lick me, not yet. Go in. I want you to own me. Take my tits. Take my pussy. Make my cunt yours."

Worried, i said, "Shayla, please, I don't want a slave ... I ..."

She 'sushed' me, "My Pete, I'm not gonna be a slave to you. My soul is my own. But look at me. Right now. I WANT you to have me. I wanna be your SLUT. Yeah. That's it. I wanna be your sex slut. As wide a definition of sex as I can make it. My whole body, my spirit, all wrapped up in a slut-package for you to lust after. Love me. Love my dark slutty body. Do me."

"Your cock is sticking out, right in my face. I wanna wrap it in my hair and lick the tip. Get on me, and shove that thing inside me so far, I scream. I wanna scream. Ah, Gawd, I'm cumming. I wanna scream to you all the dirty stuff to do with me, while you move inside me. I'm your black slut. Fuck me, white guy. Cumming again!"

So I did.

I sunk deep inside my screaming, thrashing lover, whom I suddenly wanted for my new wife. I thrust, and bottomed out inside the wench.

Shayla's eyes suddenly went from lusty slits to wide open. She grunted once, then gasped out, "Oh, Gawd, Pete, don't ... don't thrust. Hold steady please. Sty inside me. Ahhh, it's wonderful. Don't move. Well, only a little. Yeah, like that. Ahhh, yeah. Perfect."

I said, worried, "Shayla, did I hurt you?"

She actually giggled, as she answered, "Oh, hell, no. Just the opposite. Your big, long, thick cock fits in me perfectly. I've never felt anything like it before. I'm not a virgin, I've had other cocks in there, so I know, absolutely know, what I'm screaming about. I want to hold it in there. I want to savor you with your so-perfect love-pole deep inside me. Oh, yeah. You'd have to be a woman to know really what I'm talking about, what I'm feeling. It's a woman thing. Your woman. Your slut! OK, now move some more. In and out. Deep. Hard. Oh, yeah, that's it. Oh, Gawd, I'm cumming again, I'm such a SLUT."

She grunted and heaved, showing me her tall-woman's strength as she clasped my body in her arms and legs, holding me inside her slutty body as she orgasmed, long and loud.

Then, under her loud, obscene directions, I took my new black lover, with long strokes of my cock, pounding hard into her and extracting orgasm after orgasm, until I shot my load deep inside her squirming, writhing body, my hands buried in her thick, braided hair, watching her rigid-nippled boobs bounce all over her chest.

We both collapsed back on the cum-stained couch, watching about half of our combined juices ooze out of her pussy lips and drool down her taint and ass, then onto the couch fabric. We both giggled at the thought of the other half of my spurting life, being absorbed inside her flaming-red vaginal tissue, making her 'glow' inside.

I asked her to marry me, as soon as I could get free of Abbi.

Shayla clearly said, "Yes," but added, "let's make it a wed-lease marriage. We'll write out the whole agreement. That'll be fun. I can get to specify, in writing, exactly what kind of a personal, private slut I can be and exactly what I'll do and how often. You'll get to say, in writing, what you'll do to your personal, private slut, over the years, right up to when we talk about a renewal."

End of Part 1