Edited by Master Ken
Note: This takes place three weeks after the Best Buy Incident, following Veronica Beckam and her obsession. Wednesday, June 19th, 2013
"Oh, Veronica!" Marshal, my husband, gasped as he pumped away at my pussy. "I'm gonna cum!"
"Yes, yes, I'm coming too!" I lied, squeezing my pussy down on his cock, and shrieking loudly. I could feel my husband's cum spilling inside me, warm, thick, disappointing.
"That was great, sugar," he moaned, kissing me on the lips.
"It was," I lied some more; I was becoming good at it. "The best, Sir." My pet name for Marshal. His name sounded like a military rank, so when we were dating I would pretend to be his soldier and call him 'Sir.' It made for some interesting experimentation in the bedroom, and even though five years of marriage had tamed our sex life, I had always found it satisfying.
Well, I found it satisfying until I fucked that man with his glorious cock during the 'Best Buy Incident', the terrorist attack by Mark Glassner that made an entire store full of strangers fuck each other. Memory of that huge cock filling my snatch, driving my pussy to new plateaus of pleasure spilled into my mind, remanding me just how inadequate my husband's cock had become.
My husband rolled off me and I sighed; I was so horny. Ever since we were caught in the orgy, I could not stop thinking about the stranger's cock. I spent the entire orgy fucking him. Sometimes I would be sucking on my husband's cock, or watching Marshal fuck another woman, but the stranger's cock was in me the entire time, staying hard, stretching my pussy. I felt almost virginal when he was in me.
Now Marshal's cock just wasn't satisfying, no matter what positions we tried, or how much foreplay we used. I burned with desire for that dick; it filled every waking moment of my life. I needed to find that stranger; I needed to feel his shaft inside me once again. I was a ball of frustration, and the slightest object could set me off: a banana, or any other phallic food really; sliding a key into a lock; plugging in an electrical cord into a socket. Last time I vacuumed, I tried out the sucking attachment on my snatch, sticking it right on top of my clit, and I might have cum if Marshal didn't interrupt me. At any moment my cunt would get sopping wet, that desperate ache to cum would fill me, and only the stranger's cock could really satisfy me.
I needed an earth-shattering cum soon, or I would go mad.
I loved my husband dearly. I never thought I would cheat on him, but this burning ache in my loins just would not go away. There was no way I could sleep without some satisfaction—I felt like I was going to explode. Marshal was already asleep, snoring softly, so I quietly opened my nightstand drawer, and pulled out my new vibrator, slipping off to the bathroom.
The humming vibration on my clit felt magical. I closed my eyes, picturing the perfect cock—how it felt filling up my pussy, stretching me to the breaking point. I remembered riding the man, his brown eyes staring up at me; two watery orbs centered in a squat, ugly face. But his cock! God, I needed it badly.
I slipped my vibrator up inside me, the plastic buzzing away, churning my insides and I quivered on the toilet seat. It was wider than my husband's; I bought it last week, hoping the girth would help with my obsession. At the very least I hoped I could get an orgasm out of it. While I've cum with the – small quakes that just make life bearable – it never leaves me satisfied.
Damn Mark Glassner, and damn the authorities for letting the monster roam free! Mark was in the news more and more. When I saw Carlos Gutierrez's damning report on Mark Glassner and police corruption Monday night, I had been furious, screaming at the TV. The bastard had the FBI agents and SWAT in his pocket, bribing them with sex. He seemed untouchable. All I wanted was to go back to the way things were before I walked into that fucking Best Buy! I was happy with my marriage, satisfied with my husband's cock. It wasn't fucking fair!
I furiously pumped the vibrator in and out of my pussy. I needed to cum, badly. I needed the stranger's dick in me! Marshal's cock felt just good enough to get me going. Just not good enough to get me off anymore. My cum was nearing, I closed my eyes, imagining the stranger was pumping into me, that delicious shaft rubbing through my tight cunt. I bit my lip, stifling my moan as that delicious shudder rolled through my body and left me shaking.
The edge was gone, I could sleep. But his cock still filled my mind as I laid my head down on my pillow.
I glanced at my husband's sleeping form and wished it was him. I almost cried. It just wasn't fair. Why couldn't I be obsessed with my husband's cock? Why did my body want to drive me crazy? Sleep was long in coming, and I had to slip off to the bathroom two more times with my vibrator before I finally passed out in exhaustion.
Morning arrived far too soon.
My eyes were fuzzy, my mind barely functioning, as I stumbled through the morning routine: I start the coffee while Marshal took his shower, then I'd take my shower as Marshal cooked breakfast. He was a far better cook than I ever was, and secure enough in his masculinity to not care about that. I loved him for it. Why couldn't I also lust after him?
Today was the third week since the Incident, as the media dubbed the orgy, happened. A few of the victims had organized a support group, and the first meeting was tonight at the Eagles Lodge in downtown Puyallup. I was excited to go.
I hoped the stranger would be there; if he showed up, I knew I was going to cheat on my husband. I needed to feel that cock inside me. It was all I could think of at work. I dropped a pen into my pen-cup, my pussy got wet; I poured cream into my coffee, white like his cum; I popped a quarter into the vending machine, into that slot, picturing his cock pushing into my tight slot. I spent my lunch in the woman's bathroom with my vibrator.
Finally exhaustion outweighed lust, and I fell asleep on my desk around two o'clock, and that got me chewed out by my boss. The asshole didn't bother to tell me I had a post-it note stuck to my cheek until a coworker ripped it off. I was mortified, walking around the office for thirty minutes without even realizing it.
This had to end. I had to fuck the stranger again for my sanity's sake. I only hoped my marriage could be salvaged afterwards.
When I got home, I showered right away, applied some makeup, a little more than I would wear to work, and found a cute dress. Not too fancy, but a navy-blue wrap-around that showed off my cleavage nicely. I checked myself in the mirror: my bleached-blonde hair fell in a mass of loose curls about my shoulders, the red-highlights making my hair pop; my lips were cherry red, and very kissable; and my deep brown eyes could make any man weak in the knees.
"You look gorgeous, Veronica," Marshal said, then gave me a wolf whistle. Guilt stabbed through me; I dressed up for my nameless lover, not my husband, but that itch in my pussy was drowning out my guilt. On the drive over, my husband kept glancing at my thighs. The skirt had ridden up and Marshal was a leg man. Normally I loved it when my husband lusted after me, but it was a different man I desired tonight.
We arrived at the Eagle's Lodge, found a place to park, and walked inside. A cute, bubbly blonde stood at the front door. She wore a tight halter-top that left her midriff bare, and a pair of very tight blue-jeans. I noticed my husband's eyes roam her inviting figure; I could hardly be jealous since I was planning on doing far more than looking tonight. Standing next to the girl was a pimply faced young man in a dress shirt and slacks. She was vaguely familiar; I think she was the Best Buy employee bent over the Geek Squad counter that all the guys fucked. The guy handed me a business card, while the girl handed one to my husband.
Divine Escorts – The prettiest girls to keep you satisfied. Kevin Mattock (253) 555-6812 Director of Customer Service, Owner Jessie Smith (253) 555-7343 Premier Escort, Owner
"The same satisfaction I gave you," Jessie, the blonde, giggled when she handed the card to my husband, who flushed and looked guilty; my husband must have been one of the many guys that fucked her during the orgy. Once inside, Marshal made a big show of throwing the card away.
The group was meeting in a hall at the back of the lodge, a faded, orange carpet covered the floor, and ugly wood paneling adorned the walls. Chairs had been set up in rows facing a podium with a small microphone on a bendy, metal arm; a small table with punch and chips sat in the corner. We weren't the first to arrive; a Muslim girl, modestly dressed with a colorful headscarf hiding her hair, pointedly avoided looking at a brunette who stood next to her, talking quietly and urgently to her.
As seven o'clock drew near, more people arrived. I wasn't even the most over-dressed. One blonde with huge tits wore a black party dress that she was almost falling out of, and immediately started chatting with a few guys in the corner, who were all drooling over her like a pack of dogs. The other woman wore a slinky red dress; like me she was a bleached blonde, and was escorted in by a rather fit-looking man. The woman kissed her escort, and then walked off and started flirting outrageously with a black guy. The fit man just grinned as he watched her.
"Is that your wife?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Yeah." He held out his hand. "I'm Bill, and that's Erin."
"She's, um, very friendly," Marshal added.
Bill grinned, "You have no idea."
.... There is more of this story ...