Chapter 1

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Heterosexual, Fiction, Ghost, Group Sex, Exhibitionism, Oral Sex, Voyeurism,

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The judge was solid and dependable. His only problem was having three wives at the same time. Of course, two of them were ghosts returned to annoy him with their endless chatter and need for physical contact that seemed to make them satisfied more in death than in actual life. His current living wife suspects he has multiple mistresses and even he would agree that condition is far better than the actual truth.

Generally speaking, a story about a stuffy old judge is doomed to be a boring failure. However, this story is a bit different than your regular run of the mill erotica with standard scenarios of titillating action joined together by a weak storyline that would not stand the scrutiny of intelligent analysis by even readers of limited comprehension.

Our main character in this absolutely “true” story is Truman Blake, an appointed judge until his demise and with authority of life and death in the somewhat demographically challenged State of Idaho better known for potatoes of merit than memorable humans with judicial power.

Judge Blake’s background was not a story of miraculous rise from rags to riches. In point of fact, his family was extremely wealthy having wrested most of their land holdings from alcoholic native Americans with little understanding of the documents they signed to keep the whiskey flowing from the barrel at the end of the bar. His great grandfather was rumored to have fathered no less than a dozen offspring of questionable birth by females of dubious character and totally lacking in what quality folk considered good moral character or impeccable documentation of above average family background. These stalwart personages, six males and six females, in turn bolstered the population of Boise by significant numbers for the next two generations until “Blake” features were seen in a cross section of society in modern day times.

Truman Blake was an odd fellow.

He seldom found it necessary to pay for female companionship because he had the good fortune to being born with that certain personality of spirit that inspired females to offer their feminine favors to him with little need of persuasion on his part. In fact, he was able to work his charm with several married women of distinguished reputation and financial attributes in the top one percent of Idaho citizens.

His first wife was Constance Fairweather. She was the eldest daughter of the Fairweathers of potato growing fame and fortune and he was awarded her hand in marriage more from his success in legal battle on behalf of the State in commercial matters far removed from the criminal element normally associated with the justice system. They tried and tried but were unable to produce an heir for the Fairweather wealth and reputation in the farming industry. She had no siblings and after her parents passed away by making the mistake of booking a tour on a cruise ship that was lost at sea with horrendous loss of life, she became the sole heir of the Fairweather fortune. Truman paid little attention to such matters because he was knee-deep in reviewing legal challenges to his indisputable decisions in cases before his court over a decade of heated land disputes involving “manifest destiny”, “eminent domain” and good old “magna carta” to seal the deal in favor of the state.

He was a very young thirty years of age when his first wife Constance passed away from an unfortunate battle with the “Spanish” influenza despite the fact that it neither came from that region nor had any Hispanic connection whatsoever.

The fact that he had a dark-skinned mistress trained in the use of both riding crop and handcuffs was a carefully guarded secret and he was certain his wife had no suspicion of his liking for a firm hand in nocturnal fun and games after she had retired for the evening in her personal bedroom. He was aware of her struggle with the pesky bug that seemed to cut across all lines of rich and poor but never anticipated her demise fated to strike her at such an early stage of her life. He never claimed to have a “loving” relationship with the somewhat prissy Constance but he did miss her bright smile at the breakfast table and he sometimes wandered down the hallway hoping to hear the sounds of her laughter from one of the rooms like some sign from above that she had still not departed from earthly presence in normal routine.

He had not had a close relationship with Constance because their repeated efforts to produce a child had been so frustrating and discouraging that it prevented him from having successful erections when the time was ripe for climbing onboard and trying to get his manly seeds as far up the feminine canyon as possible to hit pay-dirt in bringing one of his hard-driving swimmers upstream far enough to make her belly swell with the joys of motherhood. It was all a complete failure and he felt personally responsible despite all his pretensions of total disregard.

The first time he experienced the “return” of his first wife to his comforting embrace was on the love seat in the downstairs reading room where she had spent many hours perusing the works of authors long dead but still alive in the hearts and minds of readers all over the world. He was in a semi-conscious state of mind flat on his back with his shaft upright in unusual vigor for a mid-afternoon rest period. At first, he sensed the touch and weight of his deceased wife settle on top of his agitated hips and he opened his eyes to see the floating shape of her female form sitting astride him with a naughty gleam in her eyes that looked at him, through him and far off into a time and space that knew no bounds. He actually felt the familiar clasping of her tightness surround his standing member and experienced the sensation of wetness that she exuded whenever she took him deep inside her love channel.

Then she started to ride him like some demon from another world forcing him to grunt in submission to her demands on his masculinity to sprinkle her with his manly essence in a way that would give her the release she had needed to make up for all those years of shameful neglect. It was an altogether rewarding experience and one that he hoped would be repeated despite his regret that his first wife had already gone through the gate to the next plane of existence. The benefits of her ghostly return were so exciting that he decided to ignore the impossibility of it and just accept it as a gift from the Gods to make up for their disastrous union called “married life”.

His second wife, Agatha was a Harrington, thru and thru, and she was not the type of female to put up with a negative response when she informed her spouse she was ready for immediate mounting. It was a bit of a sudden reversal from the somewhat frigid Constance, his first wife constantly involved with an interest in gardening and the breeding of dogs. He had been shocked to receive multiple visits from his deceased first wife tempting him with untold varieties of French knickers and other assorted love-making equipment that mystified him until she revealed their secret. Now, he was well adapted to her constant pestering for sexual favors and he found her moans of pleasure served to boost his self-confidence immensely when he was cornered by his second wife Agatha with the look of lust in her pretty blue eyes.

In fact, things were on a lovely smooth track until his second wife made the unfortunate mistake of standing too close to the edge of the station platform whilst holding a pile of shopping bags that obstructed her view of the approaching train. The iron monster gobbled her up like a tasty treat, packages and all, making a gory display not suitable for the viewing of persons under the age of eighteen.

The funeral was a sad affair but he was cheered up by his first wife Constance on numerable occasions. She consoled him about his loss reminding him that Agatha was an altogether far too chatty person for good comfortable conversation. It really sounded to him like the pot calling the kettle black and he tuned her out although he certainly did nothing to dissuade her from her efforts in giving him a happy ending after a massage of some duration.

Some of his male friends were starting to look at him in askance after the unfortunate coincidence of losing two spouses in less than five years. It would not have surprised him to have the Met knocking at his door to ask him to “help them with their inquiries”. He thanked his lucky stars to have solid alibis for each shocking incident and that he had the common sense to avoid the appearance of loose character by keeping a mistress in the wings. In the old days, when Constance was an absolute harridan about his weakness for gambling and chasing after stage actresses with too much lipstick, he usually kept one in residence near the estate just to take off the pressure of his first wife’s ire translated into cutting off all sexual contact. Each time she pulled that trick on him, he made a dash for his mistress’s bed and pounded out all his resentment and need for punishing a female backside right into the poor girl’s pretty bottom and was quite pleased that she was more than content with his muscular enthusiasm. He knew enough not to try that with Constance because she was the type of female to hold a grudge longer than anyone would think humanly possible.

It was not very long after the funeral that he was awakened in the bedroom by someone noisily getting into the bed “three sheets to the wind” and grabbing his family jewels with obvious intent of making him stiff enough for immediate coupling. He was about to admonish Constance for her distasteful behavior when he realized it wasn’t his first wife, but his second.

Agatha was never the sort of female that imbibed strong drink because she had no capacity for holding her booze. Before he was fully awake, Agatha had him down to his socks and had managed to stuff his erection into her dripping wet tunnel of love with uncommon crudity. He had no choice but to give her a good pounding holding onto her wildly jerking legs and arms that seemed determined to get her torso into perfect position for receiving his nocturnal deposit.

He drained into the tempting slender figure of the ghost of his second wife with a sense of foreboding disaster.

Truman did not remember his second wife Agatha ever having a visible orgasm and he assumed she either was incapable of having one or was able to hide her emotions with perfect insulation from physical contact. In truth, she actually never did experience one because she was handicapped with a traumatic incident in her childhood when she was riding a runaway horse and had experienced a blinding orgasm that frightened her so badly that she tried her best to avoid pubic excitement in any form or shape. She put up with Truman’s coupling exercises pretending that it was just a sort of test of her ability to withstand a disgusting display of skin and wet, sticky love-making in the dark. She was able to act out her passion with convincing moans and groans that convinced her husband he was a superman in the bedroom.

Now, this ghost of Agatha was as sexy as the ghost of his first wife Constance. In fact, the combination of their dual love-making was stressful to his need for sleep after the midnight hour when they visited him either alone or sometimes even together to make it an interesting threesome.

Due to the need for female companionship of a living kind and the pressure to produce an heir, Truman selected a pretty young thing from the current crop of youthful debutantes and gave her careful training to determine her suitability for repeated humping. Her name was Faith and he was certain she would be the one that would assist him in continuing the family name. Exactly nine months after they joined hands in holy matrimony, they produced a pair of twins, a boy and a girl to protect the family line and give them lots of joyful pride in watching their growing excellence of appearance and personality. The boy was well-mannered and serious and the girl was beautiful without knowing it and with a sense of humility that astonished them both. The boy was called Oscar for some family reason that escaped Truman’s full understanding and the girl was called Prudence despite the fact that her sparkling eyes and beautiful smile seemed ill-suited to the name.

Now the judge had three wives, two children and a hound dog that ate more than all of them combined. It was a happy household providing he could keep the two ghostly wives happy in tandem with the living and avoid any jealousies that might cause dissent.

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