Monica Lewis was as miserable as a nineteen-year-old newlywed could be. She knew things were not right between her and her husband, George, and that they were steadily getting worse, but she had no idea what to do about it.
For what seemed like the millionth time in her life, Monica wished she had the kind of mom she could call to get some useful guidance. Unfortunately, her mother, Mary Cartwright, was totally worthless as a resource for anything other than recriminations. Monica knew if she called her mom and attempted to discuss her problems -- her fears concerning the state of her marriage -- all she would get would be an hour's worth of "I told you so's" for marrying George in the first place.
Not that it would have made any difference if Monica had chosen someone else to marry. Her mother hated men in general and made no secret of it. Mary had grown to despise men and the whole institution of marriage ever since her husband, Monica's father, had abandoned them early on. Mary had been forced to work long, hard hours at a variety of underpaid, unrewarding jobs just to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.
"Men are all filthy creatures who think with their filthy penises!" Monica had heard her mother say dozens of times over the years, especially on the few occasions when Monica had met a boy she thought she might like to date, either at school or at the strict fundamentalist church where the two of them spent all their free time, at Mary's insistence, when she wasn't busy with work.
"A man wants just one thing from a girl, Monica! And as soon as you give it to him and he gets you pregnant, then he is immediately out looking for some other poor, unfortunate, stupid girl to cram his filthy penis inside of and make her pregnant as well!"
Monica resolutely cut off the replay of her mother's constant rant, got up from the chair she had been sitting in and instead began roaming aimlessly around the small living room in their modest apartment. She supposed she could see how her mother had become the way she was. Her father had run off to be with another woman when Monica was four, then disappeared, abandoning not only Monica and her mother but the other woman and the small child he had fathered with her as well.
But still, it would be so nice to have an older, more experienced woman, a mom, to turn to when I need advice, Monica thought miserably while she paced around the room. I know something is definitely not right between George and me ... but what should I do?
Eying the nearby telephone as if it were her worst enemy, Monica thought again about the call she'd gotten just moments ago, from her husband at the accounting firm he worked for, the call that had set her to worrying again. He had informed her he was working late once more. He had a lot of numbers to crunch tonight, so she shouldn't wait up for him.
Numbers, my butt! Monica was angry and using just about the strongest language she ever allowed herself, either in her thoughts or aloud.
This was already the third night this month this had happened, and the month was barely ten days old. She paced uneasily around the apartment, growing more certain there was something else going on besides her husband of five months being dedicated to his job.
He's got someone else ... I just know it! She immediately chastised herself for giving in to years of her mother's constant harping about men and their roving ways. George isn't like that! He's not tired of me already. Is he?
Monica carefully thought about it. George hadn't tried to get her to have sex with him for better than two weeks now. Was that normal behavior for a twenty-four year old man?
She stalked into the bedroom and stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door. Critically studying her reflection she was assured by what she saw. Whatever is going on here is probably not about the way I look!
At five-foot, three, Monica was blonde, blue-eyed. She had a small, tight frame, with round hips, very nice legs, thirty-six "C" breasts which looked even larger on her buffed young body, and a little turned up nose. Her honey-blonde locks fell onto her shoulders in a fetching array of curls, and her round, pretty face was not something likely to send a man running off in search of another women.
"God, but I wish I knew more about this sex stuff or I had someone to ask about it who did!" Monica whispered aloud.
Mother hadn't let her take sex education in high school, refusing to sign the release for her to take the class. She called it an excuse to expose innocent young girls to godless pornography. On top of that, Monica hadn't been allowed to date until she turned eighteen and only sporadically thereafter. She had still been a virgin when she married George right after her nineteenth birthday, five months ago. He was only the third boy she'd ever kissed, and the first one she'd ever done anything with ... beyond kissing.
Monica sighed morosely as she remembered the disappointment of their wedding night. At her insistence, due to her extreme nervousness and shyness, it had been pitch black in the motel room where they'd spent their first night as husband and wife. Looking back on it now, it seemed to Monica that George hadn't had much more experience than she'd had -- which was none -- the way he had fumbled around and kissed her and had haltingly touched her ... lower down on her naked body, finally getting so ... excited by caressing her soft, flawless skin that he'd suddenly just mounted her unexpectedly and shoved his thing right into her, hurting her so much. Then it was abruptly over.
He'd insisted on doing it again the next day as well, in the same motel room, but before the sun had set, so this time, she'd actually seen his big, ugly ... thing for the first time, hard and throbbing, before he stuffed it inside her. She'd still been very dry and terrified when he determinedly forced it into her the second time and rutted away again for a minute or two until he'd suddenly thrown his head back and roared as he went off inside her again. Afterward, he'd gotten up and taken a shower and insisted she do the same so they could go out and have dinner. It was as if the sex had been wonderful between them and everything was fine.
Now, months later, Monica still didn't know what to think about the sexual aspect of their marriage. She had realized before she'd married that having sex with her husband was going to be a big part of her wifely duties but, like most untouched young girls, she had hoped the experience would turn out to be exciting, loving and intimate and ... fun. The way it looked most of the time on television or in the movies.
Sex with George had been anything but fun, but she had given herself a good talking to about wifely duties and her marital responsibilities and had never said "no" when George had subtly hinted, or not so subtly, that he wanted to have sex with her. She had even trained herself to lie back and pretend to be eager for it, even though she had found it to be mostly uncomfortable and sort of ... icky. Once he was done rutting and grunting atop her, she'd get out of bed and go into the bathroom to clean herself up before going to sleep.
They had had sex a few dozen more times since their honeymoon, and then, somewhat abruptly, he started ignoring that part of their marriage. He seemed disinterested in her in that way for better than two weeks now, as she looked back on it.
To be perfectly honest, she hadn't missed it a bit. She had finally gotten him to take more time before they were intimate, so she'd gotten more damp down there before he'd entered her. Several times, after he'd kissed her breasts and sucked them and licked her nipples -- which she secretly thought was very naughty and risque -- she had to admit, she'd gotten much wetter and the sex hadn't hurt or been nearly as hard to endure during those couplings. Mostly though, she'd learned to just lie there and stroke his naked back and take the hammering of his hot, hard thing inside her wet sheath until he went finally off.
No, not having sex doesn't bother me, really but it is my duty. I know that much, at least. Wives are supposed to do that for their husbands, and the fact I'm so bad at it that he apparently doesn't want to do it with me anymore can't be good -- can it?
The miserable young girl made up her mind. It was just past five-thirty. She was going to his office to see if his car was still in the lot. It was a horrible, suspicious, awful thing for her to do, but she just couldn't take not knowing what was going on in her marriage.
As she left the small apartment and got into the old clunker car her uncle had given her at the end of high school as a graduation present, part of her felt as if she were turning into her mother. The thought both disgusted and terrified her. Sneaking around, spying on George... She suddenly felt as if her mother were sitting right beside her in the car seat, whispering in her ear. "You can't trust any man! They all think with their filthy penises!"
In the end, poor, confused, frightened Monica couldn't seem to help it. She found herself turning the key in the ignition and driving to her husband's office anyway.
The local branch of the large, prestigious national CPA firm George worked for was in the downtown section of the small metropolis where they lived. She cruised through the large parking lot in back of his building and felt both relieved and like a total idiot when she saw his late model Honda parked where it should be, in his assigned parking spot.
Well, at least now I know for sure my George isn't cheating on me. She felt like the worst wife in the world for not believing him. Now, if I can just get out of here and get home before he somehow discovers what a faithless, totally awful wife I've been to him.
Monica accelerated to the end of the row of cars, heading for the exit on the far side of the lot. Just as she was about to pull out into the street, she glanced into her rearview mirror and saw George coming out of the back of the building. He had on his nicest blue suit, a new white shirt she'd ironed to perfection for him just yesterday morning, and a red silk tie.
But it wasn't George's nice outfit that caught Monica's eye. It was the small brunette girl who was holding tightly onto his arm, looking up at him and laughing gaily as they came down the steps.
Who is she? Monica suddenly became very angry and suspicious once more.
Pulling into the street, she drove across it and into the lot belonging to the building across the way. She found a spot behind a couple of tall SUV's and parked where she could see the Honda, her motor still running. Watching intently, she observed George squiring the short, very cute little dark-haired girl over to his car and opening the door for her. The two of them were still talking animatedly, obviously having a wonderful time, joking and laughing together as if they were a couple out on a date.
I don't like this one bit. He rarely jokes and laughs or has a nice time with me anymore -- not like when we were dating, before we got married. He's treating this girl the way he used to treat me when we first started seeing each other.
She waited until George pulled out of the lot, letting several cars and a big delivery truck get between his car and hers before slowly backing out of the space she'd been hiding in. It was early November and full dark by the time they'd gone a few miles, making it easier for Monica to follow her husband without him identifying her car. She hung back and kept his taillights in sight until they finally came to a small subdivision and turned off onto one of its cozy residential streets.
Still careful to keep well back, Monica watched as her husband pulled up in front of one of the small, neat little bungalows in the tidy old neighborhood. She was hoping against hope he was giving a coworker a ride home and would simply let the girl out and drive away. But Monica felt her heart sink as she watched him park in front of a dark house, turn off his lights and get out along with the girl.
"You can't trust a one of them!" Monica seemed to hear her mother's raspy voice whisper in her ear as she watched her husband escort the small brunette to her door, his arm draped casually over her shoulders.
Monica pulled in and parked about eight cars back and shut off her own lights. She meant to see just how long her husband stayed with this woman.
The lights came on in the front room as soon as the couple entered the house. Filled with jealousy, Monica watched for a minute or two, then the lights in another room at the rear of the small house went on.
I bet that's the bedroom. Her anger rose by the moment.
"Damn him! I won't be treated this way!" Monica whispered hotly, using a curse word she'd heard many times but had never actually uttered.
Angrier and more disappointed than she could ever remember being in, Monica got out of the car and marched up to the house. She was about to go up onto the porch and knock on the front door when she heard voices coming from around back. She was sure one of them was George's.
Slipping around to the side of the house, she found a gate leading into the back yard. Hoping this girl didn't keep a large, vicious dog in the backyard, Monica eased the gate open and looked inside. She waited a moment, and saw no dog, so she crept cautiously inside, leaving the gate open, intending to quickly slam it behind her, trapping Fido inside the yard should she have to make a hurried exit.
At the back of the old bungalow, she saw a lit window about five feet off the ground, where the voices were coming from. The window was partially open and there was a screen on it. An old-fashion window shade was pulled down.
Looking around as her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the unlit backyard, Monica spotted a bucket sitting over by the water faucet and a coiled up garden hose. She went over and got the metal bucket, placed it just under the window, then, steadying herself with a grip on the windowsill, she on the bucket bottom and looked in the window.
All she saw at first glance was the shade, pulled all the way down. But as she looked toward the far wall, she discovered that there was a small crack just large enough to see through ... and a dresser with a mirror that reflected almost all the small bedroom.
Her husband, George, and the girl were standing by the bed. She had unbuttoned his shirt, her small hands undoing the final one as Monica first saw the couple. The girl was very pretty, with a tanned, heart-shaped face, big doe-brown eyes that were staring sexily up at George as she undid the last button and slid the dress shirt off his shoulders. His jacket and tie were neatly placed on a wing chair off to the left.
Monica felt her blood pressure rising as she watched her husband finish undoing the back of the girl's dress and slip it off, leaving her clad only in a bra, panties, pantyhose and pumps. The brunette pulled George's white tee shirt out of his suit pants and up over his head. He immediately returned the favor by reaching behind her and popping free the clasp of her bra so the flimsy garment could tumble down her arms then onto the carpet.
Mine are prettier than hers. Monica fumed, seeing the other woman's small, cone-shaped breasts unveiled in the mirror.
George seemed to like the girl's breasts just fine though. In seconds, he was leaning down, busily feasting on her left nipple as she fumbled with his belt and the button holding his pants closed then his zipper.
"Oh, suck my hot titties, you sweet man!" the girl sighed blissfully; letting George's slacks hit the floor. "Suck 'em good for me, baby, and I'll return the favor in a minute or two."
What the devil did she mean by that? Monica was somewhat mystified by what the woman had said. Surely men don't like having their hairy nipples sucked ... do they?
Monica leaned in closer, her eyes on the mirror, watching raptly, disgusted -- like a motorist passing a grisly car wreck scene who finds himself unable to turn away, wanting to flee but unable to tear her eyes from the revealing mirror. The small, dark-haired woman was stripped totally naked by her philandering husband and as he, in return, was divested of his clothes by her. In moments, they were on her large bed and she got to see just how avidly her George loved gobbling up the other woman's small, pointy, pink nipples.
In what seemed like no time at all, Monica was also seeing, firsthand, what the girl had meant by returning the favor. As she leaned on the window frame and stared intently at the mirror, she watched her dark-haired rival push her husband onto his back and slowly kiss her way downward on his body until she came to George's erect, upraised penis.
Smiling a sexy, intimate smile up at him, the girl proceeded to kiss the very tip of his organ then -- much to Monica's astonishment -- to lick and suck the head of her husband's rampant penis until it was shiny with her hot, slick spittle, then to slide it inside her sucking mouth. As she watched, dumbstruck, the brunette girl gobbled up every last inch of George's throbbing member.
Monica's mind reeled back to a time, weeks ago, when, instead of lancing his engorged, pulsing hard on into her as he usually did when they were having sex, George had given her an inquisitive, playful smile as he held his brick-hard penis in his fist. He had waggled it at her and asked, hopefully, "Suck it for me, babe? How about that sweet little mouth of yours on me?"
Monica, at the time, had recoiled from him already put off by the idea of him jamming his thick, stiff member into her wet depths let alone touching it with her mouth. She had looked at him as if he were crazy, and he responded by shoving her roughly onto her back and ramming himself deep inside her once more!
She realized now that she had pushed the incident from her memory until this second; that she had not wanted to dwell on such a lewd, debauched, insane request by her depraved husband. Surely, she had thought up until right this minute, no man would seriously ask his wife to do such a thing and expect her to comply?
But now, as she watched her dark-haired young rival atop the bed with her straying husband, Monica realized that some women definitely did do such things. Apparently, if they were like this beautiful, raven-haired seductress they did them eagerly ... passionately ... noisily!
The sounds coming from the bedroom were like an assault on Monica's ears. In the mirror, she saw the dark-haired girl's lips slurping at her husband's fat penis. At the same time, she heard sound of the girl's lips sucking at it. She listened helplessly to the obscene gobbling sounds and saw the other woman's tongue circling around her husband's shaft, making bulging outlines in her sucking cheeks as it swirled around his stiffness as her head went up and down on his rigid member!
Oh! Oh, my God, I bet that feels incredibly sexy and good to him. Monica watched the woman enthusiastically licking and sucking with her hot, wet mouth. Who would want a girl like me, who doesn't know how to do anything, when they could have a girl like her ... who can do ... everything?
As Monica watched, broken-hearted, in the mirror, George pulled the other girl's sucking lips off his pumped up penis, his hands urging her face upward. She stared up at him, her pretty young face a mask of disappointed need.
"I ... I want to fuck you!" George gasped.
"In a minute," the girl grinned at him. "You always last a lot longer if I suck your big old cock off first, and then let you fuck me, baby!"
Monica was suddenly reminded of the Bible story of Lot's wife and how God had turned her into a pillar of salt for disobeying Him. I'm not turned into salt, but I can't seem to move either. I can't stop watching what this obscene young woman is doing to George any more than Lot's wife could run away after being turned into a salt pillar.
She watched, fascinated and mortified at the same time. George was moaning loudly, clearly in ecstasy, making noises that sounded as if the woman were repeatedly shoving a knife into his guts instead of eagerly sliding her compressed, wet lips up and down his huge, swollen-hard ... thing! Monica could see him twisting the woman's plump pink nipples between his fingers as she moved her head up and down on him, licking and sucking. She could also see the other woman's vagina pouring out lubricant. The little harlot was hunching her trim hips all over the place on the bedspread, rubbing the small bead of nerve endings at the very top of her wet slit against the surface of it as she sucked George's penis.
Monica knew from her own limited experience with masturbation that the friction of the brunette's clitoris rubbing against the spread probably felt wonderful. She felt her face turning red as she remembered the few times in her life when she had been unable to resist the devil when he whispered in her ear to touch her own little pleasure bead while washing herself in the shower, or occasionally at night, in the privacy of her bedroom when it was dark and she couldn't seem to keep her forefinger off the tiny bud as she daydreamed about some boy or other asking her out.
All at once, she was jolted out of her shame-filled reverie by a howl from her cheating husband's lips. George had his head thrown back, his eyes closed in pure bliss, and Monica could see the woman's throat constrict, once, twice ... three times as she began swallowing the white gunk her husband's thing shot out when it went off inside Monica's vagina during sex!
My sweet God, how can she stand to do that?
She had touched the slick, smelly fluid often enough herself, after George had finished his business with her and she had hurriedly gotten up off the bed to clean herself up in the bathroom. Semen, as she knew it was called technically, was hot and gooey and slick and smelly. How could any woman force herself to gulp it down like this godless young whore was doing?
But the woman on the bed with Monica's husband obviously did not in the least share her revulsion for the stuff. Monica watched in disbelieving disgust mixed with pure amazement as the woman took George's spent organ from her mouth and licked the remaining goop from it as if it were the most delicious thing in the world then swallowed it noisily as he grinned happily down at her. She worked the loose skin on the softening member up and down a few times as she ran her tongue all over the tiny slit in the head, lapping up the tiny dribble of the filthy stuff that emerged.
"I bet you wish that cold little fish of a wife of yours would suck you off like that and swallow your load, don't you?" The girl smiled up at George, occasionally caressing his now limp organ with her tongue as she held it in her palm.
"Let's leave her out of it, Denise," George said, his face souring. "I feel badly enough, cheating on her this way, without you rubbing it in!"
Denise, laughed merrily, "What's to feel bad about? Your wife's a frigid, stupid young girl who can't fuck, can't suck, and is too dumb to know that a man wants excitement in the bedroom, not some know-nothing virgin who won't take it up the ass occasionally just to please him."
She licked George's half-hard member up and down and kissed it. "That's what makes ours the perfect arrangement, Georgie-boy. I love to do it all and I love getting it from a bunch of different guys -- all at once, preferably. We're ideal for each other, because the last thing I need is a steady boyfriend to get in the way of my fun. The last thing you need is a clingy bitch 'other woman' who's trying to wreck your marriage so she can have you for herself."
George sighed as she stopped talking for a moment then sucked him again for a full minute, making his penis firmer then wrapped her fist around the wet shaft and stroked it as she finished her thought. "With the arrangement we've got now, I get lots of sweet, hard cock from you and you get all the ass, pussy, and head a guy could ever want, and you get to keep your sweet little innocent wife -- although, I've got to tell you, George, I have no idea why you'd want to. I saw her at the company picnic two months ago. I'll grant you she is way cute and sexy looking as can be, but if she won't give you head or a decent fuck..."
"I've told you before, Denise, I love Monica. She's gorgeous and fun and charmingly naive, and she loves me. I'm going to give her a chance to grow up a little, to get to liking sex better before I just give up on her," He sighed. "In the meantime, a man's gotta' have a little ... relief ... you know?"
Denise laughed and worked the skin up and down more quickly on George's now rapidly firming shaft. "Well, what say you slip this big, hard bad boy up my pussy for a little while then pull it out and finish up in my ass. Let's see if that gives both of us the kind of relief we're looking for, baby."
Monica's jaw dropped open at that lurid proposal. She stared, her eyes as big as quarters, as this Denise woman got up onto her hands and knees while George reached over into the top drawer of the nightstand beside the bed and took out what looked like a big toothpaste tube then got on his knees behind her.
"Oooooooh! What a nice, big, fat dick you've got, babe." Denise sighed as George slipped every inch of himself into her juicy slit from behind and began pumping in and out of her.
They're ... they're doing it like animals do it! Monica was shocked to discover that people rutted together in this position, just like barnyard beasts.