tagLoving WivesThe Delinquent Spouse

The Delinquent Spouse

byamyyum©

It seems that everyone wants to know what the characters in a story look like in order to get a good mental picture. Normally stories aren't about completely average people and this one is no exception except that I, Amy, the main character, am not a raving beauty. To give you an idea of what I look like -- to be expounded on later -- the Valentine's Day card I got when I was 18 and had just dumped my uninspiring short-term boyfriend was:

You've got more curves than a roller coaster;

Your clothes fit like a glove;

There's only one thing wrong, Glamour Puss;

You've got a face only a mother could love.

Even though my face is between plain and homely I'd put my body up against anyone's (except maybe Kate Upton's), and I also have an outgoing sparkly personality in addition to a killer bod, so I've never lacked for male companionship even if some of my dates and boyfriends would rather spend more time with me in bed than out in public (unless they had a paper bag and a crayon -- ha. ha).

Because my self-image of a spectacular body is so important to my ego, I work diligently at maintaining it. With rare exception since I was sixteen I have worked out six days a week, a minimum of one hour and usually 140 minutes a day. In addition to that exercise, since I became sexually active at 18 I've done ten minutes of Kegel exercises twice each day, one time using a contraption called a Kegelmaster. The Kegel exercises have provided me with my most prized asset -- a tight, gripping, pussy.

For the last several years an average two days a week my 140 minutes of exercise consists of Kraw Maga training or workouts. Kraw Maga is a martial art that consists of a wide combination of techniques sourced from aikido, judo, boxing, and wrestling, along with realistic fight training. I've had my nose broken twice during Kraw Maga training or tournaments but because my face is not my fortune it never bothered me and in fact after my nose healed from the second break I do believe that I looked slightly better.

Even though I'm not a killer chick like in action movies, and I'm only five feet seven inches tall, and 135 pounds, I honestly do believe that with no problem I could take any ordinary 160 pound man. Before this story I only had one incident in real life where I had to use my skills, on a half-drunk 170 pound guy who was way too aggressive and handsy, and he ended up in the hospital.

***************

When I was twenty six I married Bryce Boston. His facial features are much nicer than mine -- the average woman would consider him handsome -- and he has a pleasant personality which meshed nicely with mine. I do believe that aside from our meshed personalities the main reasons that Bryce married me were because my tight gripping pussy made me his best fuck ever, and because he is horrible at handling money, and I am great at it.

The first five years of our marriage were an adventure for many reasons.

One was great sex that never became stale or tapered off, at least not until the month before the defining event in this story.

A second was that I rapidly advanced in my field and at twenty nine ended up as the top sales person of a small but highly profitable company called Limitless Widget LLC. We had patent rights to a line of energy saving modules that could be utilized with almost anything run by electricity or gasoline. I travelled on business a fair amount but at my request was not issued a company credit card because on my personal one I get loads of cash back or airplane miles, which is like an extra tax-free bonus.

The Managing Director of Limitless Widget, Carl Orton, is a fucking genius. His philosophy is a holistic one, however, and he insists on life outside of work. None of us is required to be available 24/7, and in fact all work communications are cut off from 7 p. m. Friday through 5 a. m. Monday, and on Holidays; our small office staff doesn't even have each other's' personal cell phone numbers. We don't -- like doctors or plumbers -- have any "true" emergencies. Carl's approach has led to a highly motivated, happy, group of employees and because of our unique products has never had an adverse effect on sales.

Continuing my list of why my marriage to Bryce was an adventure, there was his increasingly irresponsible behavior having to do with finances and money. The only times we argued it seemed like it was about money, namely Bryce's complete inability to handle it. Despite the fact that I made good money, and he made decent money, were it not for me we would have been in major debt; as it was, to keep it away from Bryce I put a good deal of money in stocks and bonds in accounts in my name only, or requiring both of our signatures, so that the money was illiquid. It was a constant struggle to keep our credit card balance within the relatively low limit we had (which was due in part to Bryce's personal bankruptcy before I met him), and on occasion I had even hidden his ATM card and our bank checkbook.

The constant hassles about his spendthrift ways, and delinquency when it came to handling money in general, started to take the edge off my desire for sex for the first time in our relationship. When he complained I told him "Responsible money management is like an aphrodisiac to me." He made promises that got me into the sack, but they were broken within days. Finally I had had enough.

A few days before I was going to take off on a two or three day business trip to a city where our most important customer was, to introduce a new product line to the customer's president, I had a pow-wow with Bryce. "Darling, you can't make any irresponsible purchases while I'm gone. I need to pay for my hotel and return airline ticket because I don't know when I'll be returning, but it will be this coming Friday at the latest. You've got to exercise discipline. Understood?"

"Can I have a titty fuck before you leave if I promise to be good?" he asked with a devilish smile. My firm yet pliable C cup boobies are perfect for a titty fuck, which he likes almost as much as fucking my tight, gripping, pussy.

"If you break your promise, never again," I chided, being as stern as I could be.

"I can't give up titty fucks, so I'll be good," he beamed, then started taking off my top; then sucking one nipple while massaging the other; then gently laying me down on the living room rug while simultaneously dropping his pants exposing a massive hard-on; and when a small bottle of lotion magically appeared from his pants pocket we were soon off to the races.

I don't know what percentage of women orgasm from titty fucks, but I do -- if it's done properly. While my orgasm from a titty fuck isn't as intense as one from my pussy, it is definitely real -- and very enjoyable -- particularly when I suck the guy (only Bryce for the last five + years that we've been exclusive or married) off after his first spurt while he pinches my nipples.

Bryce did it right!

I sucked him off after the first spurt!

He lightly pinched my nipples as I sucked him off!

We both had nice orgasms.

Just before I left for the airport on my business trip I called Bryce and reminded him that he needed to be especially careful to be fiscally responsible while I was gone; I got his voicemail, but left a clear message.

**************

My business trip went well -- so well that I extended to Friday. I had my cell phone off during the day while meeting with the customer, and got very late checkout at the hotel because John Peterson, the CEO of my customer, was one of the investors in it and they had a few rooms for the upcoming three-day weekend that had late arrival, although they were fully booked.

At 4:45 p. m. on Friday I completed my business, rushed to the hotel, and showered and finished packing. Just before I went downstairs to check out, I turned on my cellphone. There was one message -- that didn't require any action on my part -- from Carl telling me that he had talked with John Peterson and that Carl and John were both pleased with the order John had placed with us for our new line. There was another call from my sister just wanting to chat when I had the time, a robo call which I quickly deleted, and one from Bryce.

"Hi, Hon; I just wanted to let you know, so that you're not surprised when you get back, that I got a great deal on a like-new 2014 Harley Davidson Fat Boy -- you know that I've lusted after one since High School -- and I just had to act fast or the dealer was going to sell it to someone else. I know that you'll love it, and I don't think that the credit card transaction which supplemented the cash that I paid will go through until after the holiday on Monday, but I just wanted to give you a heads up. I look forward to seeing you tonight."

I'm sure that I turned white as a ghost. I tried his cellphone, but my call went straight to voicemail. With trepidation I went to the lobby.

My credit card was declined at the desk, leaving my $585.86 (at the discount rate John got me) bill unpaid. I tried my ATM card, but all that I could get out was $50 -- $61.33 was the balance in our bank account before I withdrew the $50. I called my office and even though it was 6:40, not 7:00, everyone had left early for the three day weekend obviously at Carl's insistence, and there would be no help coming from that avenue until Tuesday morning.

The only person I knew in town was John Peterson. I finally got ahold of him on his cell about 7:45 p. m., after more than an hour where there was no answer and his message queue was filled. "Hi John; I hate to bother you, but I seem to have an emergency. My husband somehow managed to overcharge stuff on our credit card, and wipe out my ATM card at the same time, and I can't pay the hotel bill or get an airplane ticket home."

"Oh my God, Amy, that's awful. Unfortunately, you've caught me at a bad time. My wife and I are at the airport about to board a flight to NYC for the three day weekend, not to return until Tuesday morning. I can talk to the hotel staff and get them to hold the bill until then, but I can't do anything about the plane ticket."

"Oh -- groan," was my reply. "Anything will be helpful; the hotel is booked for the three day weekend, however, and I can't stay anyplace else because they'll run my credit card and it will be dishonored," I groaned again.

"There is an alternative; our twenty one year old son just got home from college before we left. He made plans on the spur of the moment otherwise we'd stay home with him -- but he says that he has some parties, etc., that are a big deal. I'll call him and have him pick you up at the hotel -- you can stay in our house until Tuesday morning when I get back, and then I'll take care of everything," John reassured me.

"Oh thank you so much, John -- here's my number, xxx-xxx-xxxx. By the way your message queue is full. And tell your son that I won't get in his way," I virtually chirped into the phone.

"Now that that's taken care of, put me on the line with the hotel desk," John chuckled. I handed the phone to the person at the desk. She did a bit of checking with her supervisor, and then hung up and with a smile said "Mr. Peterson will take care of the bill on Tuesday. Have a nice weekend."

John's son Trent called me about five minutes after the receptionist at the desk hung up. "Hi -- this is Trent, John Peterson's son."

"Hi, Trent, I'm Amy Boston -- thank you so much for calling."

"I understand that you need a ride and a place to stay. I can be there in half an hour -- is that OK?"

"That would be wonderful -- and I promise not to get in your hair at all this weekend, Trent."

"No problem -- see you in thirty," he responded. He seemed as friendly as his father, but I'm sure thinking why in the hell he had to put up with an old lady for a weekend -- at thirty one I'm sure that I'd seem old compared to his twenty one.

I decided that at least I'd impress him with my body even though I would otherwise be considered an old hag in his eyes, so I went to the restroom in the hotel lobby and changed from my casual skirt and blouse into a pair of Daisy Dukes, a halter top, and running shoes.

When Trent arrived I was surprised by his appearance. John is about average height and bulk; however Trent had to be six feet seven inches tall, and weigh two hundred thirty pounds -- and had bulging muscles. He was very polite as he shook my hand -- longer than he needed to -- and put my suitcases into the trunk of his car. He had sunglasses on despite the fact that it was almost dark outside -- I allowed myself to think that maybe he was ogling my body (certainly not my face) and didn't want to be obvious.

We had a pleasant chat for the first ten-twelve minutes of the drive. I found out that he was a senior in college and had been on a water polo scholarship but gave up the sport at the start of his senior year to concentrate on grades and getting into a good graduate school. He looked like a prototypical water polo player. His face wasn't much better than mine in the looks department, but his body was ripped and very attractive.

Trent was taking a "short cut" to his parent's suburban home through a section of the city that was -- being as polite as possible -- "transitional." Suddenly his rear right tire started making a "whomp, whomp, whomp," sound. He pulled over to the curb and we both got out. It was flat as a pancake.

"I should've gotten new tires for my clunker ten thousand miles ago," he grimaced. "Fortunately I have a spare. Would you mind shining my flashlight on the tire," by then it was dark and Trent had removed his sunglasses, "and holding the lug nuts while I change it?" he inquired.

"I'd be happy to help in any way," I replied.

Trent had put the spare on and was tightening the first lug nut when three creeps approached us.

"Need help dude and bitch?" the smallest of the three asked.

Trent gave them the evil eye. "No, we're good," he responded in a firm voice.

"Well we need some help -- how about you give us your wallets and the bitch takes her top off," the little shit said, as he and his two buddies all pulled out knives.

I'd estimate the three were around eighteen-nineteen years old. The littlest one -- the one with the mouth -- probably weighed 160-170, the other two about 180-190 each. I stage whispered to Trent as he started to stand up "I'll dispose of the little shit -- you get the other two," and then sprang into action.

You never saw a more surprised asshole in your life than the little shit. I kicked him in the nuts, bent his hand with the knife in it back until his wrist cracked, then while holding his hand to make sure he couldn't use the knife hit him in the throat three quick times, then caved his knee with a blow from my foot. As he crumpled to the ground I saw the other two turning and starting to run. I was surprised that they would be so intimidated by what I did to their asshole buddy -- but then turned to look at Trent -- all 6' 7" 230 pounds of him -- quickly approaching with the tire iron held over his head. "I'd run too if I was them," I chuckled to myself.

Trent stopped when he got even with me as the two other miscreants took off, and looked down at the prone groaning asshole that I had disabled.

"Wow -- remind me not to fuck with you -- sorry, a Freudian slip; I mean mess with you," Trent said with a big shit-eating grin.

"What should we do with the asshole?" I asked.

"Kick the knife into the storm drain and just leave him there -- someone will find him; let's finish changing the tire and get the hell out of here before they come back with a gun," he chuckled.

I kicked the knife into the storm drain.

The tire was fastened in place, and the jack and tire iron returned to the trunk, within two minutes flat, and we were off.

If Trent had a problem with me being around, after that display he no longer did. "Tell me how a hot chick like you can wipe out a guy with a knife with your bare hands," he asked with a grin.

I have to tell you that I liked being called a "hot chick" by a 21 year old Adonis, and made sure not to try and cover up my thighs or cleavage as I responded. I told him about Kraw Maga and my exercise regime.

"Maybe we can go to the gym together one or all of the days you're here," he smiled.

"I'd like that," I replied.

Trent picked up a pizza, salad, and some beers for dinner Friday night. His low limit credit card and $26 in cash -- and my $68 in cash ($50 from the ATM and $18 that I already had) -- weren't going to allow us to go to any fancy restaurants or out to an expensive dance club, but in his parents' mini-mansion we had most of what we needed for the weekend.

Trent gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek before bed -- I do believe that the young fella was sporting a hard-on. I had a very spacious and elegant guest bedroom, one of three in the mini-mansion. His room was on another floor.

Before I turned in for the night I finally got ahold of Bryce on my cellphone. I reamed him a new asshole including calling him a total delinquent. He was not nearly as apologetic as he should have been, saying many times that his dream was to have a Fat Boy and he just couldn't pass up the deal, and that he'd make it up to me. Since my sexual interest in him was at an all-time low after this stunt -- leaving me stranded for a three day weekend hundreds of miles from home -- I wasn't in the mood to make nice.

"Look, I'm sure that you can find some fun thing to do. Just try and have a good time," he remarked several times, including just before I terminated the call -- without my normal "I love you," since at the time I was feeling contempt more than love.

Saturday was actually a decent day, in no small part because of Trent's attention. He made breakfast, we shot some billiards in his parents' room specifically for that purpose, and then we went swimming in his parents' Infinity salt water pool. He had sunglasses on the entire time at the pool, but I was certain that he appreciated my bikini-clad body.

In the afternoon we went to a local health club, using his father's and mother's membership cards that weren't carefully inspected at the desk -- fortunate since it would have cost us $50 in guest fees that we could ill afford if they looked too closely. We had a great 150 minute workout. While we each did her or his own thing, we did lots of exercises near each other. He spotted me on some lifts -- I'm sure that he was getting good looks at my tits as he did so -- and I taught him the most basic Kraw Maga moves -- not that anyone his size or strength (he benched 400 pounds, obviously something that I couldn't spot him for) had any need for it, but he was impressed with my quickness when I showed him the moves.

By the time that we had consumed the non-glamourous dinner that I had prepared using what was in the Peterson's refrigerator, it was about 7:30 p. m. "How about we go to a club and dance," Trent inquired as he rinsed the dishes and I loaded the dishwasher.

"We don't have the coin for it, do we? Plus, I don't have an appropriate dress or shoes," I replied, not trying to be a wet blanket, but being practical.

"I know of a place where hot chicks get in free -- and I have about $100 left on my credit card so that should cover everything. Plus if we raid my sister's and mother's closets we can find something for you to wear," he grinned.

I decided to take Bryce's suggestion to "have fun" literally. "OK, if I can find the proper dress and shoes," I laughed, noting once again that I really liked him calling me a "hot chick!"

Trent's sister was nineteen and a sophomore at an out-of-state college. She is smaller than I am but the biggest appropriate nice dress that she had almost fit me, although my boobs were definitely too big for it, and it showed a little too much thigh. Trent thought that it looked great, though, as his eyes almost bulged out of his head.

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