Message-ID: <21038asstr$942387002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: d137@my-deja.com Subject: {ASSM} The Journal 3/3 X-Post-Date: Mon, 04 Oct 1999 20:25:20 GMT Lines: 550 X-Original-Message-ID: <7tb2eu$j39$1@nnrp1.deja.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 128.8.172.234 X-To: story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us JMDigest-Score: good -14 Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1999 01:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin The following story has sexually explicit content. If you are too young, offended by such material, or in a location where such material is illegal, you should not read this. This story has three parts and will make sense only if the parts are read in order. -------------------------------------------------------------- THE JOURNAL PART 3/3 ******************************************************** I haven't written in this journal for quite a while now, it must be well over a month. Why haven't I written? It's not as if my husband has stopped making love to me or as if I've stopped my activities with Tom. Quite the contrary. My love-making with my husband, while still the old routine in form, has become more exciting and meaningful to me because of my other life. And my sex life with Tom has continued. Once every week, more or less, he comes by or he calls me to come to him, and I fuck him, suck him, and/or take it up the ass. I haven't seen any more of Mr. Edwards, but did meet one other client, whom Tom brought over to my house one day. The episode is hardly worth mentioning. My husband had left for work and I was getting ready to do the laundry when Tom walked in with a short, extremely fat young man, probably in his late 20s, and abruptly told me to take him into my bedroom and blow him. I did as I was told. In the bedroom, I knelt before this man and lowered his pants and his rather large jockey shorts. He had a big, overhanging stomach that hung down in folds, almost concealing his erect prick, which was tiny, no bigger than my thumb. His little balls were hidden by his thick, overlapping thighs. I had to sit him down and spread his legs apart in order to get at his prick. I took the whole thing in my mouth, ran my tongue around it, and he came almost at once, dribbling come onto my tongue. As soon as he had come, he pulled away, pulled up his pants and was out the bedroom door. By the time I got back to the living room, he and Tom were leaving. The whole episode must have lasted no more than ten minutes. So why haven't I been writing? Because I have stopped agonizing over my dual sex life. I have accepted it. I enjoy it. I relish it. I haven't had the need to rethink it after each incident. That is, I didn't until yesterday. Yesterday was different and I need to work through the whole episode in my mind, to establish some sort of equilibrium. Two days ago, my husband left for one of his business trips, so I wasn't surprised when Tom called yesterday. There was to be another dinner, this time with several clients, at that same restaurant where we ate with Mr. Edwards. As I had that previous time, I put on an evening dress and took a taxi to the hotel. Tom met me in the lobby, this time without Jessica. We went into the restaurant where he introduced me to two couples. The Schmidts were the more senior, both probably in their late 50s or early 60s. They were dressed like, and had the appearance of, aristocrats who spent a lot of time horseback riding. Both were thin, gray-headed, and tanned, with the wirey builds. He had the gaunt, confident look of a man who has been successful all his life, and she had that look of command common to women whose status has always made them the women in charge of important social events. Indeed, she did most of the talking. The Erikssons were younger, bigger, and blonder. Mr. Eriksson was tall, taller than Tom, who I think is 6' 2", and maybe in his early 30s. Mrs Eriksson was almost as tall and just big - well-built and buxom, like what I imagine a Viking queen might have looked like, except that her blond hair was only shoulder-length and she was quite fashionably dressed. Throughout the meal, they spoke infrequently, always deferring to the Schmidts. Although the four of them were obviously from a different social class than I, they were all formally polite and pleasant, including me in the conversation without any condescension. The food was again marvelous, the wine flowed, and I had a wonderful time at dinner. I knew, of course, that Tom had something planned for me with the men. I kept wondering how he planned to get rid of their wives and whether the wives knew what I was there for. Certainly, they gave no indication. After dessert, Mr. Schmidt offered to get us a round of brandy, but his wife suggested that we could drink more comfortably back in their room. Tom politely declined, saying he had an early appointment the next day, but volunteered that I would be happy to join them in their room. So I found myself going up in the elevator with these two couples. Had it only been the men, I'd have known exactly what was expected of me, but with their wives present, I was at a loss. I hoped someone would make my role clear to me when we got to the room. The "room" turned out to be a huge, sumptuous suite, with a large central room, like a livingroom, and two bedrooms. The men immediately took off their jackets and ties while the women took turns in the bathroom. I, of course, was the last to go. When I emerged, the Erikssons were seated and Mr. Schmidt was attending to the drinks. Mrs. Schmidt came up to me, pointed to a closet and said, in a motherly sort of way, "You'll want to hang your lovely dress there, dear, so it doesn't get all wrinkled. You can put your purse and your undies on the shelf." She then turned and sat down with the Erikssons, as if she had done nothing more than tell me where to hang a coat. I was momentarily dumbfounded. Was I to play with the husbands while the wives watched? Could that be what was expected of me by this cultured, aristocratic woman? This was something I had never done and had certainly not expected. I just stood there until Mr. Schmidt brought me out of my momentary stupor by calling over to me, "Your brandy is here on this table when you're ready." I could have just walked out the door, but I knew Tom expected me to stay. That was just a rationalization, of course. There was a special thrill in not knowing how things were going to develop. I wouldn't have walked away from this for the world. So I undressed and carefully hung up my dress, folded my underthings and placed them on the shelf with my purse. Then, completely naked, I walked back to these elegant people, who were casually chatting and sipping their brandies. "Ah, there you are, my dear," Mrs Schmidt greeted me, "all set then? Aren't you lovely. Why don't you begin by helping Mr. Schmidt get started. As we get older, we find that it takes more and more effort." She gestured toward her husband, who sat there expectantly. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I took the brandy that was offered me and swallowed it all in one gulp. Then I walked over and stood in front of him. He spread his legs and gestured toward his fly. "Well," I thought, "if he wants me to work him over in front of his wife and the others, who am I to object," and I knelt in front of him and opened his pants. He lifted his hips so I could remove his pants and underpants. It was a little clumsy, because I had to stop to slip off his shoes, but I soon had him sitting on the edge of his chair wearing nothing but his shirt, which I pushed up and out of the way. His cock lay limply between his wirey legs, dangling from his gray, thinnish pubic hair. I took it gently in my hand. For its length, it was rather thin, sort of like Mr. Schmidt himself, and it was uncircumcised, something I had not run into before. As I stroked it, it began to firm up. I played with the foreskin, sliding it around and finally folding it back so I could run my tongue over the cockhead. His prick soon became quite stiff and red, with a bluish cast to the head. I began to suck on it, sliding it in and out of my mouth. I could see him beginning to react, his mouth growing slack, his breathing heavier, and his eyes staring out at some distant world. It wouldn't be long before he'd be filling my mouth. At that point, however, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mrs. Schmidt. "I think that's enough for now, dear. We don't want him to go too far too soon. Come, give me a hand with my dress." So that was it, I realized as I stood up and turned to her. I was supposed to get him ready for her. I wondered if they would do it out here or if they would retire to one of the bedrooms. I helped her remove her dress and, at her bidding, went and hung it up in the closet. When I returned, she was sitting with her slip up over her waist. "Let's get me out of these silly pantyhose, shall we dear." I knelt in front of her and removed first her shoes, then her pantyhose, and finally, after she had said, "Go on, dear," her white, cotton panties. I now found myself staring, closer than I ever had before, at a cunt. The labia were barely visible, wrinkled, and dry looking, and the grey hair that surrounded them was sparse. "Get me started, dear, before he loses his interest." I could feel my heart beating. I had never touched a cunt, other than my own. Nor had I ever had the slightest desire to do so. This was not how I had expected things to turn out. I can't say that I experience actual revulsion, but I had a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Still, my curiosity was beginning to be piqued. And maybe there was also something that appealed to my sense of adventure. I steeled myself and gently ran my finger tip over the labia. They felt soft and silky. I parted them with some difficulty because they were dry. Her clit was scarcely visible, just a flesh-covered bump, but I rubbed it cautiously with my thumb. She smiled at me. "Go on, dear." Hesitantly, I slid my finger in and, after I had penetrated a little, I was rewarded by moisture. I then began stroking with my finger, dipping into the moisture and bringing a bit out to the labia with each stroke. She was loosening up. I could feel the little bump swell and see the labia glisten as they became covered with her juices. She began to thrust her pelvis forward, as if to capture more of my finger. I inserted a second finger, which brought a "yes" from her. This wasn't so bad, I thought as I continued to fingerfuck her, she'll be ready for him in a few more moments. "Use your tongue, dear, don't be coy." My tongue! She wanted me to stick my tongue up her cunt. To lick her juices. To suck her off. I couldn't do that. I wasn't into that sort of thing. But she placed her hands on my head and pulled it toward her pussy. She was getting into the action now, pushing her old cunt further up on my fingers and breathing heavily. I didn't really have much of a choice. I took my hand away and stuck out my tongue. At first, I couldn't bring myself to actually touch her cunt, so I licked her thighs on either side. But she'd have none of that. She pulled my head harder, forcing it towards her cunt and I felt her labia against my tongue. It wasn't so bad, when you came right down to it. It was just flesh. Moist, soft, silky flesh. And, once I got over the concept, it didn't taste all that bad. I built up courage and began to delve deeper, extending my tongue as far up her cunt as it would go, then lapping at her labia, then prodding her clit, then back in again. Over and over. She was now thrashing about and grunting. I expected that at any moment she or Mr. Schmidt would tell me to stop, but just the opposite happened. With one hand she pulled me closer, as if to push my entire head up that now soaking pussy, while with the other she suddenly started pounding with her fist on the chair arm, screaming and coming like a twenty-year old. "Oh, yes, yes, yes!" As with Mr. Edwards, I was afraid she might have a heart attack. But she didn't. She finally eased up, released my head, lay back, and slowly breathed deeply. "That was very nice, dear," she dreamily smiled at me. "Now I think you better look to the younger folks. I'm sure Mr. Eriksson would appreciate your attention." The Erikssons had been quietly watching the whole time. I stood up and turned toward them. Mrs. Eriksson gestured toward her husband, so I knelt in front of him and started to undress him, his shoes and socks, and his pants, which Mrs. Schmidt had me hang in the closet. When I finally took off his boxer shorts, I stared in awe. He was already hard and his prick was immense, as big as my forearm. I thought back to my one experience in college with such a large cock and knew that this time I wouldn't get away with just a hand job. Somehow, he was going to have to fit. Well, I thought, let's see what we can do. My hand couldn't reach around that prick, I needed both hands to fully surround it and stroke it. It felt amazing. I cupped one hand and hefted his ball sack, which was still sagging despite the tension of his hard-on. I felt the large balls and rolled them around. Then I leaned forward and licked his cock, the entire length, from his balls to the tip, where that lovely clear fluid was oozing out. I could just barely get my mouth over the head. There was no way I could get any more in, so I just gave it a gentle chewing motion and tried to swirl my tongue around it. It was quite a different sensation than I had had from Mr. Schmidts thin cock. When I took my mouth off to catch my breath, he stood up and took my hand. "Let's go," he said and pulled me to a bedroom, slipping out of his shirt. We lay down on the bed. He grabbed at my breasts, took one in his mouth and sucked fiercely on the nipple, like an infant whose feeding was an hour late. He groped for my cunt, clutched it, and prodded it with two fingers Fortunately, I was quite wet so his fingers slid right in. He roughly finger fucked me and then it seemed like he was putting his whole hand into me. Were the others watching us, I wondered, or were they still in the other room? I couldn't see because he was blocking my view. He tried to mount me, but I managed to roll him back and climb on top. I wanted to be able to control his rate of entrance because I was afraid that he would tear me. I reached down and guided the tip of that horse cock to the edge of my labia. I now could see that the other three had followed us into the bedroom and were standing there watching intently. I guess we were all wondering whether I could fit that prick into me. I was certainly going to try, but very carefully. Slowly I bobbed up and down on it, letting it advance a millimeter further into me with each push. He clutched my tits, roughly massaging them, and kept trying to thrust deeper into me, but I was able to maintain control. By now the entire head was in me and I had never felt so stretched. Still, I continued my steady pumping, easing more and more of him into me and letting him take longer and longer strokes. Soon he had filled me, although I had by no means taken the entire length in. I reached down, gripped the part of his cock that was outside me, and held on. I was sure that if I let any more of it go into me it would drive right through my cervix. I had pretty much got things under control and was beginning to enjoy the sensations in my expanded cunt when I felt a cool finger prodding my asshole. It wasn't Mr. Eriksson's, he was still gripping my tits. A quick peek told me it was Mr. Schmidt, who seemed to be rubbing lubricant in my ass. He climbed between our legs and I felt the tip of his thin cock probing my asshole. My cunt was so stretched by that horse cock that I didn't think there'd be any room in my ass for another prick, however thin, but Mr. Schmidt pushed and shoved and soon his prick slid into me and I was caught in an obscene sandwich between the two pricks. I felt like a stuffed turkey on a spit. It was a good thing I had peed before we got started, or there probably would have been a disaster. Mr. Schmidt now controlled the action. He gripped my hips and his in and out thrusts drove me up and down on Mr. Eriksson's cock. I can't say that it was the most comfortable fuck I ever had, but the mental stimulation of this double fuck was incredible. Lying there between two men, each huffing and grunting as they neared their climaxes, was such a unique experience that I couldn't help but become excited myself. When Mr. Eriksson came, he set off a chain reaction, stimulating Mr. Schmidt to his orgasm and then, almost in spite of myself, driving me to mine. I could scarcely catch my breath as the tremors spread across my body, which was being crushed between the two of them. We all collapsed into a heap of sweating and panting people. After a few moments, Mrs. Schmidt helped her husband extricate himself and he went into the bathroom, presumably to wash off his prick. By the time he came out, Mr. Eriksson had crawled out from under me and then he went into the bathroom. I lay there exhausted, come dripping out of my cunt and my asshole, and began to drift off into sleep. I was brought to by a hand on my arm. "You'll want to shower, my dear, and clean yourself off," said Mrs. Schmidt, who was back in her dress and looking quite proper. I barely had any energy. I staggered up and into the bathroom, sat down on the toilet, and let the semen drain from me. Finally, I got up, turned on the shower, and stepped into it. The warm water flowing over my body eased me. I rummaged through the basket of goodies the hotel offered and found a small bottle of bath oil and doused myself with it. I stood there, luxuriating in the foaming substance, which I rubbed into every square inch of flesh, and letting the warm water soothe me. Eventually I began to feel alive again. Stepping out of the shower, I took a thick, terry cloth towel that had been warmed by its rack, and slowly dried myself. When I stepped out of the bathroom still drying myself, Mrs. Eriksson was waiting, dressed in a robe. The others were nowhere to be seen. She gently took the towel from me. "It's my turn now," she said. "Oh, no!" I thought. Did I have to lap up her cunt, too? She led me to the bed and, turning to face me, dropped her robe. She had a magnificent body. It was absolutely striking. Large, firm breasts and broad hips separated by a narrow waist. I stood there in awe of it. She wrapped her strong arms around me and gently pulled me to her. I sank into the softness of her breasts. I felt warm and protected in her arms. With a feather touch, her hands stroked my back. I returned her embrace. I could have stayed there forever. Finally, we lay down on the bed. She gently cupped my breast and brought her mouth to it. Her tongue caressed my nipple, making it hard and pebbled. A shiver ran through me. I hadn't thought that a woman could evince such sexual tension in me, but she knew just how to touch me, how to run her tongue around my areola, how to nibble on my nipple. Her hand smoothed its way across my belly, along my thighs, between my legs. Her fingers found my labia and fluttered across them. Surges of electricity ran through me. I responded, nuzzling her large breasts, taking one nipple in my mouth, caressing it, tonguing it, sucking it. Now her finger was on my clit with just the right amount of pressure, rolling it around beneath her fingertip. She dipped her finger between my wet labia for just a second, then brought it back to tease my clit again. I wanted that finger all the way in me, but she just caressed the edges of my vulva, eliciting small shivers from me, arousing my passions. Then she changed positions, bringing her mouth to my crotch and mine to hers. I was faced with a glorious pussy, with large wet labia and a protruding clit that stood up out of its nest of skin. There was no hesitation on my part. I buried my tongue in her even before I felt her tongue in me. I tasted her juices. They were glorious, ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. I lapped them up. Our bodies formed a single entity, breasts pressing against bellies, arms clasped around thighs, mouths pressed to pussies. Electric pulses ran from my cunt through my body up to my tongue, where they entered her body at her cunt, only to reappear on her tongue and complete the circuit back into me. We were invaded by a fiery passion. When we came, we came as one, a single earthquake roaring through both our bodies, followed by a continuing series of aftershocks. Sometime later, we rose and dressed. She walked with me to the door, where Mrs. Schmidt was waiting. "Here, my dear," she said, handing me an envelop, "You were quite good." I slipped the envelop into my purse without looking in it. Mrs. Eriksson walked with me to the elevator and rode down with me. On the way down, she embraced me and kissed me on the lips. In the lobby, we waited in silence while the doorman got me a taxi. Then Mrs. Eriksson walked out with me. When we had reached the taxi and the doorman had opened the door for me, she embraced me again. "Mrs. Eriksson," I started. "Helga," she insisted. "Helga," I tried again, but she silenced me with another kiss. This time our tongues found each other. I rode home in the cab in a state of utter elation, like a girl on her first date who has just been kissed, which, in a way, I was. I finally looked in the envelop Mrs. Schmidt had given me and found six hundred dollars in fifty-dollar bills. I realized that I had discovered something new, but it wasn't the money, it was something about me. As I write this now, I understand that I still love my old sex life, it wasn't displaced by this episode with Helga, it was simply expanded in new directions. I am like Alexander the Conqueror who, wherever he went, discovered new worlds to conquer. I want to conquer the world! ****************************************************** This will be my last journal entry. I no longer need to use this journal to replay the events that have so greatly affected, and continue to affect, my sex life and my understanding of myself. I am writing this now only for completeness. Some day, years from now when my memory has begun to fail, I may reread all this, and I'll want to understand why I have stopped writing. The emotionally excruciating events that caused this change occurred several weeks after my last journal entry. My life in the intervening weeks had continued with Tom and with my husband pretty much as before, and I had no need to describe them in my journal. Then, one morning, shortly after Tom had left and I was lying dreamily on my bed, naked except for a towel that I had put between my legs so his semen wouldn't leak onto the bedclothes, I heard the front door open. Tom had forgotten something and had come back for it. I called to him. "Tom?" "No, it's not Tom!" said my husband as he entered the bedroom. I learned later that when my husband had got to work that morning there was no power. Without lights or computers, there was no point in keeping the office open, so everyone had gone home. As he had neared our house, he had noticed Tom's car driving in the other direction. He had wondered what Tom was doing near our house. My response to the sound of the front door, combined with what he saw when he entered the bedroom, had told him what Tom was up to. When I heard his voice, I screamed at first and then began crying. It was so utterly stupid. Of course he was going to find out sooner or later. What had I expected? I had given absolutely no thought to that eventuality. Somehow, I had just assumed that everything would be alright. Now, with him standing there looking down at me, naked but for a semen covered towel between my legs, I realized that my marriage and my life were in ruins. "How long has this been going on?" Through my tears I answered so weakly that he had to make me repeat my words. "Since Jamaica." "Do you love him?" "No!" I cried, and added, choked by tears, "I love you." Even to me that sounded unconvincing, but it was true. I did love my husband. How could I have done this to him? "Then why? Why?" I gave him the only answer I honestly could, "I don't know." He stared at me, started to say something, then stopped. He turned and started to walk out of the room, but stopped, turned back to me as if to say something but didn't, stood looking at me for a moment, and then began pacing around the room. I just lay there, almost in a fetal position, sobbing. Finally, he sat down on the bed next to me and said, "Tell me about it, from the beginning." That started me crying again. I couldn't get a word out. But he was adamant. "I want to know how you got started with Tom and what you did." "It wasn't," I gasped between choking tears, "it wasn't just Tom." He took a deep breath. He was silent for a minute or two. "OK, tell me all about it." I found a tissue on the night stand, wiped my eyes a bit, flew my nose, and began telling him. Gradually it all came out, what had happened at Jamaica, Tom's subsequent visits to our house, the episodes with Mr. Edwards and with the fat man, and, finally, those with the Schmidts and the Erikssons. As I told him all this, I could see him taking deep breaths, holding back anything he might want to say, moving neither closer to me nor farther away. I finished in tears again, telling him over and over that I loved him, that I didn't know why I had let all this happen, that he was all I really cared about. Eventually, he took pity on me, lay down next to me and took me in his arms. It was clear that he was thinking about what to say next. His words, when he finally made up his mind, surprised me. "You let him fuck you up the ass?" "Yes," I admitted again, "I don't know why." More tears. "Did you like it?" I was blubbering like an idiot, but managed to get out a truthful response, "Yes," I admitted. It was then that I noticed the bulge in his pants. All my descriptions of deception and unfaithfulness had given him an erection. He was actually excited by my sins! He found them sexually stimulating. "Tell me about it, in detail," he said as he slipped out of his suit jacket and loosened his tie. So I began. "At first I thought he just wanted to stick a finger in and...." "No, from the beginning, when he walked in the door. All the details." So I started from the beginning and as I supplied one detail after the other he began to move his hand up and down my still naked body. Soon his shirt, his shoes, and his socks were off. When I got to the part where Tom stuck a finger up my ass, my husband began to toy with my asshole. By the time I had finished, his naked erection was buried in my rectum. He fondled and ass-fucked me until we both came, and then we lay together on the bed, naked, embracing, and both of us crying our heads off. My husband took emergency family leave from work for the next week. Each day, during all that week, I would describe to him, in as much detail as I could recall, some of the episodes I had gone through. As I did so, we would act them out where we could, improvise where we couldn't, but we always ended up spent, embracing, and saying how much we loved each other. It was the most incredible week of aroused passions and intense sex of my life. We were thoroughly exhausted all the time and had never been so close. This morning, when my husband at last had to go back to work, I finally got up the nerve "What should I do if Tom calls or comes by?" I asked him. "I'm afraid." "It's ok," he said. "You can do whatever you feel like doing, with him or anyone else." Then he added with an exaggerated leer, "Just make sure you describe it all to me afterward....in great detail!" So you see, I no longer have to relive and rethink my experiences by writing about them in this journal. My husband has become my new journal. I look forward to reviewing my experiences by talking to him, much more than I ever looked forward to writing in this journal. I've entered into yet another phase of my life and with a much more interactive journal. THE END -------------------------------------------------------------- I would appreciate your comments. Please write me at d137@my-deja.com Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. 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