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Disassociating Suzy – Part I


Hmm? This was posted, yet vanished for some reason. It's
somewhat of a repost, in that an earlier version of it was
posted 2-3 months ago. I made signficant changes to it in
order to accomadate the requested sequel.


Jan stood in front of her mirror trying on different outfits,
wondering which Tom would like best—which would catch
his eye. As she modeled, she evaluated herself, trying
to be objective. Tom seemed to hardly take notice of her
lately; she wanted to figure out why.

She stepped back so she could see her full image. She wished
her breasts were larger, but they were adequate. Her waist
was small and her legs long. She’d always considered
her gams to be her best asset—at least until she found
those pictures of Tom’s old girlfriends. Two had been
Asian, and all were tiny, petite, little things. She was
5’9”. When she asked what he saw in her, he’d laughed,
telling her he loved Amazons too. He’d proposed shortly
after that conversation, lending credence to his boast.

Five years of marriage apparently dulled that ardor, however.
They hadn’t had sex in over two months, and late night
“business meetings” had become the norm, particularly
lately. So often, in fact, that she’d called his secretary
to see if these meetings were legit. “Yes, ” she’d
been told, “he’s trying to land the Truman Account.”

“What’s this Truman person look like?”

The question was greeted with a silent pause. “Truman’s
the firm name, Nguyen is the account rep.”

“OK, ” she responded, letting her irritation show.
“What’s this Nguyen person look like?”

An even longer pause. “She’s… I’m sorry, you need
to take up that sort of thing with Tom. I have to go now.”
With that, she hung up.

Nguyen was a she, just as Jan suspected, and clearly Asian.

Changing into another outfit—a mini-skirt, Jan stared
at her reflection, assessing her look. Perfect! Tom was
due home any time. Her plan was to seduce him—and put and
end to their long lovemaking drought. She slipped on a lacy
blouse, one so sheer it showed her sexy black bra. Last came
the garters and matching black hose.

Dressed to her liking, she went to the dining room and closed
the drapes, shutting out the Southern California sun.
She filled the two wine glasses she’d placed on the table
and lit candles. With her sensual ambush ready, she sat,
waiting for Tom’s arrival.

She waited… …and waited. The phone rang. Dread washed
over her. Taking a deep breath, she answered. “This is

“Hi, Honey. It’s me. Sorry, but the boss wants us to
wine and dine clients tonight.” I knew it! She didn’t
respond. After an uncomfortable silence Tom continued,
sounding nervous. “It looks to be a late one.” More
silence. “You there, Honey?”

“I guess I’ll see you when you get home then, ” she
said, gnashing her teeth.

“OK, don’t wait up. Love you. Bye.” He hung up.

She tossed her cell phone across the room. “Bastard!”

She snuffed the candles and chugged a glass of wine. She
carried the remaining one to the hallway mirror, assessing
herself once more. She liked what she saw, even if he didn’t.
So would other men!

Grabbing keys and purse, she headed out the door, driving
to the Beach Hilton—the most likely place to be busy on
a week night. Sure enough, the restaurant was nearly full—but
food wasn’t her aim. She headed for the bar.

Its occupants were an odd mixture of businessmen and tourists.
She spied a good looking guy sitting at the bar by himself.
His dress seemed too casual for business wear, yet too nice
to be a tourist. She made a bee-line his way, and sitting
a couple of stools away, ordered a wine.

As she sat sipping it, her short skirt kept riding up her
thigh. Judging from his fleeting glances, it was something
not missed by the guy seated beside her.

She’d come her for male attention, but now that she was
getting it, it felt uncomfortable, prompting her to rethink
her decision to come here. She was a married, albeit unappreciated,
woman, not some bar fly. Sighing, she took another sip.
I’ll finish this and head home. She shifted her weight,
causing her skirt to ride up her leg. Afraid her garter strap
would show, she tugged it back in place. Her carefully chosen
attire was quickly becoming more embarrassing than sexy.

“Is that Merlot you’re drinking?” the guy asked.

She looked at him, seeing him up close for the first time.
With high cheekbones, strong jaw, blue eyes and black hair,
he was downright hunky. She smiled. “Yes. So… which
keen sense do you possess, a sharp eye, a good nose, or did
you simply overhear me ordering it?”

He laughed. “The first two—wine is what I do for a living.
I’m down from Nappa Valley peddling product.” He turned
to the bartender. “Jimmy, please bring the lady one of
my Merlots.” The bartender gave the guy the thumbs up.

“No thanks, ” she objected, “this is my third glass
already. I really should go.”

He feigned anguish. “What, and insult me by not even tasting
my vintage? I’m crushed.”

His melodrama made her laugh. “All right, just one more.”

“Excellent. By the way, I’m Tom.” He looked puzzled
when she laughed aloud. “You’re the first person to
find my name funny.”

His eyes seemed to dance when he smiled. She decided she’d
enjoy sharing his offered drink. “I’m Jan. Tom’s
my husband’s name too—the irony amused me.” Her
gut roiled, wondering if her Tom was sitting with his petite
little Miss Nguyen in some bar similar to this one. Or was
it Mrs. Nguyen? No matter—she doubted he’d care which.

The bartender arrived with her wine. “Thanks, ” she
offered. She turned to Tom #2, “You, too, ” she said,
raising her glass. She studied his handsome face. “The
ironic part is that the other Tom is why I’ve already had
three glasses of wine.”

He leaned his elbow on the bar. “Now that’s a story I
have to hear.”

How much to share? She started out with how often he worked
late. Tom #2 listened attentively as the dam burst, her
pent up angst rolling off her tongue. It felt cathartic
to share it with someone, so much so that she even confessed
her lack of a sex life and her earlier abortive plan to seduce
her husband.

Tom gave her the once over, his eyes lingering on her exposed
thighs. “So, that’s when your alter ego emerged and
you chose to wear that outfit?”

Where did that come from? “Alter ego?” she asked, giving
him a questioning look.

He grinned. “Every woman has one suppressed deep within
her psyche. Sigmund Freud referred to it as the id. Think
of it as your suppressed sexuality.”

Her jaw fell open. “Are you saying my outfit tells the
world I’m sexually suppressed?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to her exposed thighs. Her
tummy fluttered. “When was the last time you wore that
skirt, and more importantly…” he looked her in the
eye, “why did you choose to wear it tonight?”

Their conversation was getting a tad bit personal. She
knew she ought to leave, but the tingling in her tummy was
too seductive. For the first time in a long time a man was
making her feel sexy—which was precisely what she longed
for. “Actually, I bought it months ago and tonight’s
the first time I’ve worn it. And, if you must know…”
she felt her face flush. “I wore it to look sexy. For my
husband, ” she added when he grinned. Her smile faded.
She sipped her wine. “Until the son-of-a-bitch chose
his client’s company over mine.”

His eyes seemed to burn through her. “He’s a fool.”
The leer that accompanied the remark turned her tummy tingles
into full-blown butterflies.

Finishing his drink, he set his glass on the bar. “I still
find your excuse lacking however...” His gaze settled
on her blouse, the one sheer enough to hint of her bra. This
time it was her nipples that tingled. Were his eyes some
kind of electric prod? “…since it fails to explain
why you wore that oh-so-sexy outfit out on the town, to a

That comment scared her. He was getting way too fresh. “You
misread me; I’m a happily married woman.”

He shrugged. “I have no doubt. But even married women
have dueling egos: the ‘dutiful wife’ who controls
her psyche 99% of the time, versus the suppressed slut that
lurks beneath her consciousness, choosing when to emerge.”

Does he take me for one of his 1%? “Are you telling me I’m
dressed like a slut?”

“Whoa, no!” he said, raising his hands in surrender.
“Definitely not!” He looked her over again, and raised
his eyebrows. “Admittedly your outfit is incredibly
sexy, but it falls short of qualifying as slutty.”

Surprisingly, his assessment disappointed her. When
she’d set out to arouse her husband’s rutting instincts,
slutty had been her goal. “So, had this alleged alter
ego of mine taken over, how would she have dressed me differently?”

Rubbing his chin, he assessed her outfit, contemplating.
“Do you like shoes?”

What has that to do with anything? “Of course, what woman

“My wine business is fairly lucrative. The hotel boutique
is still open, why don’t you let me share my prosperity
and buy you a new pair?”

“And…” she furrowed her eyebrows, wondering where
this was going, “…this has to do with my alter ego how?”

He laughed. “Finish your wine and I’ll show you.”

A free pair of shoes? Why not, if the guy was as well-healed
as he claimed. She gulped her drink and they headed for the

They stopped outside the shop. He looked down at her feet.
“What’s your shoe size?”

“Seven and a half.”

“Wait here, please. I’ll be right back.”

He was gone for no longer than five minutes before returning,
sack in hand. “Come, ” he said, coaxing with a finger.
He led her to the Ladies Room. “Now, go try on what’s
in here, ” he ordered, handing her the sack. Taking the
bag, she tried to peek inside. He stopped her. “Nope!
Go inside and put them on, then come show me.”

Intrigued, she went inside. The bag held a pair of stilettos.
She’d never as much as tried on a pair, much less owned
one. She put them on and stood before the mirror. The shoes
flattered her butt and made her legs look longer—and

Tom called out. “Hurry, put your old shoes in the bag.
There’s a woman here in desperate need of the toilet.”

She did as told, but when she left the restroom, Tom was alone.
“Where’d she go?”

“It was a fib—so I could see you with the shoes on before
you chickened out and took them off.” He looked her over,
head to toe. “Now that looks slutty.”

She didn’t know if it was the brash remarks, his leering,
or simply his good looks, but their collective effect had
her feeling horny. Or maybe it was because of the way she
was dressed. He turned, motioning for her to follow. “This

“No way!” she protested. “I can’t walk around
a hotel looking like this.”

He laughed. “I take it you agree my shoe choice has you
looking skanky.” He looked her up and down, “They say
the clothes make the woman.” Winking, he walked away,
leaving her no choice but to hurry and catch up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Never mind, what’s important is what’s about to
happen.” They’d entered the crowded main lobby, walking
toward the back of the hotel. “Pay careful attention
to how these people respond to this ‘new’ you, and…”
he grinned, “how you react to them.”

He was right, people were treating her differently. Virtually
everyone looked at her, irrespective of their gender;
the women with looks of disdain, the men with universal
interest. Except for the concierge, who scowled. Did he
think her some hooker invading his hallowed workplace?
She pursed her lips, choking back a grin. The idea she’d
been mistaken for a prostitute made her feel wicked—or
as Tom put it: slutty. Her crotch came alive, each stride
caressing her moistening groin in a most delightful way.

Tom took her out the back entrance, to the pool area. She
looked out at the ocean. Despite the setting sun it was still
warm enough to keep the pool crowded. He pointed toward
a stairway and a second floor balcony. “I want you to join
me up there, but only after you walk to the far end of the pool—very
slowly—and buy us each a drink.” Relieving her of her
sack, he handed her a twenty. “What you buy is irrelevant.
The purpose of the walk is to let you experience more of what
just happened in the lobby.”

Chairs and lounges surrounded the pool—most occupied
by men.

“While you walk, think about how slutty you look. Free
your other self; let your Suzy emerge, and pay close attention
not only to the effect you have on the men, but their effect
on you as well.” He bent over and kissed her forehead.
“See you after your stroll.”

Apparently it never crossed his mind that she’d refuse
to do it. She looked out at the pool, her curiosity roused—among
other things. Did this man know her better than she knew

Putting a little extra sway in her gait, she headed for the
far end of the pool. Even the little boys stared at her as
she passed them by. How early did men’s sexual desire
blossom, anyway? Apparently earlier than with girls.

The gawks she received were less than subtle. One guy went
as far as to whistle as she passed him. She turned his way,
giving him a sultry ‘don’t you wish you could have me’
look. Having men lusting after her was a total turn-on.
Her groin was no longer damp, it was soaked. She’d never
felt this sexy before. She smiled inwardly. Oh my darling
hubby, are you ever missing out.

But as she continued her stroll it was this new Tom dominating
her thoughts. What was it about him that she found so captivating?
She felt like a child in his presence—one being schooled
in ways she didn’t understand.

Reaching the stand, she bought two cups of wine and headed
back. Licking her lips, she winked as she passed a teenage
boy. His hands flew to his groin, covering it. She laughed—she’d
given the poor kid a boner.

She looked up when she reached the stairway. Tom was waiting
on the balcony. Has my outfit given him a boner too? Accentuating
her sway, she headed up to join him.

Thoughts of provoking men’s erections, coupled with
the lusty stares she’d just prompted, had her crotch
sopped, and the long strides required to clear the stairs
forced her labia to rub one another. She was oozing. Would
her arousal reek? How embarrassing would that be? She decided
she’d best stow her undoubtedly odiferous panties in
her purse before their aroma was noticed.

Tom gave her an appreciative smile as she handed him his
drink. “So, did my little slut enjoy showing herself

His little slut? She knew she should be insulted. Instead,
the idea of him thinking of her in those terms evoked butterflies
that made her shiver. “Don’t be getting too cock sure
of yourself, ” she said with a playful shake of her finger.
“I assure you, the 99% is still in control.” She looked
back at the pool. Several of the men were still watching.
“That said, you were right, ” she turned, facing him,
“the walk around the pool was a definite turn on.” I
can’t believe I told him that!

He chuckled. “Ask me if I’m surprised.”

They were standing just outside a lavishly furnished room,
likely one booked for business presentations. He opened
its door, “Come on in.”

She followed him inside. “What is this place?”

“Welcome to my abode.” He smiled at her.

The place was huge and luxurious. The guy had to be loaded.
“All this just for you?”

“Well, two of us now that you’re here.” He gestured
toward a nearby couch. “Have a seat.”

She thought about her dampened panties. “I need to go
to the lady’s room first.”

He pointed. “First door on the left.”

She went into the bathroom and stood before the mirror.
Gads! What was she doing in a strange man’s apartment
taking off her undies; and while wearing a mini-skirt no
less. Breathing heavily, she hoisted the dress. The contrast
between her white panties and black garter belt and stockings
accentuated her wet spot. I definitely need to ditch these.
She took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, girl. Literally!

She giggled at her double entendre as she reached for the
sexy garters. She undid them, letting their straps dangle.
Then, keeping her eyes fixed on her reflection, she ever
so slowly rolled down her thong, watching her moistened
muff come into view. She released the material, letting
it fall to her ankles. Kicking it aside, she parted her thighs
and stared at her swollen mons, feeling naughty and debauched.
I shouldn’t be standing like this with Tom just outside
the door. She took a deep breath. Nor should I have allowed
myself to become so aroused. Her hand slid to her crotch.
You should have come home for dinner, Tom. She touched herself,
fingers probing. She sighed. Look at the state you’ve
left me in.

While she played with herself her thoughts drifted back
to the concierge and how he’d mistaken her for a prostitute.
Is this how hookers prepare themselves for a client? She
studied her puffy folds, and breathing heavily, imagined
a complete stranger’s hardened penis parting them as
it ever so slowly penetrated her waiting flesh. With eyes
closed, she rocked her pelvis, indulging that fantasy.

After a couple moments of pleasure she stopped—this
was hardly the time or place to get herself off. Sighing,
she fastened her garters, stuffed her panties into her
purse, and rejoined Tom. He was sitting on a couch at the far side of the room. He was
on the center cushion, leaving her no choice but to sit close
to him. Placing her wine glass on the coffee table, she sat,
albeit very carefully. The last thing she needed in her
present state was for him to know how little she had on.

“Ah, here’s my slut.”

Had he somehow watched what she’d just done? Did he have
a peek hole into his bathroom? Her heart raced as she contemplated
that possibility.

“Your slut?” she sputtered, wide-eyed, doing her
best to hide her labored breathing. “Isn’t that rather

“Sorry…” he said, flushing.

Good! I embarrassed him.

“…just trying to preserve our earlier mood.” He
looked her in the eye, his confidence seemingly back intact.
“Believe me, were you truly a slut, things would already
have gone far differently.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Really? How is it you’re such an
expert on women—and sluts in particular?” She gave
him a challenging look. “Since I gather you speak from
experience, enlighten me—how would you treat me differently
were I one of these sluts?” Again, she could hardly believe
she’d asked such a thing. I drank far too much wine.

He flashed a grin. “Be truthful now, what you’re really
asking is how I’d go about seducing you, right?”

Taking a deep breath, she smirked, doing her best to quell
the butterflies the idea of getting seduced evoked.

He chortled. “I thought as much.” He slid closer, draping
his arm over her shoulder. She caught a whiff of cologne.
“Just for argument’s sake, let’s assume for a moment
that you’re this slut.”

Laughing, she raised her hands, shaking her head. “Not!
All assumptions are to keep me in the dutiful wife category.”

He let out a theatric sigh. “Alas, my tale shall be strictly
hypothetical then—portraying the infamous Ms. Suzy
Slut, a member of the more adventuresome 1%.” He leaned
closer, his eyes boring into hers. “But you have to promise
to visualize my tale, and pretend she’s you, or you’re
her, whichever. OK?”

She laughed again. This guy’s good. “If that’s the
cost to learn at the knee of The Great Swami, I shall consider
it cheap at the price.”

“Good!” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “It
might be best to contrast the 99% with the 1%. Were I seducing
a dutiful housewife I’d start slowly, putting my hand
on your thigh like this.” He reached out and placed a hand
just above her knee.

Her heart palpitated, his simple action making it hard
to breathe. She knew she should object, or at the very least
push his hand away, but being touched by a man felt far too
good. Truth be known, this was precisely the feeling she’d
sought when she’d dressed this way, and closely akin
to that forbidden longing she’d experienced in the bathroom
just moments ago.

“Whereas, were you Suzy Slut…” he brought his mouth
to her ear, his warm breath making her tingle all over, “my
hand would already be all the way up your skirt.”

His hand stroked her leg, and moving in circles, edged its
way upwards. It had been so long since a man had touched her
this intimately that it was all she could do to hold still.
“It’s important that you picture this in your mind, ”
he said, caressing her flesh. “To fully understand what
I’m about to tell you, it’s paramount that you visualize

She envisioned his hand that far up her skirt—and what
he’d find. She licked her lips, her mouth dry. “All
right, ” she croaked—barely able to speak.

He resumed his whispered tale, his lips brushing her earlobe.
“The ‘tell’ that would give Suzy Slut away is that
she’d have no panties on—no encumbrances to bar my

Panic consumed her. Did he know, or were the man’s instincts
that honed? Breathing suddenly became difficult. She
slipped her hands under her butt cheeks so he wouldn’t
see them shaking.

“Instead of rubbing your thigh like this, ” he gave
her leg a long tender stroke, his hand moving to the base
of her mini-skirt, dangerously close the bare flesh just
above her stocking, “my fingers would be stroking your
most private parts.”

God, he’d be touching me there!

His words were breathy, their heat permeating her ear.
“You’d be gasping, thrashing, unable to sit still.”

Imagining his fingers where hers had just been made it a
test of her willpower to prevent her yearning crotch from
doing exactly as he’d described.

“Being the complete slut that you are, ” he whispered.
His hand slid up her garter strap, his fingers trailing
along her exposed thigh. Her vagina twitched. “…you’d
be so wet and willing you’d gasp and cry out as my finger
slid inside you.”

Goose pimples inundated her. No man had ever spoken so crassly
to her, so erotically. It thrilled her no end that he’d
dared do it. His hand was no less thrilling as it drew ever
nearer to her love canal, mere inches from discovering
her nakedness. Dampness flooded her.

“Being the slut you are, the instant I touch your clit
your love juices gush.”

A probing finger brushed her exposed clit. Gasping, she
grabbed at his forearm. He leaned his weight onto her, kissing
her; probing her mouth with his tongue. She tried to push
him away, but he was too heavy. His finger stroked her, spreading
her wetness. She tried again to push him away, but their
embrace had somehow robbed her strength. He pressed his
lips more tightly, his fingers thrumming her clit. Her
hips jerked—it felt so-o good.

Her struggles ceased. She lay still, save for the twitching
and sharp intakes of breath that accompanied each stroke
of his finger. Finally, his tender fondling took its inevitable
toll and, with a sigh of resignation, she seized the back
of his head and surrendered to his kiss.

With her acquiescence obvious, he dared to break their
embrace and resume his story. “Driven by lust, ” he
murmured, nibbling her ear lobe, “you’d let me bare
you from the waist up, ” his finger probed her opening.
“You’d beg me to suck your swollen nipples.”

Fingers parted her labia and flesh gave way. His finger
penetrated her cunt. Her entire being shuddered. She broke
the kiss, and arching her hips, spread her thighs, forcing
her skirt up and over her thrashing hips as an intense orgasm
swept over her.

His other hand slid off her shoulder, down to the top button
of her blouse. She felt that first button release; then
another, and another, as the fingers of his lower hand continued
to probe her center. It was beyond her to do anything stop
him. Pinching her eyes shut, she scooted down until her
shoulders pressed against the seat cushion where, gyrating
on his fingers, she let him undress her.

He jerked her blouse open, unclasped her bra, and tossed
it aside, her bared tits delighting at their release. “By
now, ” he said, his voice a heavy rasp, “all you’d
be thinking about is my cock.”

He dragged her hand to his crotch and formed her fingers
around his erection. Pinching her lips together, she squeezed
it, wondering at the touch and feel of a hardened cock other
than her husband’s. “In your frenzy, you’d make
quick work of my clothing, desperate to touch me—to caress
and excite my maleness.”

Even with eyes closed, she recognized the sound of a belt
buckle being released, and then a zipper. His hips rose,
followed shortly by the sound of discarded clothing. The
next moment she was holding his bared cock—a very swollen,
fully aroused cock, spurred into fullness by its desire
for her.

She opened her eyes and looked. Aside from greater thickness,
it was roughly the size of her husband’s. She stared,
licking her lips, her pelvis rising and falling in rhythm
with the push of the fingers pummeling her splayed pussy.
Sliding her grip up his fleshy pole, she began stroking

“When was the last time you sucked a cock other than your

She looked up. “Before I met him—back in high school.”

“Way too long—that needs rectifying.” His hand
deserted her pussy, and grabbing tufts of her hair, he rolled
her onto her knees in front of him and pulled her face to his
crotch. “Suck it—remind yourself of what you’ve
been missing."

It was an order, not a request. Eyes riveted on his stiffened
cock, her mind flashed back to the first time she’d done
this, with Jimmy Smith, parked in the alley behind her parents’
house. Their petting session had been unusually heavy.
She’d let him remove her blouse and bra, something she
rarely allowed. More importantly, she’d let him finger
fuck her. While doing her, he’d removed his pants and
exposed himself. Her eyes never left that swollen penis
as, for the first time ever, she allowed a boy to bring her

After she came he’d demanded that she reciprocate by
giving him a blow job. Although she found the prospect erotic,
she kept telling him “no, ” that she couldn’t do
such a thing—regardless of his insistence. After one
too many refusals he’d grabbed her by the hair and dragged
her face to his cock, very much like Tom had just done. Holding
her in place, he’d fucked her mouth, teaching her the
joy of depravity, especially when he came in her mouth and
made her swallow.

From that point forward, blow jobs on dates became her norm,
regardless of the guy, contributing significantly to
her popularity. Despite the fact she was always a willing
and enthusiastic participant, none of those experiences
measured up to the excitement of that first, forced episode.

Grasping Tom’s penis with both hands, she stroked it.
Holding an aroused cock other than her husband’s after
all these years had her trembling. Shaking, she leaned
forward and kissed its tip before snaking her tongue up
and down its length. This was exactly the kind of raw sex
she’d been desperate for. She was exciting a man’s
cock, making him want her. Although she’d never have
extramarital sex, past experience told her screwing a
man wasn’t the only way to please him. With that in mind,
she opened her mouth and consumed him, fully prepared to
do whatever was necessary to take him over the brink.

He gasped. “While you do that, think back to those high
school days and what a slut you were then; how you loved sucking
the boy’s cocks.”

Was he reading her mind again? She knew she couldn’t recall
them all, there’d been too many. But she’d never forget
how exciting it was to make a boy cum. And here she was, adding
to her tally, this time with some handsome guy she’d found
in a bar. She laughed inwardly. I didn’t even make him
take me on a date. How naughty of me; how cheap and trampy.
She sighed. Tom had described it best. Having a total stranger’s
stiff cock stuffed down her throat tickling her tonsils
could only be described as slutty; absolutely and marvelously
slutty—and precisely what she hungered for.

Moaning, she sucked harder, pumping him with her hand.
The tingling between her thighs intensified as mouth,
hand and cock gained a rhythm. With luck, she’d cum when
he did, like those many times in the back seats of cars.

He started bucking his hips, fucking her mouth as if she
were a two-bit whore. A Jimmy Smith-type excitement swept
over her as she threw herself into that very role, intent
on surpassing whatever efforts Tom’s previous sluts
had put forth to make him explode in their mouths.

She had him twitching, right on the brink, when he suddenly
pulled his cock from her mouth. When she leaned forward
to recapture it, he pushed her away.

Grabbing her under her the armpits, he lifted her to the
couch, jerked up her skirt, and pushed her onto her back.
Scooting close, he positioned himself between her thighs,
his cock aimed at her pussy.

“No, ” she begged, pushing on his chest. “We can’t,
I’m married.”

He shook his head. “Sluts don’t care about such things.”
Then, acting as if she hadn’t said a thing, he rubbed his
cock up and down her slit.

“Please don’t, ” she whimpered, her voice barely

“That’s what boring housewives say, ” he smiled
down at her, “not sluts.”

“I’m not a slut, yours or anyone else’s, ” she
groaned. “I’m a married woman.” Given her behavior,
her words sounded hollow, even to her.

“Not a slut, eh?” He lifted his head. “Let’s see,
within ten minutes of meeting me, you confessed your desire
to get laid tonight. When your husband preferred the company
of another woman, you came to a bar, alone, dressed like
a hooker in search of action.”

He rubbed his cock in circles before lodging its tip in her
opening. “After allowing a total stranger to pick you
up at the bar, you let him buy you a pair of Fuck Me shoes and
proceeded to stroll around the swimming pool, showing
them off, doing your all to turn on your gawkers. For your
coup de’ grace, you came to this complete stranger’s
room, and after letting him finger fuck you to orgasm, gave
him one of the finest blow jobs in recent memory.”

He pushed. The tip of his cock forced her open. “To my way
of thinking, that makes you one hot slut in need of good fucking,
and I’m the guy to do it.” Lifting her knees, he thrust
into her.

“Oh gawd!” she screamed, tossing her head to one side.
A penis other than her husband’s had entered her. She’d
forgotten how glorious it felt to experience a new cock.
Pulling back, he thrust again. “Ahhh!” she screamed,
lifting off the couch to greet his lunge.

He chortled. “You’re not exactly convincing me of
your virtue.”

Rocking back and forth, he began fucking her in earnest.
He was taking her, giving her no say in the matter, much like
Jimmy Smith had a month after her forced blow job. He’d
taken her virginity in similar fashion.

She let out a moan. “But I’m married.”

“Married and getting fucked by a guy you just met at the
bar, ” he uttered a cruel laugh, “how silly of me to
have mistaken you for a slut.” He ceased his movements.
“However, tell me I’m wrong and I’ll stop—it’s
up to you.”

Gawd, she should have just let him take her like she’d
done with Jimmy Smith. Now she’d have to go unfulfilled
or admit to being a willing participant—to herself as
well as him. Could her conscience handle it? She looked
down at their conjoined loins. His stiff cock, shining
from her lubricants, had parted her vulva and was halfway
inside her, just like she’d fantasized in the bathroom.
Swollen with desire, it waited impatiently to resume their
fuck. Unlike her husband’s, Tom’s cock lusted for
her, not some small-titted Asian client rep working for
the Truman Account.

“Do it, ” she whispered.

Cocking his head, he cupped a hand behind his ear. “Sorry,
I didn’t hear that.”

She inhaled. “Do it!” she repeated with more force.

He grinned. “Sorry, in order to become my sex slave you
first have to admit you’re a slut.”

“Damn you!” she growled, glaring. She closed her eyes.
“Please; just fuck me—we both know it’s what you’ve
wanted from the moment you laid eyes on me.”

He leaned closer, still cupping his ear. “Fuck who?”

Damn the man! No one since Jimmy Smith had treated her so
coarsely. She also knew no one since Jimmy had aroused her
this much. Did this man make all his women act and feel so
wanton? “The horny trollop you picked up in the bar.”

She’d admitted it; there was no turning back now.

He laughed. “I love it when a woman cleanses her soul.”

Spurred by her confession, he pushed his cock back in and
started pounding her—hard, taking her in much the same
fashion Jimmy Smith had that first time in the back seat
of his Chevy when he’d made her cum over and over and over,
laughing each time she did. He’d fucked her whenever
they were together after that, irrespective of her initial
willingness, knowing he’d always get her off.

He likes his conquests to fess up their desires. “You
were the one, Tom. Only you saw the woman-in-need behind
my goodwife façade.” She licked her lips. “Only you
had the foresight to drag this ready-for-plucking closet
whore to your room and give her what she craved.” Closing
her eyes, she arched her swollen breasts. “And now you’re
reaping your harvest.”

He tweaked the offered nipples. “I’m glad to see we’re
finally on the same page.” His tone changed. “Now,
ditch the chatter and fuck.”

So much for confessing one’s desires!

Every plunge seemed to stretch her pussy in places no cock
had done before. Experiencing a strange new cock felt fantastic.
Surprisingly, she felt no guilt, no remorse. Her alter
ego had found its alter Tom. On this night her husband could
have his Ms. Nguyen; she’d found herself a more than worthy

She wrapped her thighs around Tom’s waist, kicking her
heels into his ass, trying to force him deeper. His cock
rubbed her clit with every stroke, triggering a steady
stream of orgasms the entire time they fucked, just like
with Jimmy.

She was surprised that he’d yet to cum, so was shocked
when he abruptly pulled his cock out. “Time to take my
sex slave doggie style.” He grinned at her questioning
look. “Think of it as hubby’s payback.”

He pulled her to her feet and tugged to the end of the couch.
He stripped off what remained of her clothing, bent her
over the arm rest, and entered her. Naked, save for garter
belt, stockings and stilettos, he had her bent over a piece
of furniture, taking her from behind. A man other than her
husband was fucking her in this most lurid of ways, delighting
at her subservience. She felt like such a whore. If only
Jimmy Smith had thought to take her this way.

His cock seemed to slide deeper than before, feeling bigger
in this position. As a bonus, the couch’s rough fabric
was rubbing both clit and nipples. “That’s it Tom,
fuck your little slut, make her cum all over that big nasty
cock of yours.”

“I’m the one who’s going to cum, ” he groaned.
Pounding faster, harder and deeper, he released, exploding
inside her. Her body went rigid, and squirming beneath
him she came too, harder than any orgasm in memory.

Finally, his blissful eruptions ceased. “Now that’s
what I call a fuck, ” he said, panting.

They remained locked at the loins, despite the fact he’d
finished. Obscenely dressed, she was bent over an arm rest
leaning on her elbows with a strange man’s penis buried
deep inside her pussy. Guilt finally washed over her. Her
mind whirled as she thought about what she’d just done;
of how she’d behaved, wondering how it had all come about.

Her mind was yanked back to the present when Tom suddenly
renewed his thrusts. He was fucking her again, ravaging
her; his huge cock feeling no less marvelous this time than
it had before. Her guilt vanished, dispelled by the joy
of a rutting penis. Apparently a good fucking was all it
required to clear her conscience—an important lesson
to remember. After all, with her husband working late so
often, it was only natural that she consider doing this
again. Since this Tom would likely be gone by then, she’d
have to give thought as to how best to seduce another stranger.
She sighed; at least she had the proper shoes now. She banished
those thoughts to concentrate on the task at hand. Her reward
was immediate as another orgasm washed over her.

Hope you enjoy my erotic fantasies. I welcome all comments, good or bad, and why.

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Bloody great story.


Members can vote on this response!

Wow. What a great story! You mind is exceptional and your
style is very intense. Keep up the great work.


Cassanova had the right idea......