Message-ID: <6045eli$9712021813@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: "ass.reposter" Subject: RP: Group Sex (Best stories from my archive) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: gmezey@cms.khvm.hu MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii; name="GROUPSEX.TXT" Content-Disposition: inline; filename="GROUPSEX.TXT" 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: <3483CA6A.642D@hotmail.com> From: linetwo@connect.net (The Warthog) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Subject: BOSWELL STORY - GROUP SEX Date: Sat, 14 Dec 1996 04:58:36 GMT Organization: Connection Technologies Internet Services Lines: 295 Message-ID: <32b830c2.769825730@news.connect.net> Reply-To: Jaybos@cris.com NNTP-Posting-Host: pipe277.connect.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Newsreader: Forte Agent .99f/32.299 JB-GROUP GROUP SEX Another Hot Wife Tale by J. BOSWELL (jaybos@cris.com) WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe sex. (c) Copyright April, 1990 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission. ===================== ===================== This is an adult file, not a sex file. It doesn't dwell on which organs function sexually with other organs. It deals with two people. It's the truth and parts of it are painful. I guess it's more therapy for me than entertainment for you. ...... When I married Janet, we were both 23, out of college, and beginning our careers. Neither one of us was a virgin, and during the twelve years we've been married, neither one of us had ever pried into or even discussed past lovers. Janet is a "Lady," in all the positive connotations that word brings to mind. She is a bit on the "proper" side -- cordial, but cool (almost aloof), until you get to know her. We have had a wonderful marriage, though unable to have children, and she is my wife, my friend, my lover. All of this is to emphasize the degree of my recent shock. ...... Several months ago, I was digging the comforter out of the back of the closet. In pulling it off the high shelf, I also brought down a small cardboard box that popped open when it hit the floor. I ducked, cursed and looked down to see books spilling out of the box. The books were diaries. In the box were eleven diaries of various design and size that covered the years Janet was in seventh grade through the year she met me. I know what I *SHOULD* have done, but I didn't do it. I was home, alone, and I began reading the diaries. Over the next two weeks, I slipped one out at a time, read it at the office, and returned it to the box, until I had completed all eleven of them. From reading them, I discovered I had not married the woman I assumed I had. I had assumed that, like me, Janet had experimented with sex, to varying degrees, in high school and through college; having 2, 3, maybe 4 or even 5 lovers over those years. I had made love to only 2 other women (really just girls) before I met Janet, and I thought, because of her looks (so important in the school years), that she had probably been more active than me. On that point, I was correct. From reading the diaries I determined that my cool, formal, lady of a wife had had over 380 lovers in those eleven years! I feel that I'm liberated, but still, in my mind, that number of lovers would qualify my wife for the description of "slut." Can you imagine your partner having a history with 380 men or women before you? It was a shock to me. Janet's young sex life was almost too full and too painful to believe. ...... She began in eighth grade, when she was only 13 years old, and one of her teachers seduced her. This wasn't the only occurrence of sexual abuse of her as a child. Just while she was in high school, several neighbors, an uncle, two older cousins, two fathers of girlfriends, three brothers of girlfriends, three men that she babysat for, a father of a boyfriend, a guidance counselor, a therapist, two other teachers, and a priest(!) all had sex with Janet. At the same time, Janet was dating boys her own age, sometimes two a weekend, and never saying "no." The diaries covering her high school years were sad because Janet knew she was being used by the boys and men and didn't know how to stop being a victim. She talked to a counselor and a therapist -- and they both ended up fucking her! In college, Janet began to take control of her life in every way except sex. There, she remained a victim; always "Miss Roundheels" and the "easiest" piece of ass on campus. Reading those pages now, at age 35, I could clearly see the hurt and confusion Janet was feeling, but the words she wrote were usually happy, full of hope, and filled with wonder at the adventure she was experiencing. And it was an adventure. In ninth grade, alone, besides the "normal" dates she had, Janet screwed two guys in a car after they dropped the first girl off after a double-date; fucked and sucked four guys at a party; was screwed by her two older cousins in the woods on Thanksgiving Day; and, for the finale, sucked and fucked 7 players and the manager of her high school lacrosse team in the locker room after the championship game. The only thing she complained about in her diary was the smell! Several times in college, Janet fucked two, even three different guys on the same night, usually at parties. She spent a long weekend at the ocean with four guys, fucking all of them, plus several of their friends who stopped by. She screwed at least five different professors. She was the "mascot" for a heavy metal band one summer (A summer basically spent drunk and on her back or her knees, of which she wrote "I hope I'm strong enough to never again do the gross and disgusting things I did with and for and to those five guys!!!!") She spent a Spring Break in Florida, competing with two of her girlfriends to see who could fuck the most guys (Of course, Janet won.) And, finally, spent an afternoon and night upstairs at a Frat house, taking on all comers (Her diary said she lost count, but she thinks it was in the 12 to 15 different guys range! Janet did wonder if she was a "nympho" after that!). ...... One angry thought that I had, reading all of this, was that Janet didn't go to bed with me for months after we started dating! This wasn't my only angry thought. I couldn't get the number out of my mind. It was overwhelming. I kept thinking of the number of cocks and fingers and tongues that had filled my wife's cunt and mouth and ass. And the cum! How many gallons of cum had entered her body? I began to wonder what had driven her, and if she was a "nympho." And then, I was filled with bile as I wondered if she had stopped screwing every man in sight, or if only the diaries had stopped. Was she still the easiest piece of ass in the city? I became obsessed to find out. ...... I began by keeping track of the time we weren't together. I was convinced that Janet couldn't have stopped "Cold Turkey," and I was going to find out for certain. I followed her sporadically for a few weeks, and she was always where she said she was going to be. Soon, I was saying I had to work late or meet friends, to leave her alone in the house. She didn't leave and she didn't have men lined up and taking a number at the front door. I continued until I realized that I was missing Janet. We had always enjoyed our time together, and I was shortening that time to carry out some obsession I had. I loved Janet, and she had never given me any reason to doubt her love, or her fidelity. She hadn't lied to me about her past; I never asked and she never volunteered any information. I began to relax. And even though thoughts of the cocks of the hundreds of boys and men who had fucked her haunted me, I was working to put Janet's past behind me, too. It was obvious Janet had managed to do just that. ...... All of that changed two months ago. I attended a farewell luncheon for a coworker at his favorite restaurant. It was on the other side of town from where I worked and we lived, but the food was excellent. None of us intended to return to work in the afternoon, so I stayed with the crowd, sipping my club-sodas-and-lime. I was the last to leave. Janet had a "Professional Women" dinner and meeting and wouldn't be home until later; so I stayed to enjoy another shrimp salad sandwich. On my way home, I passed Janet's office. Bad habits are hard to break, because when I drove by the almost empty parking lot, I saw Janet's car and decided to wait for her. I should have just parked next to her and invited her to skip her meeting and go have a drink with me, but I didn't. I parked away from her car and watched. Right on time, Janet appeared at the door and walked to her car. Just looking at her made me warm up. Pretty beyond words, she still had her great figure and fantastic legs. The red suit she was wearing was one of my favorites because the blouse she wore with it displayed her creamy cleavage and the tight, short skirt emphasized her hips and legs. I was immediately suspicious because it was a strange outfit to wear to a "career women" organization's meeting! I followed her car from a distance because I knew where her dinner was being held. When we passed the restaurant, I crept up to keep her car in sight. Janet drove downtown and pulled into the parking garage next to the Convention Center. Not wanting to pull in behind her, I decided to make a trip around the block and then park. That was a mistake. Rush hour traffic and getting past an accident turned my two minute trip into a twenty minute ordeal. I finally got to the garage and found Janet's car. I drove by it and parked on the next level. My fear was that I'd never be able to find Janet in the downtown area, and that my trip was for nothing. I was very, very lucky (or maybe unlucky). I spotted the red suit at the bar in the third and nicest lounge I searched. I took a table at the back in a dark corner and watched what was going on. Janet was obviously enjoying being the center of attention for three businessmen. She was turned with her back to the bar, and the men were at her sides and in front of her. Her legs were crossed, giving the entire lounge a breathtaking view of her thighs. As she laughed, she would bend forward, and I could almost hear the three sets of eyeballs click as they gazed down her blouse. On the next round of drinks, I noticed that the gray-haired executive placed his hand on my wife's stocking-clad thigh. Janet made no motion to move it. After the next round, the four of them left the lounge. Janet was arm-in-arm with two of them, and I was close behind. They walked along the elevated walkways to the biggest hotel in town. They were the only ones on their elevator, so I watched the numbers light to see that they went to the fifteenth floor. I followed. To my surprise, they didn't go to someone's room. The whole floor was taken up with "Hospitality" suites for the electronics industry conventioneers in town. The corridor was crowded and loud, but I caught a glimpse of Janet and her friends enter a doorway at the very end of the hall. I stopped off at one vendor's table, grabbed a name tag and filled it in with an appropriate sounding company name. I took my time approaching the last suite, spending over a half hour waiting for them to come out. When I got there, it was a huge corner suite of two very large rooms. I didn't see Janet or the men in the first room, so I carefully approached the doorway to the second room. It was also crowded but I was certain Janet wasn't there, either. How had I lost them? I was certain I was in the right suite. I grabbed a soda and sat down in a corner chair, pondering my next step. I was almost finished my soda when the door on my right opened and out stepped the gray-haired businessman I had seen with his hands on my wife's thighs. I had thought the door was just the locked door to the next suite. The gray-haired guy grabbed a drink at the bar next to me and smiled at another businessman with the same kind of name tag on, "Whew! Hot stuff in there." The second guy glanced around, "I saw her when you brought her in. Prime stuff. Both Roy and Phil in there?" "Yeah, but go ahead. I guarantee *SHE* won't mind! She told us she was a real party girl... and she is!" The second guy smiled, nodded and opened the door. In the seconds it was open, I could see Janet's red suit lying on the floor. My wife was in there and she was fucking strangers. I didn't know what to do. I was angry, hurt, shocked, and yet, part of me was excited and curious. I decided to sit there and wait for Janet to come out. By ten, the crowd was thinning out, and a sales rep was trying to sell me a million dollars worth of microchips. I hadn't left the room, and, in addition to the original three men, four more had gone into the room where Janet was. There were still two men in there with her at that moment. By eleven, three more men had visited Janet, and only the sales reps and some drunks were left in the suite. I played drunk, and no one asked me to leave. They weren't as careful opening and closing the door and in the last half hour I had had two glimpses of my darling wife. The first time, she was on her back, spread-legged and an old man was pounding her ass into the bed. The second time, she was on her knees, sucking a cock as a young blonde with an erection was crawling up behind her. What a lady! Finally, the party was wrapping up. By my count, fourteen men had sampled my wife's charms. I stood up to leave and saw that Janet was still on her back on the bed. Her eyes were closed. Without thinking about what I was doing, I walked into the room, dropped my trousers and shorts and crawled between her legs. Her cunt was so full of cum, that as I pushed my cock into her, I could feel the other men's jism squeeze out around my skin and into my pubic hair. Janet moaned and said, "Mmmm, Baby, the party's not over, yet, eh?" Then, she turned to look at the man fucking her. Her eyes popped open in surprise and shock. "There's at least one more cock here that you haven't had, yet, tonight, you disgusting slut." I was so angry and hurt and hot, I was spitting my words at her. "Now I know what they mean by 'sloppy cunt.' That's what you have right now, bitch." Seconds later, I had the most intense orgasm in my life. I pulled my cock out of her slimy pussy, pulled up my pants and walked out of the suite. ...... I was showering when Janet walked into the bathroom. I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel. "By my count, I was the fifteenth cock you had shoved up your cunt, tonight. Is that a personal record?" Janet reddened and glared back at me, "No, the record's still two years ago, when I fucked an entire softball team and the two umpires in the back of a bar. The total that night was nineteen." "You slut! You cunt-bitch-slut! Is there anybody in the city you haven't opened your pussy for?" Janet raised her hand in a fist, but she collapsed into my arms. "I'm sick, Jim. I don't know why I do it. I never wanted to hurt you. Leave me, right now. You don't deserve this!" God, I loved her! What were we going to do? Still holding Janet in my arms, I filled the tub. I undressed her and gently placed her in the water, washing the cum and sweat of other men off of her smooth, white skin. She never stopped crying, as I dried her and put her into bed. I warmed oil on my hands and massaged her legs and back and arms. I covered her, turned out the lights, and got under the covers with her. Only sleep let her stop sobbing. She was gone in the morning. She left her diaries, and as I was cleaning out her dresser, I found the ones for the years we were married. The 380 men from her younger years were just a feeble rehearsal for the army of men she had over those twelve years. But it doesn't matter. I miss her, and would take her back in an instant. But, she's gone, and I'm afraid I'll never see her, again. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- JB-PROF The Professor by J. BOSWELL (jaybos@cris.com) WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe sex. ......................... (c) Copyright August, 1989 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission. =================================== I take my profession as an educator seriously. I feel that I owe my students more than the mere contents of a History course. I feel I owe it to some of them to impart some knowledge of life, as it really is outside of the classroom. Because of this avocation, I have feasted on the firm, taut, nubile flesh of freshman coeds for years. At 45, still fit, with salt and pepper hair, I've been a college professor for nearly 20 years, and in that time, I have sampled the hungry mouths, the milky breasts and arousal-hardened nipples, the firm, ivory thighs, the slick, slippery cunts, and even sometimes, the tight, resisting asses of more young coeds than I can count -- and I've loved every minute of it. I have perfected my search and selection techniques into a science, and I can predict, almost infallibly on the first day of class, which sweet, innocent young girl will be mine before the end of the semester. ...... The search begins late in the summer. I am seeking a special girl and willingly invest the time to find her. Eighteen, and probably away from home for the first time in her life, the freshman coed can make the most wonderful little lover a man can ask for. As Dean of the Department, I always choose to teach two of the first-year survey courses that are mandatory for incoming freshmen. My colleagues revere me for being so democratic and taking two of the least-wanted courses, but I have my reasons. I carefully examine the student folders for the girls enrolled in those two courses. Because the courses are survey in nature, the enrollment is high and I have numerous candidates. I eliminate the commuters -- I want a girl living on campus, away from nosey parents. I also reject those with an erratic academic record in high school -- I want the young scholar who has never failed a course. Being on Financial Aid or a scholarship is a plus in my selection, because of the added pressure to perform well in college. I often eliminate the obviously wealthy student, because she has grown up learning that a short phonecall to Daddy can usually resolve a problem in her favor, and I don't want my little selectee to feel she has any easy solutions. I prefer an oldest child, or even better -- an only child, so that their older siblings haven't "shown them the ropes" about college. By the first day of class, I have a pool of six to ten "possible" girls in each of the two classes, and I am ready for the first face-to-face meeting. I carefully and slowly call roll, associating faces with the names. This process is tricky, for I am searching for an intangible, a feeling. I want the girl to be attractive, of course, but in a quiet, natural way. I shy away from the flashy and the "slutty" looks. I tend to concentrate on the "sweet and innocent" look. The girl who has dated one boy seriously in high school, and now finds herself away from him, and is feeling insecure about how they can stay a couple. She's aware of her sexuality, but not experienced. She's known the "romantic" love of a high school sweetheart, and the passion of that love, but is yet to discover lust. ...... Last year began as typical, but didn't stay that way, for long. It was also the year of my "Irish Lasses." At the end of the first day of class, I returned to my office enthusiastic with the number of "candidates" I had selected. There were four lovely girls in "Ancient History" and three in "American History." Now, after close inspection of their student folders, and meeting them in person, it was time to enter "Phase Three." My reputation on campus is impeccable. Dean of the Department, published, and a favorite of the students, my elective courses are always filled quickly. Of course, the freshman don't know this, but word of mouth spreads fast, and they soon feel lucky to have me for a required course. I'm known as fair (and fairly easy when it comes to grades), and an interesting lecturer. My assignments are reasonable, my classroom is relaxed and my office door is always open. I'm almost another "Mr. Chips!" The only thing my freshman students have to complain about is the weekly written assignment -- an essay on the major points of the week's lectures and reading material. I have a very good reason for assigning this essay -- it is "Phase Three." By the end of the third week, five of the seven "candidates" asked for appointments to see me to discuss their failing grades. I had failed all seven, all three weeks. Grading at the University is "blind." That is, the students place only their last five digits of their student ID number on all written assignments and tests. All grading is done by number, without a student's name ever becoming associated with the product, unless the student permits it. However, as department head, I had already copied down the ID numbers of all my "possibles" during my initial selection process. Now, I was about to meet them "up close and personal." Debbie was the first, and I immediately scratched her off the list. She was irate and aggressive about her "F's" and demanded I review each point and discuss the deficiencies. After teaching the material for so many years, it's easy to refute any freshman's arguments, but it still pissed me off to have to do it with Debbie. I assured her that her grades would undoubtedly improve as the semester went on. Colleen was second, and was a definite possibility. Blonde, blue-eyed, she was pretty and fresh and had a dazzling smile. She was timid and nervous about her grades, hanging on every word of advice I gave her. I was charming and she was appreciative, and I could see the possible beginnings of that special something some students feel for some professors. She was thrilled with the time and attention I was giving her. Susan was next and I took her off the list, too. Maybe she just didn't compare well with Colleen, but I felt no electricity, no excitement with her. The fourth appointment was with Heather, and she made me wonder if I made too quick a choice with Colleen. The classic Irish lass, Heather had beautiful, heavy, glossy reddish-auburn hair framing her milk-and-honey complexion from which her luminous green-green eyes virtually shone. She was breathtaking and I wanted her. I wanted to part her red pussy hairs with my cock. The last girl only made my life more difficult. Bridget was not as beautiful as Heather, but it was her full, lush body that I craved. I wanted to fill my mouth and hands with her full breasts, to crawl between her perfect legs to taste her sweet pussy. Colleen, Bridget and Heather -- my choice had never been so difficult! Over the years, I had had two girls going during the same semester, but it was always a possibility that one would discover the other, and the results would be disastrous, so I didn't risk it very often. Now, here were three girls I wanted -- all young, beautiful, shapely, and possessing the "right" personalties to make taking them a real possibility, and they were only freshmen for a year! Not knowing which to concentrate on, I continued to fail Heather and Bridget, and tutor Colleen twice a week, in the hopes that they would help me sort it all out. By the end of mid-term exams (all essay questions, of course), all three of the girls had a failing grade, without a prayer of receiving any higher than a "D" for the course. Bridget cracked first. She appeared in my office just as I was about to leave for the evening. She was dressed in a sweater and short denim skirt, white socks and sneakers, and I could taste my mouth watering as I ravaged her body with my eyes. "Professor, can you please spare me a few minutes?" "Of course. Come in, er... now let me guess... Bonnie... no... Bridget, isn't it?" She beamed at my recognizing her. "Yes, Professor. I came to see you, before, but I'm in even bigger trouble, this time." By the time she had finished telling me about her 3.75 GPA (if she didn't count my course) and how she just didn't understand how she could be doing so poorly, she was in tears. I wanted to put my arms around her and pull her warm body close, but I fought the temptation. My years of experience at this game would carry me through. I asked her permission to examine her grades, and took several moments (and several "Hmm..."'s) studying the book. "Bridget, I can understand your concern. I don't know what steps you can take to achieve a respectable grade. To assign extra-credit work, I would have to be fair about it, and give the entire class the option, and this wouldn't help you, at all." She nodded and looked at me, wide-eyed and sincere, "I'd do anything for a respectable grade, Professor." "Bridget, I think you should be careful how you phrase offers like that. You don't mean `anything.'" "Yes, I do, Professor." I gave a small chuckle, "With an offer like that, you better watch out. I'll have you raking my leaves and cleaning my windows. Please don't make offers like that, Dear. After all, I'm only human." She locked her eyes on mine, "Professor, you must understand. I am prepared and willing to do ANYthing." "Do you know where I live, Bridget?" ...... Bridget arrived on time, wearing sweater and jeans. I had an aromatic fire warming the room, Anita Baker on the stereo, and a very nice, white wine chilled. She was truly beautiful in the firelight. Her skin was radiant, her eyes clear, her lips full and moist. We sat together on the sofa, tasted the wine, and began talking. After I refilled her glass, I placed my arm on her shoulders and she leaned into me. She was still tense, but seemed determined to be cooperative. We talked about her small home town, and the one boyfriend she had gone steady with in high school -- he went to a large private college on the opposite coast, joined a Frat, and wasn't calling very often. I was gentle, and a good listener. Soon, she was lying on the sofa, with her head on my lap, and I was gently stroking her cheek and hair. I could feel her relax little by little, sipping wine (we were now sharing one glass), and talking. I put the wine down and placed my hand at her waist. I moved it up, under her bulky sweater, until I felt her warm, smooth skin above the waist of her jeans. She tensed as my hand rose along her bare tummy, and halted at her bra. "I'm a little scared and a lot nervous, Professor." "I am, too, Bridget. But I won't deny that I'm enjoying this very much." She smiled a weak smile, "Me, too. More than I hoped." I lifted the sweater up and she helped me remove it over her head and arms. Her bra had a front clasp and I opened it and lifted the soft cups off her burning flesh. Her breasts were magnificent. Even lying on her back, they thrust up, firm and proud. Her skin was wonderful -- smooth, warm and white. Her nipples and areolae were small and round and centered, with just a hint of hardening. She was blushing under my inspection. She let a tiny moan escape her lips as I brushed my fingers lightly over her nipples. They hardened and looked like two pencil erasers. I caressed all of her breasts with my hands, pressing, gently squeezing. Her breathing became rapid as I slowly lowered my face down to her nipple, and she moaned loudly as I sucked it into my mouth, between my teeth. She tasted clean and dry. I shifted out from under her and knelt beside the sofa. She closed her eyes and turned her head into the pillow as I opened her jeans and slid them and her panties down and off her hips and legs. Naked, Bridget's body was even more spectacular than I had imagined -- it was flawless. I knew I was truly going to enjoy the rest of the school year! I returned my attentions to her breasts, licking and sucking on one nipple, while caressing the other breast with my hand. My other hand slowly traced its way over her flat tummy, her navel, until, finally, it entered her curly pubic hairs. She groaned as I softly pushed a finger into her already-wet slit. Her legs relaxed and she allowed my hand to part her thighs. I found her clit and her hips immediately began a subtle humping against my touch. A second finger joined the first, gently squeezing her hard, slippery clit between them. She tensed -- and then in one strong release, she came. Her toes curled, her thighs locked tight on my hand, she tried to pull her breasts away from my caresses as she cried out into the pillows. Slowly, so slowly, the wave receded and her body settled loosely into the sofa cushions. I was hard and excited and I wanted her. I stripped off my shirt and dropped my pants and underwear. I stood beside the sofa and brought Bridget's hand to my cock. She jerked it away, as though burned, and pushed her face deeper into the pillows. I understood. Her legs offered no resistance as I crawled between them and licked my tongue into her still-wet pussy. I heard her gasp as I found her clit and buried my tongue deep inside of her. Her legs spread wider, until I felt them settle on my shoulders, and her hips pumped onto my mouth. When I could tell she was again nearing orgasm, I lifted myself over her body and paused. "Should I wear protection, Bridget?" Her head made a tiny nod and I opened the condom and quickly slipped it on. I resumed my position, with my cockhead resting at her cuntlips. Almost immediately, her hips thrust up off the sofa to take my cock into her, and I cooperated by thrusting my hips down into hers. As I buried my cock to the hilt up her hot, tight pussy, her head snapped out of the pillows, and her eyes opened and looked at me. And then, she wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and we fucked. Later, when the wine was gone and the fire was just a red glow, we dressed. With her clothes back on, Bridget was again the shy freshman, no longer the lusty little wench that had just fucked me dry -- twice. "What should I do now, Professor? Do I keep coming back? I'm new at this." I held her hand, "I'm new at this, too, Bridget. I don't know what happens, now. I'm really quite embarrassed that this happened at all. But, I want you to know, Dear, that I am NOT sorry that it happened. These last several hours were the most exciting of my life. I really don't want to think, right now, that what we just enjoyed was based on some tawdry barter for a grade. I just don't want to think about tonight like that. It was too special for me." Bridget smiled and nuzzled her face into my neck. "Me, too! I was so scared and nervous about tonight that I can't believe I'm feeling so wonderful, right now. If it would be alright with you, I think I would like to visit you, again." "I was hoping you would say that, Bridget. It's against every rule I've made for myself, as an educator, but I want to see you, again, too. But, you have to promise me that you'll still study and read the material." Bridget nodded, giggled a little girl giggle and left. Ah! Success, again! ...... I didn't realize how successful, until the following Saturday. I had been tutoring Colleen since our first meeting about grades. She was the classic high school over-achiever, doing extremely well there, but not able to keep pace in college. Her grades were the opposite of Bridget's and she was desperate to improve her standing in as many courses as possible. The tutoring was boring and Colleen lacked the analytical skills to draw conclusions, but she was still a beauty to look at, and was obviously developing a crush on her brilliant, patient, caring Professor -- me! But now, after the success with Bridget, I saw no need to carry Colleen any longer. I would discontinue the tutoring sessions, award her extra credit for her effort, and fairly grade the remainder of her assignments. After class on Friday, I told her my decision and encouraged her to try studying on her own, and I assured her that I had great confidence in her abilities. She seemed surprised, but nodded and hurried down the hall. At eight o'clock, Saturday morning, my doorbell rang, interrupting my breakfast. In my robe, I answered the door to see Colleen standing there with a tear-streaked face. "Colleen? What's wrong?" "Oh, Professor! Please! I'm so sorry!" "Come in. Now, sorry for what?" I asked, as I closed the door. "Sorry for whatever I did, that you don't want to tutor me anymore!" "Colleen, Dear, you didn't do anything. I just think you're capable of doing good work on your own." "Don't you like me, anymore?" Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she looked at me. Her sky-blue eyes were flooded with them. Without thinking what I was doing, I reached out to her face and caught a tear on my thumb. "Of course I like you, Colleen. Please don't cry." To my utter and complete surprise, Colleen rushed to me, hugging me in her arms and pressing her cheek to my chest. My involuntary physical reaction to her closeness was all too obvious, but instead of pulling away, Colleen pressed her hips against my raging erection. "Oh, no," I thought, "the timing on this is terrible!" I didn't have much time to think because Colleen's warm hand snuck under my robe and wrapped around my naked cock. I lifted her chin up and pressed my lips to hers. "Oh, Professor! Please! Please make me happy!" I didn't care what she called it, but I knew it was going to make me happy, too. She slid to her knees and didn't hesitate as she opened her lips and filled her mouth with my hardness. She was very good -- maybe among the best I had ever had -- licking and sucking and nibbling. Finally, she could tell when it was time, and proceeded to fuck my cock with her hot, wet mouth. It didn't take long. I began to come and started filling her mouth with my cum. She continued until I stopped coming and then very delicately emptied her mouth into her hand. She stood and wiped her hand with a tissue and then stood close to me, seeking a kiss. "Colleen, how did this happen? We can't do this -- as wonderful as that was for me -- it's just not ethical. You're a student and I'm your teacher." "I don't care, Professor. Isn't it obvious to you? Can't you feel how close we are? I've felt it since our first meeting, Professor. I really think I've fallen in love with you!" The red light started flashing and the alarms were ringing in my head. "Colleen, it's just not possible." The tears started flowing, again. "But, I DO love you! You're so kind and caring. You're the only one on campus that treats me like I'm special." "Well, you are special to me, Dear." I looked at her beautiful face, and thought about that wonderful, talented, sexy mouth of hers. I felt my dick stirring, again, and thought that maybe later I could explain to her about student crushes on teachers. At that moment, there was something else on my mind. I opened my arms and she pressed into me. I walked her down the hall, to the bedroom. Her eyes searched my face as I opened her jacket and removed her blouse and jeans. She was smiling when I opened her bra, revealing her small, round breasts, with tiny, almost red nipples, and she giggled as I lowered her panties to the floor and buried my nose in her soft, sparse, blonde pussy. She sat on the bed and watched me as I opened my robe. "Oh, Professor! You are going to make me SO happy, aren't you?" And I tried. For the next two days, I tried my very best to make her happy. I had never had an easier assignment. She was a hungry partner in bed -- lusty and uninhibited. Not shy about anything. We fucked and sucked and fingered each other until we were exhausted. Between fucking, she paraded around my house naked, washing up, fixing our lunches, doing my dishes. What a find she was! And, what a dilemma I was in! Colleen and Bridget were not in the same class, and none of the girls had the same major or dorm (part of my selection process), but maintaining a relationship with both of them -- something I very much wanted to do -- would be tricky and difficult (and exhausting!). Colleen spent the night, and Bridget visited me again on Monday evening, and that made my decision easy -- I would try to keep both of them. I would miss the exuberance and lust (and, oh! that mouth) of Colleen and Bridget's perfect (and her yet to be truly explored) body too much to say goodbye to either of them. I resolved myself (poor me!) to the fact that I had both of them in my life for the time being. ...... I had an appointment with Heather scheduled for late Tuesday afternoon. She was stressed-out and there was no reason to prolong her agony over her grades, and I was going to let her off the hook. Even knowing that my coed selection had already been made for the year and she was no longer a possibility, Heather's face still made me silently gasp as she walked through the door, and I could see the truly radiant beauty that she was. Even with her eyes downcast and a frown on her face, she was gorgeous. After she was seated, I explained that I had been watching her progress in class and on the essays and was very pleased with her effort. I told her that it was unusual, but that I was going to disregard her current grade, start from scratch, and give her a final grade based on her work for the remainder of the semester, and the final. To my surprise, she didn't smile or look relieved. "I came in here expecting you to tell me that it was hopeless, and I might as well stop coming to class. Why are you doing this, Professor?" "I just explained my position, Heather. I'm pleased with your progress and I respect your effort. Please don't look a gift horse in the mouth." There was something I thought was fire in her eyes when she looked at me. "And I guess I'll have to repay you for your kindness?" "Don't be ridiculous, Heather. I think this meeting is over." Her voice was trembling, but she stood and leaned forward on my desk. "I know what you want. You men! You want me to give myself to you, don't you? You want me to surrender to you, so you can make me do disgusting and humiliating things for you." To say I was shocked would be an understatement! Then, in a flash, I realized what was going on. In nearly 20 years of teaching, I had met only one truly submissive girl and my school year with her had been a little heaven on earth for me. If I was right, I was finding my second. I didn't want to loose this opportunity. Colleen and Bridget were forgotten for the moment. "Have other men made you do disgusting and humiliating things, Heather?" She nodded a tight nod. "Yes. A teacher in my senior year and my boss at my summer job. It was just the same as it is now. The teacher threatened to flunk me and my boss threatened to fire me. I had to cooperate. I had to submit, or face the consequences." "But, Heather, I haven't threatened you about your grades. Just the opposite." She cried out in dismay, "But, it IS the same!" Quieter, she continued, "Don't you understand? I know what you expect me to do to repay you for your `kindness.'" "Heather, have you dated anyone on campus?" She shook her head. "Boys. They're all boys. They only want one thing and then they're gone." I knew I had a beautiful young lady standing before me, and that she might have some head problems, but hey, I'm no psychiatrist. I preferred to think of it as her sexual preference and decided to "go for the gold." "Of course you're right, Heather. I do expect a lot from you. I think it's time your `extra-credit' work begins, don't you?" Meekly, she nodded. "Lock my door and come bend over my desk." When she did, I stood behind her and slowly raised her plaid wool skirt over her hips, exposing her white, cotton panties. My cock felt like it was about to burst out of my trousers, and I hurried to open them and let them fall to the floor. Heather looked back at me, "Aren't you going to force me to kiss and lick your `thing,' and force me to suck it into my mouth?" As tempting as the thought was, I wanted to fuck her. My cock was poised at her cunt, and I could feel her heat. "Should I wear a condom, Heather?" "Why are you asking me? Just take me the way you want me. Please!" I wasn't gentle. I shoved my cock into her and pounded her hips into the edge of the desk. I was hot and so was she, groaning with every stroke. She soon began to come and I was surprised with its intensity. "Use me! Fuck me! I'm a worthless slut, so fuck me hard!" Maybe if I hadn't been building up to my own orgasm, I would have thought more about the severe hang-ups this girl had for being so young, but, instead, I enjoyed feeling my cock plow into her tight pussy, finally shooting its warm cum into her. When I was done, I pulled myself away and sat in my chair. "Now, Heather. I want you to suck my sticky cock clean in that pretty little mouth of yours, right now." She almost collapsed to her knees and positioned herself between my spread legs. She looked up at me, her eyes seeking mercy. "Suck my cock, slut." And she did. Then, and later, back at my house. That night I shot my cum in her mouth, her pussy and her ass. She called herself a slut and repeatedly earned her reputation. Between the sex, she told me about her bizarre adventures at the hands of her teacher and boss: On the night after her eighteenth birthday, her high school English teacher ordered her to come to his office. He berated her for her falling grades and threatened her with an "F" that would ruin her chance at a scholarship. He suggested that she become his "special pupil." Heather said it was obvious what he was interested in, but, for the first time in her life, felt herself becoming sexually aroused. It was the teacher's forceful personality that was exciting her. She willingly submitted to him, and what followed were several months of bondage, domination, spankings and humiliating sex. Instead of reporting the teacher, Heather found herself hooked on him, impatient between rendezvous, welcoming his abuse. Their relationship ended soon after graduation, when the teacher moved out of state. That Summer, she was working in a fast-food restaurant. Badly needing the money, she was working well over 40 hours a week. One night, after midnight, exhausted and helping the manager close up for the night, Heather dropped a large container of cooking oil, spilling it all over the floor. She said the manager "freaked out," yelling and screaming at her, calling her worthless, and firing her. He must have seen the spark he was igniting in her, because he grabbed another container of oil and poured it over her head. She stood there, dripping the pungent grease, humiliated. "Take that uniform off. You don't deserve to wear it," he shouted at her. She unbuttoned it and let it fall to the oil-covered floor. Her bra and panties were soaked through and darkly transparent. "And those," he pointed. Her bra and panties fell to the floor. "Now clean this mess up!" Heather got a bucket and a de-greasing cleaner and began to scrub the floor on her hands and knees. She said she was totally degraded -- naked, her tits swaying and bouncing with her exertion, the oil dripping from her hard nipples, her ass in the air. Soon, her boss was behind her. She felt him slip his prick into her cunt as he poured more oil over her bare back. Heather's orgasm was immediate and so intense, she collapsed. Her boss rolled her over on to her back and re-entered her, this time pouring the warm oil on her tits as he fucked her. Heather said she was resigned to her "perverted sexuality" from that night on. Her boss assigned her the "shit" jobs at the restaurant and berated her, constantly. Whenever he felt like it, he would call her into his tiny office, and have her suck him off or bend over as he fucked her cunt or ass. He was always rough and callous with her, and she loved it. One night, her boss took her out back and watched the two big, black deliverymen fuck her in the cab of their truck, and several times, ordered her over to his apartment and she was used and abused by him and his four poker buddies for hours. She left the restaurant the day she left for college and had an abortion the week after school started. ...... Now, she was naked in my bed and was telling me she was glad she found me, that she needed me. My sane, rational mind was saying that I should put as much distance between myself and this lovely, but very screwed up, girl. That she was carrying more baggage than I wanted to get involved with. However, at that moment, she again lowered her hot, wet mouth over my hardening cock, and I forgot all my good resolutions. ...... What a year! My schedule began to look like an old "bedroom farce" movie, but I managed. Of course, all three girls received "A's" for both semesters, but I hope they got more than just a good grade from their experience. Bridget flowered into a dynamic lover, relaxing and enjoying all the pleasures I could show her. She became quite adept at the skills of love, giving slow, sexy handjobs, and actually savoring my cock with her mouth. I knew I was going to miss her and her luscious body at the end of the year, and I have. Colleen finally admitted to herself that she was feeling infatuation and not love. We enjoyed each other's company for most of the year -- until Spring Break, when she returned from the islands "in love" with a junior. Our final fuck was sweet and tender. She thanked me for making her feel special and helping her enjoy her freshman year. I thanked her for her discretion, fond feelings, and helping me to enjoy her freshman year, too. Finally, there was Heather -- probably the most beautiful girl ever to grace one of my classrooms. I soon learned that I didn't have what it took to satisfy her needs for debasement and humiliation. I played at bondage for her, but I wasn't cruel enough. I couldn't bring myself to spank her, and I certainly wasn't going to invite the marching band to join us in bed. She drifted away from me, and I let her -- hell, I welcomed it. But, I did follow her adventures through my student and graduate assistant contacts. She soon became a campus legend -- entertaining entire Frats in one evening, taking on the whole basketball team at a party, fucking the swim team in the locker room. Unwilling to see her doing that to herself, I talked her into seeking therapy. Through a friend, I arranged for an off-campus shrink to see her and bill me. I think the therapy may have helped. When she was going home in the Spring, she stopped by to thank me for my concern. She said that her therapist had recommended someone in her home town, and that she was not going back to her old job. I told her I was glad to hear she was on an oil-free diet, and we both laughed. ...... The Summer is finally over and classes are about to begin. I can't wait! ---------------------------------------------------------------------- JB-WISH GIVING HIM WHAT HE WANTS Another Hot Wife Tale by J. BOSWELL (jaybos@cris.com) WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe sex. Wife, mother, career woman, suburban homemaker -- that's all me. Nothing out of the ordinary in my life -- or so I thought. Happily married to Phil for nine years, and the mother of charming, brilliant, adorable, 6-year-old Bobby, I was comfortable with my role and responsibilities. I guess that's why finding Phil's "secret" was such a shock to my system. Let me tell you about it: ...... It was a beautiful Spring Friday and Phil had volunteered to help chaperon Bobby's nursery school class on the trip to the zoo. I volunteered to stay home from the office, too, and do the laundry and fill some "Goodwill" bags so we could go to my Mother's ocean condo for the weekend. (My second reason for staying home was a lot more devious. I thought that if I could get rid of a lot of Phil's old clothes, my frugal C.P.A. husband would be forced to go out and buy some things that had been made at least since Reagan was president!) The closet took longer than I thought it would but resulted in a big pile of old clothes. Then I moved over to Phil's chest of drawers. The top drawer yielded more than a few pairs of old socks that I knew didn't reach Phil's ankles. The next drawer turned up underwear that Phil had owned when we got married -- onto the pile they went! The third drawer was a mishmash of sweaters, t-shirts, and sweatshirts. As I emptied it, a flash of color in the bottom caught my eyes. When I looked closer, I saw it was a thin pile of photographs obviously cut from magazines, tucked under the liner paper. I lifted them out and was shocked to see that they were erotic! I was so surprised because I had never seen Phil even glance at a PLAYBOY and here were pictures of men and women blatantly having sex -- and in positions too numerous to count! I didn't even know they sold stuff as graphic as this. I guess my biggest surprise was that Phil felt compelled to hide them like a 13-year-old boy. I was pretty liberal, and it wouldn't have bothered me in the least if he wanted to buy magazines like this -- as long as he didn't leave them out for Bobby to find. And then I realized that maybe Phil *WAS* hiding them from Bobby, and not me. There were about thirty pages and the theme was the same on each -- one woman with several men. The woman in each picture was being, or was about to be, or had just been penetrated by the men's large penises. One photo showed the woman literally being showered by six ejaculating cocks! I had to admit, the pictures were sexy and mildly titillating because they were so graphic, but they really didn't turn me on (and, in fact, one or two of them I even considered gross). But, the more I examined the photos, the more I realized I had been wrong -- Phil *WAS* hiding them from me. Like a zap of lightning, I realized there was another consistent feature in the photos -- every single woman in the numerous photos was blonde, blue-eyed, and had large breasts -- just like me! Was Phil fantasizing it was *ME* in the pictures? That thought was more than a little bizarre. I put the photos down and examined the drawer again, and that's when I found something that *DID* turn me on, and more than a little. In the very bottom of the drawer, carefully wrapped in a t-shirt, were two pages from a men's magazine, but there were no pictures. Each preserved between two stiff, shiny sheets of clear laminate plastic, the two pages showed their age and heavy use before laminating. A couple of corners were missing, the edges were ragged and torn, and, before being laminated, they had been folded and opened and refolded until the "X" of the center fold was a small hole in the center of each page. I couldn't imagine how old the pages were or how many times the two pages had been read. I sat back on our bed and read them to myself for the first time: ...... ...... THIS MONTH'S EDITOR'S CHOICE... Dear Editors, My wife and I are both in our early thirties, and although she obviously wasn't a virgin when I married her, her claim is that I'm the only man in her life. I didn't really care who she had fucked, or how many, or what she said about me being the "only man she's ever really loved" because I had screwed around, too, and with at least two other women before we were married. But after eleven years of married life, things had gotten pretty dull for me. I just knew that a lot of our friends were probably into casual wife-swapping and I suggested to the wife that we try to join them for a party or two - just to see what's going on. I kept at it, but she whined and said she didn't want to. She said she loved me, and was a married woman and would feel like a cheap slut screwing another man. She went on to say she would be worried about how she'd feel about screwing a friend or a friend's husband, her guilt, the gossip, blah, blah, blah. I got tired listening. Since I couldn't persuade her to go along with my idea, and she sure as hell didn't tell me to go out and party without her, I decided to see if I could spice up our sex-life by arranging some excitement. Maybe if some spur-of-the-moment fucking took place, then she'd see my swinging idea was a good one. The first time I tried something was over five years ago, with an out-of-town salesman I met in a bar after work. He was a big, muscular guy, sitting next to me at the bar and bitching about the lack of pussy in the place. After a few beers, on impulse I showed him some pictures of my wife in a bikini, and as he was drooling all over them, I asked him if he'd like to do me a favor. I told him that my wife was a little kinky and liked some fresh meat every now and then, and that, occasionally, we invited a friend in to help her out, and that I liked him enough to invite him to join us for some fun. He agreed in a flash, the horny bastard. As I drove him to our house, I told him not to take "no" for an answer from her, that she was a real cockteaser and that it was just part of her hard-to-get game. I told him that for her, "being taken" by a real man was her hottest turn-on. This guy was going nuts listening to my bullshit, almost nodding his stupid head off. When we got home, I was glad to see that my wife still had her work clothes on. She works in a big office and dresses pretty nice each day. She looked real good in her fancy white blouse, tight skirt and high heels. I introduced the salesman to my wife as my long-lost Army buddy who was just passing through town. We fed her some bullshit story about how he saved my life in a barroom brawl and how I could never repay him for it. We all had a few drinks before and after dinner, and the guy definitely liked what he saw and was getting friendlier with her as we took turns dancing with her after dinner. After an hour or so, I was making another round of drinks in the kitchen when I heard some noise from the family room. I peeked into the room and saw that the guy had my wife pinned up against the wall. She was struggling against him as he was kissing her hard on the mouth and he had his hand shoved up under her skirt. She managed to push away from him when I entered the room, and I was heartened to see that things just might get pretty interesting. Figuring they would get nowhere with me around, I told them that I had just killed the Scotch and that I would run out for more. I said that being so far out in the country, it would take me about forty-five minutes. My wife said she wanted to go to the store so I could stay and talk to my buddy, but I grabbed my keys and left. I was gone close to an hour. I figured by the time I got home, things would be warmed up and I'd join in the fun. But, when I got home, I found them sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, watching TV and talking. I was a little disappointed because I couldn't tell if anything had happened - and it didn't look like anything had. Later, when I drove the guy back to his motel, the asshole told me that my wife had really resisted him for a while, turning him on more and more, getting him into her game. He said to screw her, he finally had to pin her down on the floor and rip her panties to get his dick in. He said after he came, he yanked her skirt and blouse and bra off and told her he wouldn't give them back until she blew him. He said he was just zipping up and she was still swallowing his cum and buttoning her blouse as I pulled into the driveway. It was good to hear that something happened and even if I didn't get my shot, I was encouraged that I could set up some fun things and maybe get her into the mood to spread her precious pussy around a little. When I got home, I tried to pry some information from her about what happened with my "Army buddy" while I was gone, but she just said he was a jerk and never mentioned a thing about her fucking and blowing him, and she still refused to consider swinging. Nothing else happened until a few months later, when we went on our summer vacation. We stayed in a nice motel and met three other couples staying there. During the week, we went golfing and to the beach with them, and I noticed the hot looks the guys were giving my wife and her big tits, even in her conservative bathing suits. On the last night together, the eight of us closed the bar and went back to one of the rooms to continue the party. There was a lot of kissie-feelie going on and I thought something might soon develop - maybe even a wild orgy and I'd finally get my ashes hauled by some new pussy - even if none of the other wives was in my wife's class for looks and body. But we never got beyond the little kisses and the party began to crap out. Some people wanted to crash and some others wanted to go eat at the all-night diner. After we all split up, there was me, my wife, and another guy in the room. This guy had been ogling my wife all week and that night had been trying to grab her tits every chance he got. When my wife went into the bathroom, I told the guy I was going back to our room for some sleep. When I stepped outside, I heard him lock the door behind me. I stepped to the windows, peeked through the blinds I had left partially opened, and waited to see what would happen. My wife came out of the bathroom and asked the man where I went. He told her I went for ice and that she should wait there for my return. Then he stepped up to her and kissed her hard on the lips. At the same time, he swiftly unzipped her sexy sundress all the way down her front. She started to pull away, and as she did, he grabbed at her bra strap and ripped the cup off her left tit. Then he shoved her down on the bed and began to suck her naked tit. As she struggled under him, he somehow managed to open up her dress and began to pull her panties down. At this point, she really began to put up a fight, and I almost went to the door, but something inside of me stopped me. I couldn't pull myself away from watching the whole incredible, arousing, hot scene. My wife -- fucking around with a stranger! And I had a front-row seat! The guy rolled my wife over onto her stomach, pulled her dress down off her other shoulder and unhooked her bra. After he slid her panties off her long legs, he dropped his pants and shorts and climbed on the bed, too. My wife was still trying to fend him off, but it looked like she had lost a lot of her fight. After struggling with my wife a little more and holding her hands to the bed, above her head, the guy finally got between her legs and got his good-sized cock in her and rammed it into her to the hilt. I suddenly realized that I had one of the hardest and biggest erections in my life! I was really enjoying watching this! The guy continued to fuck my wife for at least another ten minutes, until he came inside her with a big grunt. He finally climbed off her and walked into the bathroom and cleaned his cock. My wife laid there, on the bed, gasping and panting, her legs spread wide apart, her hands still above her head. When the guy walked back into the bedroom, he made another drink and walked over to the bed. As he stood there, looking down at my wife, she raised herself up on her elbow, took hold of his soft prick in her hand, and gently guided it into her mouth! She began to suck him off, first slowly, and then more and more wildly. She sucked him for about five minutes, until he pulled away with another huge erection. He then climbed back on the bed, and I watched as my wife guided his hard cock up her already-filled cunt. While they were screwing, I heard the couple who's room it was coming up the steps. I ducked around the corner to get out of sight and was surprised to see that the drapes on the sliding door on the beach side were wide open. I stepped into the shadows to watch from my new front-row seat. The first guy and my wife didn't stop screwing when the couple opened the door. The wife said she didn't like what was going on in their room and her husband told her to go back down to the diner ("In case it gets ugly," he said) and he would get rid of the screwing couple. The wife was barely out the door, when the second guy stripped off his clothes and got on the bed. He immediately began sucking my wife's big tits, and then soon slid up to where he could press his erect cock against my wife's lips. The slut didn't hesitate an instant. She sucked him deep into her mouth! I watched her take both of these studs on at once! The first guy finally had his second orgasm in her pussy and rolled off her. The second husband immediately slid into position and began pounding away in my wife's noisy-wet cunt. He only took a few minutes to cum, and after he was finished, the two men laid there, totally exhausted. To my shock and amazement, my wife got up and paraded around the room totally naked. After she tossed down a shot of booze like a pro, she asked if either of the guys was ready to go again. They both moaned and said they were spent. As she bent to pick up her clothes, I raced back to our room, undressed, and slid under the covers pretending to be asleep. She came in soon after me, quickly showered and got in bed with me, falling asleep almost immediately. The following morning she asked me where the hell I went the night before. I said I had told the other guy I was going back to our room and that she could follow or stay and party if she wanted to. I bugged her about what happened, but she never said a word about it! She said they just sat around talking and drinking. After seeing the way she acted like a true, cheap, low-bred, slut-tramp whore in that motel room, I again approached her about swinging. Much to my surprise, she still refused. I couldn't figure what her problem was. I had watched her be a real whore for two strangers, and knew she had fucked and sucked another guy's balls dry, so why wouldn't she agree to a little friendly swapping? We argued about it a little more, but I soon let it drop. Instead, I realized how much fun I was having manipulating her into different situations and watching her whore for other men. I began to keep a notebook with dates and times, places and names (where I knew them), and how I had set up the situation. Over the past five years, I have set up thirty-two different arrangements that have resulted in at least ninety-eight different men enjoying my wife's raunchy sexual talents. Each one of the arrangements was a different set of circumstances, and I'm proud of my ability at inventing them. There have been some great scenes! One night, I gave a guy I met in a bar my address and set it up that he and three friends would burgle my house so I could make an insurance claim on an old TV. He asked if anyone would be home, and I said, "You should be so lucky -- my wife is the easiest piece of ass in the world!" And she was. Two of the burglars held her down for her first fuck, but after that, she fucked and sucked all four of them dry. And I watched the whole thing from our bedroom window! She fucked and sucked guys everywhere! In motel rooms, on a pool table in the back of a bar, in bar and mall parking lots, a weekend in a mountain cabin with five guys, and even in a Frat house full of drunk, horny young studs after the Homecoming Game! The best and the worst time was when I took her to the Big Stampede and Rodeo in Calgary, Canada. On the last day, as we were strolling around the horse barn area, I told a group of dirty, sweaty cowpokes that the woman walking along behind me in the short yellow dress was an expensive, cockteasing hooker with a real "BITCH" attitude and if they wanted some fun, they should try her out in the barn. They were drunk and horny and stupid enough to try anything and I quickly climbed up into the loft as they waited for the hooker in the short yellow dress. They started talking to my wife as she walked by and when she shook her head at their rude and lewd propositions and tried to leave, the cowboys grabbed her and dragged her into the back of the barn. She yelled and fought a little, but they threw her on a bunch of dirty blankets and ripped her clothes off her and I watched - for the next hour - while what seemed like every cowboy in Canada took his turn in her mouth, cunt and ass. When they finally finished with her, they left her bare-assed naked, covered with cum, sweat, dirt, beer and booze. I watched as she stood on wobbly legs and stumbled to the open door. When another group of cowboys from across the way saw her standing there naked, they ran over and carried her off into another barn. By the time I got down from the loft, she was no where to be seen. I searched till I finally left the area and returned later, looking for her. I checked and rechecked the motel room and looked in all the bars, too. I even reported her missing to the security people, but they weren't worried, telling me she just got lost in the crowd. Of course, I knew, but couldn't tell them, that the last time I saw her she was naked as a baby in the barn area with all those horny cowboys! Finally, at about four in the morning, I heard the motel room door open. I pretended to be asleep as she and some man stepped inside. I heard her thank him for the blanket and the ride home as she handed him the cloth. He grabbed her big tits and said he wanted to fuck her again. My wife shushed him to be quiet and she laid down on the floor. The guy dropped his pants and fucked her hard, right there, in the room with her husband! He left, and she crawled into the other bed and immediately fell asleep. She was so exhausted, she didn't even stir when I removed the sheet and looked at her body covered with dirt, stale booze, cum, and love marks. Believe it or not, she still never mentioned any of these events to me. The next day, she told me she had lost her purse and spent all that time she was gone looking for it and waiting for it to show up at the "lost and found" booth. What bullshit! I guess I never will know how many cowboys screwed her that day! Anyway, I love what I've worked out. I wish I could watch her fuck and suck ten different guys every night of the year! In five years, the only scene I arranged that she balked at was when I tried to set up a party at a nearby Army base. I wanted to see just how many men she could screw at one time, without stopping. Some GI I met in a bar was going to get us into one of the barracks and just let the guys line up until she couldn't take any more, or there were no guys left. I told the GI that I was bringing a real, live nymphomaniac, and that there was no limit to the number of cocks she could handle. He said that he could easily guarantee fifty guys, probably more. I guess she got wind of the fact that the "party" was going to be an all-night gang-bang, and I could never set it up with her. I still enjoy setting up situations for guys to screw my wife, but I don't think she wants any more out- of-control mass sex encounters - like the rodeo - so I try to limit the number of men to four or five, or less. With all this sex she has participated in, she has never once mentioned any of it to me. But, I think she probably knows that I'm responsible for all or most of it (or, at least, that I know and cooperate). I don't know if she knows I love watching it, but from watching her in action, I know she's a cheap slut who damn well loves every second of it! --- signed "Master Match Maker" ....... ....... What an outrageous tale! I just sat there on the bed, and let my breathing calm down. I wasn't sure exactly which parts had turned me on. Maybe it was the forbidden sex, or being taken, or even the gang-bangs (all are deep, forbidden, *NASTY* thoughts for a "nice" woman like me to think). It certainly wasn't the author. I thought he was a creep and an asshole, who couldn't even personalize "his wife" with a name in his long letter. I couldn't figure why the wife wouldn't mention anything to her husband, except that maybe he was such a creep and she didn't care if he knew or not, or she didn't want to give him the satisfaction that she knew they were his games. Then I began thinking about finding the letter hidden away in Phil's drawer. Were the letter and the photos a strong and recurring fantasy for Phil? Did he want to see me take on groups of strangers? Bizarre, and not like Phil at all, but what else was I to think? Then I wondered... Had Phil ever tried to set up an "arrangement" and I didn't realize it at the time? I sat there thinking about that, and one time I could remember was about 18 months ago when Phil was hosting a poker night. All his poker buddies were at the house when he called from the office and said he would be very late, but that they should stay, play cards, and eat the food -- which they did. I retired to the bedroom and read a novel for the night. Phil showed up about an hour after he called and played cards with his friends. I couldn't remember if he tried to pump me for information about what had happened before he got home, but not having read the letter, I would have never made the connection. Then another time came to mind. Not long after we were married, Phil and I went on a fishing trip and I was the only woman. We drove down in the afternoon and stayed in a motel overnight, going out on the boat before dawn, the next day. Phil and I had dinner and, later, drinks that night with four other fishermen in our motel room. And there were other times that now, in light of the letter I just read, seemed suspicious. A big company picnic where Phil just disappeared for an hour or so, a night at a bar after a softball game, when Phil went out to the car to sleep -- even on our honeymoon! How long had Phil had the letter? I really began to wonder. I began to read the letter, again. And this time, I found myself lowering the zipper on my jeans and letting my hand move under my panties, until my fingers found my already-hard and wet clit. I gently stroked and squeezed the little nub as I read the letter over and over, until, in a great rush, I had a long and wonderful orgasm. After I composed myself, I carefully replaced the pages and photos just as I had found them in Phil's drawer and decided I would act like I had never found the letter and photos. If my husband wanted to have a little secret, he certainly deserved some privacy about it. And then I realized something. I had used the letter to turn me on and help me reach an orgasm, just as I'm sure Phil had used it in the past. Now, we had both masturbated reading the same thing. That letter was a turn-on for both of us! ...... Life resumed its regular rhythms, and nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Occasionally, I'd check Phil's drawer and I could tell the pictures and the letters had been handled, but I never saw Phil anywhere near them. ...... The following winter I received notice of my 15th high school reunion to be held that spring. My family had moved halfway across the country one week after my graduation and I hadn't seen any of my high school friends in those fifteen years. I hadn't been the most popular girl in high school (I had been a little too "pudgy" -- too "husky" -- too "big-boned" for that), but I had had a lot of friends and been active in several groups and clubs, and was anxious to see some old friends. Because of finances, I had missed my tenth reunion and regretted it. Fortunately, money wasn't a problem this time, and Phil readily agreed to go with me. My mom and dad agreed to watch Bobby for the long weekend. I quickly filled out the "what-have-you-been-up-to?" questionnaire and paid for our tickets. I knew it wouldn't be as big a reunion as the tenth or twentieth, but I was looking forward to going, anyway. My home town was fairly small and I hoped most of the people I remembered would still be there. I began to check myself out in the mirror often. I knew I was in pretty good shape -- much better shape than I had been in during high school -- but I up'ed my cycling and aerobics routines to firm up and slim down as much as I could. Phil noticed and approved. A couple of weeks before the reunion, Phil and I were sitting up, reading in bed. Out of the blue, Phil asked me if I was ready to see some of the guys I had dated in high school. I said, "sure." "Did you date a lot in high school, Janice?" he asked. "No, not a lot. You have to remember, in high school I was still in my chubby phase. I was Marge Pearson's chubby daughter. It wasn't until college when I got away from my mother's cooking and discovered swimming that I slimmed down and firmed up." "Ah... So it was in college you dated a lot." "I sure did, honey. I had a lot of lonely Saturday nights to make up for. *AND* I was a cheerleader -- I had a responsibility to my public." I was trying to keep the conversation light and fun. In fact, I had been a little on the wild side in college. I had dated a lot of the jocks, sometimes two or three at a time, nothing kinky, but often one on each night of the weekend. I settled down in grad school and met Phil there, but college had been fun -- no doubt about that. "So, it's true, what we non-athletes think about cheerleaders and football players?" Obviously, my high school reunion was forgotten, and Phil wanted to hear about my cheerleading days. I closed my book, chuckling, "Well, let's just say I dated a football player or two. I knew it was part of my job description. What exactly did you non-athletes think about us? I'm sure it was perverted!" "Well, those of us in the accounting club often discussed the rumors of wild sex orgies in the locker rooms after games. And how the cheerleaders would do *ANYTHING* to boost team morale." "You accountants-to-be were one hundred percent right. That's exactly what went on." Phil froze, and then his head spun to look at me. "Really? Are you serious, Janice?" he asked anxiously. My smile broke into a laugh, "No! Of course I'm not being serious, honey. What do you think I am -- or was? If anything like that went on, I didn't hear about it. Just the thought of the locker room -- those dirty, sweaty bodies after a game -- UGH! Can you imagine the smell?" I pinched my nose closed and shook my head. "I'm very sorry to shatter your male fantasies about us slutty cheerleaders -- we were just your normal, everyday beauties worried about dates and homework and pimples, just like everyone else." Phil was laughing with me, "well, you slutty cheerleaders and your wild orgies were a lot more fun to talk about at our accounting club meetings than balance sheets and number-2 pencils!" A few minutes later, Phil quietly asked, "Are there any old flames in particular you're looking forward to seeing at the reunion, Janice?" I took Phil's hand and held it in mine, "Honey, I'm looking forward to seeing everybody. I didn't date the hunks I had crushes on. I'm not trying to cop-out on you, but there isn't anyone I dated, in high school *OR* college, that I still have any `special' feelings for. I saved all my special feelings for you." I gently moved his hand under the deep V-neck of my nightie and placed it on my bare breast. Phil was always good at getting my hints, and it was quite a while before we got to sleep that night. ...... On Saturday, several days after our "locker room orgy" conversation, I was in Bobby's room when the phone rang. Phil was in the bathroom, so I answered it. It was one of his golf buddies. When Phil came out to get the phone, I went into our bathroom to collect the towels for the laundry. I picked up the towel on the floor next to the throne and lying there was a full-page photo and the two-page letter. The photo captured a magic moment in a pretty blonde girl's life when she had three cocks (two white and a gigantic black cock) buried up her pussy, in her ass, and down her throat. I was surprised, to say the least. Had the phonecall caught Phil masturbating? I quickly replaced the towel and walked out of the bathroom. I acted like I hadn't seen a thing. But I had, and it made me think about that damned letter and Phil's secret fantasies again. ...... June finally arrived and Phil and I flew out to Seattle. It was a long ride in the rental car from the airport to my home town, and I could feel my excitement rise with each mile. Even though it was late in the evening and we were tired from the flight and the long ride, Phil indulged me and drove around the town for me. I was thrilled to see that the town had changed so little in the fifteen years since I had lived there. I pointed out all the "landmarks" to Phil, as we drove from my old house, past the school and old hang-outs. He was such a Dear, he acted interested and refused to yawn as I filled him in on the minutiae of my pre- and pubescent life. Finally, on the other side of town, where the drive-in movie used to be, we checked into our hotel room and got some sleep. It was going to be a busy weekend. The reunion committee had scheduled a luncheon at the hotel on Saturday, the big dance and party at the high school on Saturday night, and a gourmet (catered, of course) breakfast on Sunday morning in the high school cafeteria; and we were attending all of them. Everything was wonderful. It was so great seeing so many old friends and we talked like there hadn't been fifteen years since our last conversation. I'll admit I really enjoyed the stares and looks my "new" body caused, and I was a whole lot more popular at the dance than I had ever been at a dance while in high school. And through it all, Phil was a perfect angel -- as gracious and as friendly as can be. But the reason I'm writing all this down is -- the most outrageous event took place on that Sunday. ...... About halfway through the breakfast, I excused myself to literally and figuratively "go to the little girls' room." Feeling nostalgic, I wandered out the door from the rest room to the girls' locker room instead of the door back out to the hall. With classes over for the school year, the lockers were empty and the room had been scrubbed clean. I tried to find my old locker from my Senior year, but they all looked alike to me now. I soon discovered I wasn't the only one waxing nostalgic. Through the vents high up in the wall, I could hear voices from the boys' locker room. I walked closer to the wall to listen and smelled cigar smoke through the vent. It was two or three guys and they were talking about their football days. How typical. I turned to leave, and was surprised by a rack full of brand new cheerleader uniforms! They were beautiful! Apparently, the school had just sprung for new uniforms for the squad, and since school was closed for the Summer, they were just hanging there until tryouts in August. I had thoroughly enjoyed my years as a cheerleader in college. It had been extremely difficult to make the squad because I hadn't already been one in high school, like all the other girls. But in high school, I was plump and too roly-poly to even think about trying out for cheerleader -- and I always regretted that fact. On an impulse, I grabbed an outfit that looked close to my size and sat on a bench, in front of a locker. Here was my chance to finally wear my high school colors! The uniform was sparkling white with the school's name emblazoned across the front in blue and gold. What the hell! Who would ever know? I'd put it right back on the rack afterwards. I stood up and unzipped my dress down the back. Next came my slip. I quickly unwrapped the uniform, pulled the top over my head and shimmied the too-tight skirt up my legs and over my hips. I walked over to the big mirror to take a look at myself and laughed at the sight. The uniform was too small and too short. The skirt was so short I could see my stocking tops, so I rolled my stockings off and stepped back into my high heels. Now, when I looked in the mirror, I saw that the tight top stretched across my big boobs, the short skirt with only tiny panties on under it, and the black high heels perverted the uniform into something erotic, rather than innocent. But wasn't that the trademark of the best cheerleader outfits, like the Dallas Cowboys' squad? ...... At that precise moment I heard two things that caused me to change my life drastically. At almost the same time, I heard the ex-jocks in the boys' locker room burst into a loud laugh, and I heard Phil, somewhere in the halls outside, call my name. I stood there, looking at myself in the mirror, seeing a boy's wet-dream image of a cheerleader. Then, in a flash of images, one after the other... I thought about Phil's secret drawer and the "Editor's Choice" letter... all his photos of the blondes having sex with groups of men... the men in the next room... my "new" body... nasty, raunchy sex... Phil watching his wife... Phil seeing his "Accounting Club fantasies" being acted out before his eyes... safe sex... being naughty... doing something so totally bizarre compared to the rest of my stable and quiet life... maybe even showing a few of my old classmates what they missed fifteen years ago... I stopped thinking. I didn't want my thoughts getting in the way of what I was doing. I was just going to let things happen. I took a deep breath and then walked out of the girls' locker room. The hall was empty, but I heard Phil call my name again -- a lot closer this time. I hesitated for a second and then pushed open the door to the boys' locker room. The door "ssshhhhh'd" close behind me as I looked around. The room was much larger than the girls' locker room and definitely had a much stronger sweat smell -- only instead of making me wrinkle my nose in disgust, it actually turned me on a little more. Maybe that little talk with Phil in bed had helped. I stepped deeper into the room and looked down the next row of lockers -- no one was in sight, but the smell of cigar was getting stronger and the voices louder. Finally, as I peeked around the next row, I saw the source. Three men were sitting on the benches, leaning up against the lockers, and passing around a half-full bottle of "Jack Black." Bob Anderson, Otis Parker, and Jamie Syzmanski -- all heroes from our football team's "Glory Days" of State Championships. Bob had been the running back, and was now running his father's Chevy/Nissan/GMC dealership in town. He had been the most coveted hunk in my high school years, and he was even better looking now -- still built and with a full head of salt-and- pepper hair. Otis had been the all-star center. He was huge and Black. I think someone said he was a guard at the State penitentiary. Jamie had been another lineman and was just as big as Otis. He had turned his father's bar into the town's most popular restaurant and lounge. I had stopped thinking earlier, I was running on impulse alone. I stepped out into the center of the row and smiled at the three men, "Hello, boys. Reliving some past glories?" The looks on their frozen faces were wonderful! They were shocked and surprised, and obviously liked what they saw. Jamie spoke first, "Janice? Janice Pearson?" I smiled and nodded, "Well, it's Janice Vallegia now, but who cares?" Feeling like a total VAMP, I walked up to Bob and took the sour mash from his hand and belted down a healthy swig - - no sense being the only sober one in the room. "You football studs in need of a cheerleader?" They all started blubbering at once -- (Was that the locker room door I heard opening and closing?) -- about how sexy I looked, how great my body was, how much they all enjoyed seeing me again, how I could cheerlead for them anytime. On and on, until Bob cut through the shit and pulled me down on to his lap and mashed his mouth on mine, pushing his tongue down my throat. As I returned his kiss, I heard Jamie, "Ahem, Otis, my man, I guess these two would like to `reminisce' alone." I held up my hand and broke away from Bob's mouth long enough to say, "No need for anyone to leave, if that's alright with you gentlemen." BBRRIIINNNGGG!!! And we were off to the races! Those three guys proved that there was a lot to be said for teamwork! In under a minute, I was being gang-banged and loving it far more than I imagined I would! ...... Bob resumed kissing me as his hands found their way up under my top. He pulled my bra cups off my breasts and I moaned into his mouth when his two hands gently covered and squeezed my tits. We broke apart for a moment while I shed my top and bra and laid back down on the bench -- not very comfortable, but it would do! Bob knelt beside me and tweaked my hard nipple with one hand as he filled his mouth with my other nipple. Meanwhile, Otis flipped my skirt up and I lifted my hips off the bench to help him strip my panties off. He dropped his own pants and underwear and straddled the bench. He smiled at me as he looked down on my naked pussy, then he spit in his palm and rubbed it on the head of his dark, and almost-purple, cock. "Mmmmm, mmmmm, mmmmm! You gonna like this, Janice. I been savin' it up for you all these years." I smiled up at him and said, "Then don't make me wait any longer for it, Otis." He didn't. He knelt on the narrow bench, between my spread legs, and lowered himself down onto and into me. I was so anxious to be fucked, so hot to be screwed, I half-cried, half- moaned as I felt his warm meat penetrate me. Deeper and deeper, until his huge body was pressing on top of me, fucking me with everything he had. I turned to Jamie and motioned him closer with my hand. As He stood next to my head, I reached up and pulled his zipper down. Finally getting the hint, he unfastened his pants and dropped them and his underwear. His hardening cock fit perfectly in my mouth. At that moment, at the same time I was trying to concentrate on what I was doing to these guys -- and what they were doing to me! -- I had a sort of out-of-body experience. At my very wildest in college, I had never made love to more that one man at a time. Now, there were three sex-hungry men having their way with me in my old high school's boys' locker room! To say I was shocked at what I was doing would be an incredible understatement. And then I wondered if I really had heard the door open and close, and Phil was watching his wife behave like the sluttiest cheerleader ever born! Was this really his fantasy? Or, I began to wonder, was it mine? Otis came with a loud grunt and a hard shove and moved off me. Immediately, Bob left my breasts and moved to take his place. I had already cum while Otis was fucking me, and never being all that multi-orgasmic, was delightfully surprised to begin my next orgasm as Bob pushed his prick up my slippery pussy and Otis began to play with my tits. Trying to breathe through my nose and around Jamie's cock as I came wasn't all that easy, and he made it more difficult as he started to shoot a river of cum down my throat. I kept up with him and could feel only a little spill out of my mouth and onto my chin. He pulled his meat from my still-sucking mouth and said, "That was great!" Otis moved into position, "Yeah? Let me be the judge." I grasped his warm and sticky cock and guided it into my mouth as I caressed his very large balls. Bill continued to pound away in me and I was impressed with his stamina. Otis was erect and stretching my lips as I sucked him in and out. Jamie eventually reached around and between his friends to play with my tits, and I began to cum all over again. This was the most fantastic sex I had ever had! Bill came, followed by Otis. I asked Jamie if he wanted his chance to fuck me, and he took his turn, too. I don't know how long the whole episode had taken, but it seemed like it was over in a flash. When I finally gathered my wits, I looked around for my bra and panties. Bill and Otis were sharing the "Jack Daniels" again and giggled. Otis laughed and waved at the room full of lockers, "Janice, while you and my man Jamie we so occupied, I stuffed your pretty little lace things in two lockers -- I figured I'd give some little freshman a real thrill on his first day of P.E. in September. I guess I can help you find them." "No, forget them, Otis. I better get out of here. Am I the only one here married?" "Hell, no," laughed Jamie, "our wives know all we do when the three of us get together is talk football, so they decided not to come." I grabbed the cheerleader uniform and started towards the door, "Well, boys, it's been great. See you next reunion." "Oh, Janice, please don't make us wait THAT long for our next fun time." "I left my name and address with the committee, Bill. Call me if any of you ever get to Baltimore. Bye!" I held the clothes up in front of me, but didn't take the time to put them on. I peeked out into the hall, saw it was clear and made a mad dash back to the girls' locker room. I rolled on my stockings and zipped up my dress in record time. As much as I wanted to keep the uniform, I didn't want to steal it from the school, and I didn't have any place to hide it; so I put it back on the hangers and under the plastic. ...... When I walked back into the cafeteria on wobbly legs, the crowd had pretty much thinned out. Phil was sitting alone at the table, where I had left him. When he saw me approach, he smiled and asked, "And where have you been?" I'm sure I blushed as I smiled back, "Well, I went to the ladies' room and ran into some old classmates." "Were you gabbing all that time?" I shrugged, "You know how it is when old friends get together. I couldn't close my mouth!" At the same time I was studying my husband's pleasant face, wondering if he spent the whole time waiting for me at the table. We made our rounds, saying goodbye and promising to stay in touch. I was sorry the reunion was over and that I was leaving old friends again, but it had certainly been the weekend of my life. We were almost out the door when Connie DeLong waved at us, "Bye, you two! I didn't even know you were still here! Where did you two disappear to all morning?" I quickly glanced at Phil. He was looking straight at Connie but was blushing as much as I felt I was -- and then I knew. I wonder what Connie would have thought if we both told her where we had been that morning! That was the first time. It got a lot easier after that! Phil's happy, I'm happy, and the men I meet are VERY happy! ......................... (c) Copyright January 1993 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission. (See below for contacting the author.) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- JB-VOYER When Hubby Likes to Watch Another Hot Wife Tale by J. BOSWELL (jaybos@cris.com) WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe sex. ......................... (c) Copyright March, 1990 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission. ======================================= 09/30/88 17:37 FROM: LADYHACK Bonnie M I've been here on the Pandemonium BBS for a while and always enjoy reading the stories in the "Adult" files section. I've also read "Penthouse" and some other men's magazines on occasion. One thing I've seen in all of them are stories or letters about how men just love to see their wives or girlfriends having intercourse with another man (or even men!). I just don't understand it! I don't understand how a man can enjoy the woman he took to be his wife, or "significant other," screwing with another man as he stands there and watches. The way I look at it, two of the three people involved are having the MOST fun -- and it isn't the husband! What brought this topic up for me, was that over the weekend, my husband, Doug, and I hosted a party and Doug's best friend wouldn't stop flirting with me. He'd had a fight with his wife, came without her, got sloshed by dessert and chased me the rest of the night. One time, he had me up against the kitchen sink, feeling my boobs and trying to suck my neck, and in walks my Doug. Did Doug get mad? Hell, no! -- he got an erection! It was obvious. Finally, he helped me peel his friend off me and we led him up to the guest room to sleep it off. After everybody left and we packed his friend off in a cab, I asked Doug about what happened in the kitchen. He said he knew men liked looking at me -- at my face and body -- and it definitely turned him on to see them look. When he saw his buddy with his hands all over my chest and his face buried in my neck, he said it gave him an erection that he could drive nails with! While we were making love, I looked up at him and asked him if he'd like to see me screw another guy and his answer was "NO!" and then, "Ohhh... Yesss!" as he came and collapsed on top of me. Over breakfast the next day, Doug tried to sluff it all off as just a fantasy and he really didn't mean it. I said I saw the look in his eyes, the boner in his pants, and remembered what really made him come last night, even if he didn't want to admit it. I told him that it didn't matter what he thought, I wasn't about to boff another man, whether he was watching or not! That's where I stand. What I'm looking for, I guess, are some women's responses to this type of situation. What do you wives and girlfriends think about this kink in our guys????? ============================================= 10/03/88 02:12 FROM: FREEANEZ free and easy My advice for those women who's husbands and boyfriends always want them to flirt with, expose themselves to, or even fuck with other guys is: don't do it if you don't wish to -- BUT, there are advantages to giving their husbands EXACTLY what they want -- and then some! Let me explain. My husband, Steve, is apparently the typical "wife-watcher" husband. He gets a real kick out of seeing me flirt with and expose myself to other men. When we go out, my typical outfit (at his request) is some kind of tight top with no bra, and a short skirt. I never wear pantyhose, and it's a special treat for Steve when I don't wear any panties. At first, this whole show bothered me, because I was never comfortable with my own body. In my mind, I've always been 10-15 pounds overweight, but when I saw how men responded to my large boobs, good legs, and ample bottom, the more the exhibitionism became a definite turn-on for me, too. But, the exhibitionism didn't stop with my clothing. Over the years, Steve has arranged for the mailman and various delivery or repairmen catch me naked, or near naked. Several summers ago, on vacation, Steve begged me to strip naked and masturbate in the car so the truck drivers could see me through the open sunroof as they drove by. During football season, I lost a little bet about something with Steve, and to pay off I had to be the hostess at his Sunday football "tailgate" party. While the game was going on, I had to keep Steve and five of his friends supplied with beer and snacks while wearing my "cheerleader" outfit, which consisted of a football mesh top, through which my boobs were plainly visible and my nipples would sometimes poke through, a short flared skirt, g-string panties and knee-high socks. All this showing off for Steve never led to extramarital sex -- it only turned him on enough to make love to me. But this all changed two years ago at a formal New Year's Eve party. While I was busy dancing with various men (always Steve's request at a party) -- all of whom were being very free with their hands since I was wearing a black diaphanous gown with nothing but black stockings on underneath -- Steve was happily drinking himself into a stupor and passed out even before midnight. A couple of his business acquaintances help me get him to the car, and then "gallantly" offered to follow me home and help me get him inside. I had danced with these guys earlier and I was pretty sure that their motives weren't all that altruistic, but on that night, it was more than okay with me. After years of being a cockteaser, I was ready to find out the consequences. Dan and Dave had no sooner dumped Steve on the couch in the living room, than they had me sprawled across our big coffeetable with my gown pushed up to my waist and pulled down off my shoulders. While Dan kissed me passionately and played with my aching breasts, Dave dove between my legs and buried his face in my pussy. As his tongue teased my outer lips and flicked across my clit, I realized I had been shortchanged for many years by just teasing all these men. Within just a few short minutes, I had a gut-wrenching orgasm, better than any I had ever had with my husband. The three of us went into the bedroom, and for the next two hours they made love to me while Steve lay unconscious and snoring on the sofa. They would take turns and one would fuck me from behind while I gave the other head. When the cock in my cunt came, they would switch positions and another hard cock would fill my pussy while my mouth went to work on the soft, wet one. After they both came in me twice, Dave went down on me again, and ate their cum out of my pussy until I had another explosive orgasm. That night completely changed my life. In the past two years, I've made love to more men than I care to count, without Steve's knowledge. My secret list includes the mailman, several repairmen, and several anonymous men in hotel-bar pick-ups or group-sex situations. I have also made love with two women at large swing parties, and while I enjoyed the sex (especially the way a woman eats me out), I don't seek female partners the way I do men. I guess I just enjoy the power I seem to have over cocks. Also on the list is Steve's boss (who loves to suck my pussy when it is filled with cum), many of Steve's co-workers, Dan and Dave many times, and many of his friends, especially his "football cronies." Now, whenever Steve is out of town over the weekend (arranged as often as possible by his boss!), his five "friends" all show up at the house and we have a real "tailgate orgy." The cheerleader takes on the team in every way imaginable. The fun usually starts with me giving each of them head, one right after the other. The guys all time the others, and the one who comes in the shortest time is responsible for keeping the rest of us supplied with refreshments until the other four guys are totally sated. Only then can the loser enjoy more of me. If I'm no longer horny, he is out of luck for the day, so you can imagine how much they hate to lose, since more often than not, I say I've had enough just to tease him and drive him crazy after watching all that sex all day. The hottest time I have ever had was one Sunday, just as I opened the door for them, Steve called on the phone. I signaled for them to be quiet, but when they realized who I was talking to, they all stripped me and positioned my butt over a large ottoman. Then, all five of them took turns fucking me while I tried to continue my conversation with my husband. Talking to Steve while being fucked by five of his friends turned me on so much, that after I finally hung up, I told them I wanted as many of them in me as possible. In a matter of seconds, I was on the floor with a cock buried in my cunt, one in my mouth, one between my tits and my hands wrapped around the other two. I had never done this before! Since taking control of my own sex life, I feel much better about myself. I do what I want to do for me, and not because my husband wants me to do it. I'm with you, "Bonnie M," I, too would like to hear more from women who have turned (or wish to turn) the tables on their voyeuristic husbands or lovers. =========================================== 10/11/88 10:48 FROM: ROBYN from Jenkintown I'd like to add another female's viewpoint to this interesting message. I am petit, but I also have large breasts for my frame, which have always attracted guys. Shortly after we were married, my husband got on the exhibitionism kick by buying me sexy outfits that showed off my breasts to the hilt. More to please him than any particular need I felt, I consented to wear these clothes around the house. Soon, he was snapping Polaroid shots of me in halter dresses and tops, short-shorts, miniskirts, and bikinis. Gradually, he induced me to pose in filmy negligees. After that, being topless or completely naked was a short step. Finally, he bought a camcorder and filmed me nude, caressing my breasts, using a vibrator and masturbating -- all to his specific direction. It was such a tremendous turn-on for him and seemed like a totally harmless game for a married couple to play, I never made a fuss about it. And, as I got more used to this scene, I began to enjoy it as a prelude to sex. All until I found out he was sharing these pictures and videos with male business associates who gathered at our house once a week to talk shop. One night, returning home from shopping, I found my pictures spread on the card table and my video on the TV, for his friends' enjoyment! I furiously bent down to gather up the pictures, in my rage forgetting that I was dressed in one of hubby's favorite sundresses that allowed ample view of my cleavage. Setting down his drink, my husband laughingly pulled me on to his lap and felt up my nipples before the bulging eyes of his friends and then he raved about how oversexed I was. Reduced to tears, I struggled to free myself, only to see how this amused everyone. My husband tugged down the front zipper on my dress and my naked tits spilled free. With a final shove, I pushed free of my husband and flew out of the room to their applause. Afterwards, when I had calmed down, hubby explained how proud he was of my beauty and figure. He said my pictures and videos evoked envy, not disgust from his friends. He is a born salesman and his glib tongue soon convinced me not to be ashamed of my body. He had already led me so far down this road, I was too naive or dumb to stop him there. After all, he was the man I loved and married, how could he be thinking anything but the best for me? So, instead of being shy and staying upstairs, subsequent evenings found me serving drinks to the group while I wiggled around the room, enjoying the effect my body had on them. My husband made it clear that I was only to tease and never sleep with the guys, and I enjoyed teasing them so much, I never thought about sleeping with any of them. One evening, months later in the summer, I was running around in a bikini when my husband suggested I go topless. I agreed and threw off my top while the guys gasped and then cheered. I admit, that like "FREE AND EASY" in the last message, this was beginning to be a REAL turn-on for me. Seeing me flushed and breathing rapidly, my husband then suggested that the guys take turns feeling my "firm body." He said anything under the bikini bottom was "off limits." Just the touch of their fingers had me moaning, and just a few more feels of my breasts had me shuddering as I tried to hide my orgasm from my husband. As my husband made love to me later that night, I began to fantasize I was making it with all of these men. I knew I was ready to experiment. One night, soon after the topless show, I snuck off upstairs with one of the men and he fucked me standing up against a wall at the top of the steps. It was FANTASTIC! I was soon making plans to meet the others and we would sneak sex wherever convenient, usually at a local motel. The group stimulation only seemed to make me want more and more, so I agreed to dance for a group of men at a stag party. I dressed for the part and went into a torrid strip before 20 guys. Afterwards, dancing nude with some of them (they were dressed), I made arrangements involving four of them later that night. I've been on business trips with my husband and his favorite game is for me to dress up and act like a hooker and have him pick me up after I've been ogled and hit on in the bar for an hour or so. Afterwards, he tells me to stay in the room while he concludes business, but I'm out the door right after him, picking up guys in the bar and going back to their rooms (and even taking their money to maintain the image!). Lately, I satisfy my urges at our Club, where I can easily attract guys in my little tennis outfits and go off with as many as I want. I have become well-known with the golf and tennis pros, and in the club bar, where they all know I'm a very willing partner. I've even given a small group of young caddies a real treat on a rainy day! I am happy, now, and could never be satisfied with just my husband. Like many men, he enjoyed showing me off like a trophy, but he isn't liberated enough to accept any consequences of that. Yet, if he hadn't been the one who got me started on this kick, I might just be another boring wife. So, would my sleeping around shatter his ego, or inflate it because of all the men who want into my hot little panties? At this point, I don't really care. I'm having fun. ======================================== 10/29/88 16:53 FROM: FLOWER Daisy Petal I've really been fascinated with this discussion. Especially since my husband and I just recently found out, totally by accident, that he enjoys seeing me flirt with other men. I love my husband very much, and I could never be unfaithful to him. So, we have worked out a "safe sex" version of what you other women have been talking about. My husband and I were on our way to go dancing one night at a hotel lounge, and as we drove up to the parking lot, his beeper went off. He told me to just go on in and get a table, and he'd make his call from the lobby. I entered the club and got a table, and within a few minutes, was asked to dance by a very good-looking young man. Bob, my husband, walked in and of course had no idea where I was sitting since he saw me on the dance floor, so he went over to the bar and sat down. When the song was over, Bob started to meet me at the table but another man, asking me to dance, beat him to it. I turned around and saw Bob approaching, but he just smiled and shrugged and returned to the bar. After I sat down, Bob came up to the table and asked me to dance. As we danced he told me that he was getting very horny watching me slow dance with other guys and knowing that they wanted me. He said he'd sit at the bar the rest of the night, and I could enjoy all the attention. Well, hearing this started my motor running. The thought of flirting with all these men while my husband sat back and watched was SUCH a turn-on I could barely stand it! I must have danced with ten different guys that night. Some of them even cupped my ass and whispered in my ear. They whispered things I had forgotten about since I'd been married. Every once in a while, Bob would dance with me and I'd tell him all the things the different guys had done and said to me. I could see and feel the bulge in his pants and I could feel my own wetness from all the attention I was getting. That night, Bob and I made love three times, and each time it drove him crazy as I told him about the guys begging me up to their rooms and the things they said they wanted to do to me. When I told him how much those men turned me on, he would come immediately. We've been back to the club several times. Pretending I'm a single woman, I dance close, pressing my body tight against all the men I dance with. I love to feel their hard cocks. My husband loves to watch the guys run their hand over my ass. The men get bolder as the evening goes on, and I've even had three reach down the front of my dress and squeeze my braless breasts - - right on the dance floor! I have to admit it -- I love dancing with all of these good looking guys, having them paw me and nibble on my ear and neck as my husband watches everything. The last time I went dancing I was afraid I may have gone too far for Bob, when I actually kissed a guy on the dance floor, but Bob smiled and winked at me. Feeling braver, I spent several minutes on the parking lot - locked in a passionate embrace with that guy when I left. Later, when we were making love, I told Bob how wet it made me and how good it felt to bury my tongue in the guy's mouth. We both love our little exhibition game and try it at least once a month. I love the attention from all the men, and Bob loves to watch me turn other men on. The more I flirt, the better he likes it. I don't think we'll go much further than this, but it's very exciting knowing your husband is watching you strut your stuff and loving every minute of it. =========================================== 11/05/88 22:06 FROM: MARYANNE on the loose ((((((((Before I tell you my story, let me just say to "FLOWER" that she is headed for trouble -- in two possible ways. She may not always be lucky and dance with the apparent gentleman she has been fortunate enough to meet, so far -- OR she could compare her last night out "dancing" with her first night and figure out where she and Bob are headed. "FLOWER," if you're reading this -- be careful! Remember, nobody likes a cockteaser.))))))) It's funny that "FREE AND EASY" mentioned New Year's Eve in her letter, because that was the turning point in my sexual life, too. I've been dying to tell someone about all this and this is perfect! Now, let me slow down and back up to the beginning: First of all, from the earlier messages, I detect a pattern. The wives all appear to be good-looking and well-built, and not all that experienced (sexually) before getting married. Well, I fit that description perfectly. In my teen years I won several beauty contests, but stopped winning as my height didn't keep pace with my bust development, and I no longer had that long and lean look. I dated in high school and college, but I was very much what you would call a "good girl." I married my husband, Tom, while I was getting my MBA. For years, Tom did everything he could think of to get me into sexy clothes. I had no problem wearing them for him, but I didn't feel much like "advertising" out in public. Tom loves me in stockings and garterbelts, low-cut blouses, high heels, and shorter than short miniskirts. On the few occasions I did allow him to dress me and we went out (usually while on vacation), I felt like a call girl on display. Wherever we went, men always turned and stared, and Tom loved every moment of this coy, femme-fatale performance. Because of Tom's career, we entertain quite a bit, and there always seems to be men around the house. I first noticed my husband's "preference" at a party, over two years ago. Almost EXACTLY like "Bonnie M" in the first message, a friend of Tom's had been making a pass at me while Tom was out of the room. He had me in the corner and was relying on me to keep my humor as the hostess, as he tried several time to kiss me. Finally, he pushed away my arms and pinned me to the wall, reaching into my blouse and squeezing my breast. Tom walked in and saw what happened, but he stepped back out of the doorway and watched! I finally gently kneed the friend in the crotch and nothing further happened. Later that night, Tom mentioned that he had seen what happened and was not furious, but pleased. When I told him I WAS furious at him for not helping me, he told me to loosen up, that it was just harmless fun. He said that it was a compliment to me -- and to him -- that our guest had admired my beauty so much that he couldn't help himself. A month later, we were hosting a pool party and I went down to the freezer in the basement for more ice. Again, one of the guests followed me and started getting overly friendly. He was behind me, with his arms wrapped around my bare stomach, when I noticed Tom watching us through the window. I allowed the man to caress my breasts, and even to pull my bikini top down. I fully expected Tom to come charging into the room and break us up, but he continued to watch. My new friend sucked my nipples and then placed his hand inside my bikini bottom. I couldn't believe this! I wanted to see just how far Tom would allow this to go before stopping this. The man slowly inserted his finger deep inside my pussy and I opened my legs wider, to give him the freedom to do whatever he wanted. I really got scared that I had let it go too far when he lowered his trunks and was ready to fuck me. Fortunately, someone yelled for ice and we immediately separated. My husband never mentioned the incident and I was angrier with him than ever before in our marriage. One night, Jerry, the friend from the indoor party, was over the house. We were having a ball, mixing batch after batch of margueritas "to get it just right!" Tom suddenly announced that we were out of limes and he would run to the store for more. I knew this was a lie, but said nothing, and as I expected, Jerry said he'd stay and "protect" me. Tom left in the car, but apparently parked down the street and walked back. Jerry had already gotten fresh, again, and I suggested we go into the den, "where we could be more comfortable." We sat on the sofa and kissed and caressed each other for at least five minutes, until I excused myself to "go to the bathroom." Instead, I snuck out the garage door and peeked around the corner of the house. Sure enough, there in the shadows, was Tom looking through the den window. I know now that it was an irrational, immature decision, but at that moment, I was determined to force my husband's hand. I wanted to make him as mad as he was making me. Soon after I returned to the sofa, Jerry removed my blouse and then my bra. He sucked my breasts for a long time and I was turned on as well as angry. Jerry was losing control as he laid me down on the sofa and removed my skirt and panties. I was certain that this would cause Tom to call an end to his fun and storm in. Jerry started licking my pussy, and I was losing control, too! I had never expected this thing to go this far! Now, unable to calm Jerry down, I tried to stall for time. He was ready to fuck me, and there was no way I was going to let him do that. I was really in a fix! I forced us both up and took his penis in my hand, wanting to masturbate him to orgasm. He gripped my head in both hands and forced his penis into my mouth, pumping in and out. Suddenly, he erupted and shot a huge load of semen all over my face. I used this as an excuse to go to the bathroom to clean up, and locked myself in there until I heard Tom return. Again, Tom made no mention of this incident. Things were quiet until Christmas. During the Christmas season, Tom has a special game he plays when we host a party. He hangs a bunch of mistletoe over the door into the rec room and makes up a special batch of "Courage Punch" (it's almost straight booze, and after a few dips into it, you get all kinds of courage!). As a couple meets under the mistletoe, they have to kiss -- but the trick is not to be the one that breaks the kiss. The "struggle" is good-natured and in fun and the one who breaks away must down a cup of punch. The crowd watches and cheers the kissing and the winner, boos the loser, and chants as the loser chugs the punch. We had seven couples and one stag man over that New Year's Eve, and by midnight, I had already broken away from two men. I was feeling no pain when, a little after midnight, the single man caught me under the mistletoe. He began kissing me very passionately, so I teased him back by running my tongue in and out of his mouth. Everyone was cheering to see who would stop. He put his hand inside my low-cut cocktail dress to feel my breast and the crowd went wild. I saw Tom cheering, and yelling for the man to keep going. In an effort to make him pull away, I reached down and pulled the man's zipper open. The crowd laughed and then roared as the stranger bent me slightly backwards and started pulling the hem of my dress up. I almost pulled away, then, but when I saw the gleam in Tom's eyes, I became determined to continue. The hem of my dress continued up until it was at my waist, fully exposing my stocking-tops and panties to everyone. We still didn't break and I didn't know what to do to stop him. His hands pulled my panties off my hips and they fell to my ankles, baring my pussy to the crowd. Suddenly, there wasn't as much cheering and I finally realized that things had gotten too far out of hand. I tried to pull away, but the man had a really tight grip on me. Before I finally got free, he managed to get his finger slightly into me. Immediately after that, four of the couples and the rest of the wives left. Three husbands and the single guy stayed. After we escorted our guests out, Tom kissed me, told me that I was wonderful and that he had enjoyed every second of my "act." That was the last straw for me. The switch was thrown! Walking back into the rec room, I deliberately positioned myself under the mistletoe again, and one of the four men began to kiss me. When he reached behind me and unzippered my dress, I let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it. I broke the kiss and went to the punchbowl, not bothering to dress. After the drink, another man pulled me under the mistletoe. Off came my bra, and down went my panties again. There I stood in my sheer black stockings and high heels, nude for the men to view. The four men surrounded me and took turns kissing me and caressing my body. Tom took the mistletoe down and put it on the back of the sofa. One of the men pushed me back on the couch, dropped his trousers and attempted to mount me. I looked at Tom one last time. He was cheering the man on and I opened my legs and let him enter me. He reached orgasm very quickly, and when he stood and pulled his pants up, I just laid there with my legs spread wide. One of the other men quickly looked at Tom, saw his smile and lowered himself down onto and into me. When he was done, the last two guys took their turns fucking me. The whole time, Tom sat there and watched. I looked over at him as the third guy was coming, "This is what you wanted me to do all along, isn't it?" He nodded and smiled. We lost some friends that night, some of whom have not spoken to me since. Tom later admitted he had "enticed" his friends to hit on me over the years by telling them that I was an "easy lay" and liked it. Well, now, he's right -- I AM an easy lay and I DO like it. The four men who had intercourse with me that New Year's Eve have called me on numerous occasions and I have had sex frequently with them over the last two years. I've also balled three of the four husbands that left the party early that night. I've been with men singly and in groups and I think I prefer the attention I get in the group scene. I don't know if Tom still watches or not, and I don't care. I'm sure he does on occasion, but it doesn't matter to me whether he's around or not when I decide to have my fun. Today, I enjoy a much more liberated sex life and freely go with whomever desires me. Tom doesn't complain, and neither do I. Shouldn't every wife give her husband exactly what he deserves? ========================================== 12/14/88 23:41 FROM: HOTSHOT always ready I really enjoyed reading the messages on this subject. I'm sorry to see no more women have added anything in a while. Do you want to hear what a husband feels like -- when what he thinks he wants isn't really what he wants? First of all -- what's wrong with a husband or boyfriend wanting to show off his wife or girlfriend? Maybe it is a little like showing off a trophy, but I can always feel my chest swell when I catch men looking at my beautiful wife (28, 5'6", a very hard 38D-26-36) with obvious lust in their eyes. I love it. They know she is MY WIFE. During our eight years of marriage, I often fantasized about watching my wife, Ellen, make love to another man. She just shrugged me off until one day this Spring. She came home from work very excited and told me that her boss, Harry, had made her a fantastic offer. Now, Ellen is about as ambitious a woman as you'll find. She started at her company as a secretary and over the last few years, by getting degrees and working hard, she was the highest client rep she could be at the local office. Her next big move would be downtown, to the headquarters building, but openings there are few and far between. Harry, her regional director, has always liked Ellen, and Ellen has always been friendly in return, but their relationship has always been professional. That day, Harry called Ellen downtown to his office and told her that if she would go to bed with him, he could guarantee her promotion to headquarters within the month. Ellen came home and told me and said that if I agreed, knowing about my fantasies about her, she would do it. Maybe I should have thought about it more, but I immediately agreed. On the appointed night, Harry (a short, weasel kind of guy, about 50) showed up exactly on time. I was hidden in our bedroom closet. Ellen and Harry had some drinks and some small talk, but Ellen said Harry was in a big hurry to get at her, so she led him upstairs to the bedroom. Ellen undressed and sprawled invitingly on the bed. Harry disrobed quickly, and I watched with mounting excitement as he wildly kissed and fondled my wife's great body. Soon, he buried his balding head between Ellen's legs, as she moaned with delight. Normally, Ellen is silent and only mildly active in bed with me. I was shocked to see her brazenly encouraging her boss to suck her hard-nippled breasts and beg him to screw her wet pussy with his short, stubby little penis. I gaped in astonishment as Ellen strained to experience the fullness of his thrusting while clutching his hairy body in abandoned fever until, minutes later, both exploded in the uncontrolled ecstasy of their mutual orgasms. This was a very different Ellen in bed from the one I knew for all these years. I waited for Ellen to make her usual dash to the bathroom but, instead, she rolled to face her exhausted boss and slowly began to fondle and kiss his freshly spent cock. Something she had never performed for me. Her tender attentions slowly reawakened Harry's tool, making it erect, again. My shock deepened as she boldly mounted her boss with a cry of lust. I know my jaw dropped because I had never seen her behave with such passion! Her talents and energy were rewarded as Harry let go with another loud orgasm inside of her. After a short rest, Harry dressed and left. Ellen was just closing the front door when she turned and saw me at the bottom of the stairs. I didn't have time to say a word to her before she wrestled me to the floor, ripped my shorts down my hips and mounted me for what was the best fuck of my life. Since that night, Ellen has "entertained" Harry numerous times, sometimes with me home and watching and sometimes not. She enjoys her new job and the numerous perks Harry is providing. Tonight, at Harry's suggestion, she is going to "entertain" Harry's boss. I guess I still get a bang out of watching Ellen submit her body to the intimacies of another lover, but I wonder if my fantasies may have been better just as fantasies. I feel a little jealous, because Ellen is loving this so much more than I am. She gives herself so wantonly, always doing something new with these lovers that we've never done before, and obviously loves feeling another cock invade her body. I think it's really slutty on her part. END ---------------------------------------------------------------------- JB-RIDE A LONG DAY by J. BOSWELL (with apologies to Louis L'Amour) (c) Copyright October, 1991 by J BOSWELL, all rights, except those explicitly detailed below, ARE RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR. Electronic distribution (as a text file on an "adults only" BBS) is permitted without alteration, but inclusion in any type of "publication" offered for sale (eg., book, magazine, CD-ROM, etc.) requires the author's explicit permission. WARNING: This work of fiction is intended to be read by adults only. The author has uploaded it only to known "Adults, only" BBSs, and requests that you exercise the same discretion. Also, this is a fantasy -- in real life, please protect your lover and yourself by practicing safe sex. ......................... Night was coming on fast and Fallon decided it was time to start looking for some shelter. A small arroyo or cut-back by a stream-bed would be perfect. Something to get him out of the cold desert wind that blows at night. He dismounted and crept to the top of a small rise, being careful not to present a silhouette on the ridge line. He was surveying the vista and smelled it at the same time he saw it. Burning wood. Far to his left was the faintest trail of gray smoke rising into the gray sky. He was lucky to even see it; another few minutes and it would be lost in the darkness. Fallon hoped it was a cabin. He liked the idea of sitting on a real chair for a few hours instead of his horse. And the thought of maybe sleeping under a roof, in front of a fire brought a smile to his face. He didn't remember any pilgrims in the area the last time he passed this way and it sure wasn't farming country but that didn't mean some optimistic miner couldn't be trying his hand at prospecting. He just hoped it wasn't some loco who only wanted the coyotes and Apaches for neighbors. He'd be lucky to get a `hello' and `goodbye' from such unfriendly types. No, Fallon was hoping it was some lonely miner, who would be happy to share his roof and beans and fire for the night in exchange for some palaver. Although no true test, the rest of the area looked deserted, so Fallon remounted and headed off in the direction of the smoke. Now dark, he refrained from lighting a cigar and just watched the terrain carefully. Riding into the wind, down and up, over the rolling country, Fallon could smell the woodsmoke getting stronger with each step. And with each step it smelled less like a homey fire in a stone hearth and more like trouble. Noiselessly, Fallon slid his well-used Henry rifle from its soft leather scabbard and rested his thumb on the hammer. Cresting the next ridge, Fallon saw that he was right -- it was trouble -- but not his. Before him was the remains of someone's Conestoga wagon and their belongings. Most of the wagon was gone, burned down to a pile of glowing ashes and the metal rims from the wheels. There were pots and pans and the metal parts of tools scattered around and some clothes, no more than scorched rags, now. The Apaches had taken all they wanted and burned the rest. There wouldn't be anything useful left. Disappointed that it hadn't been a cabin with a pot of stew on the fire, Fallon nudged his horse on, circling the wreckage. With a sharp jerk he reined the horse to a stop and sat in shock at the sight before him. On the ground, naked and staked at her wrists and ankles was a blonde woman. The first woman Fallon had seen in over three weeks. He blinked to make sure he wasn't seeing things. Fallon scanned the area around him, again, and then looked down at the woman. Her face was turned away from him, but even in the moonlight Fallon could see the damage the sun had done to the skin normally covered with clothes. Her breasts were large and soft looking but smudged with dirt, as were her stomach and hips. Her blonde pubic hair was plastered and pressed flat and the insides of her white thighs were dirty. Fallon could see her chest rise and fall with her breathing. "Ma'am?" She jerked her head around and popped her eyes open to stare at Fallon. "Oh! A white man! Thank the Lord! You are a white man! I thought the savages had returned. Praise be!" Fallon noticed she was fairly young and maybe would even be more than just pretty, in a different situation. "Yes, Ma'am, I am a white man. What happened to you?" The woman looked up at Fallon and began talking. She talked with one sentence rolling over the next, with one word flowing in to all the rest of the words. Barely taking a breath, she shot through her story with a rhythm that reminded Fallon of a Gatling gun. "Well, Mister, everything was fine and dandy this morning. We -- my husband, Joshua, and my children Matthew, Lucas, Melody, and Charity -- were in a wagon train -- Mr. Jed Fuller's? -- on the way out to California. Right after we got underway this morning, we were attacked by hundreds of savages. Joshua -- well, not just Joshua, a lot of wagons -- panicked and whipped the horses to run their legs off. When we finally stopped, we were lost and alone. We had no idea where anyone else was or if they were even alive. We didn't know where we were so we just kept on going. "We soon got to a river, but we had to stop because it was too deep and running too fast to cross. There were a lot of rocks and rapids. Joshua turned us upstream in the hopes of finding a safe fording place. When we finally found one, Joshua and Matthew led the team. We were almost in the middle of the river when the lead horses bucked and Joshua and Matthew were toppled over and into the deeper water. We saw them fighting the current and heard them yelling, and then they went under and none of us saw them come up, again. They were gone! My husband and my son! Gone! "We looked and waited, but they were gone. My other son, Lucas, found their bodies downstream -- all battered and bloody - - and we buried them there as best we could. We went further upstream and made it across the river and started up a long hill. One of the horses stumbled and broke a leg. Lucas, cut him out from the team and shot him. Then, we started down the other side, and the three horses could barely keep us from rolling out of control, all the way to the bottom. When we crossed this plain, the horses refused to start up that hill over there and we decided to rest them for the night. "That's when the wolves came. A whole, big pack of them. They must have found the dead horse, because they had blood all over their fur. Poor little Lucas was sitting on one of the horses when the wolves came running over the hill and the horses took off. And they all disappeared. Including Lucas! "Me and the girls hid in the wagon and cried and cried. All the menfolk gone and certain the wolves would return to devour us, too! "But we were wrong. Instead of a pack of wolves, a pack of painted savages appeared. I fired the pistol, but I didn't hit any of them. They rode right up to us and grabbed my girls away from me! Melody is 10 and Charity is only 8. Two indians put my babies over their horses and sped away. "The eight savages that were left ignored me as they picked through every item in this wagon; eating all the food and drinking all the cider and water. When they were satisfied, they ripped my clothes off me and tied me down like this -- and then, one after the other, they violated me. Some, more than once! "I begged them to kill me. So I wouldn't suffer their abuse. A white woman being ravaged by drunk, laughing, red savages. I never heard them utter one word of English the whole time. Finally, when they were all done with me, and could no longer mistreat me, they got on their ponies and rode away, whooping and hollering. "They left me in the desert sun to die. "And then, thank the Lord, you come along." ...... Fallon eased the Henry back into the scabbard. He slid off the horse and looked down on the woman. Her skin glowed in the moonlight. The marks on her round breasts and open pubis where she was ravaged and raped were obvious. He moved closer to her. He thought about what she had been through in one day. Losing a husband, four children, all her earthly belongings and her respectable womanhood. It was more than you could expect one person to take. He dropped his chaps and pants and pulled his hard cock from out of his stained longjohns. He knelt between her spread legs and spit on his prick's knobby head. He had been wrong -- for once, the Apaches had left something useful behind. The woman looked up at him in surprise, with large round eyes and he sadly informed her -- "Well, Ma'am, this sure ain't been your day." (A little tongue-in-cheek, for a change.) -- +--------------' 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> /