The Size-Queen’s Gambit

SQUARE I

I'd recently taken to rummaging through her pocketbook now and then when the coast was clear. Not looking for anything in particular, mind you, just quenching my curiosity. After 20 years and 2 kids together, it doesn't feel like snooping so much as asking about her day without the hassles of conversation. Plus, there was always the off chance of hitting the enquiring husband's jackpot -- her unlocked phone. Oh to be a fly on that firewall.

Besides, what harm was there? Truth be told, in all the time I'd been secretly tiptoeing through her handbag, the most interesting item I'd stumbled upon was a matchbook with the letters "HWHL" printed on the cover and, inside, one email address and phone # in black ink in handwriting unknown, and another of each in red ink by a hand more recognizable.

That was weeks ago. I snapped pictures of it and even tried calling both numbers. One rang endlessly and the other always gave me a robotic, default voice-mail greeting, so I quickly let it slide. Some snoop, huh? A regular Sherlock Holmes. Anyway -- It was gone the next time I peeked, so I pretty much forgot about it. Until today.

So there I stood at the counter above our "junk drawer," wrist deep in her genuine Louis Vuitton, the familiar sounds of the master shower playing lookout, fishing for nothing in particular, and reeling in mostly that: Phone (locked), keys, sunglasses, cigarette lighter, hand-gel, wipes, tissues, wallet -- the usual denizens of her bag's upper level. Entering a breach my rummaging had opened, my hand pressed deeper, brushing against what at first seemed the cigarette pack the BIC lighter had foretold. But my smoker's memories of decades past quickly dismissed that assessment when my fingers clasped around it -- definitely wrong shape and size.

As I pulled the small box out of her thousand dollar Canvas Tote, my shocked eyes confirmed what my hand had already figured and my heart had skipped a beat over.

Okay -- Three things you should know:

One -- My wife had her tubes tied when our daughter was delivered by C-section, almost 5 years ago.

Two -- The "Magnum" designation (technically "agnum" -- a store price-sticker covered the "M") embossed across the carton I held in my shaking hand announced the latex condoms within were of an extra-extra-large variety, designed to accommodate equipment of much greater dimensions than my own.

And 1 plus 2 equal 3 & she didn't buy these colossal cock cozies with hubby in mind.

Make that 4 things you should know -- at just shy of 40-years-old, she's still full-on hot and, despite some friction of late, I still love her like crazy.

But it seemed that my loving wife had either taken a well-hung lover, or was availing herself of the many quick hook-up apps out there and exclusively right-sweeping what Richard Pryor used to call "Big-Dick Mutha Fuckas." Either meant my marriage was in trouble, of course, but of the 2 possibilities, the latter was actually preferable as the former suggested perhaps I'd already lost her. Nonetheless, the thought of Vee living a secret life of sucking and fucking strange men large enough to sport the famous Magnum, made me at once angry, scared, jealous, and, admittedly, a bit turned on.

A familiar clunk from upstairs told me I had short time to decide my next move. I knew a photo might come in handy, but remembered I'd left my phone in my car. I instinctively reached for her phone, but knew, of course, it was locked. Shit -- If she weren't a stickler for locking her phone it would have certainly been my first stop on this "fact-gathering" tour in the first place.

Thinking quickly, I opened the copper-lettered black surprise package, counted the packets inside, removed and pocketed 2 (for no particular reason -- just for a spirit-lifting smile), then buried the box more or less where I had found it. I managed to zip the bag closed just as I heard her shoes touch the stair landing and I quickly danced the short distance to the fridge, which I held open and stared into just as she crossed into the kitchen. I can be as slick as the next guy when I'm being devious.

"Hi babe, you see my cigs?" she asked, giving the kitchen table the once-over before spotting the Vuitton on the counter.

Jeez, she looked great. Her long, dark hair was tied with a white scrunchy into a loose ponytail that swung back and forth as she walked. She was wearing jeans, loose-fitting but still showing-off her bottom, and a top that kept you guessing whether or not there was a bra supporting those amazing cans. She shot me her signature wink and smile as she unzipped her bag and spread it wide for a good look. In my mind's eye, I was watching her unzipping bulging jeans and nudging a huge cock out its fly and into the hold of one of her covert XXL sheaths. Did she seem a bit nervous? Perchance my love was on-edge, knowing her exploring fingers were scant inches from her secret, oversized, naughty playthings? They were buried deep in her handbag -- Maybe she didn't even remember they were there. No, that's no good -- they weren't there yesterday. Shit -- Was I overthinking this? I can be as overly-analytical as the next guy when I'm plotting.

As she slung the bag strap over her shoulder and headed for the door, one thing I knew for sure from my stealthy spot-inspection was that there were 16 gone but not forgotten, 2 in my pocket, and a half-dozen in her bag, awaiting their orders.

"Haven't seen them... Where you headed?"

"Ugh...," with a feigned look of frustration. "I told you yesterday, I'm meeting Debs for our nail appointments today at 11. Gotta stop for smokes and gas, so I'm leaving now. Should be home by 4. Danny has practice today, home by dinner, and April's in her room, drawing. Can you handle all that?"

"Have fun." If that came out a bit snide, hey, I'm only human.

She gave me a peck on the cheek, another wink and smile; then she, her slightly jiggling jugs, and the sound of her jingling keys were out the door.

Okay -- Time to sit down and think this through. What the hell was my "fixed" wife doing with a half-empty box of extra-extra-large condoms and where was she really off to? I know, it sounds like a stupid question from a pathetically naïve cuck. Holstering my wounded male pride, I considered calling her sister to confirm Vee's story, but decided to allow the love of my life to play her hand her way. For a while, anyway.

SQUARE II

4 O'clock came and went. As did 5. No call, no text, no e-mail, no Vee. Not like her .. not at all. Images of those enormous cock-socks kept dancing around in my head.

Phone in hand, I was about to dial her phone when her single-word text message appeared on mine:

"Sorry"

I replied without thinking:

"W-h-e-r-e- -a-r-e- -y-o-u- -b-a-b-e-?"

Nothing.

"U-O-K?"

More nothing, then even more, just in case things hadn't gotten tense enough.

I switched to phone mode and hit the "Dial" icon. It went right to Voice Mail. Shit. Beeeep. "Hey babe, call me." She never checks her VM, but what the hell?

Okay, this might not be what you're thinking, I began thinking.

Shit, maybe she butt-texted me; then ran out of juice. Could be pulling up the driveway any second, right?

Wrong.

Just then, my text alert sounded off. My eyes moved back to my phone. Holy Shit. The image that scrolled to center screen nearly froze my heart.

It was a striking close-up of probably the biggest cock I had ever seen outside a porn-site. It looked hard as a rock, glistening with saliva from top to bottom. And, holding it up like a trophy with both hands circled around the base and fingers teasing the very fortunate fellow's plum-sized balls, her mouth laying a flattened tongue along the lower shaft while somehow managing a smile for the camera, was guess-who.

SQUARE III

I stared in disbelief. But it was her for sure. No Photoshop. The real deal. No doubt about it. A purple hair-scrunchy circled the wrist-thick dick about halfway down and her hair fell freely across one arm. Best I could figure they were in a 69 position with him on the bottom, tongue-banging her delicious cooch off-camera, which was staged at his feet and aimed directly at the cock and balls my beloved was romancing. Strange though -- her ink-braceleted arms and sleeves were in-frame, and although I recognized the blouse, it wasn't the one she wore when she left the house, just hours before. I'm guessing this wasn't taken today, and that the show was just getting started. Not good. I moved into the bedroom and locked the door to keep potential prying little ears at bay.

After a minute or two, my breathing restarted just as a dozen or so more pictures threatened to stop it again -- each a close-up of Vee in various stages of kissing, licking and sucking that huge cock. And, judging by the ear-to-ear grin, loving every second of it.

As shocked and confused as I was, I couldn't deny how damned sexy she looked with his nuts in her hands and a surprising portion of his huge hard prick in her mouth, and I certainly couldn't help the strong reaction going on downtown in my Tommy John's, especially to the next image.

The coup de grâce photo was no doubt taken as this complete stranger cracked a nut in my wife's mouth, her hazel-blue eyes making a yummy look while the warm, pearly soup dripped down his freaky-long shaft from her cock-and-cum-filled mouth. She had freed one hand's grip just to caress his dangling balls as he came, as though hoping the action might increase the volume, duration and intensity of his delicious orgasm. Holy shit, what a shot. What a wife.

But why was she sending me these? To piss me off? As revenge for Bonnie? As some kind of perverse message? Did this have anything to do with this morning's discovery? That last question would be answered soon enough.

"W-T-F- -B-A-B-E-?"

No response. So I thought I'd lighten the mood with some levity:

" Y-O-U- -J-O-I-N-I-N-G- -U-S- -F-O-R- -D-I-N-N-E-R- -O-R- -W-I-L-L- -T-H-A-T- -F-I-L-L- -Y-O-U- -U-P-?"

I can be as funny as the next guy when under stress.

I heard the new-text alert, but nothing scrolled. At first puzzled, it took me a second or two to realize it was from a different sender. I switched to text menu and selected the top message. The phone # seemed distantly familiar.

Another image. Same cock, same wife. This time the blouse was gone. This time there was a noticeable tan-line right about his waist. This time a box of XXL condoms bearing a striking resemblance to the one I returned to her bag this morning (with similarly obscured "M") leaned against his balls, its top open, one empty wrapper and quite a few full ones spilled across his tanned leg. She was rolling the contents of the opened one over her giant play-toy while a not-too-large pair of hands enjoyed her extraordinary C-cups. She was still smiling with wide-eyed delight. The caption:

"Didn't you just love watching my Jumbo Johnson nutting in your cheating wife's mouth? Guess where it's going next?"

Fuck this:

"W-H-O- -T-H-E- -F-U-C-K- -R- -Y-O-U-?"

The response popped up seconds later as an MP4 video icon. The bastard had my attention and he knew it. And I did exactly what I suppose I was expected to do.

SQUARE IV

The video player opened full screen. The framing captured a side view of the monster pecker's proud owner lying on his back, cropped at his chest to the left and his knees to the right. He was obviously tan all over, save for the shorts or underwear-shaped tan-line sitting right where you'd expect it. Vee's face and lightly tanned naked body were fully visible, facing and straddling him, moving her ass slowly up and down, driving his oversized latex-covered cock deeper into her gash than I thought geometric and anatomic laws would allow. Both of her sumptuous tits were being cupped and caressed, her nipples lightly thumb-massaged while her long pony-tail brushed her back as it swung left and right with the movement of her enraptured head. And the sounds of sheer delight escaping her mouth as her head and eyes rolled way, way, back were unlike anything I'd ever heard from her -- Ever.

Then the camera slowly moved around behind her to show first her great ass, then a breathtaking close-up of her sweet cooter gobbling up his crazy-long cock. I watched, fascinated, as she slowly and expertly rode all the way up nearly to the tip, somehow preventing it from slipping out, waiting a second or two while applying a light Kegel-squeeze and gyrating her ass and swollen pussy lips around the head (her "swirl?"), then quickly dropping back down his shaft all the way to the balls, her moans crescendoing each time she hit bottom. Just seconds later I heard the unmistakable "ohhh-ohhh-ohhhhhhhhhh" of my wife about to orgasm. I've always loved that sound. Shit -- I must have heard it a thousand times. But never so loud. Never so intense. Never so prolonged. Never so...

The video ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Damn, the mother of my children was obviously no stranger to sucking or fucking gigantic dicks. But something didn't jive -- If she was regularly riding pussy-stretchers like this one, wouldn't I have noticed the sudden loose fit when we fucked? Or is that just a myth?

As though reading my mind, a text appeared: "She sure knows what to do with my big dick. Says you're just average, so who do you suppose she learned those fancy tricks from? She's obviously had other real men before."

Then, seconds later: "Is that what you are? Average?"

My head was about to explode.

"F-U-C-K- -Y-O-U." Brilliant come-back.

To Vee:

"W-h-e-r-e- -A-r-e- -Y-o-u- -V-e-e-?"

"Want more?" scrolled into view.

"Maybe this time we rawdog it?"

I'm gonna kill this fuck.

"You'll get to hear the wild animal sounds my Size Queen makes when I explode deep inside her."

Suddenly, from Vee's Phone:

"You should have come back... you'da watched the custody change yourself, up close and personal..."

Seconds later, from his:

"... and known back then WHO'S HER DADDY NOW, Hubby."

WTF? So they are together right now. Hubby? Custody change? Rawdog it? (I hope she's NOT that stupid. Or THAT horny-dumb.) She even discussed my dick with him? I should have come back from where and when? This is a madhouse. WHAT is going on here?

I then realized the entire exchange had transpired in under a half hour, but I had no idea of the timespan the stills and video represented. Or even the dates for that matter. And still no idea where and how safe she was. Sure, she certainly seemed to be a more-than-willing participant, but what if someone had roofied her or something? Then again, how do I know any of this is real-time? The original stills certainly weren't -- she was wearing a different top. But another photo showed the "agnum" box with fewer rubbers than this morning. And if not with him, where is she? Seems he's controlling both phones. Is that why she hasn't called? WTF?

A few calming deep breaths later, I sent to Vee's Phone:

"I- -N-E-E-D- -T-O- -K-N-O-W- -S-H-E-'-S- -O-K"

After a pause, from his phone:

"Doe's it look like I'm hurting her?" 😊

From Vee's:

"I want his cock. I need his cock. More than anything. More than your cock. Want him to show you what I need?"

I was pretty damned sure that wasn't her. The awful prose alone would suffice, but Vee knows I'm an open-minded guy and I'd give her just about anything as long as she's honest with me. So why would she make a douche out of me?

Does this asshole have both phones? Switching back to phone mode, I tried her again. Direct to VM still. Fuck. Texting her:

"J-u-s-t- -L-e-t- -M-e- -K-n-o-w- -Y-o-u-'-r-e- -O-K"

"P-L-E-A-S-E"

Nothing. Switching to Mr. Big Dick:

"I- -C-o-u-l-d- -C-a-l-l- -T-h-e- -C-o-p-s"

"And tell them what? That your 40-yr-old wife is fucking a dude half her age with twice your cock? Grow the fuck up."

Hmmm. Well put, almost lyrical. Smart kid. But wait -- HTF does he know she's 40? I'd bet my last dime if this was a Tinder hookup, she would have said early-30-something -- and easily gotten away with it. And what about all the other shit he knows? Who is this fuck?

Let's try calling the big-dick douche... Shit -- Also straight to VM.

Think... what to do? Dinnertime's come and gone (shit .. the kids) and I have no idea where my wife is.

SQUARE V

What a mess -- I suspect the cops COULD locate her phone, but the asshole was right -- what do I tell them? Then again, if she's in danger... Okay, let's think this out. What does he want and what's her part? The condoms suggest she was at least trying to be careful. Was this a basic Tinder hustle? This guy gets shots of MILFs fucking him and then blackmails them for cash or for more fucks and more shots? Maybe she told him to fuck off so he lowered the boom? She knew it wasn't a marriage-ender for us (more on that later), but he didn't, so she would have called his bluff had he threatened to dime her out to her husband -- or worse. Shit, what if she's been hurt? What if this started as a curious cougar exploring her fantasies and then went sideways?

Another Text alert, this time from her number:

"I'm fine."

Immediately from him:

"She sure is"

To her:

"C-A-L-L- -M-E- -I- -N-E-E-D- -T-O- -H-E-A-R- -Y-O-U-R- -V-O-I-C-E"

From her: "You Mad?"

I couldn't help myself and screamed at the phone: "MAD? I'M FUCKING CONFUSED AND I NEED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON! IF EVERYTHING IS COOL THEN WHY WON'T YOU CALL ME?"

Okay, so that was a wasted emotional outburst, and I probably answered my own question. Somehow I knew it was her or mostly her and that she was okay, although I had no clue what game she was playing. So I typed:

"I-F- -T-H-I-S- -I-S- -Y-O-U- -W-H-Y- -A-R-E- -Y-O-U- -D-O-I-N-G- -T-H-I-S-?"

And for my sins, I received this drivel from him: "Because she's my Size Queen. And Me? I'm the Size Queen's Knight."

Seconds passed, then a brand new thread appeared, this one from Vee to both me and Mr. Big Dick:

"He's drunk and pissed and he grabbed my phone. Was locked in the bathroom. I have it back now. Aren't you reading your e-mail?"

SQUARE VI

Actually, I hadn't checked my email since this all began. I switched over and saw it immediately. I didn't recognize the sender address, although it seemed familiar, but the subject line read: "New Mitch Tape." This was her. I opened it, sat down on the bed, and began to read.

// begin e-mail (HTML): New Mitch Tape.

Hi Babe,

First off: I love you, and I love our life together. Please remember that, no matter what.

I learned something about us and even more about myself that night at the Plaza. One is that I really love big dicks. Okay, we both knew that, but I think you get what I really mean, being the guy who buys all those vibrating dongs you love putting in me. The other is that not only can we both handle what happened that night, but it actually brought us closer and led to better, more intense sex between us. (You think I didn't notice how much harder you got when we fooled around watching or even talking about the "Mitch tape?")

// break e-mail

Okay -- I guess there's a fifth thing you should know. Not too long ago, in a hotel room not so far, far away, an evening of heavy drinking to celebrate her 30^th birthday led me to "share" my sloshed wife with another dude. We met him at the Oak Room bar at the famous Plaza Hotel in NY City. Turned out he was a fairly well-known Toronto baseball player in town to play the Mets (or maybe the Yanks, who gives a shit?) and Vee took him upstairs to our room and humped the numbers right off his uniform. The next morning, just to ease any awkwardness, we called it my birthday present to her.