"Wife turned on" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Heather)

CHAPTER FOUR

Of course, I began seeing my female lover during the day as much as I could. Her Avon sales were falling off drastically, but she didn't seem to care as long as she could kiss me, and feel my tits, and get inside my pussy and asshole.

However, all was not perfection. I still had to cope with Don. While my lesbian love life was booming, my marital situation was deteriorating faster than a piece of bread under water.

I had no patience with Don any more. His presence around the house seemed an intrusion to me. I wished he would just leave for work one day and never come back.

Maybe if I had said the hell with it, and just gone ahead and left him, perhaps what happened next could have been forestalled. Believe me, had I known how things were going to turn out, I would have been more courageous.

Ann lost her job because she was spending so much time during the day in my arms and between my legs. Her sales had fallen to nothing. And since she had no husband to support her, she had to do something quickly.

"What are you going to do?" I anxiously asked when she told me the bad news.

"I don't know," she answered, "but I'll have to decide right away. I only have a little money in the bank – not even enough to pay my rent."

I wanted to offer her everything I had, but reality forced me to say nothing. Everything I had was under my husband's thumb. As much as I wanted to, as long as I was married, I could not help her.

That day when we said goodbye it was the first time we had not made love. In tears when she left, I chillingly suspected that things would never be the same between us.

I was right. The crushing blow I expected came in the form of a letter the next day. Its message was like a gunshot to my heart.

"Dearest, Mary," she wrote. "I am going to Chicago. I have relatives there I can stay with until I find work. I know this will hurt you, but it's the only way. I'm sorry I couldn't work up enough courage to tell you in person."

Her name was signed with love, and that was it. I had never felt so let down – so alone and abandoned.

I fell into a depression that closed in on me like a vise. I felt like I was living in a world where quicksand was the only element.

Surprisingly, it was Don who came up with a suggestion that might help me. My moping around had even gotten to him.

For the first time in weeks, he came into the bedroom at night. At first I was afraid that he'd gotten horny and wanted to fuck, but he said he just wanted to talk.

"We can't go on like this," he bluntly stated. There was nothing I could do but agree with him.

For an instant I was on the verge of opening up to him, telling him everything – that's how desperately lonely I was.

But when I looked into his face, I couldn't do it. My own husband seemed like a stranger to me. He would never understand.

So I just sat there in bed, not speaking, waiting for him to make the next move. He did with a firm sureness that indicated he had carefully planned what he was going to say well in advance.

"I want you to see a psychiatrist," he laid it on the line. "It's covered in my company health insurance, so there's no reason for you not to go."

"And if I don't?" I got up the nerve to challenge him.

"I'm seeing my lawyer and taking the kids to stay with my mother," he replied in a chilling voice. "You're no kind of wife like this, and no kind of mother."

"Please don't leave me!" I blurted, ignoring the fact that I had felt nothing for him for weeks. I was so insecure that life on my own seemed unbearable, even if it was with a man who had spitefully withheld his love and support from me in my time of greatest need.

"Okay, then," he said with enough trace of smugness to suggest that he had counted on this reaction from me. "I've made an appointment for you tomorrow with a Dr. Higgins downtown. If you go, I'll give you another chance."

Nothing in my anticipation prepared me for Dr.

Bob Higgins. When I was introduced to him, I initially thought some kind of mistake had been made. I had never expected such a young, handsome, friendly man to be a member of such a forbidding profession.

Right away he insisted I called him Bob instead of doctor. By the time I lay down on his couch and began answering his sympathetic questions, I felt more comfortable than I had at any time since Ann had left. He had a way about him that put me completely at ease. After a few minutes of his compassionate approach, I was ready to tell him all.

"I was raped." I finally got to the heart of my problem.

"And ever since, your husband has treated you like damaged goods," Dr. Higgins, or Bob, completed the sentence for me.

"How did you know?"

"It's very common," he explained. "There's just something in most men that makes it difficult for them to accept that a woman could be an innocent victim of sexual assault. Most guys assume that any woman who's raped must have been asking for it."

"But I wasn't," I wailed.

"I know that," he gently supported me. "However, on the other hand, everybody's not a psychiatrist. For example, what does your husband do for a living?"

"He's the manager of a fast-food franchise."

"Well, there you have it. The clientele your husband serves is probably composed mostly of teenagers."

I nodded my head that he was right.

"In other words, your husband is probably exposed to a parade of young women all day long – scantily clad in the summer – who seem to be flaunting their firm, young bodies. They seem to be asking for it. You know, a lot of these girls nowadays don't wear any underwear. If a man catches them in the right position he can see everything."

"But what does that have to do with me?"

"It's simple," he said. "Day after day, through no fault of his own, your husband sees attractive young females apparently flaunting their bodies. Without the background to temper his judgment, it's only natural that he starts to believe that this is typical."

"You mean," I caught on, "that he assumes all women really are asking for sex."

"Precisely," he nodded. "And as a matter of fact, I'll bet he's broken up plenty of incidents in the parking lot that tend to confirm his impression even more."

"But I'm no teenager," I pointed out.

"But you probably were when you and your husband met."

I agreed that this was true.

"So it's not surprising that he still thinks of you in this way."

"In other words," I followed his line of thinking, "my husband thinks what happened to me was the same as what he sees every day."

"Yes, after you were raped, it just confirmed it to him – to use the slang of today – that you were just another horny chick on the make. A cheap tramp."

I'd never thought of it this way. For the first time I could understand Don's point of view. After all, I'd seen those teenage girls the doctor was talking about. Some of them had their cut-off jeans stuck right up in their tight cracks. I told the doctor this, and he was pleased with my insight.

"What's more," Bob continued, "I'll bet when you're around the house you are frequently as provocative as the girls your husband sees all day long."

I'd never thought about that, and expressed my apparent naivete.

"You won't deny that you have on occasion rim around the house scantily clad," Bob pressed the point.

"Well, yes, in my nightgown," I confessed, squirm mw on the couch from the anxiety caused by this revelation.

"And sometimes in short skirts with no panties underneath," he suggested. "Perhaps leaning over the kitchen sink with your dress hiked up in back so that plenty is showing."

"Yes," I admitted.

"Well, now we're getting someplace," he said, getting up front behind his desk. "I'm guessing that a look up your dress is not much different than looking up a cute teenagers."

"I… I wouldn't know about that," I stammered, suddenly feeling anxious as he came to the couch and loomed over me.

"I'll tell you what," he suggested. "Imagine I'm your husband. Roll over on the couch and throw up your skirt and act like you're reading a magazine or something. I'll pretend I'm your husband walking into the room and finding you this way. While I'm looking at you, I'll share my feelings with you, and perhaps you can understand where you're husband is ht."

"Do… do you want me to take off my panties first," I stammered, my skin feeling hot and prickly.

"It would be better," Bob said. "And in fact, to make the situation even more realistic, I'll go out of the room so you can prepare yourself to look as natural as possible. When I come back in, you'll be essentially nude from the waist down, and we'll get to the bottom of this."

It was only when I began to roll my panties down my thighs that I noticed the wetness. When I got the panties off and looked at their crotch, there was a fresh stain. Spreading my legs, I looked down into my cunt and saw that it was glistening with moisture.

I started to hesitate. But when Bob inquired through the door if I was ready, I lost my nerve to resist. I convinced myself that he had a lot more experience than I in these matters and that the only intelligent thing was to do as he said. If there was a logical reason for my pussy being wet, I was sure he had it.

Rolling over on my stomach, I bunched my skirt up around my waist and started to pretend I was reading a magazine. Then, just to make it more authentic, I languidly parted my thighs and flashed my pussy from the rear. Even though I had been nervous up until now about showing myself, once I was in the position Bob had suggested, I felt surprisingly comfortable. When he finally walked through the door, I didn't even flinch.

As I went through the charade of ignoring him, he came over to the couch and looked down at me. Even though I realized he was staring straight at my open pussy, I had so much confidence in him by now that I wasn't disturbed. In fact, my self-consciousness had abruptly dissolved to such an extent that I even wiggled my ass a little bit, pretending that I was reading something exciting in the non-existent magazine.

The doctor started talking after looking me over for several moments, giving me the benefit of what goes through a man's mind when he unexpectedly comes upon the hairy essence of a woman revealed.

"Look at her cunt," he rasped in a low, throaty voice. "It looks like she's ready to fuck any man who comes along. She's showing her pussy like a Goddamn whore."

His explicit comments immediately set the wheels spinning in my mind. The imaginary magazine I was reading became one filled with erotic content. While Bob was talking to himself about my twat, I supposed I was reading a detailed description of a sexual encounter.

When Bob rasped, "Her cunt is dripping. I know she wants a man's cock in it," I made myself believe those were the words before my eyes. Then, as his description of his thoughts became more and more frank, gradually the story became one of a psychiatrist seducing one of his female patients.

When he said that his prick was hard, the words changed to pictures. I could see an immense cock in a full state of erection before my eyes in vivid color. When I felt the wetness around the outside of my mouth, I realized I was licking my lips.

"I'd like to fuck that cunt," he said, "but I'm afraid it's dirty from other men. All women are really whores – if they get the chance they'll fuck anybody in pants. Who knows how many pricks she's taken between her legs? I might get the clap."

"No, you won't," I heard myself saying like I was a character in the imaginary story. "My pussy is clean. If you fuck me, you won't regret it."

"I don't believe you."

"I'll show you," I said, and rolled over on my back. As he looked down, I parted my legs as far as they would go and opened my twat to him from the front. It was so juicy, I could feel the goo leaking down into the crack of my ass.

For the first time since we had begun our role playing, I could see his face. The expression on it was one of pure lust. Playing to it, I flexed my crotch upward, spraying a fine mist of juice in the air.

But, to my surprise, he did not respond as I'd hoped he would. Instead of pulling out his stiff cock and ravishing me, he actually backed off a step.

"Why won't you fuck me?" I gasped. "You know you want to."

"I can't trust you. You'll have to show me you're not a cock-teaser by taking my prick out of my pants and sticking it in your cunt by yourself."

"Why didn't you say so?" I answered, immediately sitting up so I could grab for his bulging fly.

At least he didn't resist when I pulled down his zipper. And by the time I was extracting his thick meat, he was starting to get positively cooperative.

His cock was huge. Whew I had it securely gripped in my hands, over ten inches in front of him, I knew the game was over. I was going to get fucked for real. Dr. Higgins' pulsing horniness wasn't just some part he was playing.

"Get down here," I said firmly, "and start fucking me."

He had no choice but to climb on the couch and crawl between my open legs. When the throbbing tip of his prick was but inches from my hungrily awaiting twat, I gave him a big yank. The head of his dick went right where I wanted it to go.

My cunt was so lubricated with horny arousal that he slid easily in. There was no trouble in enclosing at least two-thirds of his cock's ten-inch-plus length on a single try.

The core of my being was abruptly filled with hot, throbbing prick. I bucked my hips, my body rhythmically grinding in the classic fucking motion.

Undoing his belt, I pulled his trousers and shorts down to his knees and slid my fingers into the crack of his ass. Immediately, I found the hot pucker of his asshole and penetrated it past the third knuckle.

His shit-pit became gooey as I really reamed him out. My fingertip became like a nail, gouging into the throbbing lump of his adjacent prostate gland.

The finger-fucking I was giving his ass only made his cock work harder. It reached excruciating depths, surging the final inches to the hilt within my spasming pussy.

There was only one thing left to do to make my rapture complete as my psychiatrist fucked me. With my free hand I groped for his balls, squeezing them firmly. In my grip I could feel them tighten every time I jabbed his ass and constricted my cunt. His entire reproductive system knotted into an elongated fist of passion.

And then, just when I thought I couldn't take any more without coming so hard I'd shatter, both of us went into high gear, moving together in perfect rhythm. It was incredible, as though we had been lifted into space and there were no restraints of gravity to inhibit our fucking.

"How do you like it?" Dr. Higgins whispered hotly in my ear as his prick surged further than ever before into my jack-knifed body.

I answered with a thrust of my impossibly contorted pelvis. The penetration was deeper than I had thought humanly possible.

When hooked between my thighs, I saw nothing but a tangle of his pubic hair and mine. Even the rapist hadn't pronged me this deeply.

I was creaming and creaming. But even though my cunt was a swamp of passion, the friction from the huge, pumping cock inside it was still sensational. Although things got wetter and wetter, they also got tighter and tighter.

Eventually I became impatient coming by myself. I wanted my box filled with hot jizz, and I wanted it now! Instinctively, I knew exactly what to do.

As though I were pulling a cork from a champagne bottle, I crooked my finger like a corkscrew in his ass and twisted it out. There was a loud, wet pop and I braced myself for the inevitable result. Instantaneously, the doctor's cum shot from his cock into my pussy, bathing my thirsty fuck-hole with a spurting ocean of sperm.

The flow of his jizz was more than the limit of my pussy could take. As he kept erupting, I could feel the wondrous goo sliding out of my box, glazing my thighs, and trickling onto the couch.

The combination of fresh cum and the slick leather upholstery made us slide on the couch as we orgasmed in tandem. My body seemed to be going every which way, only my cunt anchored by the psychiatrist's heavy, spearing, ejaculating prick.

"Let me lick the rest of it off," I panted to him, wanting to taste his cum before my pussy swallowed most of it and the rest dribbled to the couch and floor. "Pull out and lay back so I can suck your prick."

I was pleased to see that his prick was still oozing spunk as I sat up and gazed hungrily at his jerking crotch. It was amazing he was still so stiff after all the fucking we'd done, and even more astounding that there was still some cum left to spill from his love-stick.

I began licking at the base of his balls, knowing that I would immediately taste cum no matter where I started. His crotch was just covered with the stuff, both male and female cream drenching his loins.

The exquisite taste of pussy juice mixed with sperm made my nostrils flare as I lapped his nuts. I put one of them in my mouth and dissolved the stickiness, and then the other, finally taking both of them at once. When the cum was gone and I released him.

My tongue worked around the well of his groin, lapping the cobs of sperm and cunt juice from his thickly-matted cock hair. When the strands of pubic floss caught in my teeth; I sucked them up and swallowed them in the continuing river of heavenly juice.

His prick stood straighter and straighter as I scaled it with my tongue. Not only was it not wilting after a long, hard fuck, it was actually becoming more rigid. It was hard work licking him clean, so enormous was his cock, but it was worth it. The sperm and pussy juice sticking to his prick was thick, rich honey.

The veins of his cock throbbed against my tongue and lips, telling, me that the fires of excitement were raging near peak fury again within his tireless instrument. By the time I reached the head, his hips were propelling his prick in a renewed fucking motion.

His pelvis started to grind just as violently as when he had come in my pussy. Now I joyously realized that if I kept sucking, he would erupt a second time within minutes – this time in my mouth.

I licked the last of the old cum off the crown of his dick, wiping his manhood as clean as a whistle so I could start anew. Not swallowing his whole prick, I just kept the knotty end between my lips while my stroking fingers did the necessary work on the shaft.

Jerking his meaty foreskin back and forth along the expanse of his big cock, I jacked him off with all the inventiveness I could muster. I would let my lips droop just enough to rush his loose cock-skin inside my mouth, holding it there until I abruptly yanked it back out in the open with a tug of my hand. His whole body shuddered from the friction. In the meantime, I did wonders with my tongue.

Driving its pencil-sharp tip into his slit, I actually fucked the vertical smile at the end of his prick. The tissues of his urethra sucked against my taste-buds like a tiny cunt, begging to be stimulated.

The longer I had to wait for his ejaculation, the more excited I got. Finally my arousal was so great that I had no choice but to abandon tantalizing him.

From this point on it was hard, fast, merciless mouth-fucking. No frills. I was whacking his meat with my suctioning mouth the way a horny teenager would use his hand to jack-off while drooling over a "Hustler" centerfold.

To hasten matters further, my finger plunged into his asshole again. His anus was gooey but tight, spasming from the oral laceration his prick was taking. Kneading his enlarged prostate, I brought him closer to the brink of the second coming.

In my excitement, I stuffed a second finger in his butt… and then a third. When there still seemed to be room, I added my pinkie and thumb, creating a tremendous knot at the core of his maleness.

Then I upped the ante even more. Railing my fingers into a fist within his rectum, I marveled at the elasticity of his sweet shit-hole.

I began pumping my wrist, making my knuckles slide up his anus. In front, the action made his prick pitch like falling timber in my mouth.

From the way he was shaking now I knew he was ready to come a second time. My mouth twitched as it waited to be filled with fresh cum.

Paving the way for the eruption I craved, my fist bashed into his colon. Then I abruptly retracted it, sliding out with a deafening pop from his bunghole. The sensation must have been five times greater for him than when I had pulled merely one finger out of his ass before when we'd been fucking.

Dr. Higgins yowled like a wounded animal as my fist came ripping out of his crap-chute; and then spilled his load at last into my mouth. The cum flowed down my throat like hot lava – I felt like I was sucking on a miniature volcano.

I threw my hands to my face. My fingers pressed to my mouth, trying to hold in the streaming jizz that was already oozing out.

My cheeks were taut with the constantly expanding volume of cream inside. My face felt like a balloon.

I gagged and choked and sputtered. Because of his constant spurting there was no way I could swallow fast enough.

Finally the pressure was too great for me to endure. My mouth erupted as though I were vomiting. The doctor's prick came out first in the rush, followed by a mouthful and a throatful of steaming sperm. It splattered all over both of us, soaking through my blouse and drenching my tits, and swamping crotch.

I scooped up the spunk by the handful and rubbed it all over my face and hair. By the time I was finished, I was a sticky mess. I looked like I had fallen into a vat of marshmallow.

It was only when his cum had cooled off and started to congeal that I noticed the doctor's cock had finally collapsed. Not only that, so had the rest of him. The poor dear was finished for the afternoon, practically unconscious from carnal exhaustion. I couldn't help but wonder what he'd do about his next appointment.

Over at his desk I found a prescription pad and wrote him a note. "Dear Bob," it said. "See you same time next week. I think you can really help me with my problems."