Conrad and Pamela Winston

by

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Cheating, Slut Wife, Cuckold, Swinging, Slow, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: If they swing, can they survive as a couple?

"He's a good guy, Conrad. He's no threat to us, and he's nobody gonna be spreading any bad stuff about us out there either. Okay?" she said.

"No, it's not okay. You're either his or you're mine. Which is it going to be, Pamela. There is no in between. Call him now tell him he's history or I am. History that is," I said.

I'm Conrad Winston. Age thirty-eight. I'm a building contractor, mostly commercial stuff. Pay's good, 200K annual on average.

Pamela my wife is twenty-eight, average looking, slim, and kind a tall; but, she is young and she is sexy. I won the lottery getting her to marry me; for her part she won my income and security. Seemed like a fair trade to me at the time. That said.

Now she wants to sweeten the pot—her half of it—by having a lover. His name is Ron Pollard. Tall, slim, good looking, got a little money as I've been able to find out, but it's mostly tied up in houses he can't sell for what he paid for them, so it's problematical. Oh, and he's thirty-two! Chance I'll go along with her doing him? Really really slight!

"Conrad, lighten up, okay. Me doing him is just for the variety. I don't 'need' him and you don't need to worry about him. If you were able to get it up more than you do now; well, I wouldn't even need the guy," she said.

"So you're doing him because I don't satisfy you, not just because you want variety," I said.

"Both, sort of, okay. I mean variety yes. And, it isn't that you don't satisfy me, I mean not exactly. You do when you do me, but you're limited. All men are limited. When you run out of spunk, you're done. And, usually I need more. A woman doesn't have those kinds of limitations," she said. "Am I getting through to you?"

"I don't like it, and I'm not going to be putting up with it," I said. "You wanna be a whore. I'm gone. Got it?" She sighed.

"Jesus, I never should have told you," she said. "But—I just didn't want to be keeping things from you anymore. It would have been far more hurtful for you if you'd caught me. I know it. I know the male ego.

"Yeah, well it is kinda hard to argue with you on that one. But, that said—fuck you!" I turned and headed out.

I was talking Humphrey Bogart, but inside I was Don Knots. My stomach was roiling, my heart was beating an irregular staccato, and I was praying to all the gods at once that my staunch position on the matter would get her to stop her cheating on me. But, even then, could I forgive the cheating cunt! Hell if I knew—yet.


When I left I had determined to stay out and away from her until she made up her mind one way or the other. At any rate that's what I was telling myself. The Horseshoe Inn was close to work and cheap. I had a small bag of clothes with me and a few other necessaries. I could hold out for a short time.

The morning after our discussion found me antsy and alone and lonely and wringing my hands. I needed her. Hell, she needed me too. I knew that this boyfriend of hers was a player. I had to think that she did too. She just couldn't believe that she wasn't his one and only. Hell, he had a reputation for dropping women, when he was done with them, like hot rocks.

I thought it telling that she so far hadn't called me. But, then she did. I was eating breakfast at the café across the street from the Horseshoe. My phone was on vibrate; it buzzed. I looked, sure enough it was her. I answered it.

"I'm eating Pam, whaddya want?' I said, that in my most sardonic tone.

"Conrad, please come home. I need you. Okay? Please?" she said.

"You dumping shit head?" I said, silence on the other end of the line.

"Conrad, please, come home. We'll talk. If I can't convince you to lighten up about him, I will break it off with him. How's that?" she said. Now, I had gone silent. She couldn't convince me, so according to her; I would be getting my way: she'd be dumping the asshole.

"How do I know you'll keep your word. I mean you know damn well, I'm not going to knuckle under to letting you fuck another man," I said.

"Maybe, but At least give me a decent chance to convince you. Okay?" she said.

"A decent chance to convince me that it's okay for you to be indecent with him? That about it?" I said.

"Conrad!" she said.

"Okay, Pam, I'll be there tomorrow. Tomorrow's Sunday. I'll be there around 10AM. You be there, or I'm history, and you'll be talking to me through my lawyer. We understand each other?" I said.

"Yes, okay," she said. "And thank you. I know it seems a little weird to you now. I understand that, but it's not the bad thing you think it is, really."

"Tomorrow, at 10AM." I hung up.

She sat by the phone and stared at it. She picked up the receiver and dialed. It was answered on the second ring.

"Yes, it's me ... Come over ... No, he ran out on me. But, he's coming over tomorrow to talk ... Yes, yes. You and I need to talk strategy. I can't lose him ... He's my meal ticket ... Just come over ... Yes, right now ... Yes, we need to plan ... Okay, you too." She hung up.


Her legs were draped over his shoulders as he pounded into her. His arms were wrapped tightly around her arms and torso; she had no control as she fucked her, and she loved it. Submitting to this man was fantastic. Now, all she had to do was convince her stupid husband that it was going to be a good thing for him too. He, her hubby was going to be getting twice the sex he ever had from her, and maybe some agreed to extra-curricular pussy as well. She had to work it out with the man fucking her at that moment, but she had an idea.

He stiffened, shuddered, and unloaded a sea of cum inside of her; she felt its heat, and she smiled. She just couldn't give him up. "Jesus that was good," she said. She'd made it twice. With her hubby? She made it maybe twice a year; there was no comparison. Conrad Winston was tops in a lot of ways but none of them had anything whatsoever to do with sex.

"Glad I could accommodate yuh," he said. He had rolled off of her and was breathing heavily. The two of them lay still for some moments.

"We have to talk," she said. "Let's shower and go downstairs. We'll grab a bite and figure out what I'm gonna do. I need your help here, Ronald. Okay?"

"Yes, yes, like I said yesterday. I'll do what I can, but I sure as hell can't think of how you're going to get him to come around. He ain't stupid as you keep saying he is. He's just pussywhipped. But, he won't remain PW if he thinks you're shining him on. I know I wouldn't," he said.

"Yeah well maybe. But, I have a plan, and if I can get it to come together, we'll all be getting everything we want and then some, including my stupid husband," she said, and she laughed.

I don' know why you don't just divorce him; I mean if your opinion of him is that low," he said.

"Because I need him," she said.

"No, you don't. You make enough. Your business is taking off; soon you'll be making as much as he is," he said.

"Ronald, Ronald, Ronald you don't get it. The reason Winston Interiors is doing well is because Conrad's contacts keep sending me well-heeled clients. If he divorces me, that would end. I'd be lucky to make half what I am now. No, I have to keep him around, on a short leash, but I have to keep him," she said. He smiled.

"Okay, count me in. What did you have in mind?" he said.


I looked up at the clock; it read 9:30. I was still sitting in a booth at the Horseshoe. Had been since 8:00AM. I'd eaten breakfast, which was actually pretty good for a twenty-four hour bar and grill, of course it was only a bar from noon to 2:00AM, but food and coffee was available anytime, very convenient. I threw a twenty on the table, signaled Eve, and headed out.

I pulled up in front of the house four minutes early. I saw the front room curtain drop; she was anxious. Good, I thought. Maybe she'd had an epiphany of sorts. Well, one could hope.

I knocked. The door opened, and a slightly irked Pamela smirked at my gesture. "And you knocked why?" said Pamela.

"Doesn't feel like my home anymore," I said. "You wanted this sit down; are you gonna ask me in?" I said. My sarcasm was but barely veiled.

"Why yes, Mr. Winston, do come in won't you," she said, false formality fairly dripping from her tongue.

I could tell from her look that these opening gambits were not rolling out quite as she'd expected. As for me, I was more than satisfied that they were. I needed for her to be off balance. Whatever she'd prepared for me had to fail if I was going to get my wife back; that is, the wife I used to think I had.

She'd already poured the drinks—whiskey at freakin' ten in the morning! Well, it was five o'clock somewhere. We sat at the dinette and sipped.

"Well?" I said. She sighed, gathered herself and shook her head slowly.

"Conrad, Conrad, Conrad I don't know what to do about you. You are so fucking wrong about me and us and Ronald and all of it. That said, I know that I am in tough here trying to get you to lighten up. But, anyway, here goes my pitch.

"I've done you wrong. I was selfish and stupid and crazy all at the same time. That I love you never doubt. That I can do with just your cock only; well, that would be real hard for me," she said.

"Evidently," I said. "So where does that leave us?"

"It leaves us, me, ready to make things right by you. To be fair. To tender you an offer you will find damn hard to refuse. At least—well—I hope so," she said.

"An offer?" I said.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Cheating / Slut Wife / Cuckold / Swinging / Slow /