I guess some background would be in order. I was a virgin when I met Sandra, and so was she. We dated through our junior and senior years of high school, though she would tell friends things 'weren't serious' until college. I always wondered about that, since after my 'always ready' attitude she'd given in and we had sex the 1st time shortly before graduation. Honestly I don't remember much about it ... I was nervous, she was scared, neither of us knew what we were doing. I got the condom on, got inside of her, rutted against her, trying to make sure she was enjoying it, too. I won't pretend it lasted long ... or that she got off. Then again, I was the one with the pulled groin muscle when it was all said and done.

and if she didn't climax, it didn't stop her from wanting to have more sex ... just not intercourse. Not ideal from my point of view, but it was still sex, and I knew I loved her. So I settled for oral sex, and nobody I know says 'no' to a blow job. I put in 2 years at college before I ran out of money. The best scholarships had come from a university about an hour's drive from our hometown, so I lived in the dorms, and came home every Friday. We spent our weekends together, having fun in the day and evening, then enjoying some sex each night.

We married at 20, 'too early' according to some, but I'll say that's total bullshit ... If you love someone, and are willing to make the sacrifices necessary to nurture a relationship, it shouldn't matter if you're 18 or 80. and like I said, I loved her. I admit, I expected married life would be like our weekends had been, but every day. Turned out, twice a week was enough for Sandy ... Oh, for the first month it was every night, and for the first year it was 3 or 4 times a week, but anything more than twice a week was only at my instigation.

We'd agreed kids would wait a few years ... time to build a nest egg and just enjoy being together. and I'll admit it, I loved sex ... Unlike the jocks who'd been getting it from day 1 of high school or before, I was learning on the job, so to speak. A buddy had shown the guys a porno the first week I was in the dorm, and without really thinking about it, I brought it home that weekend. We hadn't watched 5 minutes before she was jumping on me, and the oral action that night had been particularly passionate. So I periodically brought a tape home even after we were married; it'd never failed to spark Sandy's arousal.

I don't think I'm being modest when I say I'm not at all bad when it comes to offering oral pleasure ... I'm no John Holmes ... I'm essentially an average guy in the size department, but the clit isn't buried between a woman's legs, and my rule is that the woman should have gotten off before I even start to think about my own pleasure ... It seemed reasonable, since I was the one more obviously interested in having sex.

Anyway, I got a job where I hoped to stay on when I got my degree and started taking night courses so we wouldn't have a huge debt when I was done. It meant a lot less time than in the summer after we'd married, when I wasn't in class, but we'd talked about it ... This was that 'delayed gratification' my parents talked about.

Classes in that 3rd year were harder, and there was more information over a shorter period of time, which meant a lot more studying. and we didn't have the internet that's ubiquitous now, so I spent a lot of time in the libarary; the last thing I wanted was to screw up a class and have to be in school even longer. The sex dropped off, and I wasn't pleased about it, but I also wasn't going to wake Sandy just to insist on sex, or take advantage of her while she was sleeping. and she never complained she wasn't getting enough, so I had not considered a problem might have developed.

I guess I should've been suspicious when I did find her awake at night and my suggestion we 'fool around' was rebuffed, but she was working, too, and managed the apartment when she wasn't working. Besides, she assured me the night I remember it happening that we'd 'steal a quickie' the next morning. Except the next morning when I sat up, she was already in the shower. I can only guess she was making sure there was no 'evidence' left behind, since the night before I had gotten home earlier than usual, and I suspect had interrupted or at least had shortened her evening's activities.

I did not stick around long enough to ask her about it, but I suspect Mark was the first guy to get into my wife's pants. He was the one always talking about 'getting wives to cheat' when he was with us. Several of us were married, by then, but we figured he was mostly just exaggerating, and who does not trust their spouse. In any case, his was the first name I heard associated with my wife 'stepping out, ' but I did not really believe the suggestion. I laughed about it talking to my brother, which is probably how he realized he had an opportunity. And Roger ... well, he was at some of the poker games. He had always been insecure about his ... skills, shall we say, and compensated for that by putting everyone else down and trying to prove himself a better man.

I only got suspicious when I found several pieces of her negligee that had been soiled and were buried in the laundry, but that I had not had the pleasure of despoiling in the week before. I sat with the handful of obviously used lingerie, alternating between anger and disbelief and humiliation. I had meant to help out with the chores, and instead had nearly indisputable proof I was living a lie. I should have left her then and there, but I stupidly told myself I 'had to be sure.' I was more vigilant after that, and it wasn't a week before I overheard enough of the damn conversation with Christie that I was sure something was going on.

The next Monday I collected all of week's assignments Monday night—the instructors knew I was working hard and turning in good work, and did not think twice about my missing a few days. I left work, heading toward the school, not really thinking why I went to that extent, but doubled back, leaving the car at a park near the apartment complex, and then climbed onto the deck of our apartment to watch and wait.

By the time I was struggling back down the deck support on Tuesday night to retrieve the car, I was cursing myself for a fool; Sandra had puttered around the house, paying the odd bill, talking on the phone, and watching TV. But I returned on Wednesday. I had about convinced myself I was overthinking what I had found when the front door opened and Chet sauntered in, a shit eating grin on his face.

Sandra was flustered and obviously did not want to have sex, but she did not refuse him, either, even going into the bedroom and returning in another of the bits of lingerie I had bought for her, and prancing and posing for my big brother while he drank one of my beers before leading her into the bedroom. I could hear the occasional grunt or moan, but I couldn't see a thing—not that I wanted to. I almost burst into the room then and there, but instead sat numbly, trying to understand how it could have happened.

He was gone about the time my classes were over, and I expected that was the end of it. Instead, as she was still moving about the room in a robe, the lingerie outlined beneath the thin fabric, there was a knock on the door. When she answered, Mark pushed into the room, sweeping her up and laughing that he was glad to see she was 'ready for him.' And whereas Chet had been interested in a show, Mark was only interested in getting his piece. He bent my usually demure wife over the back of our couch, fucking into her from behind—no foreplay or games. He also wasn't interested in 'cuddling' when he was done, pulling out, zipping up, and spanking my wife's ass as he thanked her and assured her he would be back the next night. The way he acted, I found myself imagining he had a list, and had just checked Sandy off before heading to the next marriage he was going to sully.

Of course, I was back on my perch on the deck the next day. I still don't know why I did it ... I didn't need more evidence to know my marriage was through. Mark was by almost before I was in place, and spent almost an hour the 2nd night, feeding Sandy a load—something she was reluctant to do with me to say the least—before taking her from behind, this time in the small kitchen I could see part of. I figured Chet wasn't putting in an appearance that night, and wondered if it meant they had some schedule worked out. When Roger knocked on the door less than 20 minutes after Mark had gone, though ... I was moments from breaking into my own house to beat the shit out of him, when I realized he was going to be enjoying sloppy seconds. and given Mark's likely variety of partners, I figured Roger had a fair chance of taking something home with him.

The one thing I knew: I wasn't going to be between her legs again. I waited until Roger left and went in almost before he was to his car. Sandy heard the door and came out of our bedroom, still naked,

"Did you forget..." and stopped in shock and quickly embarrassment and a little fear when she saw me. The fear was understandable ... I was shaking I was so angry. "Oh God, Tanner!" she looked at herself, naked and dripping other men's jism, asking after someone other than me while starkers... "Tanner, you weren't supposed to find out ... Not like this..." as if ever finding out in anyway could be tolerable,

"I guess it's just me ... You're clearly more interested in sex then you let on." She blushed.

"That's not fair!" She stamped a foot, "You're never home ... I need attention." She wouldn't meet my eyes, "You've got to believe me, I love you, I never meant to hurt you..." and less than an hour later, I was gone and our marriage was done.

I guess it's obvious I'm not living a traditional life ... It was not easy to just pick up and leave. I am sure many people blamed me for our marriage breaking up ... For a long time I blamed myself, too. No, I hadn't cheated, but I must have done something wrong ... had to have overlooked some need, some cry my wife had made for help.

Living on the coast, though, left me facing the bold truth that people are basically selfish bastards ... man and woman alike. People preen and pose, desperate for attention. When they get it, they snub those offering it; when they're ignored they act out to realize the same ... If they're ignored, the people with better things to do are labeled queers or worse. It isn't so different back home ... My wife wanted more attention then she thought she got ... She believed she deserved more of whatever she wanted, and somehow that whatever included sex.

So I stopped beating myself up. I don't preen or pose, though ... Too artificial pretending to be anything else to enjoy myself, is the way I look at it. I know I'm not Brad Pitt, but I'm not Lyle Lovett, either ... and besides, Lyle did all right, didn't he, at least for awhile.

But I was angry, after I stopped beating myself up. How could she dare to destroy the promise of what we had shared? The bitch! Instead of holding hands and looking out at friends and family at our 50th anniversary, I found myself trying to decide if I could trust anyone enough to risk trying to love again. And for me sex had always been associated with love.

I ate at home, which meant I learned how to cook. I exercised, since I wasn't dating, which meant I actually got into shape ... better shape then I had ever been before; better shape than most of the hard bodies that seem to be everywhere on the Coast. I worked hard, saved money, decided what was important to me ... who I am, if you will.

I think mostly Tawny and Connie were intrigued by what I 'had to be hiding' when they happened upon my existence, after my next to last promotion ... I've laughed that they thought I was in the closet, though Connie insists she had thought I must be in the witness protection program, I so totally avoided being social. She insisted that Tawny wouldn't have to worry about my ever wanting to be seen with her in public.

As I've pointed out, I overcame my ... Puritanical outlook towards sex. Watching the abandon with which my 'wives' go at sex, and the equal enjoyment Connie takes riding me, I understand there's no sin in having sex for pleasure. In fact, the ease with which people where I moved separate sex and its pleasure from marriage and its security or intimacy or comfort ... call it what you want ... I cannot say I am as comfortable with the total separation of love and sex as are seemingly everyone else, but it's not a hang-up for me ... If Tawny or Connie ever do something I interpret as disrespectful or meant to hurt me, it is always my choice to leave, the question is a simple comparison of what I would lose ... which is better for me.

But if you think having worked through depression and anger and all the other 'stages of grief' crap the shrinks talk about, I was back and interested in offering forgiveness and acceptance and empathy you must not have read what happened when I got back ... I am not a saint, and the idea of hurting Sandra had kept me awake nights, and had alternately haunted my dreams and occupied my darkest fantasies. Strangely, Tawny and Connie were both eager to help when I'd shared my story with them. In fact, they quickly worked up what could only be termed a ... multi-pronged approach to teaching Sandra a lesson.

I was hesitant to go along with the plan, not because it wasn't inspired, but because in the end I was destined to be a bit player. They'd asked the right questions: no, I wasn't interested in sleeping with her again; no I didn't love her; no, I didn't want to ruin her ... well, not permanently, anyway; no she had nothing I wanted. But that wasn't true. I still wondered 'why, ' but had long since realized Sandy probably didn't know, either. I had seen the guys she was cheating with, and didn't feel like they were offering her anything better than I had provided; in the years since I had come to terms with the fact that I'm essentially an average lover. I have also realized that availability and enthusiasm make up for a lot.

Sandy told me the truth in the store, that evening ... She went out each weekend to 'scratch that itch, ' always with a different guy. They never went to her little apartment; she never slept over. I knew that because Tawny had paid to have my ex tailed by a capable former policeman over several weekends.

Operation 'Deny Sizzle' began the weekend after Sandy chose to speak to me. I did not know how the women chose when to start it, and doubt they heard what Sandra told me that evening, but it wouldn't have mattered ... they would've seen her argument she was 'too beaten down, ' as a challenge.

With whispers and small bills Tawny's PI or some other flunkie made sure Sandy was 'shut out' in her quest for sex. They bought drinks for couples, paid guys to buy drinks or dance with women, paid women to approach men and invite them to other bars. They posted 'Public Health' warnings in the men's room, stating factually that Roger had possibly passed STD or STD's on, and listed the various women with whom he had 'kept company, ' including of course, my ex. The guys she still managed to pull were distracted and stolen away by professionals Connie kept on retainer for just such a contingency.

I wasn't aware of it, of course ... We never visited any of the clubs and bars where Sandy went shopping for cock. She didn't say anything to me when I was visiting for my weekly groceries, so I don't believe she considered I was behind her sudden drought. If she had, I would've been honestly surprised.

At the same time, Operation 'Sow Sorrow' began: Snippets of conversations people had overheard were repeated when managers were close enough to hear; paperwork was lifted, altered, and replaced; Co-workers were included in bits of gossip; the landlord received noise and smell complaints; scheduled payments were diverted and delayed. There was plenty of money to simply pay the various folks the ladies had playing a role in their plan, but I can understand it was a kick using Sandra's money to get back at her.

Looking back, I think she was visibly jittery at work by the fourth week she hadn't managed to score. She seemed about to say something when I checked out with my usual assorted bag of goodies, but thought better of it. I mentioned something about it to Connie. I guess that was what she was looking for.

The next Friday, as usual, they made sure that any potential cock was accounted for ... Any but one. They'd flown in a ringer ... let's just say a guy who fucks for a living. He invited her to dance, and Sandy jumped at the opportunity. They hadn't finished a set before she was asking if he wanted to 'go somewhere.'

He played hard to get, touched her here and there, teased her; hell, he knew she was his, anyway. He plied her with drinks ... Kept her dancing until she was obviously dizzy. Then he asked if she wanted to go to his hotel room. She nearly fell over nodding. When they got to his hotel room, she nearly threw herself at him. They kissed, and he groped her for a moment before stopping the action. She whined, trying to get him to keep going.

"I need to explain a couple things," he warned her. Sandy was so hot and so stoned she didn't really stop to think that things weren't proceeding as usual. He told her he'd been accused of rape before, so he only had sex after women had signed an agreement they were participating consensually. She nodded, and didn't bother to read the contract he held out, along with a pen.

They made out a while longer ... He got her stripped down, almost got her off with his fingers and tongue, and let her see what she was about to enjoy—like I said, he fucks for a living. Abruptly he stopped again, and explained he was 'in the biz' and was working his way to Nevada since they'd opened the brothels to male prostitutes. He apologized, but told Sandy he was running low on cash, and while he was definitely interested in fucking her, he could only go on if she was willing to pay for her pleasure ... otherwise he'd go find someone else.

So my ex grabbed her purse, and didn't pause before handing him a wad of $20's ... everything that was in her wallet. He made a big show of counting it, tucking it into his jeans before he moved between her legs and began to eat her again. I had forgotten how hot Sandy could be ... After her little drought she was more than receptive, and really got off as she enjoyed her stud missionary style, doggy style, and cowgirl style before he asked 'where she wanted it.' She'd made him use a condom, something he clearly didn't want to do. He had been careful to get her really hot before he let himself cut loose. Teasing her seam, he backed out, stripping the condom off as she whined and humped up at him, hungry to keep fucking. He pressed his bare cockhead against her clit, and she moaned, but shook her head no, catching his impressive shaft in her head. He chuckled, shifting to slide over her swollen bead as he asked her again where she wanted it. She bit her lip, still shaking her head, but was so close she didn't hold on to his cock, which he deftly readjusted, sliding balls deep in a long, slow stroke, applying pressure upward to her clit the entire way. She shivered and moaned, but managed to gasp, 'Mouth ... don't cum ... inside.'

Shrugging, he began to really hammer her for a minute, getting her off strongly. By the time he was really ready she probably wouldn't have argued, but he backed out, spraying her pubes before moving up and painting her panting face with the rest of his load. He thanked her when they were both calmed down, then sheepishly admitted he needed the room, explaining he hoped to get someone else to help stake him for the rest of his trip.

Sandra was a mess. She warned him she needed to clean up and he got up, bringing her a wet washcloth—no towel. She asked if she couldn't take a shower, and he told her he'd only paid for the room for a few hours, and really needed her to leave. He pointed out if she shaved clean up wouldn't be a problem, then started to get dressed, clearly anxious for Sandy to leave. She was obviously more than a little embarrassed at the way he was hurrying her out, and didn't manage to get her matted pubes very clean before he was pushing her out of the door, thanking her for her business and telling her he hoped she'd gotten her money's worth. She managed an absent nod and thanked him as she went out into the night.

How do I know that? Hell, you may, too ... The 'contract' was a model release. The room had been carefully wired for sound and picture from several angles ... the monitors and recorders—all linked—had been set up in the bathroom, which was why a shower was out of the question. When I asked Tawny why they hadn't just rented 2 rooms, she laughed that she doubted the hotel would want them drilling holes in the wall, and added part of the fun was the risk of getting caught.

In short, we had about an hour of my ex rutting like a slut, having paid for sex with a stranger, and even taking his cock without a condom. It was all on HD tape from several angles, even a little 'POV' camera the guy had worn in his glasses. Clips were available for free on the net by the next morning, and the proceeds from the disc that went on sale shortly thereafter paid for everything else they women had planned, and have built a nice little nest egg, as well.