Once when she was out in a remote part of the warehouse, Greg, one of the warehouse staff, grabbed hold of her from behind and put his hand over her mouth. She tried to scream for help but it was no good: she could barely breathe with his hand clamped over her mouth. From behind her, he pushed her down onto a pallet piled with hundred pound bags of organic barley. With his hand still over her mouth and the weight of this body holding her down, he used his free hand to push up her dress and pull down her panties. He managed to work his stiffy into her unwilling slit and went at it with no concern for her feelings, obsessed exclusively with relieving his sexual tension. In searing pain and deeply afraid, Marcie struggled under his weight and continued trying in vain to scream, until she realized that at that point relaxing and letting him have his way was the best course. In fact, she confessed to me later, it actually began to feel nice after she relaxed a bit. She was just about to have an orgasm herself when Greg began to buck and grunt and fill her with his sticky semen. Gasping and drooling on her neck, he collapsed on her back and relaxed his grip on her mouth, totally spent by his efforts between my wife's legs. They were both still breathing hard from the exertion when he apologized and said he was ashamed of what he just did. He begged her to forgive him and not to tell anyone about it or he would certainly lose his job.
Marcie agreed to keep his secret but insisted it must never happen again since she was married and loved her husband. She told him that the strength of her marriage was the most important thing in the world to her. As he was sheepishly stuffing his junk back in his boxers and zipping up his jeans, he said he would promise anything if she would just not get him fired. He expressed his shame and apologies over and over.
Later she confided to me that she thought he was cute when he apologized. All afternoon, she could smell his sweat and the aroma of barley on her body and clothes, and she found it so oddly exciting that she could barely concentrate on her work.
That night before dinner, I took her in my arms in the kitchen as I usually do, kissed her lips and neck, enjoyed the smell of her hair and told her how much I love her. In her usual maternal way she accepted my worship and returned my kisses until I was surprised to see she was sobbing gently in my arms. Needless to say, I was very concerned. I encouraged her to talk about whatever was on her mind, reminding her that when we got married we promised to share everything, every feeling, every thought, and never keep anything to ourselves.
Eventually she told me the whole story of what had happened in the warehouse including how she had become a little aroused toward the end of their copulation. Of course, we were both very upset about it, but sharing feelings and talking it out helped a lot, and I noticed that night that our lovemaking was especially fierce and satisfying, like there was a strong new bond between us, like we had both been initiated by the event of that day . . . and we had both found it more than a little stimulating.
Now you have to understand that I feel toward Marcie almost like she is my sister as well as my wife. I know that she is an independent person and I try not to be jealous since I know that she - like me - is completely committed to our marriage. Nevertheless, I could feel the green-eyed monster stirring inside me.
Over the course of the next few weeks she retold the story of her exciting new experience a hundred times, each time adding one or two more details as she recalled them. I encouraged her in these retellings so that she would not have trauma due to repressed emotions and so her time with Greg would not grow into an obstacle in our relationship. We talked out our feelings at great length and found that discussing it led often to especially soulful lovemaking sessions. I felt an undeniable vigor that I hadn't experienced since I was seventeen.
At work, Greg had started being extra courteous and attentive to Marcie. Whenever she needed something from the warehouse, he was always there, eager to please her, probably out of gratitude to her for not ratting to management about how bad a boy he was. After a couple months of healing and with my permission, she even gave Greg a couple more tastes in secluded parts of the warehouse, for which he was very grateful.
She would always tell me about these trysts with her rapist-turned-slave and she would go into the most graphic detail possible in response to my pumping her with questions. After a few months and in response to my coaxing, she started wearing tight fitting pants and miniskirts to work. We made several shopping trips together to buy her "special" items to wear to work. I remember being very excited as I suggested a pushup bra and clinging sweater that revealed her 36C's almost down to her brown nipples. She picked out a neon pink thong and black miniskirt. The miniskirt was so short that if she bent over a low filing cabinet drawer, an observer behind her had an excellent chance of seeing heaven.
Her boss in the office started taking notice of her, a fact that surprised her since he was getting on in years, had a big beer belly and a couple daughters almost her age. At first he just treated her very considerately and made her nice compliments, but after a while the compliments became more out of line and eventually he started to just grope at her ass or breasts. She scolded him and threatened him with a harassment suit if he didn't stop touching her. He mostly stopped groping her after that.
When she told me about his overtures, I felt a little sorry for the avuncular old guy. I'd seen him once at a company picnic in his swimming trunks with his hairy chest exposed and his big, swarthy belly hanging over the waist band. I became obsessed with the thought of this disgusting old lech ogling Marcie, climbing on top of her and covering her sweet, soft skin with his sweaty, fury body, mounting her and pushing himself up between her legs.
I encouraged her to yield to his urgings, but she never would.
Now that my darling wife was dressing like a whore at work almost every day and being treated as such by a couple of the men there, we started to talk about taking it to the next level. She told Greg that she had shared all her antics with me and that I was on board for more. Greg got into the spirit of things. He offered to collect $100 per head from some of the other guys in the warehouse for the right to gangbang her. Greg said he would keep 20% of the money as her manager but she could have the rest. By now he knew how responsive she was and knew every inch of her body almost as well as I did, and it was apparent that he had been sharing some of his knowledge with co-workers.
Marcie told Greg that she would have to get my permission before going ahead with this plan but gave him a blowjob as a thank you for coming up with the idea.
Marcie was very interested in the money since it would really help us pay off some of our debts. Greg's proposal was a lot more outrageous than anything I had bargained for, but the extra money would be great. Somehow it didn't seem right to collect money for something that she would probably have done for free anyway, but I kind of liked that getting paid for it made it seem a lot dirtier.
Eventually, Marcie talked me into proceeding with Greg's proposition. After all, it was her pussy and she was the one who would actually have to do it. A night was set and one of the guys offered his living room for the event. Marcie wouldn't tell me how much she was going to get paid for this night, but she said it was a lot. She also hinted that she might use some of the money for a little weekend getaway for her and Greg, maybe even include me if Greg agreed. I was starting to think this had gotten out of control, but she assured me repeatedly that I was her main man, that she loved me more than anything, and that this was all making our marriage stronger than ever.
That night I helped Marcie dress for her big night out. I was in an advanced state of nervous excitement as we debated which panties she would wear that night. My hands trembled as I held up a purple panty with a string waistband covered with black fringe, a front that barely covered anything, and a back that covered nothing. I was so keyed up that I alternated between crying and trying to hump her. I was a blubbering idiot at this point but she reassured me when I was crying and held me off when I tried to rub my crotch against her. She said she wanted to be clean for her fan club tonight so I couldn't have her beforehand.
As agreed, Greg came to pick her up at 8:00. She invited him in to meet me and have a drink. He was shorter than I expected him to be and more muscular. He was dressed quite well with country club casual slacks and a sophisticated print on his silk unhemmed shirt. I also noticed he was wearing a scent, a very masculine scent, something I never wore, but it seemed to turn Marcie on.
Greg said he had a special gift to show his appreciation for this chance to make some extra money. Marcie loves gifts and I could see how excited she was as she ripped off the elaborate ribbon and bow. Inside was a pair of red shoes with heels that must have been five inches high. Greg told her they were called "hooker heels." He added that he thought they were appropriate since tonight she would in essence become a prostitute, at least for one night. At first Marcie looked a little shocked at the term "prostitute" being applied to her. Greg could see that he had offended her and started to apologize but when she realized it was true, she just laughed it off. Since she doesn't wear heels very often, she practiced walking around the house as best she could, and both Greg and I commented on how the shoes accentuated her ass with every step.
Here I was commenting on my wife's ass with a man who knew her intimately in a way that I never would. He looked to be at least ten years younger than me and must have thought that she was a whore or a nymphomaniac. He probably saw Marcie as an instrument of his gratification rather than as the loyal and affectionate mate that I knew her to be. I couldn't imagine what he thought of me, but we were all excited and he seemed to be enjoying the moment as much as she was.
There was a lump in my throat as we nursed our drinks and made small talk, all the while Marcie clinging to Greg on the sofa, wearing a big smile, and staring straight into my eyes which were riveted on her and the low cut, slinky white dress she had picked out. You could easily see her matching red bra and G-string beneath it. Greg pretended not to care about her touching him. I guess he was feeling more like her business manager or pimp than her lover. After all, he was making a good deal of money on this event. Or maybe he was just self-conscious with me present.
Much to my embarrassment, Marcie told him how she had refused to let me fuck her before tonight's events. She also told him that she didn't want him to take part in the festivities. He was to do no more than watch since she needed a cool headed male to take care of her in case she needed help. After all, she said, she might need him to stop any male brutality fantasies from being perpetrated on her. And she darn sure didn't want him joining in with the guy! She said there was only one way she knew to cool off a man and turn him into a stony bodyguard. Then she started to unbuckle his belt right there in front of me in our own living room on the sofa on which we still owed a couple hundred dollars.
I couldn't believe it but she made him stand up, drop his pants and shorts, and hike up his shirt so she could kneel and inspect his meat. Of course, he wasn't erect. He was as surprised by this development as I was, but I could see Marcie's logic. It was prudent to have a eunuch as bodyguard, so I could hardly object. Clearly she had decided that even if she couldn't cut off his business, she could still take preemptive measures to disarm him!
Much to my alarm, he started getting hard in her mouth very quickly. The fact that she had told me in exquisite detail about all the couplings she and Greg had enjoyed in the warehouse didn't do much to allay my shock and disgust at actually seeing her do it. It was like I was hypnotized seeing his cock respond to her pretty mouth and lips. Time seemed to slow way down, and even now I can still see every second of the fellatio in my memory. My eyes must have been as big as saucers while I watched my wife play with his scrotum, take his growing dick into her mouth, and rub it all over her face until it got fully erect in her hands. She turned to me with a lascivious grin on her mouth, her cheeks glistening with his pre-cum.
"You don't mind, do you, darling?"
My stomach was churning and my mouth was too dry to talk so I said nothing as I watched my beloved wife perform the magic she had done on me hundreds of times, but do it now to temporarily relieve another man of his sex drive for a few hours. From the look in her eyes when she looked my way, I suspected also wanted to see if I could handle a private peep starring her. I wondered to what extent she was enjoying it and to what extent she was just performing a physical function.
She milked his balls with her fingers as she had so many times milked mine when she wanted to speed up my ejaculation. His obscenely thick cock distorted her full lips and wonderfully expressive mouth as it slid against the substitute vagina she was creating for him with her tongue and mouth. Sometimes I could see the big outline of his dick bulging from inside her shiny cheek as his excitement grew and he pushed sideways against her cheek as well as straight toward her throat.
After a couple minutes Greg seemed to forget how awkward the situation was and started to buck and pump his rod deep into her throat. Marcie gagged at this rough usage, but she continued to milk his balls urging him to a prompt orgasm. Marcie's eyes were starting to water as she gagged and finally he grabbed her head and held it as he furiously deep throated her, so overcome by his passion that I worried he would hurt her. He was holding her head and thrusting into her throat like it was cunt.
Fortunately, in less than a minute his rough thrusting ended with him coming in spasms deep inside her throat as he held her head tight against his belly. He bellowed, "Oh, yes, yes." as his hips tucked into her mouth and his back curved like he was trying to wrap himself around her head while the muscles of his buttocks shivered and contracted with involuntary paroxysms. I could see that she wasn't able to breathe, but after a bit he released her head and pulled out his now shrinking penis.
Marcie was gasping for air, but between the gasps she looked up into Greg's eyes and with a slutty smile said, "Gee, baby, you sure know how to show a girl a good time!" That broke some of the tension a little and we all laughed.
Honestly, I couldn't tell if she was being serious or ironic. After she caught her breath again, she got up off the floor and slipped into her new hooker heels. Greg was completely dazed by this experience but managed to start pulling his pants up and tucking in his shirt. Marcie came over to me, and took my hands in hers. The two of us stood there looking directly into each other's eyes. As physically close as we were, I realized that I didn't really know this woman at all. She seemed to take pleasure in things I had never even thought about, much less done with her.
My desire to possess her physically was greater than it had ever been as she put her arms around me and gave me a long, passionate kiss that was wet and slippery with Greg's strong smelling semen. That smell soon turned my desire to disgust and I decided that I would not let her go, but she broke my embrace before I could say anything. She laughed at the stunned look on my face, and put her arm around Greg.
Then she gave Greg a peck on the mouth and said, "Well, lover, are you ready for our big date night? As they say, it's show time."
Greg promised me that she would be safe, that he wouldn't let the men hurt her and that he would have her home before dawn. Obviously at a loss for words, he said it was a pleasure meeting me and shook my hand. There was nothing I could say at this point. Then they walked out the door with Marcie's arms tightly around his slim waist and her head on his shoulder. The looked like a couple kids going on their first date. I sure hoped the neighbors weren't watching!
My last view of her that night was of her hips' exaggerated undulations in those new hooker heels. She could barely walk in them and looked like a little girl trying on her mother's high heels. She was so cute I couldn't believe I was letting her do this.
It was a long night for me the next few hours. I realized after they drove away that I didn't even know where she was going to be. Anything could happen to her and I might not know for days. I was pretty much fully erect the whole night. I tried not to touch myself because I didn't want her to come home and find me impotent because I had spent my seed by myself alone. Every inch of my body felt like a sex organ. After a while I stripped out of my clothes and tried to watch TV wearing a pair of neon orange spandex posing briefs that Marcie had given me for my last birthday. The front of the posing briefs was getting soaked with my pre-cum. The feel of my enormous cock stretching against the spandex was more than I could take and I had to touch myself through the thin material, lightly dragging my shaking fingers along the wet outline of my manhood. Well, you can imagine how that played out. As excited as I was, I gave in and with a few light touches ejaculated all over me, the sofa, and the coffee table. Exhausted with the excitement and release, I fell asleep there on the sofa with my limp dick and balls hanging out of the posing briefs.
I woke up the instant I heard Marcie fumbling with the lock on the front door. I went over and let her in. She was hardly in a condition to negotiate the key and lock. It was about 3:00 am and her dress was torn in several places, her hair was matted (I supposed with dry cum), and she looked ready to collapse. She smelled like a men's locker room.
But she was not really hurt, thank God! Lying in my arms, she told me as much as she could remember of the evening's activities. She wasn't really sure how many men were there . . . or maybe she was just unwilling to tell me. She said there was talk about doing it again someday, but hiring a prostitute to work as a fluffer so that the men could mostly just ejaculate with, on, or in my wife. "At this point," she chuckled while gazing into my eyes and touching my hair and cheek, "I never want to have sex again. I've had enough for the rest of my life."
As you can imagine, I did not share her surfeit at this point. Quite the opposite, I was very excited after hearing about her adventures. I was fully, almost painfully erect again and started to kiss and pet her. She pulled away and said "Please, honey, I love you but I've just had so many men in me tonight that the last thing I want is one more man climbing on top of me, pawing me and chafing my pussy even more. Can we put it off till tomorrow night?"
I begged, "You can't leave me like this. I've been patiently waiting for you for six hours and I am so horny I won't be able to sleep or do anything until I can pop my load and fall asleep in your arms. All I can think about is you with those guys working themselves out all over you."