Hazardous Women

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here

By then a man of means, given long leash by his frau, Olgun sampled. From these nips he succumbed to addiction.

Unlike an American counterpart, rage did not cripple Marianne. She knew men. She knew expecting fidelity futile. Rather than act complacently, though, she was confused.

Olgun had dismissed redheads or brunettes like his wife. The man now fixated on blondes. Most galling about this they were Dolly Buster blondes. Even to delusional sex fiends the pneumatic Czech porn star must've appeared abjectly fake. A transsexual's idea of the perfect woman perhaps?

"Why even care?" Paz asked.

"He's still her husband," Abercrombie replied. "He is hers. I guess she can't be completely detached."

Nurtured as Olgun's weakness was, Marianne, more inventive than Abercrombie suspected, called upon scorned-woman's innovation. At first, her solution seemed more Rube Goldberg -- perverse Rube Goldberg -- than practical. But once Abercrombie got his mind around Marianne's diversion, his male rationality approved her exercise.

"And mind you," Abercrombie told Paz, "it had nothing to do with knives."

"Too bad. A knife would've cut right through the problem."

One afternoon recent weeks ago, Marianne banished the Olgun's daughter into her mother's care. Untroubled by gainful employment, Olgun's lived a clockwork existence. He arrived home expecting nothing more than desultory words from his frau. An involved recount of his daughter's school day, maybe. Dinner, then televised Bundesliga or Serie A football before falling asleep. Marianne devised something else.

Their home's quiet should've tipped off Olgun. Living room furniture had been rearranged, vacating the center. Plumped pillows circled a low table. Atop this sat a hookah. The contraption had been a wedding gift from one of her in-laws. Its sincerity baffled Marianne. She hoped it the Turkish equivalent of the American honeymoon deck of cards gag gift. Elaborate as the device was, the Olguns quickly found a use.

When the right friends visited, and the hashish especially potent, hosts and guests elevated themselves among common smoke clouds.

This time though Olgun entered a dormant house with Marianne its only other apparent occupant. Rather than her usual Western garb she wore a kaftan.

She commanded Olgun to disrobe. "Why" might've been on his tongue but he complied docilely. Maybe from guilt or certainly knowing she could deny him blonde access.

Seeing him naked in daylight again excited Marianne. During their courtship into early marriage, they exulted in their fresh vigorous bodies. Concealed behind privacy their eyes feasted on the other's skins. Lips and fingers were encouraged to explore and provide enjoyment. She wondered when happy tension became disposable pastimes.

Marianne appraised Olgun. Years had passed since she last viewed him so clearly, so hungrily. Now when he did his duty it usually occurred at night, under cover, one or the other swimming through an alcohol or narcotic haze. They fucked much like animals. Compulsively rather than through any higher reward.

Despite the years, the comforts of life, Olgun hadn't gotten sloppy. A German man in the same situation would've been on his way to one big beer and sausage gut.

In bed the careless weight would constrict such a man's movement while making him sweat during summer; in winter she'd find his fat clammy to her touch. At least that's how Marianne remembered clients from her long ago hostess nights.

Now 40, Olgun showed few traces of excess. Glutton as he could've been, the Turk was fated to remain thin. Dark skin hid all but the most obvious blemishes. Hair on his head still plentiful and black, the only gray odd filings sprouting among his five o'clock shadow. The black thatch covering Olgun's chest and belly dove into an impenetrable forest. From there emerged the penis that once drove her as well as balls she loved kissing and tickling.

Marianne clapped her hands.

Another woman entered the living room. Or one assumed it a woman. She wore an abaya, niqab included, which, except for an eye slot, blotted her humanity. Kohl rimmed her wide black eyes. Henna swirls decorated her cinnamon hands and bare feet. Rings bound fingers and toes, bracelets thickened her wrists. Carmine painted nails complemented the henna designs.

Abercrombie doubted Paz knew what the mystery woman's numerous bindings symbolized. It couldn't have been any plainer to Olgun. He instinctively covered his manhood then just as quickly let his hands drop. Abercrombie realized Olgun must've wondered whether Marianne tempted or mocked him.

For awhile she did neither.

While the guest and Olgun stood stock still, Marianne padded to the hookah. She lit it, already having stuffed the bowl. After a few tugs off the pipe, smoke from hash oil stirred in apple scented tobacco wafted through the room. She arranged a pillow pile then settled cross-legged among them. Comfortable, Marianne summoned the sirrah.

Their guest sat beside Marianne. She offered the pipe. The sirrah lifted her veil, exposing the lower half of her face. Pomegranate lips emerged then wrapped around the stem. Unlike Marianne's greedy pulls, the sirrah toked moderately. She exhaled a plume the width of her ripe lips.

The two women passed the pipe between them until they occupied a low-clinging haze. Controlled wisps started escaping Marianne's mouth. The guest pulled these through her own lips, held them momentarily, then freed whatever remained for Marianne to recapture. They took turns initiating this ethereal shuttle.

Before giddiness became stupor, Marianne stopped their peculiar exchange. The sirrah laid the pipe aside. Marianne leaned across, clasped the other's cheeks, and melded her thin lips against the sirrah's. She surprised Marianne by showing no reluctance. Her fervor equaled Marianne's. In fact it seemed she struggled not to surpass her hostess' desire.

After an interlude, Marianne pulled back. She ran hands along the sirrah's black formlessness. Her touch left nebulous signs of the femininity beneath. Survey done, Marianne ordered the sirrah to stand. Both bodies jostled smoke.

Marianne fingered the abaya's hem. As the women rose the garment crept above knees, waist, shoulders until eyes feasted on the nakedness beneath. Marianne maneuvered black over the niqab where she let folds darken numerous pillows.

The sirrah stood before them firm, brown and supple. Large nipples splashed across prominent round breasts. Marianne's white hands ran along the other woman's contours. She lavished particular attention on her hard belly, high hard ass, and the untamed briar mingling between sturdy thighs. The guest stirred when Marianne poked fingers into that pelt.

Inspection finished, inspiration measured, the hostess pulled off her kaftan. Its heavier material slapped across pillows.

Abercrombie wondered how Olgun viewed those contrasting complexions. Fast approaching 40 herself, Marianne's exercise routine only staved off certain physical indignities. As he well knew, not much sagged yet. The little which did might only have been truly discernable by Abercrombie. After all, he known her at the apex of 19.

Over 18 years she'd matured from fresh and sensual into ripe and alluring. Her skin was still smooth. Sight and feel of her tits continued to please his fingers and tongue. Under the loupe, though, magnified through unforgiving light, the formerly cool face began hardening into a mask. Her hands also verged on their betrayals.

Nonetheless, the hostess' excellent posture kept her back straight and launched her chest. Upon finding a man who interested her, Marianne retained more than enough verve to attract him without coming off as a clingy embarrassment or randy caricature.

Also remembered from her recent summer visit, Marianne could still fuck like a fiend. A greedy one, not the desperate kind.

Paz asked if she "fucked like a fiend."

"You're getting there," Abercrombie said.

"Good. I need goals."

Marianne had drawn the sirrah back down on the cushions. There they kissed, cuddled and caressed another. The guest's veil proved no impediment against lust.

All this time Marianne snuck peeks at Olgun. A hangdog expression dragged his face while his erection demonstrated quivering resiliency. She decided his suffering should be increased.

Marianne and their guest shifted into positions where both could orally satisfy the other. Of course the sirrah lay on her back, legs open, Marianne's head towards Olgun.

On first impression the woman's pubic tangle looked impassable. Marianne's tongue just dampened it. She used fingers to blaze a narrow way into pink.

Her task much easier, the sirrah showed adeptness that quickly sent Marianne elsewhere. She battled against a liquefying warmth that urged surrender. Rather, Marianne buried her face into the sirrah's thighs.

The hostess' skills paled against her guest's. She minced and picked where the other swirled in virtuosity. Marianne thought it good the other maintained her veil because the hostess dripped well on the way to gushing.

Marianne moaned unmistakably. The sirrah followed her lead. Obviously far more for show than effect. The hostess was grateful. More so when poor tortured Olgun issued his own pitiable plea.

Reluctantly Marianne disengaged. The sirrah was so immersed in the hostess' sex, her tongue needed to slither free.

Surfacing, Marianne looked back at the sirrah. Eyes framed behind her niqab slot told nothing.

Now focusing on Olgun, his wife signaled him to have his way with their guest. His bolt reminded her of a sprinter hearing the starters pistol. Or, as Abercrombie had said, of a starving dog seeing a pork chop.

Olgun tried removing the sirrah's veil while he piled into her. Plowing the poor woman wasn't enough. He wanted to see who he jarred. Unfortunately for him, during the women's negotiations both assumed his curiosity would exceed mere joy in the moment. They agreed that during his presence she'd stay veiled throughout.

Paz asked Abercrombie to describe the woman's face.

"Marianne didn't tell me. Yeah. As if I'm gonna run into her."

If this reluctance frustrated Olgun it didn't long deter him. Unlike his wife's mouth, his cock honed in on the sirrah's gash. His fat dick ground hair as it stuffed her obscured snatch.

Marianne sat back momentarily. His quaking ass looked as smooth as the first time she claimed it hers. She watched him mindlessly pummel the poor woman. Were it possible, Olgun might've gotten short running starts before each thrust. She remembered when he often fucked her with the same recklessness. His wife tamped down the feeling that he somehow should still be so attentive.

She reached across her husband's arched back and grabbed her kaftan. From a pocket she withdrew a large pearl attached to a long fine gold chain.

Olgun's balls barely tightened during his screwing anymore. Scrotal looseness let them swing and bounce. It wasn't a malady but simply another aging signpost. At least that's how Abercrombie saw and accepted his condition. Olgun had possibly yet to notice. Not that any woman other than his wife would tell him.

From behind Marianne widened Olgun's legs. She slipped a big noose of chain around his shaking distended ball sac. Should he have been aware of this, Olgun likely discounted it being far too involved in that pussy.

Marianne wrapped the chain until its slack diminished. Then she yanked.

"That's how you get a fully loaded freight train to stop on a dime," Abercrombie said.

On one hand, all of Olgun's senses must've been immediately redirected. On the other, perhaps he found himself concentrating on the worst visions of hell. Either way nuts lassoed as they were he ceased in mid-stroke.

He asked a most pertinent question.

Paz anticipated Marianne's answer. "Woman's prerogative?"

"If you read that in a woman's magazine, you gotta stop reading those magazines," Abercrombie said. "No. Not that."

Marianne told Olgun he could polish off the sirrah. However, there'd be an occasional hitch. She jostled the chain tugging his balls. It'd be a random inconvenience. Always on his down stroke.

His wife made him understand she wasn't forbidding him anything. Just that this particular climax would be arduously achieved. But she gave him an option.

Should Olgun pull out, spill his seed on the woman's belly, Marianne wouldn't amuse herself. Otherwise should he obey a man's incredibly powerful natural urge, one she completely understood and also frequently yielded to, he'd be subject to her caprice. "This is strange, Ian. Why did she do it?"

"Typical woman reason," Abercrombie said. "The one she gave Ahmet was: 'blondes shouldn't have all the fun.' Can you imagine? Ahmet probably got way existential if he asked himself, 'Are you shittin' me!?'"

Paz asked the resolution.

"Remember when you wondered what it's like walking around with manly weight between my legs?"

She nodded. "For you men it's normal."

"Except after some appreciable discomfort is applied. Marianne wrote me Ahmet learned to walk gingerly. Bow-legged like an old cowboy. She taught him a hard lesson in a new kind of tenderness."

Paz laughed. "Ouch! Now the important part. Marianne still have that chain? You know, for next time."

"No," Abercrombie said. "Seems it was payment all the way around. That and some cash covered the woman's fee."

12
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
1 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousabout 1 year ago

total crap...............

Share this Story

Similar Stories

Robbed and Forced Sex Husband and wife forced to have sex during home invasion.in NonConsent/Reluctance
BabySitter BabySitter taken during the night.in NonConsent/Reluctance
Accidental Rape Baby-sitter taken in error.in NonConsent/Reluctance
Alice's Blackmail Begins Loosened with alcohol Alice takes my dick.in NonConsent/Reluctance
Forced take his cum Her first taste of another man's cumin NonConsent/Reluctance
More Stories