Message-ID: <2964eli$9708150945@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: ASS:My Sextoy Wife by Jul 4 1944 1/2 (wife, adultery) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19970815103901.GAA03353@ladder02.news.aol.com> ASS:My Sextoy Wife by Jul 4 1944 1/2 (wife, adultery) Contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity. Do not read if underaged or disturbed by such things. All comments addressed to the author will be welcome. My Sextoy Wife by Jul 4 1944@AOL.COM There's really no point in not admitting it right up front, so everybody knows what's in store. No point in withholding the fact of final, shocking surprises that are to come. No point in foisting upon anyone else the tantalizing torment I have had to endure as I have learned the lurid truth about my darling from her own lips. I write this confession, this memoir, now - not because I believe it's all over and there are no more truths to learn. In fact, my wife has given me every indication through her words and her manner and her behavior that there is still much to learn, some of which has already transpired, and some of which is, I am sure, yet to come. No, I write now from a sense of carrying an overwhelming weight of feeling I do not understand, feelings of shock and betrayal and helplessness and having been made a fool, yet coupled at the same time with fascination and arousal and secret lurid pleasure. I have to admit that as my angel has revealed secrets about herself, she has also revealed secrets about me. I can't say that I'm at fault or to blame for what's occurred, because I believe we are all responsible for our own actions - and my Alicia is certainly responsible for hers. But in a way, it was nevertheless my own doing. As this story goes on, that will become clear enough. But for now, just say that part of the torment (and, strangely, the perverse joy) I bear is an inner voice that reminds me of the things she said she felt about me and some of the things I'd done, and how they helped her to say "what the hell" and surrender to her basest impulses. And if what she's confessed to me is true, those impulses are more base than either of us could have imagined. We are both so insecure . who knows what from? The level of trust has never been high; the level of suspicion and doubt has never been low. I met her at twenty, while she was still 16. Today I might be in jail, but sixteen years ago people weren't so touchy. She was pretty and unhappy and insecure and looking for some kind of release, and I was insecure, too; looking for love and desperate for some kind of acceptance. Like two moths, both seeing the other as the flame, we spun together in a whirlwind of discovery and lust. We discovered sex together (I still wonder how her other boyfriends hadn't gotten there first), and for her it was the release she was seeking. She loved every second of it. We would watch TV, waiting patiently for her mother to go out, then melt together in a lovers' embrace. We would go parking on a secluded dirt lane near the highway leading out of town. While I was in college, we coupled in the downtown hotel where she stayed while visiting on weekends. Even more than I, she wanted sex. I liked to take her out and in a way show her off to friends and fellow classmates. She often preferred to stay in the room and fuck. "What do you want to do?" I would ask. "I want to go to bed," she would reply, usually without hesitation or shame. By seventeen, she was a sexual wonder, already so uninhibited as to be multiorgasmic, and verbally and physically responsive. She was a squirming, writhing dynamo in my arms, moaning and crying out and begging, even demanding, to be satisfied. My friends at school, who knew what was going on, thought I was about the luckiest guy on campus. But not me. Still insecure, and feeling "tied down" by Alicia's demands for all my time and attention, I began to accumulate resentments, even though our courtship continued unabated during the rest of my college career. Not realizing what a special and unusual young woman blind chance had placed in my hands, I envied my friends who were free and dated a variety of women. I lusted after their sexual stories and wished it could be me. I saw myself as not lucky, but deprived. So during my senior year, as the specter of graduation and then marriage loomed closer, I began checking out other women. I just couldn't resist . I just had to know. In retrospect, I wonder if it had been better if Alicia had found out before we were married. It may have ended right then. But then again, perhaps not. Because when she did find out, there was anger and fighting and bitterness and secret consequences I am only now learning about, but there was no divorce. Even in our anger and betrayals, we seem bound together by forces of blind unreason. Still insecure, we both shake at the thought of letting go. We squirm with anguish at the thought of our mate belonging to another, being with another. And if our fears can arm our partners, then the two of us are both well-armed. I suppose we were five years into our marriage before Alicia finally learned of my few feeble premarital indiscretions. There wasn't much to them, and they (with one big exception) hadn't been that satisfying, but I had kept the evidence. Somehow, still feeling trapped, I got a lot of secret pleasure from the stash of letters and photos and notes I believed were well-hidden. But life is a series of random events, and one day while I was at work Alicia needed to find something she believed was packed in a box in the basement, where it had been stored since we moved into the house. What she found first was my stash. The following weeks were sheer hell - I'm sure for both of us. I had to explain every note and every word of every letter and the where and when and who of every photo, and do it over and over again. At the time I couldn't understand her seemingly masochistic insistence on knowing every detail of what I'd done and said and where we'd gone and where we did it, and how often. There were long confrontational conversations that lasted into the wee hours of the morning, and left me looking like a zombie on some days at work. Friends noticed the change and asked about it, but apparently we were both equally tight-lipped about it, too embarrassed to admit that anything was wrong. In retrospect, that may have been the biggest disaster - not letting the pain out of our systems. Home life became an agony of anger and argument and threats of retribution - and I couldn't talk about it. At the same time, Alicia was housebound with two small children, while I had the car to commute to work. With no outlets and no real friends to confide in, she felt more trapped than I ever had. Leaving, however, meant the return to a world she had invested much to escape, so she stayed. And although the following months saw some smoothing of the waters because of the simple needs of looking after children and earning a living, the bitterness and anger and, yes (as I have so painfully learned) the thirst for revenge stayed, too. That's easy to see now, after what I've been told, but at the time, I thought the storm was really calming and she had accepted the sincerity my apologies and had begun trying to come to terms with everything. And perhaps she had. My privileges, almost totally curtailed immediately after her discovery, gradually were returned to me. About the only activity I had left after her discovery was my weekly poker game - and she always found an excuse to call the game at least once every week to make sure I was really there. And as part of the compromise that preserved the poker game, I had to agree to a night out for her. Considering the context of the demand, the idea of her being out scared the hell out of me. Particularly when I learned where she insisted on going. I had her threats to get even ringing in my ears, but I also had too much pride to have to give up playing cards with my friends (how would I explain?), and besides Alicia soothed me with the old story that "I just need some time to myself." She was right, of course, and I knew it. And besides, since she had never gotten a drivers' license, I had to pick her up and drop her off like a young teenager, so I felt a little more in control. But not that much more. We actually argued about that, too . even though in principle I knew she was right. But I was uncomfortable with the context. I was afraid of what she might do. In her own heavy-handed way, she tried to be reassuring. "What makes you think I'd actually do something like that?" she would ask me. "Do I have reason to?" Having to lie, I told her no, that it was all in the past. That I was sorry. "Then I can trust you?" she would press. "Yes . of course." "Then why can't you trust me, too? You go to lunch with the women in the office, and you stop for beers after the poker game." "But I'm a guy," I would say, hating myself for falling back on that old excuse. "It just isn't looked at the same. Everybody thinks women alone in bars are there to get picked up. Can't you at least go with Gail or somebody else you know?" "Gail's a waitress," she would snap back. "She works a lot of Friday nights. Maybe sometimes if she gets off in time she might meet me there. Maybe sometimes she'll take the night off and we can go together. But I'm not going to be made a prisoner just because a bunch of jerky guys think I'm a pickup. They'll get the message eventually. And besides if you're so scared, you can always drive down to Ned's to see what I'm doing, can't you?" And then her deal would be put back on the table. "If you're too insecure and jealous to trust me, then we can just stay home together, or always go out together. You don't need to stop off for drinks on the way home. In fact, you don't even need to play cards. Your choice." So eventually, reluctantly, I wilted. Ned's, the place to which she referred, to which she insisted on being taken, was Ned Kelly's, a bar in another town that the two of us frequented on Saturday nights. I had been introduced to the place by several of my coworkers when we first moved into our house (it was close to where they lived and worked). Being for the most part single, they had moved on to other places during the intervening months, but Alicia and I had learned to love the place, and so we kept going back. It was blessed with a great jukebox and a dark wooden atmosphere that exuded intrigue and intimacy, and we both felt comfortable there. To me, it was a source of a lot of wishful thinking, watching the men interacting with the delicious young women that frequented the place. I knew what was going to happen when Alicia went in there alone, too. She had become delicious in her own right. Then in her late twenties, she had let her hair grow long and she colored it blond. Her naturally pretty face having become more mature, along with her blue eyes and long blond hair, gave her a hot, exotic look that I knew attracted other men. She was only 5' 2" and very small-breasted (another continuing source of insecurity for her), but she had a great pair of hips and slim, shapely legs which her penchant for short dresses made appear longer than they actually were. She looked good! I suppose the idea of agreeing to let her go there was crazy. Even on the nights we went in there together, men "checked her out." They would grasp her arm as she walked by them, to whisper something in her ear. Often, I only had to get up to go to the men's room, or to go to the bar to get faster drink service, to find a guy sitting with her by the time I got back. I don't know what made me want to do it, but sometimes I'd deliberately take my time, and watch her with those other men, feeling my heart race with what I knew was jealousy. I found the sensation oddly intoxicating, watching the men hit on her, knowing what they were thinking. And from experience, I knew that later she would tell me everything they said. It was both a comfort and a torment. A comfort because of the fact she told me, but a torment because she made sure I knew every detail of what guys had on their minds for her. I guess in a way it had the look of a rollercoaster to me - the appearance (and experience) of dangerous hand-shaking, stomach-turning excitement, but in reality quite safe. I thought that's what I thought . but now I wonder. I remember being at home alone with the kids . playing and watching TV and eventually getting them off to bed. Then I'd have hours to think about Alicia and what she was doing. And the more often she went out, the more I seemed gripped by a compulsion to think about the worst. While I pretended it wasn't going to happen in real life, I couldn't help imagining Alicia with other men. And Alicia knew how to help that along, too. I remember back to her first night out. It was several months after her discovery (this all took time to negotiate). She made a special effort to look sexy, and she succeeded. I knew it was being done not just for the men at the bar, but especially (in an unspoken way) for me. With me, it was usually jeans or shorts (she looked terrific in both), but for them it was a tight short skirt. I wasn't about to say so, but to me she looked (without going over the line into sleazy) like she wanted to convey the message that she was the hottest piece of cunt in the place. And from experience I knew she probably was. It made me shake and tingle with sexual tension. We had an argument about that, too. "I'm sorry I look good," she snapped sarcastically. "Geez!" I remember kissing her goodbye that first night, smelling her perfume, hearing her tell me "Gail might be over to meet me later," watching her walk away and disappear inside the bar, and the shiver of excitement it gave me, the erection I got, the primal jealous fear I felt . all mixed up in a delicious biochemical soup. I thought about her all night, surprised at the intensity of my jealous fears now that she was actually out. I played with the kids, put them to bed, watched TV, but all the time my mind was elsewhere. I kept waiting, hoping the phone would ring . that it would be her, wanting to come home. But it didn't. Finally I lay down, hoping to doze off and get some peace. But I guess I was carrying too much baggage. The fantasies that often gave me comfort deserted me. They were crowded out by thoughts of Alicia and the strangers she met at Ned's. I tried to fight off the thoughts, but they persisted. For whatever reason, I just stopped fighting them and gave in to it. I imagined a scenario where she said yes to some invitation from a handsome stranger to take a ride (she liked to get high), and when they were alone in the dark, with her having had a lot to drink and her head buzzing from the marijuana, she just gave in to his advances. I just let it wash over me, the thought of her naked in his arms, moaning with sinful ecstasy, feeling his cock way up inside her. Oh, God it would be so easy for her! I went into a kind of trance, and within a few minutes I was squirting squirting squirting my cum all over the place, so jealous over my tempting darling. It soon became a habit, as to my surprise I never really got comfortable with her going out. Sometimes I really got into it . imagining her doing with others what she did with me, saying the graphic shameless things she said to me, letting go in their arms, moaning and crying out with pleasure. They say even married men with the best sex lives still fantasize, but I wonder how many of them, instead of fantasizing about being with other women, came to be dominated by lurid fantasies of their wife and other men, producing a powerful kind of desire that reached deep inside and made my stomach turn with frantic excitement, thinking about other men's come inside her and all over her, while I squirted my own come all over myself. As the months passed, her nights out became a common occurrence. The pattern stayed the same. I dropped her off, and went home and waited with the kids. It was "mommy's night out." She would call me late - near closing time but early enough for me to get there to pick her up without her having to wait alone in the dark. She always had stories to tell: the men she spoke to, the drinks they bought her, the propositions they made, the parties she was invited to, the rides home she was offered, the compliments, the hugs, the stolen kisses she received. She didn't seem to be holding anything back from me. In fact she seemed to relish telling me every detail of how desirable she was, how many drinks she'd had, how horny she felt, how many men she "would have loved to say yes to." And (as I thought might have been her real intention) we often ended up pulling into our favorite little deserted road and screwing before we ever got home. Disturbingly, though, some things about Alicia began to change. While I can't say her dress for going out got more provocative (she was always within the bounds of propriety and was a lot more conservative than many of the babes at Ned's), there was gradually something more provocative in her manner. There was a new confidence, a new boldness that left me shaking. Her words of reassurance became less frequent and I began to notice (mostly from talking to Gail, who actually did meet up with her sometimes) that there were little things I wasn't being told about. Then there were Alicia's words. She changed from being completely reassuring to beginning to tease, as though there were more going on than she would admit. She would bait me with cryptic remarks like (as she did one night after we came home and were in bed together) "well, the boys sure got their wish tonight." When I frantically pressed her for explanations, she would say she was just teasing "to see if you care what I do," or (if we'd been fighting) "to make you mad and jealous." It did make me jealous and angry, and the thought of it left me feeling weak. I guess most men wouldn't have put up with the blatant sexual baiting Alicia had begun, but I told myself everything was OK, she was still angry with me about the past and wanted to hurt me. Besides, we had made a deal, and she had stuck to her part of the bargain. I had hopes that it would be an eventual catalyst for things eventually working themselves back to normal, but it kept not happening. Although our small freedoms seemed to take some of the edge off in the short run, the fights nevertheless continued. Her perception of herself as the victim was something she seemed to be unable to let go of. Every injury seemed fresh in her mind, as though it had occurred the day before. And she was obsessed with the fear that I was withholding huge and devastating secrets from her. It was a fear that was, in one small instance, well-founded. But in spite of her suspicions, I insisted there was nothing more to tell besides what she already knew. Nothing convinced her. Even after her nights out, the fights sometimes began again on the way home, and we'd end the evening turning our backs to each other in bed. And her vengeance, albeit just verbal, could be painful. One night after she'd gotten home from Ned's and somehow another argument had begun, she snapped "if you had any idea what I really did tonight, you'd go crazy." Her words went through me like a bolt of lightning and turned me to mush. I shook and stammered for an explanation, but she taunted me for what seemed like an eternity before she finally relented and told me it was punishment to me and a salve to her own anger. It was nearly two years after her discovery and our descent into a marital hell that seemed unending that things got so bad that I decided to move out. It was a difficult decision, but I believe we were driving each other mad. Her tormenting taunts were becoming bolder and more graphic and she allowed the torture to continue much longer - sometimes for days - before she would admit she was just being punitive. And she had given herself another reason to be suspicious. She had become convinced I was seeing Gail. Although I vehemently denied it, she was right. I admit I began calling Gail to check up on Alicia. That's where I first learned there were some things I wasn't hearing from my wife. In an attempt to learn more, I began spending time with Gail in the hope that she might reveal some big secret. I told Gail about Alicia's cryptic remarks, her innuendoes and her later taking them back. I told her it just drove me crazy and obsessed me and I could never get a straight answer. Gail was never able to provide me with anything definite, except for the small details that told me I wasn't getting the full story. On the one hand, Gail seemed uncomfortable with the subject, as though she had let something inadvertently slip, as though she and Alicia were part of a conspiracy of deceit. Gail would mention offhandedly a stop she and Alicia had made - or a friend they had visited - that I hadn't heard about. Innocent, according to Gail, but just the opposite of what Alicia had said. "No, honey. I was at Ned's all evening." Nervously, I tried to protect Gail's confidences, but I suppose Alicia sensed there was a leak somewhere, as I sometimes eyed her skeptically, tapping my fingertips on the table. While she was denying anything was going on, I was denying that Gail was talking behind her back, while at the same time wondering if Gail was covering for my wife. On the other hand, Gail seemed to sympathize and really feel for what I was going through, and one day after we had lunch together, we drove to a secluded spot where we were going to talk a little more before I dropped her off and went back to work. But we got caught in one of those sudden summer thunderstorms where everything closes in and an eerie darkness descends and the rain pelts the car and the windows steam to impenetrability, and for some magical reason we were suddenly in each others' arms, touching, kissing, and we forgot about our mates (yes Gail was married, too - to one of my poker buddies) and made frantic furtive love in the front seat while the rain poured down. After that spontaneous moment of intimacy, it became easy for us to continue. In a very short time, Alicia somehow knew, or sensed, that things were different between Gail and her, and between Gail and me. She continued going out, but stopped even inviting Gail to meet her. I stopped being hammered about the past, and was again being hammered about the present. And Alicia's threats and hints were by then so graphic and spiteful, I just had to get away from it before somebody got hurt. I didn't have any particular goals in mind, other than sheer relief, and Alicia was no longer so dependent, having gotten her driver's license and begun taking some college courses and working part-time. So I found a place and moved out. But it was quickly evident that both of us were more miserable apart. Still insecure, I was jealous of her new "singleness." I feared the worst. My imagination was on overdrive, obsessed with thoughts of her and her imaginary lovers, while at the same time cognizant of my own guilt. I would lay there alone in the dark in my ratty apartment, thinking about my Alicia and all her tormenting hints, and it drove me nuts with fear and agony, but somehow I just couldn't let it go until I had played it out to completion in my imagination, and my orgasms came as I thought about her, as I imagined her to be the slut her own hints and innuendo made her out to be. At the same time, despite her anger and her lashing out, Alicia found my absence depressing and the burden of the children overwhelming. If she had been seeing other guys, they didn't seem to be coming around while I was gone. Within 4 weeks, we were talking about my moving back home. But I didn't want things to be the same. I thought while we were separated that maybe it was time to clear the air once and for all and tell the whole truth. I was not happy about having to break a promise of secrecy I had made to Gail. I knew it would destroy whatever was left of her friendship with Alicia, and ruin her friendship with me, but I had come to believe it was the only way Alicia and had a chance to break our impasse. So I told her one night during one of our marathon phone conversations that I thought we needed to open up to each other and tell the truth if there was any hope to save our relationship. In very short order, she had agreed and I moved back home. I'll not ever forget the night soon after when we got a baby-sitter to look after the kids so we could be alone to talk. I was dressed, but she had gotten comfortable in a two-piece nighty. Nothing glamorous. Cotton top and bikini bottom. She looked sexy anyhow - until she hit the roof. That's because I got to go first and I told her all about me and Gail. It's not because of what I said or how she reacted to it, because it was about what I had expected - she was livid, she was self-righteous in her "I knew it" attitude. But more than that, she was wounded to the point of brutal honesty. When it was her turn to speak, she said, "I was going to keep lying to spare your feelings, but not any more." Then, while my stomach began to churn and my hands got clammy and my knees got weak, she began to tell me her secrets. I suppose I knew it all along. I suppose anyone would say "of course, you jerk, if your wife's out alone in bars every weekend, you oughta know she's putting out for the boys." But I thought I'd convinced myself it was OK, that it was going to be difficult to have to tell her about another failing of my own, but that there wouldn't be much to hear from her. Well, I was wrong. For starters, she told me about a man she met a few weeks after that first night I had dropped her off at the bar. Among the many men who had approached her and bought her drinks (that night and every night), there had been one who she found attractive. Blond-haired himself, he had a kind of smug brashness I disliked in others, and perhaps partly for that reason Alicia liked him. I had met him myself. His name was Gary, and he was confident enough to come over to our table on Saturday nights when Alicia and I were out together and plop down with us. On many occasions I had used his intrusion as an excuse to drift away and shoot darts or play pool, and I left them alone. Sometimes I'd watch them from a distance, wondering what they were talking about. My heart would race with that nervous jealous twinge I'd feel, and I'd imagine them together . which would draw me back to the table before long. Not that it mattered, though - she saw him on Fridays, when I wasn't around anyhow. Alicia admitted he had ulterior motives from the very beginning. "He asked me out lots of times, but I never went," she told me. No surprise there, but her momentary pause told me something more was coming, and it came in a hurry. "Then one day while you were at work," she continued, "the doorbell rang and it was him." I had a million questions for her: You invited him in? Yes, of course. How did he know where you lived? I guess I must have told him sometime, but I don't remember. Where were the kids? Outside playing. What were you wearing? That old skirt and blouse I wear around the house. She didn't have to elaborate. I knew the look: no bra, no nylons, penny loafers, short skirt. Already I was getting a lump in my throat. She would have looked so sexy to him. A hot little housewife. She told me how they had sat at the kitchen table and talked and drank coffee for a couple of hours. He had a lot of questions about me, about our relationship, about our sex life. She told me she was as discreet as always. She had nothing negative to say about me. (Since she was being so blunt and she was so angry, I believed her.) At some point the kids had come in to go to the bathroom. Alicia got them a drink and told them not to go far because lunch was going to be pretty soon. Then they went back outside. She was standing at the sink, rinsing out the drink glasses, when Gary approached her and grabbed her from behind. end my sextoy wife 1/2 by Jul 4 1944@aol.com Vickie Tern@AOL.COM -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /