tagMind ControlViewpoint



"All I can say is that it really changed our marriage," Will enthused. "Give it a try!"

Stan looked dubiously at the little crystal trinket dangling from his hand. His marriage was on the rocks, but he'd been hoping for something a little more useful than half-baked folk remedies.

Both men took a moment to appreciate the curves of Tracey's ass under her short tennis skirt as she collected their empty beer bottles. Will's wife ignored their gazes and exited the room as silently as she'd entered.

"Seriously? I remember you worrying about Tracey playing the field. And weren't you telling me last year that sex addict rehab program you checked her into was just a big waste of money?"

"That? What a joke." Will chuckled. "This is totally different. She hasn't looked at another man since our 'intervention'. It's like magic, man! Yeah, I know it looks stupid -- but you go with what works, right?" He took a moment to shift the respectable bulge in the front of his shorts.

Stan moved his hand slightly, watching the mobile sway. It didn't seem appropriate to mention that he'd been one of the men Will's wife had fucked -- more than a few times. Neither did he want to admit his own marital crisis stemmed from his wife walking in on a rebuffed attempt to restart that affair. It was true enough Tracey had practically ignored him, but that didn't matter to Gretta -- and it probably wouldn't matter to her lawyer, either. "Well, it can't make things any worse, can it?"

Gretta thought it was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. It took her a long moment to calm down enough to listen to Stan's words again.

"...if you'd see things from my viewpoint," he concluded.

"Oh, yeah? You should try mine!" she huffed, staring angrily at her husband.

Stan nearly lost his temper. "Nothing happened! I can't help it if Tracey is always advertising." His withering look of contempt raked her comfortable slacks and shapeless top. "You certainly don't dress up anymore, and sharing a bed is supposed to mean more than just taking the covers. A man has needs!"

"I have needs, too!" Gretta, stung by his criticism, snarled. "I am not just a waitress and maid service, and I'm certainly not going to stand by and watch you screw the neighbors."

"Okay, look," Stan said after a deep breath, "let's just say we both have valid viewpoints, okay? Will says we both just need to concentrate on the other's viewpoint. We hang up this" -- he lifted the mobile again -- "where we can see it; it's a reminder, see?"

Gretta rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine." The irony of getting marital advice from Will was enough to make her smile; he was a stud, and he'd boned her enough times to know he was better in the sack than her husband, even if he'd gotten a little kinky lately.

Unfortunately, a divorce would cost Will nearly everything -- Tracey apparently had laid some high-powered lawyers -- and Gretta wouldn't get a penny from a separation that wasn't Stan's fault. It was exasperating, but the best her attorney could recommend was trying to make things work and waiting for Stan to make a mistake.

Rising from her seat, Gretta managed to take the mobile from Stan without touching him, and carried it over to the doorway into the master bathroom. She suspended it from the small nail that, in better days, had held a sprig of mistletoe during the holidays. Who knew? Maybe this stupid visualization thing would even do some good.

Gretta walked past the mobile, not really paying attention to the way it twisted, alternatively showing slivers of herself or the empty bedroom. She looked critically at her body in the mirror. "I'm still good-looking," Gretta told herself. "Hell, I'm at least as sexy as that slut Tracey -- even her husband thinks so."

It pained her to admit it, but Stan might have had a point about her wardrobe. Gretta considered the contents of her walk-in closet, and selected a flouncy skirt suit she hadn't worn in a while. It was still business-appropriate, but looked good; it looked even better after she slipped into a pair of heels instead of her usual flats. She left for work in a good mood for the first time in days.

Stan made it home before Gretta. He walked through the empty house, enjoying the quiet and lack of recriminations. The sparkle of the mobile caught his eye, and he reflected on her complaints. When Gretta arrived home, she found the dinner table set with dinner already prepared and a bouquet of fresh flowers at her place.

"For me?" she asked, recognizing blossoms from the landscaping behind the house.

"The most beautiful things in the house, except you," Stan told her. "The meal, alas, is Lean Cuisine."

Gretta laughed. "A man should know his limitations! Thank you; I'm sure it will be delicious."

Their mood lasted through dinner, and the conversation gradually became less stilted. When they finally retired to the bedroom, Stan was a little surprised to find himself aroused by watching Gretta as she undressed, and she realized his interest was making her wet.

The subsequent sex was good, if not great, but Stan came quickly and fell asleep, leaving Gretta wide awake and unsatisfied. She masturbated herself to orgasm and then lay beside him, watching stray beams of moonlight reflect off the crystalline pieces dangling in the doorway. It would be nice, she mused, if he was a little more interested in pleasing her -- but, really, it was an improvement on the last several months.

Gretta caught her breath and enjoyed the warmth of the sun after swimming her usual 100 laps of the pool. The exercise was relaxing, and it did good things for her figure, too. She frowned, looking across the hedge to where her neighbor also was basking in the sun.

"What a slut," Gretta thought, looking at Tracey's skimpy string bikini without trying to be obvious about it. "She must shave herself to wear that." Grudgingly she conceded to herself that with that figure, Tracey was worth looking at. Academically, Gretta could understand why Stan would be attracted to the other woman, but that didn't mean she was planning to forgive him for straying. Her body was better than Tracey's, anyway -- well, equally as good if she was scrupulously honest.

Stan accepted a fresh beer from Will and leaned back in his chair. A game was playing on the widescreen television, but neither of the men paid it much attention.

"It's hard, bro'," Stan admitted after a quick swallow. "Things aren't so good at the office, and Gretta's busting my balls at home."

"I know what you're going through," Will sympathized. "How's the visualization thing going?"

"Well, better, I have to admit. I thought Gretta was going to blow a gasket when I explained it, but she played along. It still seems pretty stupid to me, but I can't knock it if it works."

"Tell me about it. Just remember Rome wasn't built in a day."

Stan sighed. "Yeah, I know. I just wish Gretta would be a little more supportive and understanding. It's sort of like she's just humoring me."

"Well, that's better than phoning her lawyer, isn't it?"

After the double-header ended, Stan walked back to his house, wondering if they should just order out for dinner. Gretta was playing some truly tasteless music in the bedroom, so he walked in to see what she was doing.

The music turned out to be the soundtrack for some adult movie. Stan's attention was completely engaged by Gretta, who lay sprawled on the bed naked. He watched her dip a finger into her bare cunt and stroke herself, intent on the television. The actress was rather unattractive, with absurdly large tits and a body showing minor signs of flab. The guy pounding her was much fitter, with buns that clenched above sinewy thighs with every hard thrust.

Stan quickly shed his clothes and joined her. Soon they were fucking furiously, and Gretta's foul mouth urged him to greater efforts. She was dripping wet when they started, and climaxed before Stan did. "Is this what you want? Some fucking slut?" He jetted his scum into her.

Gretta didn't bother covering up before walking to the kitchen to find something to eat. Stan, feeling drained, lay on the bed and watched the couple fucking on television. Sure, it was a porno movie, but the actors were still going at each other hot and heavy, while his real-life tryst with Gretta had lasted a fraction of the time. The way the blonde's tongue caressed the stud's gleaming tool distracted Stan before he got to thinking about his own behavior after their previous encounter.

"Nice," Will commented, after watching Stan's tee shot drop to the middle of the fairway just to the side of a pair of bunkers. His own shot had gone a little farther, but ended up in the rough. "Doing as well at home?"

"I don't know," admitted Stan, dropping his driver back in the bag. "I'm trying, and I think Gretta is too, but..." He shrugged. "I mean, she's dressing more like she did when we got married, and I've gotten laid more this week than the past six months, but it's not the same."

Will raised an eyebrow.

"It's like Gretta is more detached, emotionally distant. You know, I got home after the game last night, and found her getting herself off watching some adult movie."

"That must have been hot," Will chuckled. "You tapped her, right?"

"Hell, yes! She came like a crazy woman, too; it reminded me of our partying days. But afterwards, she just got up and walked out of the room. No cuddling, nothing." Stan collected his thoughts for a moment before giving voice to his fears. "I'm worried I'm going to lose her, man."

Will surprised Stan by hugging him. "It'll get better -- just stick with it." Stan just stood there, embarrassed.

It was over so quickly that Will was climbing into the cart before Stan's brain could start thinking about what had happened. There wasn't anything exactly improper about a hug, but it wasn't really a guy kind of thing, was it? Stan darted sideways glances at his friend on the drive down the fairway; he was almost sure he'd felt Will's cock against his thigh during their brief embrace.

Gretta walked out to the pool for her morning swim and looked across the hedge. As she'd expected, Tracey was already out sunning. Her neighbor's bikini top was sitting on the deck beside the chaise, and it appeared Tracey might be watching her, although the dark sunglasses made it hard for Gretta to know for sure.

"If that slut thinks she's going to tease me, she's got another thing coming," Gretta told herself. Resolutely not looking in Tracey's direction, she pulled off her suit and dove into the pool naked.

After Gretta finished her laps, she was breathing a little more heavily than usual, even though would-be voyeurs would have had to be standing on the patio or overhead in low-flying helicopters to see anything. She didn't think Tracey had been standing up. Determined to make her point, Gretta hoisted herself out of the water and picked up her towel. She patted herself dry, staring defiantly at her neighbor.

Sure enough, she could see Tracey's hand moving between her legs. "No wonder Stan was chasing her," Gretta mused, "the tramp is just asking for it." A trickle of moisture that didn't come from the pool punctuated the thought.

Gretta still hadn't gotten around to dressing by the time Stan returned home; he found her in the bathroom applying lipstick.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, brushing by the mobile in the doorway so he could toss his shirt in the hamper.

"I hadn't planned on it, but you could give me a ride," she replied, noticing the bulge in his slacks.

Stan didn't pretend to misunderstand her. He quickly removed his slacks and underwear, then roughly pinned Gretta to the counter from behind, finding her as wet as he was hard. She braced herself as he started pumping into her energetically, but Stan's attention was focused on their images in the mirror. He clenched his buttocks with every thrust, like the man in the video, and watched the contrast between his muscular body and his wife's softer figure. What did it feel like for Gretta? Did Will look the same way when he was fucking Tracey?

Curiously, Gretta was wondering much the same thing. She panted as she watched her tits sway in the mirror. Would Tracey's look the same, up close? Would they feel the same? Would her neighbor's eyes have the same heavy-lidded look when she shuddered and came? Gretta remembered the rumors about Tracey's orientation, but forced the scandalous thought aside and concentrated on the feel of her husband's tool buried inside her. It wasn't as satisfying as she'd hoped, and a finger drifted down to her clit to help out.

Stan had a difficult time holding up his end of the conversation during his morning run with Will. His eyes drifted repeatedly to the outlines of Will's tight ass beneath his shorts, and the fullness of the erection in his jockeys was beyond distracting.

They were cutting through the undeveloped wooded lot at the end of the subdivision when Will called for a brief halt. "Too much coffee this morning, man," his friend explained, nonchalantly fishing the head of his semi-erect organ out the leg of his shorts.

Embarrassed but unable to look away, Stan stared at the meaty head of Will's cock and the heavy stream of urine gushing from it. Without touching himself, he exploded in his shorts, filling the front of his briefs with hot scum.

The rest of the run was an exercise in torment. The sticky residue of his climax coated Stan's cock and balls, reminding him of its presence with every stride, and making him feel dirty and unclean like some whore. He ran behind Will the entire way, petrified something would leak past his shorts and reveal itself to his friend. Despite it all, Stan found himself harder than he'd been his entire life.

When he finally made it to the safety of his unoccupied house, Stan loped into the bathroom and quickly removed his shorts. His underwear was dark with moisture and he pulled it tight, massaging his spunk into his balls while admiring the look of the fabric pulling between his cheeks and tenting over his throbbing tool.

Finally the lure of the musky fabric was too great to ignore and Stan pulled off his abused underwear. He inhaled deeply, savoring the male musk of his secretions, and then excited himself to another searing climax while sucking at the semen-permeated fabric. A little masturbation while his wife was unavailable didn't make him gay, did it?

Gretta couldn't concentrate, either. For the second time that morning, she closed the door of a bathroom stall behind her and hiked up her inappropriately short skirt so she could reach her dripping slit. Her thong was as wet as if she'd peed herself, but Gretta knew the moisture was much sweeter. She bit her lip to stifle a gasp while she rubbed her clit with a lubricated finger; somebody had entered the adjoining stall.

She imagined what might happen if the unknown woman was Tracey, but shook her head with an amused smile -- that slut had never worked a day in her life and was probably jilling off on Will's expensive wrought-iron chaise lounge right now.

Gretta's finger increased its pace and her entire body tensed as she tried to hold off her climax a little longer. "I bet Tracey would already be screaming her lungs out if I did this to her," she thought, and lost her battle for self-control.

"Are you okay?" came a concerned voice from the next stall.

"Yes," Gretta half-whispered, half-moaned. She fought the urge to say more -- she'd be a fool to cheat on Stan this way, and she wasn't a lesbian anyway.

Her traitor mind formed a vision of Tracey touching her, and she just had to start stroking herself again. The tramp would probably even eat her out. Gretta's legs started trembling and her feet arched inside her high-heeled pumps.

Both Stan and Gretta were on edge that evening. It had taken her forever to get the damned draft proposal reviewed, and the deadline meant she hadn't been able to leave until it was finished. By the time she finally pulled into the driveway, it was after dark, the dinner on the table was cold, and Stan's cock was practically raw.

Only the last object was of any practical concern to her, and the couple left a trail of discarded clothing behind them as Gretta dragged Stan into the bedroom. Frustratingly for both of them, he was limp.

Gretta was desperate enough to kneel and take him in her mouth, although Stan smelled like he hadn't showered in days and his scent was so strong it was repellent. Sucking and licking didn't seem to be having any positive effect, and when one of his wiry pubic hairs caught in her teeth, it was the last straw.

"What?!" she screamed at him, crying and caught between frustration and anger. "Aren't I good enough for you anymore? Damnit, I have needs! Fuck your new age therapy!" Gretta jumped to her feet and started to run from the room. She stopped briefly to tear the mobile from its hook and hurl it into the bathroom wastebasket. Then, at her wits' end, she stomped out of the room and headed for the kitchen; maybe chocolate would take her mind off her arousal.

Stan silently watched her go, confounded by his totally unexpected lack of performance. Readiness was something he'd taken for granted his entire life; true, he'd jacked off four or five times already that day, but he'd never failed to please a beautiful woman before. He touched himself, wondering what the problem was, and felt a faint stirring in his organ.

Gretta broke off another square of dark chocolate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed it more slowly than the piece before it and stared sightlessly out the window, trying to understand what had gone wrong. Eventually she realized she was watching the play of the underwater pool lights next door against the landscaping.

Curious, she let herself out the back door and, still naked, crossed through the hedge between the yards until she stood beside the pool. Tracey, wearing her micro bikini, was swimming a lazy backstroke. The tightness inside Gretta increased. "Slut!" she accused.

Tracey finally noticed her and coasted to the shallow end of the pool before standing up. "What?" she asked.

"Whore! Did you ever earn anything except on your back or your knees? That suit isn't a cover-up; it's a come-on -- no wonder Stan ignores me! Can't you just leave him alone?"

"Oh?" Tracey cocked her head. "I'm sorry you've felt so threatened. Frankly, I don't see you have much to worry about." A long look reminded Gretta she was naked and heated her body. "If you're worried about the dress code..." A moment later, she was as bare as Gretta.

"God, you are such a slut!" exclaimed Gretta, watching the other woman swim to the edge of the pool and deposit the scraps of spandex on the patio.

Tracey retaliated by grabbing an ankle and toppling Gretta into the warm water with her. "Haven't you noticed that I haven't been showing off for Stan?" Tracey asked after Gretta surfaced. "Do you know how hot you are?"

"Stay away from me," stammered Gretta. She backed away from Tracey until she was leaning against the side of the pool, but kept staring at the other woman as she bobbed closer.

"Stop kidding yourself, Gretta," Tracey laughed. It was a low, sultry sound that resonated inside Gretta. "I know you want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you." Tracey licked her lips, and Gretta realized her mouth was dry.

She also realized her neighbor was right; if Tracey was a slut, Gretta wanted Tracey to be her slut.

Stan stood on the porch, gaping at sight of his wife and neighbor writhing together in the pool beyond the hedge. Rather than arousal, he felt a vast emptiness inside. Had his marriage come to this?

"Pretty hot, eh?" Will asked, startling Stan. His friend returned his attention to the camcorder in his hand, keeping it focused on the women in the water.

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