Lola and the Professor's Wife

Suddenly, in the alley below, I heard the heavy club door swing open and slam shut. Conscious of her rules, my eyes darted away from Lola and down to the scene below.

"Two people just... came out of the club and... into the alley," I told her. "It's a man and... a woman..."

Without breaking her seal around my shaft, Lola moaned softly and nodded her head, which I understood as encouragement to keep talking.

"He looks... big... strong—a lot bigger than her..."

I strained my eyes to see more, but it was dimly lit, a combination of streetlight spilling into the alley and moonlight from above.

"He's white, and he has—tattoos, on his arms," I grunted. "She's—I think she's Asian..."

As I spoke, Lola continued to suck me, but her hand moved from the base of my cock and snaked between her legs and up her skirt. I wondered if the description of another Asian girl about to hook up with a different white guy had gotten her extra worked up. Eager to keep her turned on, I continued searching the scene for details.

"He's got his hands all over her body... and she's letting him," I panted. "Fuck, now... now he's turned her around—she's up against the wall..."

Lola moaned around my cock. Her fingers were moving frantically between her legs.

"He's behind her and... her skirt is up—Jesus, she's wearing a thong..."

Lola was getting more and more worked up, and so was I. Not only was I getting my dick sucked by this beautiful young Asian girl, but now there was another hot, slutty Asian chick about to get fucked in an alley right before my very eyes.

"He's—he's reaching between her legs and—oh fuck, he's putting his fingers inside her..."

The girl in the alley was bent over at the waist with her legs spread wide, her back arched to allow the man behind her easy access, her palms flat against the wall for support. Because she was facing the wall, I couldn't see her face, but I had a clear view of her round, firm ass as the man behind her pushed her thong to one side, revealing a tiny peek of her wet, glistening pussy. Holding her thong with one hand, the man placed the other against her mound and fed a long, thick digit into her. As he penetrated her, the girl began to breath rapidly through her nose, a high-pitched whine reverberating from deep inside her throat as she clenched her lips, fighting the urge to moan.

"He's... fuck, he's putting another finger in her pussy..."

As his second finger plunged easily into her slippery canal, it was more than she could take, and a desperate squeal escaped the girl's lips, echoing against the walls of the alley up to the roof.

"Ohgod ohgod ohgod ohgod ohgod—"

As the sound hit my ears, a sudden, icy chill traveled down my spine, spreading into every molecule of my being.

"It—it can't be..." I murmured.

Lola chose this moment to take my meager cock entirely inside her mouth, her red lips pressed gently against my pelvis, stifling a moan with a mouth full of cock. He fingers were working furiously and I could see that her legs were trembling.

With my heart pounding, I peered down into the alley, squinting my eyes in an effort to find some detail, any detail that could contradict what I thought I had heard. But as I focused my attention more carefully on the woman in the alley, my mouth went completely dry.

Bunched uselessly around her waist was a shiny skirt that looked frighteningly familiar. It looked almost the same as one that Mari had in her closet, a flirty, thigh-length skirt that she sometimes wore to parties.

What had she been wearing when she left tonight? I cursed myself for not knowing the answer. I'd been so preoccupied with finding a sitter for the kids, making excuses for why I couldn't stay home with them, and daydreaming about Lola that I had no idea what Mari had worn. When the driver came to pick her up, she had called out to tell me that she was leaving, and I'd told her to have fun without even looking up from my phone.

From below, Lola grunted, and I tore my eyes from the alley back to her. Her mouth was still sealed around my cock, but she'd stopped bobbing her head, and her beautiful Asian eyes looked up at me in disapproval. In my shock, I had ceased to describe the scene in the alley, and this was a warning of what would happen if I stopped. I shifted my eyes back to the couple below.

"He's—he's fucking her... with his fingers..."

Lola's tongue circled the tip of my cock, rewarding my obedience and urging me onward.

It wasn't her, I decided. The hair and body type looked like her, but it wasn't her. There had to be 10,000 petite, dark-skinned Asian women in LA, I reasoned, and I knew Mari and her Filipino girlfriends liked to dress on trend. There were probably half-a-dozen women on the dance floor below us wearing skirts like that one.

"She's pushing her hips back... against his hand... so his fingers go deeper..."

Lola's head began to bob again, her fingers reanimating between her legs.

Now that I had decided the girl in the alley wasn't her, the words came more easily now, spilling out as Lola's soft, sweet lips slid up and down my shaft in encouragement.

"God, she's fucking loving it... she's his back-alley slut..."

For all his strength, the man in the alley was barely even moving now. Rather, it was the girl who was doing most of the work, her legs tensing in rhythm as her ass bounced up and down on his fingers. Her breathing was so fast and shallow that she couldn't speak, but a tiny, high-pitch squeal escaped her lips each time his fingers slid into her.

"I think... Jesus, I think she's going to cum for him..."

This is where Lola's own body began to shake, my cock still in her mouth but her attention turned inward, channeling her own orgasm.

Then, it was almost as if the two women's sensory experiences merged, like they could each somehow feel what the other was feeling. The girl in the alley clapped her hand over her mouth and screamed into it as Lola writhed in pleasure at my feet.

"Jesus—Jesus, you both... at the same time..."

I was afraid to say it for fear that the words would push me past the point of no return as well. Badly as I wanted that sweet release, Lola had demanded that I wait for her signal, and I was intent on showing her that I could follow her rules even when she broke them.

I closed my eyes, trying to reduce the sensory overload and will back the tide of my own orgasm.

Then, I felt Lola's lips slide back off the end of my cock, and I opened my eyes.

"Wait, but—" I started to protest.

"Don't worry, Professor," she whispered soothingly. She took her hand from between her legs and wrapped it around my cock, mixing the wetness of her pussy with the slick saliva left by her mouth. "I'm still going to let you cum in my mouth, but I need to be able to speak for the next couple of minutes."

Reassured by her words, I relaxed, missing the wetness of her mouth but enjoying the touch of her hand.

"The rules still apply," she chided, nodding her head towards the alley below.

The girl's position hadn't changed much, but her head now hung limply between her outstretched arms. She was breathing heavily, desperate for air as she recovered from what must have been a tremendous orgasm.

The man, on the other hand, had removed his fingers and taken a step backward into the center of the alley. He brought his hand to his face and nonchalantly put the fingers that had been inside the woman into his mouth. Then, both hands moved to his belt.

"He's unzipping his pants and... I think—he's taking his dick out..."

"What about her?" Lola asked.

"She must have heard the zipper, because she's turning aroun—"

At that moment, my peripheral vision went completely dark, a tunneling so sudden and severe that I almost fell down. It was as if I were looking through the lens of a telescope, watching the scene unfold on a distant, unfamiliar planet, where a spotlight had been cast on the woman in the alley.

There was Mari, my Mari, the moonlight splashed across her pretty face.

I opened my mouth, but instead of words, a choking sound gurgled up from below my throat.

"Your wife is pretty hot, isn't she, Professor?"

Lola's words crackled through the fog in my brain like lightning.

"You—what is this?"

"I wish you could've seen how she was dancing with him inside. I got wet just from watching him take control of her."

"But what—who is that?"

"That's the guy who took me away from my ex-boyfriend," Lola sighed, sounding almost nostalgic, her hand continuing to stroke me up and down. "He's such a fucking alpha, Professor, and his cock is so, so big."

As Lola spoke, the man's cock emerged from his pants, or so I assumed. He was facing away from me, so I couldn't see his member, but I had a perfect view of my wife's reaction.

First, Mari raised a hand delicately to her face, covering her mouth and shielding her eyes in a coquettish gesture of faux innocence. Then, her hand fell away and she cocked her head slightly to the side, regarding his cock as if she wasn't sure what she was seeing. Then, she bit her lip, raising an eyebrow and flashing her signature, megawatt smile. I strained my ears to hear what she would say.

"My turn," she said softly.

Then, my beautiful Filipino wife smoothed out her skirt and got on her knees for him.

I turned away, my eyes moving back to Lola.

"You—you did this?"

"Well," she shrugged coyly. "I mainly told Grant about how hot your wife is and how you don't fuck her. After that, he pretty much did the rest." She stuck out her tongue and licked the head of my cock. "Asian sluts are actually his specialty."

I looked back into the alley as my wife, the mother of my two children, opened her pretty little mouth and began to bob her head, sucking this alpha male's cock like so many Asian sluts before her.

As I watched her work, taking more and more of him into her mouth, I could tell that she was eager to please him. Her eyes were pleading, hungry for his approval, desperate to show him that her skills were still worthy of an alpha male with a huge cock. The sounds of her gagging as she opened her throat echoed up to the roof.

"Sounds to me like she's still got it," Lola purred.

On in her knees in front of this hulking man, my 38-year-old wife suddenly looked much younger than years, and I had the strangest sense of de ja vu. I felt like I had seen this happen before, yet that was impossible. Only then was I able to admit to myself that I had imagined it many times in my mind.

Suddenly, the alley felt like a time warp, some kind of portal back to the days before Mari and I were married. How many times had my Mari tumbled out the back of a frat house and greedily sucked off some young college stud? I'd played this scene out in my fantasies for years, wondering what she was like during her slutty years, before she entered "slut rehab" and met me. What did she look like on her knees, worshiping some big-dick alpha who wanted nothing more than to make her his latest conquest? How often over the years had I thought of her old nickname, The Swallowing Virgin, the freshman girl who would suck cock to save her virtue?

But she wasn't a freshman, and she wasn't a virgin, and this wasn't my imagination.

"Now you have a choice, Professor," Lola cooed, running her tongue along my shaft as she spoke. "This is your chance to go down there and try to stop him. Because I know Grant, and if you let this happen, her night is not going to end with a blowjob in an alley."

As if on cue, the man pulled out his phone, tapping it idly as my beautiful wife bobbed her head rhythmically on his huge cock.

"What's stopping you?" Lola's hand was working my shaft up and down as she spoke, her tongue bathing my cock in saliva. "Is it that you'll have to explain to her why you're here in the first place? Or maybe... maybe it's that you know it won't matter, because you won't be able to stop him even if you try?"

My head was spinning, my mind torn apart by lust and agony and jealous and shame.

"Or is it because you'd rather cum in my mouth than save your wife from fucking another man? Is that it?"

"I—I don't know... I can't think," I stammered.

"Or maybe... maybe you like the fact that he's going to fuck her." Lola smiled cruelly, her tongue still teasing my shaft. "Maybe you've been waiting for an alpha to give her what you can't?"

Lola continued to stroke and lick me, but now the fingers of her other hand began to caress my balls. I felt a tightening deep in the pit of my stomach.

"You need to understand," she whispered, "that if he fucks her, she won't be the same after that. He'll change her, just like he changed me."

"Oh god," I moaned softly. "Oh, no..."

"He will take her... away... from you..."

"No, please—Mari, no," I begged, my balls churning, my feet cemented to the roof.

Just then, a car pulled up at the edge of the alley. The man looked at it, and then he reached down and pulled Mari to her feet, her mouth reluctantly releasing his cock.

He slid his cock back inside his pants, fastened his belt, and wrapped an arm around Mari's waist, lifting her effortlessly into the air and tossing her over his shoulder.

"No, no, Mari, no!" I tried to scream, but my voice was a whisper.

Then this huge man, this Grant, carried my wife towards the waiting car like a viking taking his captured bride from a burning village.

I opened my mouth again, but before I could scream, I heard Mari start to laugh. Her laughter was rich and pure and it filled the alley, ringing off the walls, echoing as if from an earlier, more joyful era of her life.

"You can cum now, Professor," Lola whispered, her lips sliding up my shaft, my meager cock disappearing into her mouth without so much as a gag.

As Grant climbed into the car with my wife, I moaned, emptying my balls into Lola's warm, 20-year-old mouth, her fingers milking me for every last drop. She swallowed as the car pulled away from the curb.

Then, Lola stood up.

"I have to get back to work," she said matter-of-factly. "You know the way out."

I stood there, stunned, my modest cock starting to deflate.

"Oh, also... Don't call her, don't text her, don't contact her tonight. You made your choice, now you have to live with it."

"Lola, I have to!" I cried, pulling up my pants. "She's my wife!"

"Not when she's with him," she shook her head. "Not tonight, and maybe never again. When she's with him, she's his slut, not your wife."

"He could hurt her!" I screamed.

"Oh, he will," she smiled wistfully. "It's going to hurt, and she's going to love it."

"I need to know that she's okay."

Lola walked back to the heavy door.

"Then ask her in the morning. She'll come home to you, she just won't belong to you."

"Wait, Lola!" I yelled, desperately.

"If you aren't man enough to ask her yourself, then you can text me in the morning," Lola sighed. "Grant will give me all the details after he's finished with her."

And with that, Lola stepped through the doorway, leaving me alone on the roof with my thoughts.

...

I got home around 1:30 AM. Walking into our bedroom, I prayed that I would find Mari in it, sprawled out and sleeping, as if the whole thing had been another fantasy conjured up from the sickest regions of my imagination. But our marital bed was empty.

I didn't sleep at all. Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, counting the minutes until morning.

I thought I would feel at least some anger, some sense of betrayal, but there was none. All I felt was overwhelming shame and bottomless guilt.

Mari had cheated on me, yes, but I had also cheated on her. Even worse, Lola had set the whole thing in motion, so in a way, Mari's cheating seemed a byproduct of my own affair. She didn't know that, so perhaps she might have cheated on me anyway. But the fact remained that this particular indiscretion of hers was mostly of my own making.

Why hadn't I tried to stop her? The question hounded me. Lola herself had offered several explanations, and all of them seemed plausible.

Was I embarrassed about revealing my own affair? Of course.

Was I unable to break free of my sick infatuation with Lola, even at the cost of losing my wife to another man? It seemed so.

Was I afraid that he would overpower me, that I wasn't strong enough to keep her from him? Yes. There was no way I could have physically stopped him from doing whatever he wanted with her.

Was I secretly hoping that another man would come along and fuck her better than I ever had? I wanted to say no, but my fantasies suggested otherwise.

What I couldn't deny was that Mari and I hadn't had a good sex life in more than a decade. I loved her dearly, but for so many reasons, we hadn't been clicking in the bedroom for a long time. There was no denying that she was objectively sexy, and that her yoga practice had toned her body in ways that would drive most men wild. For me, though, she was the mother of my children and no longer a sexual being.

Yet that night, watching her with Grant, was the sexiest she had been to me in years. Unlike me, Grant's experience of Mari was unencumbered by the baggage of raising our children, caring for our elderly parents, and bickering over the mundane disagreements that accumulate as two people go through life together. He was able to see her beauty with fresh eyes, to appreciate her yoga-toned body as the sex object she had built it to be.

If he could make her giggle like a teenage schoolgirl and then fuck her like a 21-year-old slut, who was I to deny her something that made her feel so alive?

The birds were just starting to chirp when the door to our bedroom opened at 5 AM and Mari tip-toed in.

I lay stock still, pretending to be asleep, waiting to see what she would do. She padded softly across the carpeted floors and opened the door to our en suite bathroom. I listened as she turned on the shower, rinsing away any evidence of what she'd done in the alley and afterwards.

Was she feeling guilty? I wasn't angry with her, knowing what I knew, but as far as I knew, she thought of me as a loyal husband. She had cheated on me in the alley, never mind whatever else she had done. How would she feel about that?

Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off, put on an old, oversized t-shirt, and climbed into bed next to me. I stirred, pretending to wake.

"Hey," I murmured groggily. "Pretty late night tonight."

"I know," she said. Then, she gave me a guilty little smile. "Babe, I have to confess something."

The hair stood up on back of my neck. Was she actually going to admit what had happened? I couldn't believe it.

"I took some ecstasy tonight with the girls," she whispered, raising both her eyebrows as if she herself were surprised. "It was crazy, babe, like when we were still in college or something."

"Ecstasy, huh?" I asked, probing for more. "How was it?"

"Honestly," she said, looking me dead in the eye. "I forgot how much fun drugs can be." She grimaced. "Is that bad?"

"Just promise me you'll be safe," I said, kissing her on the forehead. "Okay?"

She nodded, and gave me a cute little smile.

"There's actually something else..."

Oh my god. Was this going to be it? Was she really going to admit what had happened with Grant?

"I think I want to get a tattoo."

"A tattoo?" I frowned. "What kind of tattoo?"

"Just something small. I was thinking... I was thinking of a Roman numeral II." Her eyes darted away. Then, she added hurriedly, "You know, one line for each of our kids."

"Where would you get it?"

"Here," she said, tapping the inside of her wrist. "That way, I can look at it whenever I want."

My heart practically stopped beating. I'd seen the exact same tattoo in the exact same spot on Lola's wrist. I had no idea what it meant, but now I was sure it had something to do with Grant.