tagNonConsent/ReluctanceNew Lives for Amy & Me

New Lives for Amy & Me


Maybe all young, newly married people feel the same way I did that first year we were married. I doubt the same sorts of things happen to most that happened to us.

I had graduated unremarkably that spring and floated painlessly into my new job. I'd found Amy during my senior year as she waited tables for a small cafe where I spent much of my time drinking coffee and studying. One thing had led to another and we began dating off and on through much of that school year. Having graduated from high school the spring before, she was trying hard to find a niche for herself.

Her parents were reasonably comfortable financially but, with several kids, made it from paycheck to paycheck. They were pleased that Amy essentially supported herself and provided a little toward the food basket. And they were happy that she and I had found each other.

On the other hand, I was poor enough that I probably couldn't have continued school past my sophomore year if it hadn't been for Russ Raeder's monthly contribution. Mr. Raeder was the head of the company I now work for and the "contribution" was in return for work I did in the summers and the understanding that I would work for his company when I graduated. It was really a huge amount of money to me, not in real world terms, because I couldn't have done it without it.

Amy and I got married on my graduation day mid-week, honeymooned for almost nothing in the mountains camping, and moved here together during the weekend. With all our worldly goods in the back seat and trunk of the used car I'd worked hard for one summer just after high school, we found a small furnished apartment and set up housekeeping. That Monday, I went to work for the first time.


I didn't feel like the "man of the house" or whatever the breadwinner is supposed to feel. I didn't feel like some kind of ... I don't know how to explain it. I didn't feel like it seemed my traditional father felt as I watched him in my growing years. And Amy didn't seem anything like my mother.

What I really felt like was a kid playing house with every aspect of that coming as a shock to me, from actually buying dishes to having dinner ready for me when I came home from work. Amy seemed more like a little girl from the neighborhood playing the game with me. Everything she did for me came as a surprise, from making those dinners and keeping the apartment to the beautiful sex we had almost every day and often several times on weekends.

From the outside looking in, I'm sure we seemed every bit as much like kids playing house as I knew I felt and thought she probably did as well. To someone my parents' age, that was undoubtedly true. To Russ Raeder, who was in his early thirties, it was probably true as well.

I've never had many illusions about myself. At 5-5 and about 125 pounds of blond boyishness, I have always looked more or less like a kid. I didn't even have to shave most of the way through college and did so now only because I thought I should.

In many many ways, Amy was perfect for me. At 18 when she was waiting tables, I really thought she was probably the owner's daughter and about 12 years old. Even more blond than I am - shining silky long and almost white - she is the tiniest woman I've ever met. At 5 feet and about 90 pounds, she was and is my perfect match.

One of my sometime friends in college used to say that we were a miniature couple. It was very embarrassing for us to go out to dinner together. Even at 22, I got carded for a glass of wine and waitresses asked us things like if we were going to the prom or something.

In many ways, Amy actually looks more adult than I do, as tiny as she is. Completely proportional, her legs look long, her bottom and hips womanly, her waist correctly tiny, and her breasts bigger than her body should allow even though I know she's only a 34B.

As a married couple, I'd shopped with her and recognized the difficulty she has finding women's clothes small enough for her. Half her things are from girl's sections of department stores with the remainder often on the loose side on her body.

The first time I saw her out of pigtails or a long ponytail was at our modest wedding.

Shopping in the girl's sections had the dual advantages for me that the clothes tended to be less expensive and the skirts were usually much shorter than women's. One other advantage was that they just don't make pantyhose in her size and she was forced to wear thigh high stockings or stockings with garter belts that I loved.

We had to look very hard for shoes with more than inch high heels that fit her. But finding very sexy lace panties and bras for her more womanly hips and breasts was relatively simple.

The whole package was, simply, a gorgeous, sexy miniature.

What I didn't recognize immediately, was that she was almost the poster girl of "innocence". And that innocence drew the wolves to her in ways "Little Red Riding Hood" never hinted at.


The welcome party Mr. Raeder invited me to the first Friday of my employment was the first adult function Amy and I had ever been invited to, unless you count our wedding and the short reception after it.

I struggled into my one and only suit and struggled even more to tie a tie. More or less happy with my own uncomfortable appearance, I sat on the edge of the bed and watched Amy. It was as hard as anything I've ever done not to attack her.

First she came out of her shower naked with the exception of a white towel tied around her breasts. She giggled and blushed as I watched her slide dark stockings all the way up her soft legs, allowing me several quick glimpses of the pink tinged white pubic hair that decorated between her legs.

Blushing and looking over her shoulder, she picked out the sexiest black lace panties and bra set she owned. Dropping the towel and standing close in front of me, she stepped into the panties and pulled them tight to hint at covering a tiny area between her legs. Still posturing for me, she fastened, twisted, and placed the cups of the bra over a small portion of her breasts and protruding hard nipples.

She still didn't really cover herself or deny me visions of her body as she pulled a silky, low cut black top over her head. It was longer on her short body than it would have been on another woman. In fact, the matching silky skirt was only a little longer than the tail of the blouse when she stepped into it.

I'm sure I sat there with my mouth open as she put a wide black patent leather belt around her waist, tiny sparkling earrings, bracelet, and necklace. Enraptured, I watched her put on darker than normal eye makeup and lipstick, and brush her freshly washed hair to be fixed up on one side with a jeweled barrette that matched the other jewelry I'd bought her.

Unable to remain an impartial observer, I helped fasten the tiny buckles around her ankles on the highest black shoes she owns.

To say that she looked gorgeous is a wild understatement.


I was very flattered when Mr. Raeder guided us around the large rooms of his expensive house, introducing us to the employees I hadn't met yet and the wives and significant others that I didn't know. I wasn't the only new employee but, with the time he spent with us during the next two hours, the "boss" spent at least half his time with us.

I've had quite a few experiences in my life. I'm not totally naive. But I have to admit that the attention I received from the other people at the party and the service of the bar tenders was very flattering and, at the same time, too good in a way. I was on my fourth or fifth drink at the end of the first two hours and feeling no pain. Amy had been more reasonable and had probably had one drink to every two of mine. But she was a little tipsy, too.

Feeling comfortable with the people, probably at least partially because of the drinks, I circulated around and didn't mind that Amy was doing the same. In fact, I watched her with one of my superiors' wives for a little while and the two seemed to be happily laughing as they talked. I was pleased.

I gravitated toward three of my close co-workers who were near my age and happily talked about work, leisure time activities I hadn't had time to join, and the common problems of relatively young employees of a big company. I felt included for the first time since college team assignments and was enjoying myself completely.

Over time and another drink, I watched each of the men's wives come to them, whisper what I thought was probably their readiness to go home or other personal needs, and lusted after two of them who were quite pretty and dressed sexily. The fact that both of them were taller in their high heels than I am didn't keep me from looking. The women drifted away again to talk to other wives and our talk returned to two of the guys' interest in golf. Since two of us didn't play the game, the conversation wound down fairly quickly and, not wanting to talk about work, our interest wandered.

I wondered if I should wander away and find others to talk to or if I should find Amy and just go home. In a way though, I felt a responsibility to keep the conversation going and was thinking how I could do that when one of the guys interrupted my thoughts.

"Whoa!" he said softly. One of the others looked in the direction he was looking.

"Russ has great taste," he said softly and I turned to see what they were looking at.

Following the direction of their looks, I saw Mr. Raeder right away but it took a minute for me to identify the woman in the short skirt he was literally hunched over. For one thing, my focus went to his hand that was very noticeably rubbing her bottom. My smile changed to what I'm sure would have looked sick to someone else as I recognized Amy's clothes and blond hair.

I didn't think the music from the stereo was really loud enough to require him to hang his head to place his mouth so close to her ear. What it looked like was a very large man being far too far over-attentive to a youngster. As I watched, I saw his massive hand cup her bottom and lift enough that she moved up onto tiptoe against him.

"I'd love to get into that," one of the guys near me said softly.

"All you gotta do is get to be the boss," another hissed.

"Recognize her?"

"No but she's a hot little cunt," the guy next to me said. I frowned as I looked at him but he was far too busy watching them to notice. "If that skirt was any shorter, it wouldn't be there at all."

"Yeah well. Wait about 15 minutes and it won't be," another chuckled nastily.

"Wonder if he'll do it here so we can watch or take her upstairs?" There were several of those nasty chuckles.

I thought that I should go over and talk to Mr. Raeder. Perhaps tell him that he was being watched by the other people in the room. At least to tell Amy that she was being watched and that she shouldn't let him touch her the way he was. It was my shame that kept me from doing what I should have.

While I watched, he straightened slightly while pulling her front into his leg and lifting her bottom even more. His head came up, smiling, as he looked around at his audience. A lot of people were watching I noticed as I followed his glance around the room. He started to return his full interest to Amy when he saw me. His eyes locked on mine and his smile broadened. I saw his hand clasp harder and release on her bottom as he stared at me in that challenging way.

Unbelievably, as he stared into my eyes, his hand moved down slightly and slid up the back of her thigh, taking the short skirt up with it until I could see her panties. I couldn't believe that he would wink at me to make sure I knew what he was doing.

I don't know what she said, of course, but I saw her lean to his ear and whisper something. Maybe, I hoped, she was telling him to stop.

If anyone looked at me, I'm sure I looked stupid standing there staring at what my boss was doing to my wife as he rubbed the back of her panties and I stood transfixed. Could I have done anything? Of course I could. I'm sure it wouldn't even have jeopardized my job or anything else. If I'd just casually walked toward them, I'm pretty sure that Russ would have moved his hand and brushed the raised skirt back down into place where it belonged. And that probably would have been the end of it. So why didn't I do it?

For quite a while, Amy stood there quite naturally except for her hands on his suit coat front and the fact that she was leaning fairly heavily against him. Russ rubbed her panties, in plain sight of anyone in the room willing to watch, as he hunched over her somewhat and occasionally said something close to her ear. Why did he continue doing that to her and, maybe more concern to me, why didn't she move or slap him or something? She seemed frozen like a deer in the headlights.

When he wasn't talking to her, he was looking at me with a kind of expectation. Whatever he expected from me, I wasn't doing as I stood there.

He looked at me even more intensely as his hand moved first one side and then the other of her panties into the crack of her ass. She didn't change her posture but I saw the muscles of her exposed bottom tense as he pulled the now ribbon thin strip of lacy material tighter. I wondered what he was saying to her when he leaned down to her ear or what she said to him in return. I couldn't really see her face for her loose hair. Unbelievably, his fingers pulled the material tighter, loosened, and tightened with her muscles reacting to what he was doing without any real relationship. Sometimes her muscles clenched when he tugged and sometimes not. Sometimes they tensed when he released the pressure.

As I always had, I thought the look of her almost naked bottom was fantastic. It was a perspective, of course, I'd never had.

Distantly, I heard the several coworkers around me commenting with statements of appreciation for the sight to the lewdest possible remarks that would have caused most men to break someone's nose.

It became even worse for me, the blood surging through my ears, as his big hand cupped her naked butt cheek and began massaging the heavy muscle, pulling her tighter into his thigh. That went on too long, his eyes locked with mine though mine were locked on what he was doing to her.

I squirmed with discomfort as I realized that I'd developed a painful hard-on that, poorly placed in my underwear, was strained and, under the circumstances, impossible to correct. I don't know what kind of message I'd have sent to Russ or to anyone else if I'd straightened it somehow.

Now even worse, I watched him slide his hand lower and below her panties, his finger edging between her legs along the strip of black lace. I gasped to myself as she moved her left leg slightly, her high heel moving up onto tiptoe, spreading her legs slightly but just enough to allow him better access. His big finger went further between her legs as his already large grin spread still larger to show feral looking white teeth.

The view of the conjunction of her legs was blocked by his hand but, first, I was sure I saw the moment when it found her womanhood and, second, I think found entry at the leghole of the panties. Her partially lifted leg's muscles vibrated, clearly visible even across the room. I wasn't sure the finger was inside her panties and less sure whether he had found her clitoris or the opening to her pussy but anyone looking in that direction knew that he'd found something very sensitive as the muscles of her right leg clenched, she lifted slightly onto her toes, and lifted the left leg off the floor. He was almost lifting her off the floor on one finger.

Casually, he took a large sip of the drink in his other hand before returning his attention to me with that smile. Whatever he was touching, he moved the finger in and out between her legs with instant reactions in her body. I could still clearly see her clenching ass muscles at the edges of his big hand as he stroked her most private parts in the least private of settings.

At once, her spread hands on his chest grabbed the material of his coat and all the muscles of her legs and bottom spasmed in what I was sure had to be an orgasm. His hand continued to move between her legs as she froze in the orgasmic vibrations.

For some bizarre reason, my thought at that moment was that I was glad she didn't scream or moan loudly as she almost always did with her orgasms.

After several minutes, he moved his hand from between her legs, she relaxed obviously, returning to solid balance on her high heels, and the hand moved up along the strip of panty, tugging it tight. Lewdly, his middle finger was sticking out in the classic gesture as he used the others to pull on the panties. Maintaining that, he patted her naked bottom and let her skirt drop back to cover her.

She continued to lean against him as he very deliberately moved his hand to his mouth and made a production of sucking her juices from it. His eyes never left mine.

Slowly, Amy turned back toward the room, her head down so her face was mostly hidden by her long hair. I could see her face and the stretch of chest exposed by her dress were flushed bright red.

As if the entire room had been frozen into a painting of some sort that was suddenly animated, everyone seemed to move at once. Pointedly, no one looked in their direction though, I thought, a moment before no one had been looking anywhere else.

Totally confused, I turned and leaned on the bar that I'd almost been laying against before, and chugged the remainder of my drink and got a new one immediately. A moment later, I felt Amy slide her arm under mine. Leaning close, she said, "Can we go?"

Not meeting anyone's eyes, I led her to the front door and out. We didn't talk until later.


When the silence dam broke, it broke in a big way. Tears and apologies on both our parts. Total confessions.

She told me she was afraid to stop what he was doing. I admitted that I had been afraid too. She said, even though he didn't say it, she thought my job might be affected if she did something. I admitted I didn't know what had held me back from stepping in. She told me all he'd said was how beautiful she is and how he liked her. I forgave her completely, apologizing for what I hadn't done.

She cried about what the other people would think of her and maybe about me. I cried about my own weakness.

Then we made soft, slow, loving love to each other and held each other until we fell asleep.


The next morning, Amy woke me by giving me one of the nicest fucks I ever had in my life as I simply lay back and enjoyed it. Then she lay against me and told me our lives were going to change.

"Honey?" she began into my neck. "I liked it."

It took me a minute to realize that she wasn't talking about our love making. I sighed. I thought about asking her exactly what she liked but she went on without my saying anything.

"I really liked him touching me." Maybe I nodded. What could I say when I'd stood there like a dunce, trying to cover my hard-on? "I liked feeling his finger in me." That was the first I knew for sure that was what had happened. She sighed.

"He told me that everyone was watching and that they could see what he was doing. He even told me that you were watching and that you were hard." I admitted it with a nod though she didn't need my affirmation. "I liked his attention and knowing that you were watching. Maybe jealous. But ... there was something about it. Your watching. Seeing him make me cum."

She took a deep breath and continued.

"You liked watching what he was doing, didn't you?" she asked outright.


"And that everyone was watching and thinking I was ... hot. He told me that's what they were all doing."

"Yes. They were. The things they said."

"You liked seeing ... what he was doing to me?" I had to nod. I had.

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