My name is Dexter Lannin. My wife is Tiffany. Tiffany is five-nine, two inches taller than me, a bit overweight, but voluptuous rather than fat; and she is cute. She's a brunette and wears her tresses a trifle longer than shoulder length.
Me? As I indicated, I'm five-seven, one-fifty, brown-haired; but losing it I'm afraid. Well, whaddya gonna do. I'm a bouncer at a local country-western bar and dance hall. I was a fighter in my youth, golden gloves. Joined the Army when I turned eighteen, fought welterweight while in, got a halfway decent education out of it too (Sizemore Community College). After mustering out, I went looking for a job.
Problem was I had trouble finding a job. I had gotten my A.A. in Liberal Studies, Which as it happened, turned out to be not exactly a degree that was in great demand, but hell I was cultured. I had been working part time as a bouncer in order to get by while in school. Now, I had to try and make it full time. My boxing days were behind me, but I guess I still qualified as a pretty decent ass kicker. The pay was okay too, and the work not overly strenuous.
Roy Jenkins is the owner and chief bartender of Stacks. Stacks serves up good whiskey, decent burgers, and pretty good country music, disco style, seven nights a week. Roy had always appreciated the fact that I was always on time and didn't look for trouble like some of the more macho bouncers did. He'd just shrugged and said sure when I asked if I could go full time.
It was at Stacks that I met and saved Tiffany Gilchrist from a fate worse than death: Darrel Brothers wanted to fuck her—without her permission. I put him down, kicked him out, and my thank you from Tiffany was a night in the sack with her! We were married six months later, in the bar!
Tif and I have now been married for nine years. For the record we're both thirty-four years old. She works for a hot shot car dealership owner now. She's his office manager and private secretary. But, and you knew this was coming, I've discovered she's also been moonlighting as his sex toy. I know because right now, I am standing in the doorway of his office watching him bang her from behind.
Dwight Williams, her boss, is black, six-two, more or less, and an ex-jock who played for State a decade past—offensive guard, I think. Well, he's still offensive but not the football kind.
Stunned, angry, hurt, fearful of losing my woman, and undecided what to do; I continued to watch the tableau play out. I knew my marriage was probably in the shitter, and the thought devastated me.
Finished, the asshole pulled out of her and started to pull up his pants. He finally saw me.
"Oh Jesus!" he said.
Tiffany turned to see as she buttoned up her skirt. "Oh my, Dex. Oh my. I am so sorry, Dexter," she said. I just stared at her. I really was in a state of shock. She came to me. She nodded at her boss to get lost; he did.
She sat me down in a chair and knelt in front of me. The concern in her eyes real, and not for her; but for me! "Dexter, my God, you were never meant to see that. I feel so bad for you, my husband. Are you okay?"
She was tending to me as though I were a little kid who had just fallen of my bicycle. I wasn't okay. And, I was beginning to get back some level of self-control.
"Tiffany, we're through!" I said. The tears were coming, my tears. I couldn't stop them. She suddenly looked stunned.
"Oh my, no," she said. "I love you not him. He's just a plaything. A sex toy, that's all. Can you understand that, Dexter? Just a sex toy, nothing more."
She was combing my hair back with her hand. "Let's go home, my husband. I need to make you feel all better," she said.
"No dammit!" I said. "Seein' you—him—it's..." She started to cry too. I wanted to reach for her, do my duty to comfort my wife. But, she wasn't my wife anymore. She was somebody else, some stranger. I had to get out of there.
Somehow I found my car and began driving. I just drove. I had just broken up with my wife! I wasn't able to think. I needed a drink. The sauce would do me good. Damn straight it would, I thought.
I was sitting in a booth at Momma's, my other favorite bar, when who should show up but my erstwhile wife. It looked like I couldn't escape. I feared her. With her I was a complete wimp. I will take on a busload of shitfaced cowboys and do no worse than a tie, but with Tiffany? I have no hope.
"Let's go home, Dexter. I have some very serious fence mending to do," she said. I did as she instructed; well, I said I was a wimp when it came to her.
In our room, she stripped first herself then me. I was an automaton. I was hopeless. I knew that soon the chickens were going to be coming home to roost and something bad was likely going to happen. But, not today.
She knelt in front of my naked body and played with my penis. I was hard in short order and she sucked on it like it was a matter of life and death; well, it was, at least as far as my marriage was concerned.
She fucked me cowgirl style and collapsed on top of me drained. Well, I guess her previous bed partner that day had pretty well drained her energy supply. There was no encore. We lay there not speaking each lost in our own thoughts.
At some point we fell asleep. I remember her saying that everything was going to be all right; I was doubtful. How could it be? But, she'd said it; maybe it was true.
We awakened at the same time. We both stunk. We needed showers and we needed them bad. She rolled out of bed; she was still naked. Her matted pubis testimony to the serious fucking she'd had the day before. I knew she was still full of his spunk too; I could smell it in the mix.
She took my hand and led me into the bathroom. "Come on husband; we're going to shower together. Then, we'll get dressed, go downstairs, eat, and talk." She wasn't asking me; she was directing me. I wasn't sure I liked what she was saying, and I knew I wasn't going to like what I was going to be hearing; but we did need to do all of the things that she had listed.
I nodded. "Okay," I said, finally.
The shower was sensuous. My cock rose to the occasion and she actually giggled. "I'll take care of that little matter for you right now," she said. She went to her knees, right there in the shower and engulfed my hardon in her mouth. Every once in a while, I could feel her naked breast slap against my thigh. Off and on, her lips would let my staff slip out so she could lick the full length of it and my balls, and then she would engulf me once again and suck for all she was worth. It was clear to me that she was trying to make up for the pain she'd caused me the day before. I stiffened; she took it all. It was a mercy suck, I knew, but whaddya gonna do.
As my cock shrank, she gave my balls a final squeeze and looked up at me. "Are we okay?" she said. All I could do was spread my hands in an I-don't-know gesture.
We dressed and went down. She scrambled some eggs and fried some slices of russets. I set the table and made the coffee. We sat down to eat. Strangely, I was as hungry as I'd ever been. But, I was still shaken by the events of the preceding afternoon. I did not want to lose my wife, but I was afraid I already had; that, in spite of her efforts the night before and in the shower this morning. It was the moment of truth.
"Dexter, if you would like, why don't you ask me about it; or, if you want, tell me what you want to tell me. I promise to be as truthful and candid as I can," she said.
"How long?" I said.
She smiled. "Long enough. Almost since I started working there. Always at the office, never anywhere else. We thought it was safer that way. His wife—you—we didn't want either of you to know, either of you to be hurt. For us it was just the sex." She stopped and looked at me.
"But why? I thought we had a good sex life," I said.
"Dexter, we do. That is, what there is of it," she said.
"Dexter, how often do we have sex together?" she said.
"I guess, two or three times a week. I think you always cum too," I said.
"And those few times you don't come with my dick in you, my mouth finishes you off," I said, defending my prowess.
"You are exactly right in everything you say," she said. "But, could you do it every day?"
"Dexter, no you couldn't. Neither can Dwight. Men are limited in their abilities in that regard. In spite of the silly bravado you men all put out there. Oh, you could do it for a while probably, but soon you'd be drained both of spunk and desire. It's nature, Dexter," she said.
"Dwight and I do it about twice a week. That coupled with your three times takes care of me.
"Dexter, Dwight is just the second string. He comes in to lead the team when you need a rest. He's a good guy, and he is sensitive to my needs and your honor, believe it or not," she said.
"But he's made me his cuckold!" I said. "You too. You've made me a wimpy laughingstock between you."
"My God no!!" she said. "We have never laughed at you, and no one else knows but you, me, and Dwight of course. And, that's the way it's going to stay. But, yes, you are my cuckold, I suppose, and Dwight's too. But that's just a definition, not anything meaningful in itself."
It was time, I had to ask the next question and I feared the answer. I slumped back in my chair. "Are you going to stop it? I mean now that I know."
She gave me a decidedly undecided look. "Let me ask you a question as a means of answering you, Dexter. Do I have to?"
.... There is more of this story ...