So you are Mary's husband, the loser, the wimp, the shrimpdick that I've heard about. Well, I've got good news and bad news for you, wimp. The good news is that until last week, Mary had been faithful to you. Faithful for five years of marriage. That's almost a miracle. That such a drop dead, knock-down gorgeous babe like Mary could have remained faithful to a wimp like you for five minutes is hard to believe. It just shows how religious she really is. And to think that a girl like that was a virgin when she got married. By the way, she told me how with your limp dick, you tried and failed several times to break her cherry on your honeymoon, and she finally had to do it for you with her own finger. Even with her religious devoutness, how could she have remained faithful to you? Of course, she really didn't know any better. You couldn't turn her on, so she figured she just wasn't highly sexed. Oh, brother!
Anyway, the good news for you is that until last week, your wife had been faithful to you. Until then, you were the only man who had ever fucked her. Which is to say, she had never been fucked by a MAN. The bad news, you can probably guess. Last week, I cuckolded you, wimp. That's right, I gave your beautiful Mary the kind of fucking she deserves and couldn't get in a million years from a wimp like you. Mary's still your wife, but she's my woman and I'm her man.
Right now, you probably think this is some incredible hoax. But if it's a hoax, how did I know about you being unable to deflower your wife? To set your mind at rest, why don't you take this letter right now to Mary. Ask her to look at what an incredible prank someone is trying to play on the two of you by sending you such a letter. Go ahead and ask her. Then you can read the rest of the letter in the proper frame of mind...
Okay, Wimp, did you show her the letter? And the minute she saw it, those beautiful blue eyes of hers dropped to the floor, and you saw tears rolling down those soft, soft cheeks, right? And finally she looked up at you through those eyes sparkling with tears, and in a voice you could hardly hear, she said, "Yes. Yes. I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry, but every word is true. God knows, I don't want it to be true, but I just can't help myself." Am I right? Right. And then you felt your stomach drop to the floor, right wimp? Oh, how I regret not being able to see your shit-eating face when Mary dropped that blow on you just now. But don't feel sorry for me. I'm getting pleasure just thinking about it, and thinking about how you are going to feel, reading all the wonderful details I'm about to give you.
First, a bit about myself. I think that's only fair, so that now that you've lost your wife to another man, you can assess your chances of winning her back. Do you think you can compete with me, wimp? (By the way, when I say you've lost her, I don't mean you won't be able to live with her. It's just that as I said above, she'll be my woman--one of my women, I should say--and I'll be her man. Her only man! And you'll be shit! At the end of this letter, I'll lay out the conditions under which you'll be allowed to go on living with Mary. They aren't conditions that any real man would consider accepting for a minute. But obviously, what a real man would do has nothing to do with what you will do. You're so attached to Mary, that she's certain you'll agree to anything, no matter how humiliating.)
To start with, I'm 42 years old. So, perhaps you think you have the advantage of youth, since you are only 34. But then, Mary's only 25, so the difference doesn't seem that great from her perspective. And I'm so much more fit than you are. You are five feet, five inches, five inches shorter than Mary. And your five feet, five inches, are composed of pure flab. Mary showed me a picture of you in a bathing suit. What a shapeless mess you are!
I am SIX feet, five inches, a full foot taller than you. Literally as well as figuratively, Mary looks up to me and down at you, wimp. At 190 pounds, I'm the same weight as you. But what a difference! You could look with a magnifying glass and you wouldn't find a speck of flab on my body. I have dark hair with just a dash of gray, and people tell me I have movie star looks. But perhaps you think I'm exaggerating... Why don't you go ask Mary to show you the picture of me in my dress suit. Go ahead, before you read any further...
Why the crestfallen look, wimp? So I wasn't exaggerating a bit! In fact, I was being modest, wasn't I? Guess what, wimp? Throughout this letter you are going to be thinking I must be exaggerating, but you are going to find out that every word is the truth. The painful, stinging truth, wimp.
Well, looks aren't everything. Let's see, Mary told me you graduated from junior college, with a degree in bookkeeping. You've got a crummy job as an insurance actuary, earning $30,000. Your chances for promotion to any significantly better job any time in your career are nil.
I went to college at Yale, got a Ph.D. in economics at the University of Chicago, and a business degree at Harvard. I finished first in my class by a substantial margin at each of those places. I then went into venture capital and hit Silicon Valley just at the right time. I think I can claim to have been a success. Successful enough, at any rate, to retire seven years ago at the age of 35, after I had made my third billion.
Not that I've completely detached myself from the world. CEO's of Fortune 500 companies and politicians in both parties are always kissing my ass--sometimes literally--because they want my help or advice on one thing or another. And I'm well known in the world of cultural affairs. Every major arts and cultural organization in the country has asked me to be on its board, though I've accepted only a select few of the positions that were offered. So when she's around me, Mary meets the most successful, the most glamorous, the most sophisticated people in the world, and she participates in conversations that you wouldn't even be able to comprehend, wimp. Now let's compare. Mary tells me your main interest in life is your bowling league. You think you are going to win back Mary's affections by impressing her with your bowling scores, wimp, when with me she meets Senators, CEOs, movie stars, and Nobel Prize winners?
Even though I keep a hand in world affairs, my main pursuit since retiring has been man's greatest pleasure: Seduction! I love the feel of women and of sex. I love the desire that women feel for me. I love overcoming them and holding absolute power over them, the sense that I am irresistible to them. And the power they give me over their men!
Now you may find this hard to believe, wimp, but I've never failed. I'll target any beautiful woman I see, and I always fuck her. Always. So I look for challenges. Virgins, of course, are lovely. I guess I've popped a couple of hundred cherries, probably more. But people who think seducing a virgin is the ultimate pleasure are wrong. Very wrong! The ultimate pleasure is being the first to seduce a married woman. Especially if she's extraordinarily beautiful. And if, out of religious or moral convictions, or love, she's never dreamed of cheating on her husband. If the idea of even thinking of having sex with another man would strike her as incredible and repulsive. In short, if she's a woman just like Mary. So seducing Mary was a rare pleasure for me, wimp, and now I'm going to tell you all about it.
Mary has told me that in order to maintain even a semblance of a middle-class lifestyle, she had to go to work to supplement your measly income, wimp. Since she's got much more intelligence and energy and imagination than you'll ever have, it's no surprise that soon she was earning more than you. And getting more responsibility. Including business travel. Of course, you never worried about those business trips Mary was always taking. There was no need to. Prim Mary, so religious and so moral and not even aware that she was married to one of the all-time wimps, would never think of being unfaithful. Well, you were right to be confident, wimp, because she never, never would have thought of it. Not until she met me, that is!
Remember that business trip she took back in June? She was part of the team trying to sell consulting services to a big city government. It was a deal in the tens of millions, and the mayor asked me to come along to give him some counsel. Since I had fucked the mayor's wife and plucked his pretty 14-year-old daughter's cherry the day before, I figured I owed him something, and I sat in on the meetings.
The meetings were dull. I could see in five minutes what the issues were going to be, and what the solutions were. It took the rest of those bozos five hours to figure it out. If Mary and I hadn't been there, it would have taken them five weeks.
I was attracted to Mary immediately. First of all, she was obviously brighter than anyone else in the room. Second, she was a babe. That silky brown hair, hanging straight down to her shoulders! Her beautiful baby blues! The softness of her skin and the sweetness of her mouth! Her neck! You know, Victorian novelists used to talk about women having beautiful necks. (Actually, you probably don't know, since it's unlikely you've ever read a novel, other than porno perhaps.) I don't think I've seen more than five women in my life who I'd single out for having a beautiful neck. But Mary is definitely one of them. Her neck is so long and graceful.
Now underneath her neck, she didn't show much. She wore one of her typical dresses, one that covered everything. But a tent couldn't entirely conceal Mary's charms, and the prudery of her dress was a great sign, so far as I was concerned. This woman wasn't on the prowl. It would take overwhelming desire before a woman like her would succumb. And that was fine with me.
When the meeting was over, I asked Mary to have dinner with me. She refused point blank. I mean, wimp, she really was being faithful to you! But I told her I had the penthouse suite in the ____________ Hotel and that she really ought to see the view from my rooms. She knew that was the best hotel in the city and had never been inside it, much less in its most expensive suite. She couldn't resist the bait. She agreed to come up for a drink only, and on the condition that I not misinterpret her going up there. I assured her my intentions were strictly honorable. And wasn't I telling her the truth? There's nothing dishonorable about cuckolding a wimp like you.
Mary was suitably impressed by the suite. The living room, she said, was larger than your entire house. And the view is as fine a cityscape as you can find anywhere in the United States. There were a large number of phone messages that had piled up during the day. I didn't know what they were but I played them on the speaker, figuring Mary might like to hear them. They included a message from the President of the United States--it was his voice--two Senators, three CEOs, a Pulitzer Prize winning writer, and two well-known movie stars, all imploring me to get back to them ASAP. There were also several messages from women, begging me to come see them soon because their husbands just couldn't satisfy them the way I do. A couple of those were also movie stars, probably women you've fantasized about while jerking off. Some of them used very explicit language and graphic descriptions, and Mary blushed like crazy. But I appreciated the free advertising.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world to fuck Mary right there in my hotel suite, wimp. But she was special, and I wanted to enjoy some anticipation. I contented myself with a long, loving French kiss. Oh, how sweet was the taste of her lips!
"Harry," she said, when we finally broke that kiss, "I've never met anyone like you. I've never felt this way." She hesitated but then, struggling, said, "You can do as you wish with me."
I kissed her again.
"You're one of the most beautiful women on earth, Mary," I said. "And very special. I don't want to lead you into doing something you'll regret."
She was moved by my gallantry. What a joke! She kissed me again, passionately, invading my mouth with her tongue.
"But I must see you again," she said.
I told her to tell her husband--that's you, wimp--that she had another 5-day business trip the next month. I'd meet her at the airport in your home city, and we'd skip over to Italy for a few days in my villa over there. She was thrilled.
So a week ago Monday, when Mary told you she was off to Chicago to work on another deal, in fact she met me at the airport. We entered the newest and most luxuriously furnished of my three Gulfstream private jets and took off for Italy. Aside from the pilot and co-pilot, there were four gorgeous stewardesses just to take care of the two of us. Mary was impressed. She looked even more beautiful than I had remembered. To think that this priceless gem of female beauty had lived for twenty-five years and been wasted on you, wimp! Well, that was about to change in a hurry.
The only thing that bothered me slightly was that seducing your wife would be so easy. She had already told me in my hotel suite a month earlier that I could have her. Don't get me wrong. Fucking your wife Mary was going to be a rare delight, under any circumstances. I just would have liked some more resistance, that's all.
So I was delighted when, after we had taken off and were sipping glasses filled from a newly-opened $1,500 bottle of French champagne, she said she had something serious to tell me.
"Harry, I've hardly been able to sleep from the shame of what I said to you last time. Thank God you were gallant enough not to take advantage of me when I lost my head. For that alone, I'll never stop admiring you, Harry. You see, what I said about how wonderful you are, and how wonderfully I felt, that was all true. But I'm a married woman, Harry. I've never been unfaithful to my husband. Except for that crazy moment, I've never thought of being unfaithful to him. I never, never will do it. Please understand. If you want to order the pilot to turn the plane around you'd be completely within your rights."
These words were music to my ears. Oh, fucking your wife was going to be such a pleasure, wimp. I knew at that moment that I'd be remembering the words she had just spoken when she begged me to put my dick in her pussy. And I knew she would. They all do!
"Darling Mary," I said. "Wonderful Mary, your company is all I need to delight me. How lovely it will be to be in Italy with you. And as I told you, I wouldn't dream of pressing you to do anything your convictions tell you not to do."
She gave me a warm, lingering French kiss. Oh, what a beauty she is! It was a struggle to keep my dick from growing. But I have complete control of my equipment, and I wanted to wait for the right moment for her to become aware of my hard-on.
We landed on the private airstrip on my estate in northern Italy, which is on the Riviera near Genoa. I have twenty-five luxurious estates or residences in various major cities and resort areas, but I picked the one in Northern Italy for seducing Mary, because I figured she'd like one of the cozier ones. I won't go into details, which you wouldn't understand anyway, wimp, about the villa. Suffice to say that if you go to the public library and check out almost any textbook on the history of art, you'll see it pictured as the finest architectural example of the baroque style in Italy. It has forty rooms and I maintain a staff of 35, including about a dozen strikingly beautiful young women who provide... Well, let's say "special services." The rest of the staff is high priced and highly professional. Mary had two ladies' maids on duty through her entire visit. Her every whim was immediately attended to.
We landed late in the afternoon and it was a beautiful summer's day on the Italian coast. I dismissed the Rolls Royce and driver, and drove Mary the five miles along the Mediterranean coast to the villa in one of my Jaguars. Our luggage was brought right up to our rooms and unpacked, and we followed to freshen up. When I rejoined Mary in the dining room a half hour later, I asked her if her suite was suitable.
"Oh, it's simply marvelous. I've never even seen such luxury, much less experienced it. And the view of the coast is simply breathtaking."
"And were the servants satisfactory," I asked, struggling to avoid smiling. She blushed.
"I- I- I'm just not used to that kind of service," she barely managed.
"Why, what do you mean?" I asked, feigning ignorance.
"Wh- When I went to the bathroom, they came with me, and they..." She was bright red, and couldn't go on.
"Yes, they cleaned your most intimate parts, didn't they? They are well trained. But did you object to that?"
She wasn't sure what to think, but she must have assumed it was a European custom, and didn't want to seem unsophisticated.
"Oh, no. It's just that I'm not used to such luxury."
I gave her a long, wet kiss. I knew that in addition to gently washing Mary's pussy and asshole after she used the toilet, the maids also had fluffed up and lightly powdered and perfumed her pussy hair, just as I like it. My staff is always impeccably trained. As for me, in addition to receiving similar servicing from my two regular maids, I had dumped a couple of huge loads of sperm deep in the cunts of two particularly lovely members of the special staff. I needed some relief after all those hours, especially being stimulated by the sight and the kisses of your wife.
We sat down for dinner. She said it was the most marvelous meal she had ever had. Which, of course, it was! We were enjoying an after-dinner drink, a rare brandy. Each drop was more expensive than the entire bottle of champagne we had had on the plane.
When we were finished, I led her into the living room. The room is almost three times as large as the living room in the hotel that she had admired the previous month. The furnishings are in the baroque style, but perfectly maintained in every detail. The view of the coast faced in a different direction than the view from her bedroom, but was equally magnificent. We sat on the sofa, which, she said, is larger than the bed she has shared with you at home, wimp.
We had another hour or so of small talk. Mary is intelligent and enjoys talking about many things. But you wouldn't know, wimp, because she doesn't seem to care much about bowling scores, and what else would she talk to you about?
But after about an hour there came a moment when our eyes met, and there was a pause.
"Mary," I said, "you are one of the most attractive women I've ever met." I gave her a long, affectionate kiss, enjoying the sweet, sweet taste of her mouth. Can a wimp like you even appreciate such a woman? And what a woman she is!
That kiss was the most loving we had shared yet, and must have lasted at least two whole minutes. Each of us was using our hands now, stroking the other intimately and affectionately. Then she broke away. There were tears in her beautiful eyes.
She said, "Harry, I'm so attracted to you. I guess I never knew an attraction could be this strong. But you are so educated, so sophisticated. What can you possibly see in me?"
Can you imagine Mary saying that to you, wimp? Oh God, I almost hurt myself, I laughed so hard as I typed that question just now. Anyway, I kissed Mary again and said, "What I see in you is a beautiful, intelligent, soulful woman who has never been loved as she deserves."
She kissed me, very passionately this time. Then, more intensely than you can imagine, wimp:
"Oh, Harry, how I wish I had met you five years ago. But I'm married."
"And does that matter so very much," I asked.
She sobbed, and responded emphatically, "Yes. Yes."
After a pause, she continued. "I admit my husband has never made me feel as I feel right now. Never, not even remotely. He never has and he never could. He's not in your league as a man, Harry. Just an ordinary guy. But he's been good to me over the years. A provider. As much as he could be, at least. And loving and considerate. And faithful. I couldn't cheat on him. I just couldn't. It would be wrong. And it would crush him."
All the while, she was sobbing hard. When she had calmed down, I kissed her again. Her desire was transparent. In her own mind, she was absolutely determined not to give me anything more than kisses. But I knew that seducing her from here would be child's play.
"Mary," I said quietly, "does your husband satisfy you?"
Do you think that was a low blow, wimp? Does the mere thought of that question being put to your beautiful wife turn your stomach? Give her credit, she tried valiantly to defend you. She was obviously trying to hold back tears and, after a long pause, she said, trying pathetically to be casual, "Oh, yes, we make love twice a month. And we DO love each other."
I let out a loud laugh, wimp, I just couldn't help it. "Mary," I said, " if I were married to you and didn't fuck you more than twice in a single DAY, you could figure there must be something wrong with me. Only twice a month! Imagine letting a beautiful sensuous woman like you go with so little attention, so little satisfaction. It's a crime."
With that, I gave her another very long, very affectionate kiss. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, but soft and beautiful as I stroked them gently with my fingers. We continued to kiss and I gently stroked her glossy brown hair, then her back. She was partly on my lap, now, and I was able to move my hand down to her fabulous ass cheeks. At the same time, her hands were busy on my body. As had always been the case before, she touched me only above the belt. But she was enamored of my chiseled body. It must have been quite a change from your flab and pot belly, wimp.
"How do I compare with your husband?" I asked.
Did you wince when you read that, wimp? Your wife winced when I said it to her... "Don't ask me that," she said. "It isn't fair. You've never seen my husband, but you know perfectly well that he can't compete with you as a physical specimen. What 35-year-old man could? You know damned well that there are twenty-year-old athletes who'd sell their souls for a body as firm and lithe as yours."
I don't mean to be immodest, wimp, but maybe it's true. Enough women have told me so. And enough twenty-year-old athletes have looked on enviously as I made love to their wives or girl friends.
Anyway, it was at this point that I took her hand, which was lovingly stroking my chest, and gently moved it to my crotch.
"Feel how much I want you, Mary," I said.
Her jaw dropped. Literally, wimp, her jaw just dropped! I guess she'd never known what a real man would feel like. How could she, being faithfully married to you, wimp?
"You're so huge," she whispered. "And so hard. My husband doesn't feel anything like this."
"Mary, you are gorgeous. Wonderful. As fine as any woman on earth. For once in your life, you deserve to know what it's like to be with a real man."
While I said this my other hand, the one that wasn't holding hers against my hard penis, was stroking her crotch. Her panties were wet. Sopping wet. She was mine!
A few minutes later, I had her dress and bra off. I stood her up and slid her panties down. Well, you know what I saw at that moment, wimp. But pardon me if I rhapsodize. What an ass! Globes so perfectly round and soft and firm, and divided by a perfect, deep cleft. And peeking up from her crotch at the base of that gorgeous anal valley was a thick patch of pubic curls. I turned her around so that I could enjoy the frontal view. Her pubes were dark, darker than the already dark brown hair that framed her beautiful face. But not quite black. Her pubes were a rich mahogany. And such a thick, lush, perfectly formed triangle. I could smell the powder and gentle perfume the maids had used to anoint her pussy, mingling with the much stronger natural fragrance of her woman-crotch.
She must have been nervous or embarrassed, standing there naked as I admired her genitals. "I've so much hair down there," she said. "Do you think I should shave it or trim it like some women do?"
"Mary," I said, "this pussy is perfect. Don't you ever dare cut a single hair of it." And I planted a loving, wet kiss right on the entrance to her pussy. Just think, wimp. Another man tasting your wife's cunt!
I spent the next half hour exploring her beautiful pussy with my mouth, with occasional excursions up that mysterious cleft to her cute little anus. Women tell me my oral technique is exceptional, wimp. Mary must have thought so. She said you had lapped her cunt a few times, but she never responded and the two of you had given it up. She had thought it was her fault. But she found out otherwise. She came at least five times during my oral ministrations. And those were hard orgasms, wimp. The hardest she had ever experienced, she said. But I told her things would get a lot better than that. She stood up and gave me another deep kiss, tasting her own sweet woman-juices from my mouth, and pressing her naked body close to my still fully clothed self.
When she finally let go, I took my shirt and undershirt off, and then my shoes and socks. She hugged me again, pressing her tits against my now-naked chest. I realize her breasts are only about average in size, but wimp, can you appreciate their shape? So perfectly round, such sweet nipples, so pert. They are gems. I wanted her to keep pressing them into my chest forever, but she pulled away. She had spent plenty of time by now stroking my chest, but this was the first time without clothing.
"Oh, Harry," she said, "you're such a beautiful man. This strong chest feels so good, compared to my husband's flab. I never knew what I was missing."
"Why don't you see what else you've been missing?" I asked.
She laughed a wicked laugh. She knew exactly what I meant. Are you getting nervous, wimp? I don't suppose this has been pleasant reading so far, but even your dim intellect can probably guess that it's about to get a lot worse.
"Let me take the rest off," she said. So she unbuckled my pants and pulled them down. She let out a gasp, when my underwear came into view. I have to have all my underwear made to order with oversized crotches. But Mary had me so hard by now that even the triple-sized pouch could not begin to accommodate me. The projection of the shorts out from my body took her breath away.
She collected herself and got my pants off. She spent a few seconds admiring my legs, but couldn't hold her attention away from my crotch. It took some effort for her to work the elastic over my hard-on, but she finally managed. She was rewarded with her first sight of my manhood. Actually, with her first sight of ANY manhood, considering the only other naked male she'd ever seen was you, wimp.