Twenty-Four Hours

When I was promoted to assistant news director, on-air newscaster and sometime announcer at the station, Jodi and I celebrated by announcing our engagement. We'd been dating for four years already. We knew it was time.

At least one of our friends was less than thrilled about it. One night when Jodi was tending to some family business, Melissa came over to my apartment and, on her knees – at knifepoint and with my cock in her mouth – tried to convince me to change my mind. Even though we hadn't seen each other since the torrid night I'd managed to fuck her seven times, Melissa told me she'd been following me from afar and had hoped that perhaps she could talk me out of marrying Jodi. When a rather exhausting blowjob failed to do the trick, she started slashing at me with the knife. She didn't injure me, and I managed to disarm her and call the police. I understand she's still in the psych facility they bundled her off to. Jodi was horrified when I called and told her.

The wedding itself was a rather interesting affair. It may have been the only one in history where the groom had, at different points in time, slept with the maid of honor – Maddy – all six bridesmaids, and two of the female guests (who had come with their boyfriends), in addition to the bride. Only Melissa and Allie, who was still obstinate and angry about her treatment by men in general (forgetting of course that she had abused me) were not there – and only one by choice.

On our wedding night, Jodi reverted to the wild banshee she had been the first time we slept together. We got to the hotel room, and I spent the next fourteen hours on my back and in either her pussy, her hand or her mouth. The only saving grace was that we hadn't slept together for two weeks before the wedding, nor had I serviced myself, so I'd say I was good and ready for her.

For the most part, she kept to her word about restraining herself. There were times, though, when she occasionally slipped.

She declared to me and her friends that as far as she was concerned, we were in an open marriage. That meant, in her view, that she would remain faithful to me, but within certain limitations (of her choosing), I could play the field. Not that I really wanted to, but Jodi felt that as a man, I might have certain needs that she couldn't or wouldn't satisfy. I felt she was being ridiculous, as she was already the most sexually flexible and adventurous woman I had ever been with, but she felt that an occasional "diversion" would keep me happy and interested.

Such a diversion occurred on the very first vacation we took together, about six months after our honeymoon. We went for a week to one of those cheesy couples places in the mountains – you know, with the shag carpet on the walls, the mirrored ceilings, the round beds and the pools in the room. We got there, checked in, and almost as soon as we finished unpacking there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and was almost immediately rushed by Maddy and Annette, who had posed as a gay couple and were staying in the room next door. I found out that Jodi had made the reservation for two rooms without my knowledge. I spent each night with a different bed partner, only one of whom I was married to. Whichever two were not my girl of the night would often stay to watch the performance. The people at the resort were so involved in their own thing that nobody ever said anything about the fact that I entered the nightclub each night with a different girl on my arm, nor about the other two who would trail close behind us, sit at the same table and feel me up during the comedian's show.

I was promoted eventually to news director and assistant station manager. Despite my wife's demands – we rarely let a night go by where we didn't have sex at least once – I was able to live up to my responsibilities at the job. Eventually I, too, worked a day or two a week from home.

Jodi's business – which was very successful and, thanks to shrewd investments, made her very wealthy – would occasionally take her out of town for a few days at a stretch. Since she didn't want me to be lonely, she would ask one of her friends to keep me company. She would rotate it – sometimes Karen, sometimes Roberta (who finally got to satisfy herself on my "normal"-sized equipment), often Carole, sometimes Gina. Whoever was brought in to "baby-sit" me would also receive instructions on taking care of me sexually. "Lots of tail makes Mikey a happy boy!" Jodi would often say when she would leave. It wouldn't take her friend more than a few seconds to lose their clothing or inhibitions.

While I was still somewhat dubious about the whole "open marriage" thing, I never had sex with any woman that Jodi didn't know about. I guess that in that way, I stayed faithful.

To celebrate Maddy's 30th birthday, Jodi "loaned" me to her during a long vacation weekend. I was dropped off at Maddy's house on Friday night and picked up on Tuesday morning. Within minutes of my being dropped off at the house, Maddy had given me a libidifem-laced screwdriver. I recognized the effects instantly as once again my manhood significantly increased in size. During the three-plus days I was there, Maddy and I had sex nearly 40 times. That was in addition to the six times I screwed one of Maddy's pretty service aides, who unexpectedly showed up at the house on Sunday with a birthday cake for her boss and was immediately overwhelmed by the drug. I guess she thought I was hot, too.

I would never again drink anything at Maddy's house that I hadn't opened myself.

About five years into our marriage, we began wondering why, with all the sex we were having, we hadn't had children yet. We went to several doctors and fertility specialists, and finally came away with a verdict – that due to a chemical reaction in my system many years earlier, I was sterile. Neither Jodi nor I had any doubt it was the libidifem that had caused it, especially since it was known that I'd gotten two women pregnant in the past. We confronted Maddy with the news. She was extremely upset, as this was a side-effect of her drug that she had never counted on. In front of us, she poured the remaining drug and its components down the drain, then let me burn the formula. Independently wealthy in her own right – she had been born into money, and had also made shrewd investments which increased her fortune – she gifted us $250,000 to try to assuage our loss. She also told us she was revising her will, so that each of us would inherit a million dollars if we outlived her.

Unfortunately, we collected the money. About ten years later, Maddy died in a lab explosion at the university.

Jodi decided, at age 40, to have breast reduction surgery. I told her that it wasn't necessary, but she herself had noticed a bit of sag and decided that she didn't want her tits hanging down around her knees when she was 70. The doctors who performed the surgery were amazed – they had never seen breasts as large as hers. I, of course, got to see them up close every night. Even after removing nearly 40% of her breast material, she still wound up with a pair of 42EEE's. At least, she waxed philosophically, she could now buy shirts off the rack and not have to pay for custom clothing.

Even now, in our late 50's, more than 30 years after the Long Hard Week, Jodi and I still have sex at least three times a week. All she has to do is give me a fetching glance, a little shake of her ass, or start playing with her boobs, and in almost no time we'll be in bed. She will occasionally just force herself onto me as she did earlier in our relationship. The "change of life" has done nothing at all to diminish her drive or desire to please me. Although we've done it perhaps thousands of times, every time feels like the first. She is still as wild and unpredictable as the day she invited me into her house and ravished me on her couch.

All I know is that I haven't had to pop for that blue pill prescription as of yet. Not while I still have Jodi around.