tagLoving WivesThe Youth Trap Ch. 01

The Youth Trap Ch. 01


Of course he'd known.

But for quite a while he just didn't know he knew. Yes, that needs some explaining, I guess.

You see, when a horse wears blinkers, it can only see what is right in front of it. But it knows there is more. It can hear it, even smell it.

But it doesn't see. Until it turns its head.

One day John Filmore Cunningham turned his head. No, one day people turned it for him.

Chapter One: How Sarah left him.

Let me fill you in.

John Cunningham overheard two men discussing the sexual prowess of his wife. Not in a hypothetical sense, mind you. They were comparing experiences. And they were rather graphic in doing that.

Those experiences involved words like "slut", "deep throat" and "ass fucking". They were words he never associated with the woman he married twenty-one years ago. And even less with the mother of his daughter. They were actually so distant from the world they shared, that he never believed they were talking about her.

It was in a pub.

He was there with colleagues to celebrate the fact that every week has an end -- even this one. The two men were at the other side of a glass separation. It was only partly transparent, so he just got a sketchy image of them.

Their voices were loud enough to be heard over the bar's din. They must have had quite a lot to drink to make them this uninhibited.

As I said, it took John a while to notice that their bragging might concern him. So he must have missed quite a part of their conversation. Most of what he remembered was a poor reconstruction he did himself. He had to build it from what he heard after he really started listening. And that listening only began after one of the guys mentioned her name.

As in "that Cunningham-cunt from accounting."

Hearing your name that way usually gets your attention, doesn't it? And yes, his wife had a job in accounting at a big firm whose name the guys dropped only a few seconds later.

Hearing this was enough to make him listen. But as I said, the choice of words was too alien to make him realize they actually might be talking about Sarah, his wife.

And yet, there was enough to make him restless.

He automatically stepped closer. But it seemed they were mostly finished. One of them belched. The other one said he had to go. John looked around the corner and only saw his back when the man went out on the street. He was heavy and bald on top.

John Cunningham had no clue who the other one might have been. The place was rather busy.


When John came home, half an hour later, Sarah wasn't there. Another half hour later she still wasn't.

He wondered if it would have made him think twice if it weren't for the assholes he overheard. Or did he think twice because he felt there was something to it?

Preposterous, he thought.

Sarah had her right to unwind as well as he had. And she surely needed no clock to tell her when she was unwound enough to go home.

But she could have phoned.

She usually did when hours ran late. She did that a lot recently, he now realized. And he felt the echo of other evenings, nights, these last months. This last year.

After another hour John called her on her cell phone. It was down. He tried her office. The cleaner took it.

Then she hurried through the front door.

Which excuse would you not have accepted? Rush hour? Car trouble? He might have accepted a delay. But two hours without a call? Could it have been a sudden bout of overtime? Well, maybe, though quite unusual on a Friday night, especially without her knowing earlier.

Besides, the cleaner told him everybody had been gone for hours.

Could she have forgotten the time while winding down with the girls? Could be. But it would have been a first to be later than two hours without calling.

As I said: the belching brothers did have their effect on him.

To be sure, she used neither of these excuses. To be even more precise, she used no excuse at all. Just a simple "hi". Then she raced up the stairs and took a shower.

No need to say she never took showers when coming home.


When she came down, she looked all-fresh.

Her skin was a healthy pink and her hair still damp. You have to know she was a beautiful woman, not just by her husband's prejudiced standards. The crispy white blouse and the linen skirt hugged her trim body.

She donned an apron and asked him to dress the table. Then she turned to get the dinner from the fridge.

It took her a while to notice that he gave no reaction. She shoved the casserole in the oven and went to prepare a salad. He still had not started the table.

"Something wrong?" she asked. She dried her hands on the apron. It was the first time she looked him in the eyes.

"I might ask you," he said.

She just stared.

"Ask me what, honey?"

"I worried. You were late. You never phoned."

Her brow frowned. Then she threw a glance at the kitchen clock.

"Oh dear, I see! So late already. I had no idea."

Her hand had gone to her mouth. Then she came over to him and put her arms around his neck.

"Truly sorry, honey. Forgot the time."

Her blue eyes were steady. They drooped a bit and her eyebrows made small steeples. The effect was the look of a sorry puppy.

John took her hands and pulled her arms off of him. He held them between their bodies.

"Let's eat," he said. "I'm famished."


That night they made love.

Well, maybe it was love. It also was a disaster. John had problems to sustain his erection. And when he slid it into her, his half-hearted cock seemed to be lost in space.

Sarah wasn't as tight as she used to be. Of course she wasn't. She was a mother. And she was past forty. Moreover, that night he wasn't as big as he usually was. Nor as hard.

But he never before found her as loose as she was right then.

She sighed and let him slip out. Then she took the weak cock in her warm mouth. John came without getting hard. It should have surprised her. She always aroused him easily.

The first of his sperm dribbled on her tongue. She took the cock out with a disgusted grunt, catching the next faint dribble with her hand.

John murmured an excuse and handed her a Kleenex. She cleaned her hand. Then she just turned around and faked sleep.

It was more than he could.


The next morning they had coffee for breakfast. John had a muffin, Sarah fresh fruit and cereals. They also had a glass of juice. They never were big breakfast eaters.

Sarah had taken a shower. But she was still in her robe. John was wearing his sweat gear. He liked to have a run on early Saturday mornings. This one had been really early - he hadn't slept much.

Sipping his coffee, he tried to catch her eyes. It took him a while.

"Will talk help, Sarah?" he asked.

She stared for a few seconds - right through him.

"Help with what, honey?" she asked at last.

"I think you are cheating on me, Sarah," he said. "I think you are seeing another man."

Her face didn't change one bit. Her eyes never shifted. There were no twitching muscles. Nothing.

She just stared.

Blood rushed to his head. It felt like a glowing light bulb. He could only assume she agreed.

He stammered.

"Why, Sarah?"

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Why, John?" she said after more silence.

Her surprise melted into a sneer.

"Why indeed! Why would you think that I cheat on you?"

John knew that when she used his name, things were serious. His more common name was honey. She must be hurt, offended even. Or at least agitated.

"Why accuse me, John!" She almost screamed now.

He held up his hand and bid her to lower her voice.

Then he told her what he had heard in the pub. He added her being late without a phone call or even an excuse. And her unusual showering.

He also mentioned her lack of concern at his erectile problems. And the looseness of her vagina.

It was all very embarrassing. It oddly shamed him to doubt her. He had to take pauses. Or build sentences that would take the directness out of his accusations.

She pushed away her cup. Then she rose and gathered her robe around her.

"I don't have to listen to this," she said. And left the kitchen.


John could have followed her to the bedroom. Maybe he should have. But he didn't.

Was he being a wimp? Was it indecisiveness? Even fear, maybe? He didn't think so. He didn't think it was either of those things. Because he knew what kept him in his chair.

It was the certainty that he had been right. He needed no more explanation.

You see, Sarah never shunned a confrontation. She even welcomed them. Actually, she often blamed her husband for avoiding them. To keep the peace John hardly ever went for a confrontation. Or he retreated because the issue didn't merit the destructive ugliness of a fight.

Right now Sarah had done exactly what he knew she hated.

She had taken offence. She had looked downright hurt. But she did not confront him with it. She didn't challenge him or strike back. She left the field without a battle. This was highly unusual for her. And John knew why she did it.

She had no valid answer to his question. And she did not have that because he had been right.

Sarah cheated on him.


When Sarah Cunningham returned from her visit to the supermarket, she found an empty house.

It did not surprise her.

As a matter of fact, she had already bought fewer groceries and skipped the usual cans of beer. She also forgot most of the meat.

She expected John to be gone. And he was.

She found the little note and read it. Then she crumbled it and threw it away.

The kettle whistled. She poured the boiling water on the tea. The weather was nice enough to sit on the deck and enjoy it. She sat. And she enjoyed.

Did she regret John leaving?

She knew she would miss him. The ease, the comfort. And the memories. But she also knew she was already over him. She had been working towards this moment for over two years.

She'd hardly ever wondered why it had been so easy to go behind John's back. Why there had been almost no guilt or remorse. She guessed she'd lost respect for him. He failed to command it, so why give it to him? He was such a nobody compared to other men she met.

He just gave in, always putting his own desires behind hers. Maybe other women would call it love and devotion. Sarah found it irritating. She saw strong men bullying their will onto others and she admired them for it. Stan, for example. Now there was a man…

A tiny shiver touched Sarah's crotch.

To be honest, it was a surprise that it had taken so long for John to discover her cheating. An affront, even, she thought. Another testimony of his disinterest.

Sarah had been fucking around on John ever since Julie, their daughter, had left the house for college. That was now almost two years ago. In the beginning they had been little flings and adventures. Flirtations that went out of hand. But these last months she at last gave free reign to the insatiable lust she had been feeling for years.

Once more it amazed her how easy it had been to find young, delicious lovers.

She was a good-looking woman. She kept herself attractive. As a matter of fact, she spent most of her self-earned money on it. Especially after she went to work full-time, a sizeable chunk of her income went to her wardrobe, lingerie, hairstyling and make up. She grimaced when she thought how John never objected. Did he even notice?

She was over forty years old. At times she could almost have been the mother of the young men she fucked. But they had flocked to her.

From the start she knew this was her life.

She also had known from the beginning what she would do if John discovered it. If he would not accept it, she would choose her new life over this dreary existence she had with him. She would offer John a divorce. Or concur with one he'd offer her.

She would never give up this new-found life.

But she also decided from the start that she would not provoke discovery. She would hide it the best she could. She would never fuck them at home. And she'd never stay away without a good explanation. She also wouldn't make love to John right after fucking another man. Although he never ate her pussy, she wouldn't treat him on a sperm filled vagina.

She thought she owed him that. As a matter of fact, she was quite proud of herself to have been this considerate.

Over the last year she had shared her bed with quite a few of her male colleagues and even some of her clients. Most often it was one on one in a car or at a party. But there had been motels too, hotel rooms. And the occasional threesome.

It had all been easy, pleasant and highly satisfying. It also did wonders to her self esteem. And it had resulted in a promotion and a rather nice bonus.

To her amazement John never gave the slightest hint that he suspected anything.

In their marital bed she had staid as conservative as she had always been. Their lovemaking was sweet, boringly dull and thank heaven: few and far between by now. She kind of liked the comfort of its predictability. She always allowed enough time to pass to tighten up her pussy. She never worried about her ass hole. John wouldn't go there.

But now at last she had challenged fate.

Things had changed. The arousal of the forbidden had long worn off. Keeping things a secret had become more of a nuisance than a stimulus.

And of course, now there was Stan. And the wonderful thing he had asked her.

Stan had joined the company half a year ago. Ah, Stan Milton… Tall, blond, strong, racing up the corporate ladder. He was tantalizingly virile, self confident, commanding, young, breathtakingly hung...and recently divorced.

Did she love Stan? If not, why was she all giddy around him? Why was he always in her thoughts, dreams? If not love, what was it that made her knees weak?

And Stan? Did he care about her too? Of course he did. He had told her more than once. And why else would he have asked her?

Having Stan inside her was heaven. He was far from tender, mind you. He was huge, brutal, inconsiderate. And she lapped it all up.

She needed Stan. She had to have him. She had to be free to be his devoted lover. To follow this exciting new road with him. To be alive, to be young again.

That Friday afternoon two colleagues and occasional lovers had at her request talked a bit loud in a pub. She herself had been fucking Stan all afternoon in a motel. She had stayed out late without phoning. Then she had hurried home and not made any excuse. But she had taken a long shower.

Even John should notice.

But to lay it on just a bit thicker, she made sure that they'd make love later that night. He should have the chance to notice her drooling looseness.

It surprised her that he could not sustain his erection. He never had that problem. But when she saw his weak orgasm dribble over her jerking hand, it dawned on her. He knew. Or he at least must have a strong suspicion.

It seemed to emasculate him. She felt a short pang of guilt, which at once annoyed her again.

The next morning at breakfast she amazed herself. She was unable to admit her cheating when he asked her straight out. She had deliberately provoked this moment. But when it came, she could not say the words. She had let her silence speak. Why?

Did she still love John? Was that why? Was it shame?

She chuckled incredulously. All right, she still was fond of him, in a way. It was a warm, slow and dispassionate liking. An old people's thing. They had been married for over 21 years now. A million ties had bound them together. Their struggling start, their house, the life they built. The memories. Many of those ties had already unraveled. It saddened her that now the last few would be severed.

All except one…one would always stay: Julie.

Julie was the only vibrant, glorious proof that remained of their love. A beautiful, lively girl. Intelligent, daring, young. If she still loved John at all, it was because of Julie, Sarah knew.

She sighed and sipped her tea.

Should she restrain her active, youthful sexuality? Just because of a husband who was too dull to satisfy her anymore? Who was too old to give her what she needed? Should she blame herself for that and regard it as a curse?

She shrugged.

If she would blame herself, it would have been like blaming the rain to fall. Or the lightning to strike. Besides - denying herself this delicious sensuality would turn her into a bitter, prematurely old woman. Who would profit from that? Life - or what remained of it - was here for the taking. It was sweet, and increasingly short.

Wouldn't it be a sin to ignore it?

Her cell phone rang. It was Stan. Butterflies soared. Just his voice made her pussy flow. Yesterday he had told her she was special. The best fuck he ever had. So much better than all these young bitches. And he had rammed his incredible cock up her ass again.

Sarah smiled and confirmed the date. Receiving him at home would be a first. But not a last by a long shot.

Sarah chuckled. Life was good. She rose and went upstairs to try out her new silk outfit.

There was a spring in her step.

* * * * **

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by Anonymous

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by DetroitRockCity11/02/17

Save the time, a bullet to her brain is less expensive.

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by Anonymous10/01/17


This story seems to be written by a lonely writer that has never experienced love or friendship in his life time. Pity

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by Anonymous08/23/17


He's a wimp! She was right except that she totally disrespected him! She should have just came out and told him!
Don't like wimps so didn't like the story!

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