tagLoving WivesGetting to Know Kaylee Ch. 04

Getting to Know Kaylee Ch. 04

byArt Martin©

Ed Bailey shifted in his chair. "So you moved in with her? When did you discover that she was slut?"

"A slut? That was obvious from the start. She loves sex in great quantities as well with quality. The girl is insatiable."

"I thought you said she wasn't an insane fucking machine."

"I said that? I stand corrected. But to answer your question, I was madly in love with her. She is the most incredible woman I've ever met. Sweet and gentle one minute, she's a tiger the next. Naïve at times, she's also one of the smartest people I know.

"She taught how to play backgammon. Now, I knew the rules and moves and all that, but she taught me the game. After whipping my ass time and time again without me getting anywhere near to beating her, she taught me how the game is really played. It's all mathematics, probability theory. Stuff I learned in college. She just knew it instinctively, you know, sort of like when Newton invented calculus when he was ten.

"Anyway, we sort of settled into a routine like all couples do. On Monday through Thursday she worked until ten and I pretty much let her be when she was at work. If I were asleep when she got home, she'd waken me with a blowjob. Then we'd screw. Usually I screwed her, but sometimes she screwed me with one of her toys."

"What kind of toys?"

"Oh vibrators, anal beads, sometimes after loosening me up she'd shove her Ben Wah balls up my ass."

"You're sick, you know that."

"Ed, it's just sex. Sex between a man and a woman. We have fun, no one ever gets hurt, though there was a time when I did hurt her... by accident of course.

"Anyway, on those days when she worked late, I'd go work out and then come back home and hang out around the pool at the apartment. There were two pools there. The one closest top our apartment had a lot of kids and their Mommies hanging around. The other one was where the risqué adults without kids hung out. That's where I met Randy and Ramona Burks."

Ramona, she is a sight to behold. With short shaggy frosted hair and hazel eyes, her face was something out of Playboy. Tall, about five foot eleven inches, she looked like a model with long legs that won't quit. But unlike most skinny models, she was stacked with hooters that would convert a queer.

Randy, her husband, is big guy, six-four and maybe 220 lbs. He sports a full, curly beard and mustache and wears a large gold earring. Covering one shoulder, he has a huge multicolored dragon tattoo that snakes down his upper arm. Coiled around the opposite leg, he has a huge snake with a feathered head. Says it's a Mayan god or something. On his back, across his other shoulder blade he has a sun face, you know, with wavy rays and a smug, smiley face. He's got another one, a ying-yang symbol, plastered across the back of his neck.

I didn't know it yet, but Ramona also has a smaller ying-yang, but it's tattooed between her butt cheeks, to be viewed by special invitation only. But like Kaylee and a lot of other slutty girls, she had a nice tattoo on the small of her back. On her flip side, she has this starburst pattern tattooed around her navel.

At the pool, Ramona always wore a string bikini that was at least two sizes too small. I'll tell you, she was always practically naked. Her big tits flowed out from the sides of the tiny tops she wore and the bottoms were just one step up from a thong. There was no doubt in my mind that she shaved her pussy. She had too. There was almost no front at all and it rode up into her cunt slit so that her pussy lips were in plain sight. Talk about a camel-toe! I'm surprised she was never arrested.

When a particularly good song played on the radio, Randy and Ramona would dance, lewdly, humping into each other, feeling each other up, leaving little to the imagination. As they got into it, Randy's cock would tent out his baggy swimsuit. They were and still are exhibitionists.

I gawked, but pretty much kept to myself. One day I was lying in a lounge chair, checking out the evening's generous display of female flesh. Randy came and sat by me. "Hi! I'm Randy Burks. Seen ya 'round, but we haven't met."

"George Vinter."

"Nice to met ya George." He waved over at his wife. "Hey! C'mere!"

Ramona pranced up, her jugs a jiggling. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to stare at her tits or her pussy. I stared at her camel-toe. "Hey babe, this is George."


"Hello, nice to met you."

"Hey, look at her face George, not her pussy."

"Uh, um, excuse me, I didn't mean to stare."

"No problem," he laughed. "Quite a sight, eh?"

"Yeah," I said adjusting my hard on.

"Look babe, you've got him all hard!"

"Oh Randy, don't be so crude!" chided his voluptuous wife.

"It's not crude, it's the truth. Look at him!"

Ramona sat in the chase lounge next to me to regain a modicum of modesty. Randy pulled up a chair and began talking. Soon we were laughing and carrying on like old friends.

Whenever I was at the pool after that, I hooked up with Randy, Ramona and few other couples that they were friends with. We would sit around the pool, sipping whatever we had to drink, played backgammon and chatted away about sports, movies, and old Star Trek episodes.

I wanted to introduce Kaylee to Randy and Ramona Burks, but they were always gone on the weekends when Kaylee was off, and Kaylee always was working when they were hanging out around the pool. Same went with the other two couples that seemed to be close friends of the Burks, Sam and Jenna, and Lex and Vicki.

Compared to the skimpy bikinis that Ramona, Vicki, and Jenna wore, Kaylee's modest two-piece seemed almost Victorian. After whiling away the late afternoon or early evening chatting with the guys and eyeballing their scantily clad wives, I'd be so horny that I couldn't see straight.

One Tuesday evening, about two weeks after I first met the Burks, I couldn't wait for Kaylee to get home, so I went over to the Holiday Inn to get a little relief. It was around eight thirty. No one was at the desk, so I looked into the manager's office. There was Kaylee, on her knees, sucking off the rod of this older guy as he sat in the chair.

The old man looked at me, his eyes wide as saucers. I said, "Pardon me," and shut the door. As I walked outside, I heard Kaylee call out to me, "George! George!" Stunned at what I had seen, I didn't stop. Getting in my BMW, I sped away, leaving my slut girlfriend standing in the parking lot begging me to stop.

I drove around until I found a bar where I could collect my thoughts. I was pissed off, that's for sure, and I considered going home packing up and moving out. I had one, then two frosted schooners as the salacious scene continuously replayed in my mind. I could clearly see him in my mind's eye, the dark hair, streaked with gray, and the slight paunch from not enough exercise. But there was something else. I puzzled for a while on it. Then it hit me. Whenever I had stopped by for a quick blowjob at night, my pants were down, but not off. But whenever she did a protracted sex number on me, she would have me nude, completely nude. The old guy was nude, completely nude.

"Damn," I muttered. Then I noticed something too. I was painfully hard, as hard as I ever got. After another beer I realized something else. I had always figured that she was just horny all those times when she came home and rubbed her incredibly juicy pussy into my face. She was horny, that's for sure, but hell, the wetness wasn't just from horniness, it was because she probably had a load of some guy's cum up her slut snatch. At that realization, I went home to wait for my slattern girlfriend.

At ten thirty, she meekly came into the bedroom. "George... I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry."

"Shut the fuck up!" I snarled.

"Don't be mad at me George. You know how I am. You had to know how I am."

"Who was that guy?"

"Him? That was Fred Wilkes. He's a salesman. Comes in every two weeks."

"And you fuck him every two weeks?"

"He's lonesome, and I just want him to feel good about life."

"Ever considered just talking to him."

"Not really."

"Jesus! You suck off and fuck everyone who stays in that motel?"

"No, not everyone."

"God damn you!"

"Look, you know I like sex. I love sex. I really need it. I don't love those other guys, just the sex. I love you baby, sex and all. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I, I..."

"You fucking slut!" I hissed with genuine venom.

"Yes, yes, I am and you know that! Look buster," she said, her eyes flashing with anger, "you don't own me! We split the rent, remember? You're my roommate, my playmate and the love of my life, but I'm not your property! I'll suck and fuck any guy I want to fuck and you can screw any girl you want, just so long as you love me the way I love you."

"Go get a shower and get cleaned up," I ordered.

She went into the bathroom and undressed. Just as she was about to turn the water on, I stopped her. "Get in the tub, bitch! Kneel!" I whipped out my dick, took aim and pissed on her, all over her. By the time I was finished, she was sobbing.

"Get your slut ass cleaned up!" I snarled.

"Don't hurt me," she begged in genuine fear. "Please George, don't hurt me."

I must admit, I wanted to kick the living shit out her, to hurt her, to really hurt her and like a cat, she sensed it.

Before I allowed myself to do anything really stupid, I left, fearful for what I might do. I really didn't want to leave, I wanted to screw her, rape her, use her, make her... I got out of there.

I checked into a motel, not the Holiday Inn, and lay awake all night. There in the semidarkness I visualized how she sucked every dick she could, how she fucked every dick she could, and how she loved every sordid minute of it. I thought of how much she turned me on with her uninhibited antics. I must have beat off three times, thinking of her.

I returned home in the morning to dress for work. She was gone. All day I tried to telephone her, to tell her that I was concerned for her, that I was angry last night, that I was sorry. Tell her that I was sorry? Man, I had it bad! I nearly panicked when I couldn't find her to tell her that I loved her. Finally around two, she answered in her cheery voice that I love so much, "Good afternoon, Holiday Inn. How may I help you?"


Click, bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

It was pretty obvious that she didn't want to talk to me. What was her problem? I didn't touch her. I just pissed on her. Considering all the other raunchy games we played, it just didn't seem to me that pissing on her would be such a big deal. Women! Go figure.

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