This story cannot be read in five minutes. If you are not interested in the development of characters and their situations, then, probably, this story is not for you. If you dislike long stories that build to a crescendo--rather than start with one--then this story is not for you. If you have read any of my other stories and didn't enjoy them, then this story is not for you. However, if you find stories much more interesting when you know and understand the characters, this may be enjoyable for you. If you have read and appreciated my other work and relish stories to which you can relate, then please read on and enjoy.
The charming tract home was nestled behind large trees in a suburb of Wichita, Kansas, the heartland of America. Its occupants, the Fuller's, were as average as average could be. Scott was forty. Brooke would be forty on her next birthday. The anniversary of their wedding, in two months, would be their twentieth. Their only child, Cindy, was a freshman at Kansas State, in Manhattan, Kansas just a hundred miles north of Wichita. However, there was one aspect of the couple's life in which they were not average. No one had ever said that Brooke was average in the look's department. She was a stunner in anybody's book, a ten on the most discriminating scale. Scott was proud of her and loved the way men's eyes bulged and most became tongue-tied when they met her for the first time.
The Fuller's were typical, nonetheless, in another respect; the economy had finally caught up with them as it had with two million other American families. A well-known company that manufactured private aircraft had employed Scott nearly all of his working life. His particular plant had closed down a year ago, consolidated and moved many of its operations offshore. Eight months ago he heard the dreaded word when they told him that he had been "terminated." Try as he might, he hadn't been successful in finding other work. His severance had covered six months of living expenses. After that, unemployment helped, but didn't come near covering their monthly nut. A dozen years of savings was rapidly dwindling.
He had sent his resume to hundreds of potential employers. Most politely informed him that they had "received his resume," "nothing was available at this time," they would "keep his resume on file and notify him when there was an opening." Finally, after months of sending out resumes and following up with phone calls, letters and e-mails he had been advised that he had made the cut and would be invited to Seattle to interview with Boeing.
Scott knew that if he didn't land this job--the job of last resort as he came to think of it--then they would have to quickly come up with another plan. It was highly unlikely, given the intense competition for the handful of jobs that became available and considering his age and the economy, that he would be able to find work in his chosen field in the foreseeable future. The prospects, to say the least, were dismal. If they were to maintain their lifestyle, he would just have to start a business, one that he could manage from their home.
Brooke had always been so supportive of him. She had always been his number one fan. When she dropped him off at the airport for his trip to Seattle she said, "honey, I just know that they'll hire you. After all, you're the best." She had much more faith and confidence in him than he did in himself.
Scott didn't get the job. There were 250 applicants, most of whom wouldn't have to move and nearly all of whom were younger, better qualified and willing to work for less. The trip would have been a huge letdown and a total waste of his time if he hadn't met Ray West at the bar in the Marriott Hotel near SeaTac Airport two hours after they had turned him down for the job.
He was drinking his second Coors and feeling sorry for himself when the man sitting on the barstool next to him asked, "why so glum, man?"
Scott was surprised that a total stranger could read him so well. He turned toward the voice-- really wanting to be left alone with his thoughts--paused to take in the smiling man who appeared to be about his own age, before answering. "Oh, I flew into town this morning, interviewed at Boeing and learned a couple of hours ago that I didn't get the job."
"I'm Ray, Ray West," the friendly man said as he stuck out his hand. "Let me buy you another. Where you from?"
"Thanks Ray, I'm Scott Fuller from Wichita," he explained.
"You flying out tonight?"
"No, I can't make connections tonight. Boeing put me up here. I'll fly out on the first flight in the morning."
"Too bad about the job," Ray said with genuine concern. "They trying to steal you from someone or are you out of work?"
Scott was normally a very private person. Tonight, after being rejected again, he needed someone to talk to. "No, they weren't trying to get me from a competitor. I've been out of work for more than six months. The aircraft business isn't so hot right now. Also, there are a lot of unemployed engineers, technicians and managers right here in the Pacific Northwest. Saves them a ton on moving someone like me."
During the next half hour, while they consumed two more drinks, Scott told Ray everything that had happened to him since he lost his job and even details of their life before then. Ray was an easy listener who seemed sincerely interested in him. The conversation had been devoted almost entirely to Scott and his plight when he said, "Ray, I've been blabbering about my situation, sorry. What do you do?"
"Oh, I'm in business for myself."
Scott had noticed the expensive clothes, the Platinum American Express card that he used to pay for the drinks and the expensive gold watch on Ray's tan wrist. "Business must be good," he observed.
Ray smiled. "Not bad, not bad at all."
Scott had also noticed the gold wedding band on Ray's finger. "Does your wife work?"
"Yes, she does. We're in business together." He took a sip of his drink and said, "her name's Anne, we've been married for eighteen years."
"Nearly twenty for us," said Scott. "What kind of business do you operate?" He asked.
"A home business, you could say."
Scott had assumed that the Wests must have an Amway distributorship or another type of network marketing business. Ray made it unnecessary for him to speculate further about the nature of his home business by saying, "we have an Internet site. Been doing it for a little more than a year."
"I thought that all of the dotcoms went bust."
"Not all of them. I don't want to shock you Scott but our site is a . . . how should I say this?" He placed his glass to his lips, drained it and said, "ours is an adult oriented site."
"You mean you operate a porn site?" Scott's jaw dropped and nearly hit the bar when the reality of what his drinking companion had said sunk in.
"Exactly. A year and a half ago our situation wasn't very different from yours is. We didn't have a kid to put through college but we did have bills to pay and not enough income to cover our expenses. I was still working, but the job was a dead end with a low ceiling. We both wanted more. So, we started our website . . . "
"Would I know it . . . do you think I might have come across it while surfing the net?"
"If you don't visit adult sites, you couldn't have visited ours. Also, it's a pay site. If you don't spend $19.95 a month, you can't get in. At least you can't access the good stuff."
"What's it called?" Scott asked.
Ray didn't hesitate for a second, "Anne's Sexcapades."
"What did you say?" Scott asked, not sure that he had heard correctly.
"Anne's Sexcapades." Ray smiled when he saw Scott's discomfort. "Let me explain. I'm not a computer whiz or anything like that. We're just an ordinary couple from Boise, Idaho. Like everyone else, I knew that porn was one of the few segments of Internet business that made money. Anne and I talked about it. We agreed we would look into it and see how it worked. I discovered several sites that were very interesting to me. I won't mention them all but some of them were: ‘The Wetlands,' ‘Nina's bed,' ‘Cathycraving,' oh yeah, ‘AnnyXXX' and ‘Hot Wife Hotel/My Hot Wife.' Anyway, these sites all had several things in common. First, they featured a married woman who was photographed and videoed while having sex, usually but not always, with one or more black men . . ."
Scott had visited his share of free porn sites when he went on the Internet searching for jobs and e-mailing potential employers. He had never joined any of the sites that charged a membership fee for access. However, he did discover that the subject of men sharing their wives with other men-- not only in swinging situations--was extremely popular. He had admitted to himself long ago that the subject was also very interesting to him. Now, here he was sitting in a bar, talking with a relative stranger who was explaining the evolution of his successful business. "Let me get this straight Ray . . . sorry to interrupt . . . "
"Go ahead, ask whatever you want," Ray said as he signaled the bar tender for refills.
"So, you discovered these sites . . . these hot wife sites and then you started one of your own from scratch. Your site features your own wife and now you're making more money than ever before. Is that about right?"
"Very precise," said Ray. "You've got it perfectly."
"You said you weren't a computer guy. How can you have a successful site if you're not a professional?"
"It's called outsourcing, my friend. We don't handle billing. We don't maintain the site. All we provide is the content. You probably know more about computers and the Internet than I do. Most people do. What we have come to understand is what our members--our customers-- really want and we do our very best to give it to them."
"What do they want?"
"I think one of the secrets is that they want to see the same woman like, Cbaby, Nina, Jackie, Cathy, Anny and now my own wife Anne, really gets into it with different guys. As I was saying earlier, that's something else that all of the sites have in common. Our members, nearly all of them are men, also like to think of their own wives doing what these women are doing. We had hundreds of stills and three videos of Anne before we opened the site. Since then, we try to post something every week to hold our members interest and keep them coming back for more. Also, we've discovered that we have to make each subsequent shooting even hotter than the previous one." He paused to light a cigarette that he extracted from a thin gold case. "Among the sites that I mentioned, which we consider our niche, we've done pretty well. Oh, one last thing, in this business it's true, size does matter. For some reason our members like the men to be hung like stallions, not that Anne minds," he chuckled.
"Wow!" Exclaimed Scott still overwhelmed and trying to digest what he had heard in the last few minutes. "What brings you to Seattle, Ray?"
"Like I said before, others take care of everything but the product--the product is what we post on the site. We come here or fly to San Francisco, sometimes L.A. or Vegas, about once a month. In two or three days we can shoot enough material to keep our site going for another month. I do some editing at home before posting. We also answer e-mails, welcome new members, sometimes chat with members and post a few stories. Nevertheless, all of the action is away from Boise. That's it in a nutshell my friend."
"So you're here to . . . well . . . I guess I mean . . . " Scott was stumbling over his words.
Ray bailed him out. "You got it. Anne's upstairs right now with a group. I pay the photographers, the others usually work for . . . I guess you'd say the fun of it. I find that if I'm not there, at least at first, the product is much better. Anne and the guys are less inhibited without an audience, especially without the husband. I always go up a few times to check on her and make sure that we're getting what we want."
"That's just unbelievable . . . "
"I swear it's the truth," said Ray as he smiled and crossed his heart.
Scott couldn't understand how Ray could be so casual about everything. After all, Ray's own wife, his wife of more than eighteen years, was in a hotel room in this very hotel fucking different guys. It didn't seem to phase Ray at all, thought Scott. He couldn't imagine his own Brooke doing anything like what Anne was doing. Actually, to be honest he had to admit that he could imagine it. He had imagined it. For years he had wondered what it would be like to watch Brooke with another man. This was just too weird he said to himself. Since the subject of Ray and Anne's home business had come up he hadn't thought about the outcome of his interview or their financial circumstances. All he could think about was what Ray had been telling him. "So, tell me Ray, how do you feel about it . . . I mean what your wife is doing?"
"I'm cool with it. If I wasn't she wouldn't be doing it. Hell, Scott, I'm more than cool with it. To tell the truth, I love it!" He leaned over and quietly but forcefully said, "I love sex! Since we started this business, Anne has been hotter, much hotter than she ever was before and, believe me, she was always hot. I get excited watching her or, like now, knowing what she's doing. I arranged for these guys. She had never even met them until a couple of hours ago. Believe me my friend. This is a turn-on. I would do it even if we didn't make money."
"Ray, let me ask you, whose idea was it?"
"That's no secret. It was mine. I had her look at the various sites. It took some getting used to. At first, we actually thought of operating a site and hiring another woman to be with the men. Then, when we did the math, we realized that most of the profit would go to the other woman, the billing service and the company that maintain the site. Also, instinctively, I knew that if the woman were obviously faking, or acting, we would be less successful and not able to hold our members from month to month. Believe it or not Ray, most men sign up for six months after a ten-day trial. More than 80% renew after their month, six month or annual subscription ends. In this business that's pretty good. But, it wouldn't happen if Anne didn't make our members hot as firecrackers."
"I'd like to see that," said Scott. "Sorry man, no offense intended."
"None taken, none taken. Ray wrote a password down on the bar napkin and handed it to Scott. "That's the address for our site. Type in the user name I wrote down and the password, all lowercase." Then, as if the idea just him, he said, "I can do better than have you visit the site, however. I'm going up to check on her now." He stood up then asked. "Care to join me?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that," Scott said.
"Why the hell not?" Ray asked with a challenging smile.
Scott didn't have a good answer to Ray's question. He had, just a moment before, admitted that he would like to visit their site. The only reason to visit the site, as both knew, would be for him to watch Ray's wife fuck other men. "I guess I don't have a good reason," Scott admitted shrugging his shoulders.
"Then come on. I think you'll find this very interesting."
Scott's heart was pounding as the elevator swiftly lifted them to the 6th floor. In front of room 627, Ray fished a plastic key card out of his pocket and swiped it. When the door unlocked he turned the knob and pushed the door but it only opened an inch because the safety latch had been engaged on the other side. "It's her old man," said a voice on the other side of the door that obviously belonged to someone looking through the peephole. Then the door was opened.
Scott didn't know what to expect. It sure wasn't a naked black man covered in perspiration with his huge, semi-hard cock coated with a whitish liquid who said, "she's fabulous man, just like you told us."
"Glad you like her. This is Scott, he's a friend," Ray said gesturing to Scott and not identifying the black man my name.
The black man stuck out his hand, which Scott reluctantly took because he didn't know where it had been or what it had been doing. However, when he saw what was happening on the king size bed, he had little doubt where the hand he had just shaken had been or what it had been doing.
On her hands and knees was a beautiful blond woman plugged at each end by black cocks that weren't semi hard but stone hard. She and her partners were also bathed in their own sweat. Her long hair was as wet as it would be if she had taken a shower. The cock in her mouth muffled her sighs and moans. She pushed back enthusiastically against the cock that Scott assumed was buried deep in her pussy but was actually buried deep in her ass. She was gripping the fitted white bottom sheet in both hands and it seemed to Scott as if she were in a constant state of orgasm. This was the first time, up close and in person, he had ever seen people engaged in sex.
"That's Anne. Isn't she something?" Ray asked proudly.
"She's beautiful," said Scott.
"They've got her so worked up that by now she's cumming constantly," said Ray as he leaned over talking softly, just above a whisper, so as not to distract the participants in the action on the bed. "Like I explained, there's approximately a month between these sessions. She's so hot by the time we get here, in anticipation, that it doesn't take much to get her going. It's getting her to stop that's the problem," he said and then laughed softly.
A white man was holding a video camera and watching the action on the small monitor at its side. He had a still digital camera attached to a strap around his neck. Every once in a while he stopped videotaping and took stills. Sometimes, he was so close to the participants that it seemed to Scott as if he were one of them. Just then, Anne lifted her mouth off the cock of the man with the blue-black skin who was kneeling in front of her. "Oh baby . . . fuck me! Fuck me hard! . . . oh, ohhh, that feels so fucking good . . . fuck my ass."
Now Scott knew where the part of the cock that he couldn't see was hidden and it wasn't in Anne's vagina. He was trying to control himself but found it impossible. His cock was as hard as it had ever been and tenting his pants. He was embarrassed and wanted to sit.
Ray saw the reaction that Scott was having to the performance Anne and two of her lovers were putting on just a few feet in front of them. "Get's to you doesn't it?"
"Yeah, it does. Wish there was somewhere to sit," he said glancing around the room and realizing that the two chairs in the corner were covered with clothing that had been carelessly thrown on them.
"We won't stay here long. Don't worry about your hard-on. I've got one too," he said as he glanced down at his own crotch, "and, I've seen her do this dozens of times. Anne would be heartbroken if she thought that someone had watched her and didn't react like you're reacting." Ray turned toward the black man that had let them in, leaned over and whispered in his ear then turned to Scott and said, "let's get out of here and leave them alone. It's going to be a long night."
As Scott looked back at the bed, the third black man had joined the group. Scott knew that there was only one available hole for the third black man.
After they entered the elevator and the doors closed behind them, Ray said, "I know you have to catch an early flight in the morning. Nevertheless, I'm going to drive into Seattle, kill some time and get something to eat. Why don't you join me? I'll have you back here by ten."
Scott didn't have anything else to do and had several questions that he wanted to ask Ray so he accepted the invitation. During the ride in a black Mercedes 500S, Ray asked, "so what do you think of our little business?"