Hey folks, I'm surprised that so many of you liked last week's story. That only means that a lot of you probably won't like this one. But it's fine. As I warned you guys a few weeks ago I'm on a storyteller's vacation. For a few weeks I just wanted to throw some crazy ideas out there and get away from the typical "I came home and she was screwing the neighbor" stories. Don't get me wrong, those stories are the bread and butter of LW. We all love them. They're real and there's power in a situation that any and all of us could experience. The masters of this genre, guys like DQS1, Rehnquist, JPB, SWMO hermit all do these stories so well that they've defined LW. Their stories are classics and will probably never be equalled. That's why the best of the newer generation of story tellers like CPete, Girl in the moon, AA Nemo, Saxon Hart, FD45, Brit tease, UKresearcher and so many others including me have to try to stretch occasionally to make a name for ourselves when compared with those giants. This story is a little bit crazy and I admit I stole the idea from a movie that hasn't come out yet. To make this worse, this week I didn't have the benefit of having my usual ace editor guarding my back, and I really miss her. So expect, bad grammar, terrible punctuation and a lot of fuck ups. SS06
As I walked towards my work station a couple of the guys in the office tried to engage me in their conversation. I'm not a big talker. But, failure to participate in the typical office bullshit can sometimes be more costly than the few minutes you lose doing it. I also don't want to be thought of as the one guy in the office with a stick up his ass. So I joined in.
"Hey, Tyler, are you excited about the Rite?" asked Perry Joseph, one of my few close friends at the design firm I worked at."
"I guess," I said nonchalantly.
"Yeah I guess the thought of some other guy porking your wife does take the thrill out of it for you married guys," he said.
"Bullshit," spat Kramer. Kramer whose last name was also Joseph wasn't related to Perry. "I'm married and I love the Rite. I love both the Spring Rite and the Fall Ritual. They're the best fucking times of the year."
"Shit, for a guy as ugly as you are," chimed in Whitford Bradly from across the room. "They're probably the only two times when you can get laid, married or not."
I used the laughter that followed as my chance to escape the conversation and get back to work.
The real truth of things was that I hated what would happen this Saturday night with a passion. I always had. I saw the Rite of Spring and the Fall Ritual as being the worst examples of how far we as a society had fallen.
It had all started back in the early part of the century. In 2015 a year synonymous with bizarre changes, the divorce rate in America had finally surpassed the 50% margin. That was a very bad thing because it meant that marriage in our country was less than a gamble. It meant that the odds of a successful marriage were less than one out of two.
People simply stopped getting married at all. That led to a decline in families and a decline in the number of children being born and overall morality also seemed to decline sharply. No one gave a shit about anything anymore. America became a place where people spent millions of dollars to maintain a perfect online appearance, but in reality they didn't look anything like their carefully composed social media profiles.
A woman, who online appeared to be a paragon of virtue, might be in real life giving blow jobs on the street. People paid far more money to be photographed wearing a famous designer brand so the pictures could put on their facebook page than the items actually cost. It didn't matter that they didn't actually own the items, it was only important that they be seen wearing, using or driving them.
Congress took a strong look at marriage. Several famous scientists and committees were paid outrageous fees to come up with studies that detailed the factors responsible for the breakdown of the family and morality.
It all came down to one three letter word; S-E-X. Hormone driven sexual attraction was the main reason a lot of couples got together in the first place. Pleasant regular sex kept them together and bred children. Sexual boredom led to a lack of interest in both sex and the relationships. It also led to infidelity and divorces. Congress mulled it over and asked for solutions.
It took a while, but twenty years ago in 2020 we first started the Rites. The term "Rite," came from the Pagan ceremony, the Great Rite and bears no resemblance or similarity to any Pagan ceremony or any fertility ritual of any religion or society before us.
The Rites are more akin to a correction or a balancing maneuver than anything else. It's like the difference between our calendar and the true solar cycle. Since our Calendar is off by a few hours each year, every fourth year we have to add a day.
The Rites balance out the fact that most people are simply not honorable, moral people no matter how many rules or laws we enact. So twice a year, we allow them to become morally ambiguous when it comes to sex. The Rite doesn't allow them to go out and commit crimes, but it does allow all adults to take a walk on the wild side when it comes to sex.
Sex involving minors is still prohibited and is prosecuted severely, as in the death penalty, but almost anything else goes. Over the years the process has been fine-tuned until it is fair and equitable and it works for almost everyone. There are, as with most things some people who lobby against it but after twenty years, we've all come to accept it.
Why would a supposedly enlightened society accept and embrace what amounts to a public orgy twice a year? That's easy. The only answer necessary is the fact that it works. And it actually works far better than expected. In fact over the twenty years that we've had the Rite, the divorce rate has reversed itself to the point that last year the divorce rate among married couples was only thirteen percent.
Being divorced once again carries a stigma about it. People look at divorced men and women as failures. They're also legally required to post their status on any social media sites as divorced so any possible future partners both personal and professional know beforehand that the person seems unlikely to maintain partnerships.
A lot of the things that tore marriages apart in the past have been if not ended, at least mitigated by the rite. Remember those cases where a man married a woman or vice versa, but was secretly or simply unknowingly fighting a same sex attraction? It doesn't matter now. Because of the rite, the closeted nonconventional can make the marriage work because twice a year he or she gets to go out and let their freak flag fly, and there are no repercussions to the marriage when they return on Sunday morning.
Remember those women or men who sought sex outside of their marriages because they had sexual needs that their partners, no matter how much they loved them, couldn't or wouldn't satisfy?
It doesn't matter because those men and or women can go out and become the biggest whores on the planet, twice a year and come home that night or the next morning with no harm done to their marriages.
With the chance to legally go outside of their marriages and do whatever the fuck they want a couple of times a year most individuals are able to make marriages that seems like death sentences actually thrive. With the increase in the survivability of marriages, more marriages are producing children and the family unit has grown stronger and more connected. Society as a whole has benefitted from the increases in morality. It may in fact be the Rite that has saved America.
Nothing of course is perfect and the Rite has brought on entire industries of specialists and companies that deal with the fallout from the few problems it has brought. Several laws have been enacted or strengthened as well.
Then of course, there are always a few individuals who simply believe that the Rite, no matter how much good it does for society, is wrong.
I guess, I'm one of those.
As I stared at my computer screen, I tried to put all thoughts about the Rite, out of my mind. I was working on a computer assisted multi-port/multi-shot nitrous system. One of the problems with today's cars is the lack of passing power. Except for the late sixties, which was just before the oil crisis of the mid-seventies and of course my favorite time, the mid 00's through 2015, the government and wusses everywhere have been on a campaign to destroy cars.
In the late nineteen sixties, which was the classic muscle era the auto manufacturers were in all out warfare. They produced car after car to try to gain dominance over a population that was in love with cars. The Camaro, the Challenger, the Charger, the GTO, the Firebird, the Barracuda, The road runner, the Electra 225, which was known on the streets of course, as the deuce and a quarter were all highly regarded as being in line for the crown that was worn by everyone's favorite Pony car, the Mustang.
Performance was the driving force for all of these cars. The funny thing about it was that the formula worked. They weren't luxury cars they weren't packed with thousands of wasted dollars- worth of frills and bullshit. They were unabashed street rockets. They basically took a small car and stuck a big assed engine in it and watched them fly out of the dealerships and down the roads.
The only thing that stopped the muscle car era was the oil embargo. Overnight it ground to a halt as Mr. and Mrs. America decided that with gas prices rising quickly, a huge engine that got 10 to 12 miles to the gallon wasn't necessarily a good thing.
Ford basically turned its show pony into a gelding by releasing what was basically a rebadged pinto and calling it the Mustang II. I still cringe when I see one of those things in a car museum now. Ford did get their head out of their ass in the early eighties when they started with the Fox body Mustangs and started to chase performance again. But Muscles cars simply weren't selling and Ford had to go it alone as most of their competition dried up and disappeared. The Charger, the Challenger, the Camaro were all gone. Only the Mustang lasted and every year became more potent. Special versions and variants were there, but always on the fringe of a mainstream that seemed to prefer boring foreign made econo-boxes.
Then in 2005 in a time when many thought the era of the muscle car was gone, when many expected Ford to simply bury the Mustang the way so many of their competitors had buried their muscle cars and tried to copy Europe, Ford said, "Fuck it."
They put out a Mustang that looked like a Mustang and with that one shot, started the war all over again. GM and Chrysler quickly erected their barricades behind similar throwback versions of their own. For ten years high-tech retro versions of muscle cars with ridiculous amounts of horsepower ruled the streets.
That was my favorite time. While everyone was whining about making the planet green, Ford and Carroll Shelby were putting out monstrous Mustangs with up to and over a thousand horsepower.
Ford started the war and it took Ford to end it. The 2015 Mustang with its four cylinder ecoboost engine was more of a Mousetang. They may as well have called it the Mustang II jr.
Nowadays the typical street car boasts a one or two cylinder turbo-boosted engine that usually puts out the equivalent horsepower of the lawn mowers from twenty years ago. With the Government standards mandating at least 75 miles to the gallon, these cars struggle to maintain the forty five mile per hour freeway standard.
When we think back to the early part of the century when cars cruised the freeways at 70 and all of the horror that accidents at that speed caused, it's a wonder anyone survived. At least that's what they tell us.
I still drive my classic car. It's a 2013 Boss 302. My car is midnight blue, with the white hockey stick stripes on the sides. The car is twenty seven years old and has over a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. It only has that few on it because I don't drive it in the winters or when it rains. The car was built when I was fifteen years old. One of my uncles bought it brand new and treated it like a baby. When he died, he left it to me and I've kept up the tradition of babying the car.
My wrist vibrates, letting me know that I have a phone call. I check my Apple iWatch and see that it's my wife Delphina calling me. I don't really have the time to speak to her, but since she or anyone else can access any camera anywhere in the world, I plaster a fake smile on my face and answer it.
I stuck my thumb near my ear and my pinky in front of my mouth. Apple technology does the rest. Bone conduction turns my thumb into a sort of speaker and my pinky into a microphone, both of which carry signals to and from the Apple iWatch.
"Hi Phina," I say trying my ass off to muster some degree of cheer.
"Hello Honey," she says cheerfully back to me. Sometimes I can't tell whether her joy at speaking to me is as true as it seems to be or if she's manufacturing it like I am.
"Is there anything special you want for dinner?" she asks.
"Not that I can think of," I reply.
"Okay, just checking," she says. I can hear the smile in her voice. Whether her cheer comes from really being happy or just because she's laughing at me, I really can't tell.
"Hey, I thought I threw that shirt away," she says. "And whether I did or not, I'm sure I told you not to wear it anymore."
"Are you watching me again?" I asked.
"Of course I am," she replies. "I love you Tyler, I have to look at you every chance I get. You really should be used to it by now. We've been married for eighteen years so I'm sure you know everything there is to know about me."
"Mm Hm," I reply absent mindedly while looking back at the 3-D drawing on my holographic screen."
I actually do know everything there is to know about Delphina, including some things that she thinks I don't know. For instance I know that she's been cheating on me. It's the reason why she gets so God damned chipper twice a year.
"And I know everything there is to know about you too," she gushed. "I hope we're always this happy, Tyler. And I know we will be. There isn't another person on the planet I love as much as I love you."
I laughed then. I was thinking that she couldn't possibly know everything about me. If she had then she'd know that I've been quietly putting all of the information and facts I needed to go about divorcing her ass.
"Tyler, you're smiling," she cooed. "Maybe we'll skip dinner tonight," she said. "Maybe we'll get right to the main event instead. Bye Honey, don't work too hard."
Two hours later, I'm on the freeway. I slash in and out of traffic like a shark among halibut. My Boss with its side stripes stands out among the endless parade of smart cars. Almost all of the cars look the same. The only real differences in them are the colors, the comfort of the interiors and the number of apps. There are of course a few differences in what I call their "Lack of power trains."
Some of the cars are all electric. Some are fuel cell vehicles. Some are hybrids of one type or another and some have very tiny gasoline engines. Most of the cars have that dawdling 45 mph top speed. There are a few sports cars here though that can top 50.
My Boss can do over a hundred and fifty miles per hour even now, which is not only illegal but a felony. The professional race drivers in NASCAR don't go over 70 and they're doing it on a track. Maybe that's why no one watches it anymore. The kids all call it NAPCAR now.
Suddenly the display on my car's dashboard goes red. I take my foot off of the gas slowing the car to 45. The built in radar, laser and photon detector tells me that I've been hit by three tracking lasers but none triggered. The beams had been deflected by several of the nearby smart cars before they hit me. Most of that is the fact that my car sits so much lower than the cars around it.
I check all of my mirrors and finally spot the robotic police car. It cuts into and out of traffic until it gets next to me. I put my signal on and all of the smart cars around me make way. They're controlled by computers so they automatically shift lanes to allow me to make it to the side of the road.
"Hello sir or madam as the case may be," says the robotic cop car through my car's entertainment console. "I have stopped you on this fine sunny, rainy, hot or cold day as the case may be to inform you that your vehicle is emanating a far greater degree of both tailpipe emissions and noise than is considered normal for a vehicle, especially one with only one occupant. We must do our part sir or madam to ensure that the planet is livable for future generations, don't you agree?"
I felt like I was talking to a fucking toaster.
"My car is an antique collectible," I said into the phone. "Check my license plate against the registry," I said politely while aiming my middle finger squarely at where the driver would be if there was one."
"Oh yes, sir or madam as the case may be. You are correct. I should have scanned for this. My software is new. This situation will now be considered in future encounters. Have a nice day and happy motoring."
"Holy shit," I thought. I'd been doing over a hundred and the cop pulls me over for my exhaust system. That was one of the problems with technology companies. During the early days there were so many different companies competing for contracts. By the first of the 21st century in terms of phones it was down to Apple and Android. Apple won by just buying out Android. To make sure there wasn't a monopoly Apple kept Android around. All of the good ideas were simply branded Apple and the stupid ones were Androids. That was the way it was with consumer electronics now.
Government electronics were all done by Microsoft. They still continued to put out shitty software with lots of bugs whenever they wanted and forced it down everyone's throat. I waited until the cop car was gone and then continued for home. I kept it under eighty just to be safe.
As I pulled into my driveway I noticed again how all of the houses in our subdivision seem to blend in with the landscape. They're all painted in earth tones and surrounded by what I consider to be fake trees. All of the trees are genetically modified so they don't grow taller than about fifteen feet. That way they produce a lot of good air and filter out noise and pollution, but they also don't block the sun's rays from our solar arrays.
When I walk into the house, Delphina comes over and hugs me like I've been away for six weeks instead of my normal six hour work day.
"You're late," she said.
"I got pulled over by a cop," I told her.
"Were you driving that gas guzzling, smoke belching monster you call a car again?" she asks smiling.
"Yep," I said. She wrapped her arms around me and kisses me gently on my lips.
"Then you probably should have expected it," she said. "Please tell me you weren't speeding again?"
"They didn't catch me," I said. She looks shocked.
"That thing doesn't have inertial dampeners," she said. "It's got those belts that cut into you and gas bags."
"Air bags," I corrected her.
"Don't they stop you by exploding in your face?" she asked. I nodded.
"Kind of," I said.
"Well air doesn't explode," she quips. "I don't know what they were thinking back then. Everything from that era was so violent."
We spent the evening talking as usual and got onto the couch to watch some TV. We both thought that we'd possibly seen our daughter flash through the house and disappear into her room and then come back out wearing different clothes, but we couldn't be sure. Heidi, if it was her, rarely spent much time talking to us other than to tell us she loved us and ask for money in the same breath.
Delphina slowly worked herself closer to me and then next to me. She snuggled herself under my arm and then started breathing on my neck. She looked me with her eyes all aglow and waited for me to make a move.
I turned and looked into her eyes. She batted those huge eyes and smiled at me.
"You do know that you don't have to be all nervous, right?" she smiled. "I mean this isn't like in college or when you were young. You don't have to plan anything out. You can do whatever you want to me. You have a 99.999% chance of getting some pussy."
"I'm just..." I began. "I guess maybe we should wait until the Rite is over."
"But why?" she asked, obviously upset. "What the hell does the Rite have to do with us? It's just some bullshit the government came up with to lower the divorce rate. Tomorrow evening you'll go out and have sex with some random woman. I'll have sex with some random guy. Ten minutes after it's over we'll come back home and just forget about it. It doesn't mean a God damned thing. We've been going through it since before we were ever married. It hasn't ever changed the way I feel about you."
She was clearly angry.
"Are you sorry you married me?" she asked. "Is that what this is about?"
"Of course not," I spat. It was easy to say because it was true. "I married you because I loved you. I know there are a lot of people who get married either for the sake of being married and the stability it implies. And then there are people who get married simply for the tax breaks or the career benefits. But I married you because I loved you and wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."
"And I love you too and we will," she said softly. I kept my face immobile hoping she couldn't read my thoughts. "I just don't see why this is happening. Everyone 18 and over has to participate in the Rite. Can you imagine how hard it has to be for lesbians and gay men? I mean, I'm sure they have some kind of system worked out for them too, but shit what if they didn't?" Her pretty face twisted in a wry smile.
"My whole point is, Honey, we can't let what happens by law, two nights of the year ruin the other 363 days. The Rite has nothing to do with us. I have an idea for this time. Why don't we just go out as quickly as possible and do our duty to society. Let's just get it over with and then come back here and do our duty to each other. We'll take a long hot bath together and wash away all traces of what happened and then make slow and sexy love with each other. Let's just let the Rite be a warm up for us."
God I wanted to believe her. My heart was pounding in my chest and telling me that she really meant this and that she believed it. But all of the evidence I had told me a different story.
When I woke up the next morning, I watched her sleeping form beside me. Her body was almost too magical to exist. She was a tall slender woman with curves that just seemed impossible. And they were impossible. Her breast sculpturing was done with the new biofactured foam. They were so different from the way that implants used to be made. The foam could actually change size and density with a pill.
In the old days women got implants that looked great in their twenties and thirties but either had to be removed when they got older or looked really stupid. I still look for pictures on the internet of women in their fifties and sixties with clearly fake breasts that rocket straight up from their chests with no sign of sag while the rest of their body looks like a sixty year old woman's. Or those pictures of women who have nearly Kardashian size asses while the rest of their body is wrinkled and thin. They start looking like a smart car towing a semi- trailer.
But nowadays if you want your implants to shrink a bit, you take a pill. If you're not as fit as you once were and you don't need two huge ripped tits on your chest that appear out of place, you take a pill and the density of the foam in your breasts become softer and they actually appear to sag.
So Delphine's big soft titties were exactly the right size and shape for a woman our age. Her long slender legs that seemed to always wrap themselves around me no matter where we were are probably one of my favorite parts on her body and they are totally natural.
As I watched the rise and fall of her chest and the peaceful guileless expression on her face, I begin to wonder again.
"What are you staring at?" she asks as her eyes pop open.
"I wasn't staring," I sputter. She reaches for me instantly.
"I've been awake for a while," she says smiling. "I just watched you with my eyes barely open so they looked closed. You were just sitting there staring at me, like you like me or something."
"I've always thought of you as a work of art," I said quietly. "I guess if I had the chance, I'd look at you forever."
She slapped me on the leg and started laughing. "This isn't a museum, Dummy," she said. "And if I was a piece of art, you are the owner of the museum. You don't have to just look at me. You can take me off of the wall and touch and kiss and fuck the art anytime you want, you know? If it was up to the art, we'd be doing that a lot more often. You know, the way we used to?" I nodded but it wasn't what I was thinking.
I was thinking, "Yeah the way we did before I found out."
"Let's go out for breakfast," she gushed. "I want to spend my morning, what's left of it, in a frilly little dress, walking around on the arm of my handsome husband."
I had no plans for the day so that's what we did. We did breakfast at a restaurant that was a favorite of ours. It served real meat instead of the processed stuff. The only thing bad about it was the prices. Of course you had to take at least two fat burning pills after you left there or you'd gain weight for sure.
Then we wandered around the water front, browsing through small stores while holding hands and giving each other the occasional small kiss. On days like this, the constant touching only served as foreplay and we'd go home and fuck each other's brains out. Apparently I wasn't the only one who'd had the thought. I felt Delphina's hand graze the front of my pants several times as we looked through the racks of clothing in one small store.
"Wanna do it?" she whispered. I looked at her.
"If not here, we could go home," she said. "Your daughter is probably up and out with her friends by now. We'd have the house to ourselves."
"Aren't you forgetting what day this is?" I asked.
She turned and glared at me and then walked out of the store, leaving me standing there. I left the store too and walked behind her letting her vent. She turned and gave it to me with both barrels as soon as we were far enough away from the stores and other people.
"Do you have any idea how lucky we are?" she hissed. "We are blessed. You have a job where you make far more than enough money to take care of our needs. That's a blessing. I don't have to work. That too is a blessing. We have a beautiful home and a daughter who loves both of us."
My eyes narrowed a bit when she said that, because it started me to wondering something that I had never considered. I thought that I was fairly slick but she noticed it and her eyes questioned me.
"In short, Tyler Stevens, we have an almost perfect life. We want for nothing. Even after all of these years I love you as much as the day we got married and..." she hesitated as my eyes narrowed again. I obviously was neither the actor not the liar that I thought I was. She seemed to sense almost every falsehood and doubt I felt or expressed.
"Honey, don't let something that we can't control ruin our lives. You have a woman standing in front of you who would literally do anything for you. You are the best part of my life. And I know that you love me too. Why let the Rite ruin us?" she asked. "It's not like it's going to go away any time soon, Can I tell you something? I don't like it either. I hate the idea of you going out there and screwing some random woman. I especially hate it at times like these when you're not screwing me."
"When I remember running around with my pussy sore almost constantly because you couldn't get enough of me and I loved you so much I just couldn't tell you no, I just shake my head. I want you even more now than I did then. I was younger then and I liked sex, but now I crave it and you aren't old enough that you've started to slow down," she said.
"Is it me? Are you just tired of me? Am I not attractive enough anymore? Do you want me taller or shorter or thinner? Are my boobs not big enough? Are they too big? Do you want me to change my hair color or the length?" she asked. I shook my head.
"If I were picking out a wife you'd be her," I said.
"Then what is it?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "I guess it's the Rite and..."
Her eyes narrowed again. "How?" she said. "Once and for all explain this shit to me. How does the fucking Rite affect us? What the fuck does the Rite have to do with us?"
"I'm getting older," I said.
"Bullshit," she spat. "You run fucking marathons. You're in better shape than a lot of the guys in their twenties."
"But my testosterone levels are a lot lower," I said. "So in order to perform well, I have to, you know, store some up."
Her high pitched laughter was loud enough that people passing by on the streets look at her.
"Oh my God," she laughed as she took my arm again. "Honey you have nothing to worry about. And even if you did, "Fuck the Rite." It has nothing to do with us. How many times do I have to say that? So what if you go out and meet some woman and just can't get it up for her. That's her tough assed luck. It's not like you're ever going to see her again. You're supposed to be more concerned with getting it up for me. I can't believe that you passed on making love with your own wife twice, so you could store up some sperm for some stranger."
She laughed again and then ducked behind a tree grabbing my arm and pulling me with her. Once behind cover from prying eyes she grabbed my dick through my pants. "This belongs to me," she said, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Anything that comes out of it is supposed to go inside of me. Not into a condom in some stranger's vagina." She laughed again. "Do you know that all of this time, I was afraid that you didn't want to be with me anymore?"
We went home and like she'd figured our daughter was out. That worried me, but Delphina was happy about it.
"Okay, we're sticking to the plan we made last night," she said. "We go out and find the first available person, have meaningless sex with them and then come home and light each other's fire. I know that you don't want to do anything now, but just lie down with me and make me feel loved. Give me something to remind me what I'm coming home to."
So we got into our bed and took a nap together. We wrapped our bodies around each other and she put my hands on her big soft titties while rubbing her perfectly sculptured ass against me. I was hard as rock until I remembered what she'd be doing in less than an hour.
As it started to get dark outside, we got out of bed. We could hear the people outside yelling occasionally as some of them started copulating in the streets. I dressed and got my tag from the desk. The tags were issued by the government and had a bar code that gave information to the computers that tracked it. Every man got a tag. He gave it to the woman he had sex with. The women turned in the tags when they were finished and society moved forward. I hated the whole system. I'd given serious thought to simply moving to Canada several times. Not only did Canada not have the Rite, they refused to extradite people who were being prosecuted for violating it. From where I lived in Michigan, Canada was only a drive across a bridge away.
Delphina smiled at me and then came back and hugged me again. I stood there like a statue. I didn't move away from her but I didn't return the hug.
"Have fun," I said sarcastically.
"What does that mean?" she asked looking at me. I just walked away from her. I really didn't know what to do. This wasn't working out the way it usually did. I got into my car hoping the loud exhaust system and the fact that the car was neither Earth friendly or economical would scare away most of the self-conscious women I ran into.
I drove around watching people approaching each other and pairing off all over the city. I even saw people copulating in the streets. There were some very unusual sights. I saw an obviously filthy rich society woman down on all fours being fucked doggy style by a homeless man. She apparently loved every second of it. He stopped energetically pumping her. It looked like he was done. But she turned around and started sucking his dick trying to get him up again.
On the next block, a huge body builder was lying on the ground in the street while a woman who had to be at least sixty bounced up and down on his erect member. Her eyes were rolled back into her head. I also saw one young woman servicing three guys. I wondered how the hell they handled the tags and whether she got three tags, or just one?
After an hour there were women actually knocking on the windows of my car every time I stopped. I didn't know what to do. I hit the freeway and drove away from the city. This wasn't what I normally did.
About ten miles outside of the town I stopped seeing people who'd pulled over to the side of the road to fuck other drivers. I pulled into a rest stop to get my thoughts together. I got out of the car hoping that if anyone pulled in here they'd assume that I was already with someone. This is one of the safest nights of the year. Any crimes committed during the rite, even simple assault or robbery carried the death penalty.
I went into the small building and into one of the cubicles where travelers can get a quick nap before continuing their travels. I hid there in the darkness from all of the chaos going on back in the city. As I sat there alone with my thoughts, my watch vibrated. I switched it to holographic and the display appeared right in front of me. My PI was telling me that he'd gotten me the information I needed. Not that I needed any more. I played the edited video he'd sent me.
It showed Delphina leaving our house and driving to a motel located a couple of miles away. She went right into a room on the outside of the motel. Amazing wasn't it, that she knew immediately where to go. My PI had footage from inside the room where my wife undressed for a man who was already naked.
"I've missed you Gene," she said.
"It's been six months," he replied. And apparently he did really miss her, because he grabbed her and started mauling her breasts. He threw her roughly onto the bed. He started rubbing his dick as if he was just going to masturbate over her.
"Come on," she whined as if waiting was agony for her.
"Did you do it?" he asked.
"Sorry," she said. "He wouldn't go for it. Maybe next time."
"Shit," he said. "I was looking forward to that. It just makes you seem so much sluttier coming to me with a cooch full of your husband's sperm. I was just imagining my sperm fighting with his and..."
"Are you going to fuck me or talk me to death?" she asked. He moved over to her and pounced on her. He jammed his dick, which really wasn't any bigger than mine into her in one thrust and started ramming her like a whore. She put her hands around his waist and urged him on pulling him into her again and again while screaming his name out.
He flipped her over and tried to mount her ass but she turned back to him and said, "No."
He looked at her angrily. "We can't do that this time," she said. "I have to go home and make him think I saved something just for him. He's been acting really weird lately."
"He's still doing that?" asked the guy. "Shit, he's as bad as my wife. You should never have married that guy."
"If I recall it correctly," she said. "You had no interest in getting married. So I did what I had to do."
"So it took me a while to figure things out," he said. "I actually don't give a fuck about that guy or what he wants. You're mine and you need to remember that. So just tell him that guy who fucked you fucked you in the ass."
"No," she said sharply. "If you want me again, you can have me. But it has to be quick and you can't have my ass."
"So you're denying me, for him?" he asked. "I only get you twice a God damned year and he can have you whenever the fuck he wants. How the fuck is that fair?"
"That's just the way it is," she said. Something in her face changed.
"Whatever," he said. "Suck my dick." She crawled over to him and he rammed his dick down her throat forcefully. Her loud gagging sounds filled the room. He pulled out and came on her face, laughing.
"You look like such a slut," he said. "You love what I do to you don't you slut?" She nodded.
"Since I can't have your ass, you need to start sucking again so I can fuck you again, or do you want to do something else?" he asked.
"Like what?" she asked looking at him with a puzzled expression on her face.
"Just suck my dick again, he smiled. "That seems to be all you want to do. But then that's all you ever want to do."
She looked at her watch. "Either or," she said.
"What?" he asked.
"Gene we've been here for almost an hour. He's probably home already and wondering where I am. I should really be leaving now," she said.
"You can if you want to," he said. "I can always go home and ram my fat assed wife. But if you step out the door, this is our last time. Do you want that?"
"No," she said quickly.
He moved over behind her and positioned the head of his dick at her pussy that was still dripping with his sperm. He rubbed himself in his own slick sperm and then quickly and forcefully pushed it into her ass.
"No," she screamed. "I told you no."
"So," he said. Then started slowly pushing himself into her and pulling himself back out. In a few minutes she was pushing her ass back against him and grunting.
"Fill me up baby," she moaned. "Fill my ass up. Just make it quick."
"Whose ass is it?" he asked.
"Yours ... I guess," she said.
Her ass was so tight that it didn't take him long to cum. He pulled out of her and then got a shit eating grin on his face. Her shook her head and then moved her face into position so he could squirt his cum on her face yet again.
"I wanted you to cum in my ass," she whined. He blasted her anyway.
"That's funny," he said. "After the scare, you never wanted me to cum inside of you again. Now it's all you want. I think you really don't care you just don't like me spraying your pretty face. Now suck my dick again."
"But..." she began. He tilted his face and she complied without another complaint.