Hi folks, those of you who don't like longer stories should probably skip this one. Mikothebaby and I have done two or three shorter little gimmick pieces for the last few and we wanted a chance to stretch out and do a story with no ghosts or goblins or tricks. We wanted a story about people relating to each other or not relating to each other and how it affects their relationship or lach thereof. There aren't really any perfect people in this story. A lot of you may not find anyone to like among all of the characters. In order for people who don't like long pieces to feel comfortable I've broken this little drama up into three acts so they can readt them separately. Of course, all three acts are here in one big giant piece for people who want to read the whole thing. You don't have to read it all in one sitting, we didn't write it that way. As usual next week's story will be completely different and probably shorter. Thanks to mikothebaby for editing all of these words and turning them into a readable story. If you hate it, it's not her fault she didn't write it, she just gussied it up. SS06
This is more of an equation than a story. It's a situation although mathematically, it's a subtraction problem, but the emotions involved make it a bit more complicated. Well ... you'll see.
Act one: Grouping
Ryan and Melanie
I stepped out of my used Mercedes C 250. I looked around the parking lot of the motel to see if anyone was looking at me. For the money I paid for the very cheapest car of the Mercedes line, I could have bought a far nicer Cadillac, Audi or BMW. But for me only a Benz would do. I enjoy asking for my keys in a loud voice and saying, "It's the Mercedes." There's something about that which let's everyone around me know that I drive the best. Therefore, by association it gives them the impression that I am a cut above the average bear.
I am all about making an appearance. Most of the people I deal with for any length of time know that I'm more about style than any actual substance. I know that in most facets of life, appearance is everything. Ninety percent of the time, if I look like I know what I'm doing, or look like I belong in a place, everyone there believes I do.
It started out in high school. I was the third string quarterback. I never played a snap in any game my entire four years there. But, I wore the uniform and worked out hard in the gym to make sure I looked good in it. For that, I got the status afforded to all of the guys on the team. I got the respect that all of the members of the team got and I even got a cheerleader girlfriend. I got all of those things, not because I was a great athlete, but because I looked like I was.
I ran into a problem in college when, at a practice, the coach decided to go for a practice game. Ha made up two teams of mixed first and second string players and had them play a game. I had never even bothered to learn the play book. When the center snapped the ball, it came so fast and so hard that it knocked me on my ass. My head hit the ground and I suffered a concussion. Luck was on my side though, because everyone assumed that I'd slipped. I milked the concussion for the whole season and simply didn't return to the team the next year.
While at college, I dated a number of women. I got a lot of first dates and a respectable amount of sex, but very few second and no third or fourth dates.
That all changed when I met Melanie Parks. I made Melanie my reason for living. I put all of my attention on Melanie. I pursued her, I wooed her, I screwed her and in the end I imbued her with the title of wife. She would be the woman I'd have for the rest of my life; or so the story was supposed to go.
Melanie Parks was a moderately pretty girl. She was moderately smart as well. She had medium length brown hair and blue eyes. She had extremely nice, although not giant breasts. Her ass and legs were world class though from running track for most of her life. She was extremely average or perhaps just a shade above. Melanie was one of the sweetest, but also most romantic women I knew. What attracted me to Melanie wasn't her pretty face. I also wasn't attracted to her nice body, her caring attitude or her sweet disposition.
Melanie didn't look like a million bucks in clothes any more than any other woman did. Melanie didn't fuck like a minx and she couldn't suck a golf ball through a garden hose. What attracted me to Melanie so desperately was behind her and it wasn't her muscular ass. I was attracted to Melanie's ... father.
Herb Parks was CEO and largest stockholder in Parks International. He had built the company from the ground up into one of the few domestic chip manufacturing plants that could compete with the Asian market vendors. Parks International was worth its weight in gold. The only thing Herb Parks loved more than his company was his family. He gave his wife and daughter anything they wanted.
He gave us a huge wedding and even gave us a house to live in. The most important thing was that he also gave me a job at a very good salary that I would probably never lose. The opportunities for advancement were unparalleled. The best thing about it is that I really don't have to be good at anything. As long as I look busy and keep looking like I'm doing something, I'm safe. And with Melanie talking to her daddy and telling him that I need a better job every so often, I'll keep rising in the company. Eventually, one of two things will happen.
Either Herb will decide to retire and leave me in charge or he'll die and leave the company to Melanie, which would still leave ME in charge. Another thing that I've learned from the football fiasco is to always have someone to blame in case of catastrophe. And to also stay friendly with a few people who actually know what's going on. That way if I need to make a good showing, I can get them to coach me and make sure I come out looking good.
As I said before, Melanie is a really nice girl. She's sweet and pretty and all of that, but she's a little bit boring for my tastes and I have to really work at it to stay awake with her during sex. I actually started cheating on her before we got married and I've continued to do so ever since. It took about three years for her to catch me the first time. She was distraught and upset and I told her that I'd been drunk. That works really well for women, but for guys being drunk actually cuts down on your ability to perform. But Melanie believed me and took me back. I promised her that I'd never drink unless she was with me anymore.
It hurt me a lot. I had to fire my secretary. She was a really hot blonde with incredible boobs. But somebody had to take the fall for me being caught and she was as good as anyone. Since then, I've been much more careful. I can't afford to have Melanie get angry at me. As boring as she is, my future is tied to her. Lately I've been considering getting her knocked up. That would, after all, make it a lot harder for her to dump me if I get caught again. The problem is that I'm still too young at thirty five for that "Daddy" tag. But we'll see.
As I look around the parking lot, I spot her and she waves at me. She's young, blond and happy. Almost the opposite of my wife's middle aged, dark haired, dour faced appearance. She starts walking towards me and then slows down. She already knows the game. We can't be seen going into a room together. I got the keys earlier and she watches as I go into the room. She looks around herself and then when the coast is clear slowly walks up to the door. Anyone who is only casually watching us won't assume that we're here together. All they'll remember is that a guy went into a room and then a few minutes later, a woman went into a room. Most won't even take note of the fact that we went into the same room since they won't have seen us together.
As soon as the door closed, she was on me. That was one of the things I loved most about Tabitha. She was aggressive when it came to sex. She didn't play any of those stupid fucking games that women play. She didn't spend hundreds of dollars on lingerie that would only end up on the floor and forgotten anyway. She didn't try to set a romantic mood with candles or incense and all of that other retarded bullshit. She didn't need to pretend to be demure or innocent. We both knew what we came here for. She wanted it just as much as I did and there was nothing to gain by playing stupid games the way my wife still did, even after being married for all of these years.
"Suck my titties," she proclaimed as her greeting. She quickly opened her blouse and had obviously either taken off her bra earlier or simply hadn't worn one. My wife could never have gotten away with that. Even though her breasts weren't huge, she couldn't go around without a bra without attracting a lot of attention. Tabitha's barely more than a mouthful sized pert breasts stood up without any support and her nipples were tiny enough that they didn't stand up much even when hard. But all I had to do was to touch them and she was screaming.
She pulled her skirt up around her waist and I pushed her back onto the bed and I was in her all the way up to my balls. She gave a single grunt and then started forcing her hips against my abdomen. At the same time, I did my best to ram her through the cheap motel bed. Our grunts, our sweat and the smell of sex permeated the air in the room. I don't know why her slick tunnel excited me so much. Surprisingly, even though younger, she wasn't as tight as my wife, so there had to be more to it than just the act of sex. But I was enjoying myself too much to even think about it. After a blissfully short period of time, her body stiffened and went slack. She smiled up at me as I continued pounding away at her until I too, slipped off the edge of my own personal cliff.
My name is Melanie Dewberry and I'm lonely and depressed. I don't understand it. My life was not supposed to turn out this way. I guess everyone says that. When we're young, we all imagine that we're going to be a famous athlete or a movie star and it just never happens for most of us. The few people who do become movie stars or sports legends probably wanted to be something else too.
I guess I can't complain, it's just ... I don't want to be rich, or famous, or anything like that. I just want one small thing. I just want to have someone who loves me and I want to love him right back. I'm married to Ryan Dewberry and my marriage just doesn't feel like that. I feel like I'm alone all of the time, even when we're together. I met Ryan while we were in college and we've been married for thirteen years. I thought that our love would only grow over time and we'd get even closer together, but it hasn't been like that.
Lately I've been remembering the warning one of my college roommates gave me about Ryan. When I first met him, I wanted to know all about him. I wondered why he dated so many different women but didn't have a steady girlfriend. So I asked her because she'd dated him. She said that he had just enough bullshit for one date. After that, his charm wore off and very few women wanted to see him again. He looked really good in his clothes, but he was mostly a stuffed shirt. I should have taken her warning more seriously.
At first, Ryan was very attentive and very caring. He was romantic, he was sweet, and he was everything a girl wants. At the same time, he was definitely a man. He was into football and cars and all of those grown up, little boy things. But almost before the ink dried on our marriage certificate, Ryan began paying more attention to his job and to trying to impress my dad than he did to me. Almost from the beginning, he was staying at the office late and working extra time. I felt that he should have been working extra time on improving our marriage, but I didn't say anything. Perhaps I should have.
It wasn't long before I stumbled onto the fact that he had another woman. When I confronted him about her, he admitted it. He told me that he'd been drinking while they celebrated landing a new account and things had just gotten out of hand. After that first time, she'd blackmailed him into continuing it. She'd told him that if he didn't continue to see her, she'd tell me about it and I'd probably divorce him. I don't know how, but I let him convince me that it would never happen again. With the teeth taken out of her blackmail, he fired her and we stayed together.
Staying together didn't really help us. We continued to drift farther apart and for the last few years, I really believe that I should have spoken to the woman before I let her be dismissed so hastily. Ryan has been the perfect husband to all appearances. When we're out in public, he's attentive and we hold hands, but it really rings hollow because when we're not in public, we rarely see each other. Ryan is always at work. He even goes in on Saturdays when the plant is closed.
He asked me to pick his new secretary, to make sure there was no recurrence of the previous incident. The woman I picked is sixty years old and fat, but very adept in secretarial skills. I don't know what I expected. Maybe I was unrealistic. I expected my husband to make an effort. I thought that maybe it would be like it was in the beginning and that he'd try to win my love back; or at least to try to prove to me that his mistake was a mistake and that he loved me.
I didn't get either. It was more like ... no harm, no foul, business as usual. For the past few years, I've felt more like I was the one who'd made the mistake. Actually, I felt like I've made two. The first one was marrying him to begin with. The second mistake was in taking him back after he cheated.
I'm not a spoiled princess or a diva. I'm not very hard to please. I don't need or expect expensive presents or anything like that. I've been there and done that. I grew out of that kind of thing before I hit my teens. My father owns and runs a very successful company, so I was spoiled as a little girl. But as I got older, I'd already learned to judge who my real friends were and who was just out to use me for my daddy's money. It's funny when you think about it. In many ways, Ryan seems like that type. I guess the only difference is that Ryan works all of the time to get his money.
By the time I hit my teens, I realized that what really made me happy was when my daddy or my friends spent time with me or the way they treated me, not what they bought me. All I expect from my husband is that he treats me like I matter. I want to know that he loves me. I really don't think that's out of the box.
For the past few weeks, I've had the feeling that Ryan is playing his game again, so I hired an investigator to find out for me and if possible get me the evidence I'd need in the event of a divorce. This morning I was heading for a meeting with the investigator. He'd called and told me that he'd found something for me. I hoped that I was just being paranoid. But deep down inside, I already knew that something was going on. I think that in some ways we're all connected. We're especially connected with our close friends and family. So when something is wrong, we get flashes, and my flashes were telling me that my husband was betraying me yet again.
The investigator was an older guy. He was bald on top and he had sagging cheeks. He looked kind of like a Basset hound in the face. His sad expression already told me what I needed to know but maybe ... I hoped that maybe the sadness his expression conveyed was just the way he looked. Maybe this guy would look like that even if he won the lottery.
"Mrs. Dewberry," he said. "I guess there's no easy way to say this. You were right. Your husband is meeting another woman. He's been pretty careful. It's almost as if he's been caught before..."
"He has," I said with almost no emotion. The tears welling up in the corners of my eyes and the sick feeling I had in the pit of my stomach belied the stoic tone of my words. I felt like I wanted to die. I wondered who she was and what she had that I didn't. Why did Ryan choose her over me? What did she do for him that I wouldn't do?
"Anyway, he's covering his tracks well. It was hard to catch him. He's meeting her in motels and he's paying cash for the rooms. He uses a different motel every time. I wonder what he'd have done when he ran out of motel rooms. She's not his secretary and as far as I can tell she doesn't work for your father's company at all. That was pretty smart. Usually, they pick someone they work with. After all, they spend at least as much of their time on the job as they do at home." He shook his head as he looked at me.
"I have pictures and a log of their activities. I even have a video and a lot of audio tape. He's a pretty randy guy. They meet up at least four or five times a week. He's even met her more than once in the same day a couple of times. She lives in a trailer park about three miles from your father's plant. She works in a gas station. The funny thing about it is that your husband has no idea that she has a husband and four kids of her own."
"I spent some time following her around too. She's only twenty three years old. The husband has no job and he isn't above cheating on her from time to time. Maybe she sees your husband as some kind of white knight in shining armor. From the way they talk after sex, she has the idea that your husband is going to take her away from her drab life. She's trying to slowly come around to bringing up her kids. Either that or she's going to just leave the kids with the husband when your husband finally takes her away from it all."
"On the other hand, your husband sounds like it's just pure fun and games. He obviously has no intention of divorcing you. From his latest demands on her for wilder and rougher sex, it seems as if he's winding things down. This may run out of steam on its own or it may explode and get far worse. Anyway, all of the evidence is there in the folder. If you really love this man, you probably don't want to look at the evidence. In my experience, when you actually see your spouse cheating on you, it makes it a lot harder to try to salvage the relationship."
For a while neither of us said anything. He looked at me with what had to be pure pity on his face. "Are you married Mr. Smith?" I asked. I was sure that he wasn't. After all, doing what he did for a living had to make a man jaded and less willing to see the good in people. Besides with looks like his how would he find someone? Would he put an ad on craigslist with the heading "Man seeks woman. Must love dogs?"
Surprisingly, his sad, dog-like face brightened. He smiled as he said, "Yes." And my entire world got a little bit darker. If this sad faced man could find happiness and I couldn't; what the hell was wrong with me?
Even the way his face brightened at the question told me that not only was he married but that he was deeply in love with his wife and had absolutely no doubts about whether or not she loved him back. I had to look at the sad faced little man differently then. Maybe I, not he, was the punch line in some cosmic joke.
I reached for the envelope and took it off of the table with trembling fingers. I left the office and drove home. The miracle was that I made it without killing myself or some other motorist because I truly don't remember driving at all.
I walked into my house. My house was beautiful, but it wasn't a home. Everything around me was shiny and bright and modern, but it wasn't a home. To be a home there needed to be love in it and there clearly wasn't. I was just exhausted. The whole thing was just emotionally draining. I couldn't even work up the strength to cry.
As I sat down on the sofa, I heard a slight chiming sound. I looked around and realized it was my computer letting me know that I had an email. I logged onto my account. The message was from my online pen pal.
I hadn't heard from him in a couple of days and I'd been worried. We usually chatted and emailed each other at least daily, if not more often. Although I'd never actually met him in person, he'd helped me through a lot of my darkest times. I could always count on him to allow me to vent my anger and frustration at problems I was having. There had been a few times when I'd been really angry at Ryan and tried to paint all men with the same brush and I'd lashed out at him too. He'd never gotten upset with me. He just accepted it, changed the subject and moved on.
He had a way of sending me things like online cards or jokes that cheered me up. Perhaps part of my sadness over the past few days had stemmed from not hearing from him.
I read his email quickly. He'd sent me another virtual bouquet of flowers and a joke. God I wish that Ryan was like him. He always tried to cheer me up no matter what. I imagined being married to someone like that and got a little wet between my legs. It was a really novel idea. A man who thought that being with his wife and making her happy was a priority in life. I wonder who came up with a bizarre concept like that.
I looked at my instant messenger and saw that he was online. I quickly messaged him.
I waited for a couple of minutes and he got back to me
"Hi," he typed with a smiley face after it.
"Where were you?" I typed back.
"Sorry, How are you?" he typed.
"Really down," I typed. "My asshole husband is at it again. He's fucking some twenty year old, trailer trash bimbo. I guess I am getting old and he wants someone younger and fresher."
"You're on drugs," he typed back. I was about to start typing again. But another line of text appeared. "I did a bad thing." He typed.
"Not possible," I typed back. "You're too nice."
"I did a bad thing to you," he typed. That really made my heart lurch. Maybe all men were scum.
"What did you do?" I asked. My head was spinning. My husband is cheating on me. I don't have many friends and now the most important one of those, a man I'd never actually met, was admitting that he'd done something to me too. When would it end?
'I googled you," he typed. "I know it was wrong. We've been friends now for over a year and I was curious about what you look like. Your Facebook page came up and there were a couple of pictures of you. You're beautiful and your husband is crazy."
I was stunned. I sat there wondering when the last time that Ryan had paid me any kind of compliment was.
"Sorry," he'd typed.
"You're silly," I typed back. "Why didn't you just ask? I'd have sent you a pic."
"You're married," he'd typed back. "That wouldn't be appropriate. I didn't want to lose my best friend because she thought I was a stalker."
"Ha ha ha," I typed back. "Hey, don't forget you're married too. We wouldn't want your wife to get the wrong idea. What if she found a picture of me on your computer?"
He didn't type anything back. I just stared at a blank screen. I thought that maybe he didn't get my reply. I remembered that he was at work; maybe he just had a problem to handle.
"Are you still there?" I typed.
"Gotta go," he typed almost immediately. His avatar on my messenger showed that he was offline. Perhaps there was a problem he had to handle. I'd check on him again later. The funny thing was that ten minutes before, I'd been totally depressed. It was funny, but spending a few moments on a computer chatting with a man I'd never met had cheered me up immensely. He thought I was beautiful. I began to wonder all kinds of things. Did he really mean it? Or was he just trying to cheer me up? I began to wonder after all of these months and all of these messages we'd sent back and forth, what he looked like too.
The sound of the house phone ringing took me out of my thoughts. I picked up the phone and answered it still smiling. As I waited for the person on the other end of the line to say something, I wondered how the hell a guy I'd never laid eyes on could make me smile.
"Hi Honey," said Ryan over the phone. "I just called to tell you that I'll be working late. I didn't want you to worry about me or go to a lot of trouble with dinner."
"Fine Ryan," I said calmly. "Tell Tabitha I said hello." I heard the phone drop and a lot of static. It sounded like Ryan had dropped his cell phone and damaged it. I hung the phone up and it rang again within a minute.
I picked the phone up and he started whining before I said anything.
"Melanie, Baby, what are you talking about?" he asked. "My secretary is old and her name isn't Tabitha. I don't know anyone named Tabitha."
"Sorry Ryan," I said. "I guess I made a mistake."
"You had me scared for a moment there," he said.
"There's a lot of that going around," I said. "I'm standing here looking at a picture of you sticking your dick in some trailer park queen and the audio tape I have of it clearly sounds like you called her Tabitha."
"But uhm ... ahh," he said. "We should probably talk about this. I'll be home on time after all, okay?"
"Nokay Ryan," I said. I never raised my voice. I stayed calm and cool. "Perhaps it would be a good idea for you to check into one of those motels that you've been using with Tabitha until I'm ready to speak to you."
"But Melanie, you don't understand any of this," he said. "I'm going to explain it all to you as soon as I get home."
"Ryan, I've already told you not to come home," I said.
"But you can't kick me out of my own house," he yelled. "I'm coming home."
"I've already called a locksmith," I said. I was looking for one on the internet even as I spoke to him, so it wasn't that big of a lie. "Besides, in most divorces the woman gets the house anyway. And then there's the fact that my parents bought this house for us Ryan and if you remember the deed it was very specific. It says Melanie Parks and husband. After our divorce, you won't be my husband Ryan. This has never really been your house, it's been our house."
"Melanie, we really need to talk before this gets out of hand," he mumbled.
"Ryan," I said. "It's already out of hand. Call me in a couple of days, Ryan and we'll talk."
"But Melanie," he whined.
"Ryan, right now, I'm very upset. This isn't the first time you've done this. Last time you swore it would never happen again. So call me in a couple of days when I've had a chance to calm down." I hung up the phone. I did call a locksmith. It took him over an hour to get there. I had him change the locks on all three of the doors in the house. I also had him change the lock on the garage door and even recode the remote for the big door. I also called the alarm company and had them reset the password for the home security system and recode the remotes for it as well.
I decided that the very best thing for me would be to sit down and figure out what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life. At thirty five years old, I was at a turning point. Should I try to salvage what I'd built over the past thirteen years or should I start from scratch before it was too late?
I was in a good mood and I probably shouldn't have been. I thought I was smarter than the average bear and I was, but then again bears are pretty dumb. My husband, Ben, had just left to go to work. Every morning, I watched him stuff himself inside of another female and enjoy himself immensely.
Some days I thought that she was his true love and I was only here to cook and clean for him and one day when the timing was right, to bear his children. That fucking Mustang was really his soul mate and I was just along for the ride.
Anyway, as I watched Ben drive away, before the echo of his loud ass exhaust system had died, I sent out the signal. It was subtle and you had to know what to look for. I took off the red sweater I was wearing and draped it over the railing on my front porch. Then I turned and walked into my house. Within a few moments of the door closing, there was a very soft knock at the side door. I opened it and my across the street neighbor, dressed in running gear slipped in.
Without a word he headed down into my basement.
"Am I the only one coming or just the first?" he asked.
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at him.
"I miss the days when it was just you and me fucking up a storm," he said. He picked up the remote and pointed it towards the big screen TV on the back wall.
"Nick, don't," I said sharply.
"You mean to tell me that it's okay for me to fuck your pussy and your mouth any time I want, but I can't watch Ben's fucking TV?" he asked.
"Nick, I think you have the wrong idea," I said. He'd pissed me off, but before I could say anything else, the door opened and Greg and a couple of his friends came in.
Greg looked at me and grabbed my tits. As he rubbed them, he pushed me back towards the couch. He saw Nick but didn't say a word. Greg and Nick knew each other but weren't really friendly. The odd thing about it is that they were both friends of Ben's but didn't socialize with each other. The only reason they were both here now was because they were both fucking me.
There had been several occasions when both had shown up at the same time and there had been incidents in the past. I'd made sure they realized that if there were any problems, I'd cut both of them off. For that reason they knew enough to behave. Besides, they knew that they'd need each other because on the average morning, I could fuck both of them under the table and then take a shower, make dinner and give my husband all he could handle.
Greg had brought two guys that he worked with along with him. I'd had both of them in previous locations. One was an older guy, the other was a younger, black guy who was still nervous about being here.
As I allowed Greg to push me down onto the soft sofa that I'd already put a large beach towel over, he continued to rub my tits. He gently opened my blouse and pulled them out of my bra and began sucking them, first one and then the other.
The three other men were getting undressed and watching Greg warm me up was already having an effect on them. Any guilt I felt began to fade as my nipples elongated.
I rubbed Greg's dick through his pants and he moaned. He pulled one of his hands away from my breasts and reached for my pussy. At the same time, he slid his body up mine. My eyes were closed and I was trying to pull my panties down when I felt his lips touch mine.
My eyes snapped back open and I pushed him off of me.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" I asked. "Are you crazy? Get out of my house."
"I'm sorry Sandy," he snapped. "It was just feeling so good. I lost my head. It won't happen again."
"If it EVER does, you'll never touch me again," I said as coldly as I could.
"I have a problem," I said for the benefit of all of the men in the room. "I need far more sex than one man can give me. But make no mistake about it. I LOVE my husband. I ONLY love my husband. We can have sex as often as you want it. But it is only sex. It is only a physical act. There's nothing personal about it. Kissing is an intimate act that is shared between people who are in love. So as stupid as it sounds, if you try to kiss me, you have to leave."
I looked around the room and saw four men standing around feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. The four rampant hardons had wilted and they looked like a group of school boys whose teacher was scolding them.
I started rubbing my pussy and they all got back into it as if nothing had ever happened.
Nick got onto the couch with me and stuck his dick in my face. I opened my mouth and started gently sucking on the head of it.
The older guy that Greg had brought with him wasted no time getting between my legs. He really wasn't going to enjoy this. At his age, he should have learned to pace himself. But then at his age, he was only good for one nut anyway.
He pushed his dick into me and started humping away. At first, I didn't feel anything. But after a while, just the friction began to make my body react. I looked up and he had the biggest smile on his face, but I felt empty. I didn't wonder about the man. I didn't know his name and truthfully, if I passed him on the street I probably wouldn't recognize him. He was only a dick.
My body reacted to being fucked the way a runner's does to a run. If you don't do it you feel strange and you get irritable. What I was doing with these guys was like training. It just got me ready for the big event.
On the other hand, sex with my husband was special. That was what I trained for. Ben had the ability to just lift me completely out of my body when we were together. Ben could walk into our bedroom and I just reacted.
My nipples hardened instantly when I saw him. Ben made my pussy drip and my breathing quicken without even touching me. When we kissed, I tried to suck his soul out of him. Ben is my world. I seriously doubt that I could live without him. Just thinking about him had caused me to start producing more juice and my pussy was soaking wet. The old man fucking me started pumping me even harder. He really thought that he was ringing my chimes.
"Oh yeah fuck me, baby," I moaned involuntarily. "Fuck me Ben. I'm yours."
The old man stopped abruptly and his dick shrank. The other three all laughed at him as they realized what had just happened.
"Fucking bitch," he spat.
"Don't get mad Frank," laughed Greg, as he took the old man's place between my legs. "Look at it the way it is. It's a win-win situation. You get some really good pussy. She gets to use you as a human dildo while she thinks about her husband."
They all laughed at that and Greg was telling the truth. After a couple of hours or so, they'd all go home and tell their wives that they'd had to stay late because the morning shift guys were late again. They'd crawl into their beds and go to sleep with a good feeling and dream about the fun they'd had fucking me. I'd take a shower and clean the house and make dinner. Then I'd soak in the tub just to make sure that I was extra clean and get ready to ring Ben's chimes when he got home.
For the next couple of hours, the guys did their best to wear me out and failed. They bent me into every position they could think of and used my pussy like they owned it. I lost count of how many blow jobs I did or how many times they fucked me. I think I actually came once or twice but they were small orgasms at best, not like the ones Ben gives me.
With Ben, it almost seems like I'm having a stroke. I lose control of my motor functions and I can feel my pussy clamping on his dick. It feels like my body wants to squeeze every drop of fluid he can muster. It's as if my body is trying to overwhelm my birth control implant and make a baby every time he's in me. With these guys, it's just rubbing. If they keep rubbing my pussy long enough, sooner or later I get off. But it's just not the same.
"Huh?" I ask. I come out of my thoughts just in time to notice that Greg is fucking me again. The other three guys are getting dressed and they're all looking at me like I'm crazy. They're all shaking their heads and they have that tired but happy look like they just ran a marathon. If things keep up this way we may need to add a few more guys.
"Whose pussy is this?" grunts Greg as he pounds me as hard and as fast as he can.
"Ben's," I answer without even thinking about it.
"Well, thanks for letting me use it," he retorts just as he collapses onto me. Just as his dick starts to spurt inside of me, I roll over and push him off.
"Don't come back for a month," I snapped.
"What?" he asks. "You're safe. You can't get pregnant. You've got that thing in you."
"Don't act stupid, Greg. No one gets to cum inside of me except..."
"Yeah, I know," he said angrily. "Fucking Ben..."
"Make it two months," I said. "Maybe if you have to only fuck Betty for a while, you'll appreciate what I'm giving you."
"You do this more for Betty than for me anyway," he said.
"Just get out," I said. He looked really hurt. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he was going to cry. I'd already decided that I was done with Greg. The two month thing was just to ease the blow.
Greg didn't realize it but he was actually right.
"Sandy, I need to tell you something," he said.
"Let me guess," I said. "You're feeling guilty about what we're doing, right? You think we should come clean and tell Betty and Ben what we've done, right?"
He looked at me as if I had rocks in my head.
He stood up straighter and stuck out his chest.
"Sandy, I know that this didn't start out in a good way, but..." he paused and I could tell that what he was about to say was terrifying for him. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, "Sandy, I love you. I think I should divorce Betty and you should divorce Ben and..."
The sound of my laughter blocked out whatever he was going to say next. He turned red and his eyes showed anger, pain and several other emotions. I realized then that I'd been right. I needed to get Greg out of my life.
I'd read all kinds of stories about how people snapped and got violent in situations where they'd been humiliated or driven past their tolerance for emotional stability. I decided to soften the blow to keep him from doing something we might both regret.
"Greg, we need to talk about this. I do have feelings for you, but I really and truly love Ben. I can't even pretend that I'd give him up, but we need to talk about what you're feeling too. Forget about the two months," I said. I rubbed his face affectionately. "Call me tomorrow and we'll talk about this and see if we can figure out something that works for all of us."
He smiled and put his clothes on. Just as he got ready to walk out the door, he looked back at me. "I really do love you, Sandy," he said. "I'm forty years old, not some kid. I know that you love Ben. And Ben is a really good guy, but I love you too."
As soon as he was outside of the door, I locked it. I watched him get into his car and drive off. He lived on the next block. I started laughing so hard I almost peed.
There was no way I'd ever even consider divorcing Ben for Greg or any other man alive.
I didn't want to see Greg get hurt. I didn't want to see his wife, Betty, who was a friend of mine, get hurt either. The whole situation was getting out of control. As I headed upstairs for a shower, I thought about the whole fucked up situation.
As the warm water and fresh smelling shower gel coated my body, I thought back to my college days. I'd been pretty innocent at twenty. I'd been taking liberal arts classes because I didn't have a clue about what I wanted to do with my life.
Then I met Steve. Steve brought me out of my shell. I'd messed around a few times and I wasn't a virgin, but Steve introduced me to regular sex. Steve was the first guy I went out with where it was a foregone conclusion that when we got together that he was going to get some pussy.