My wife Jenny and I have two conditional rules in our three-year-old
marriage ― once a month I
am allowed to sleep with a hooker and when she is away for extended periods of
time, I am allowed to sleep with our neighbours’ 18-year-old daughter Nancy
Smith. Now the only conditions about these two rules are that my wife is never
allowed to find out about either the hookers or randy Nancy.
Being a writer, I spend most of my day at home while
my wife works at some bank (who’s name I am not allowed to mention) as a consultant.
I spend at most about five months a year really writing; the other months are
spent promoting whatever I have written and mowing the lawn or something. Depending
on my mood and emotional health, some months or years I simply just take off. This
means that most often I have a lot of time to kill by practising my hobbies
such as growing peaches in our backyard or bedding Mr and Ms Smiths’ youngest
daughter.
Nancy’s
visits used to be a once-a-week thing due to her possessive boyfriend and her
busy schedule as a first-year medical student, but the weekly visits were fine
with me since I was only fucking her for the experience of her tight vagina and
her fetish to be tied up. Months later when my wife caught us in bed together
for the first time, Nancy was getting fucked like a dog with her head forced
into the pillow and her hands tied behind her back ― a scene my wife labeled as “barbaric” and
“distastefully brutal”.
After about a month of
screwing around,
Nancy
dumped her possessive boyfriend which meant that we were able to play on a
daily basis. Each morning after my wife left for work,
Nancy would attend her first class of the day
which usually involved biting and bondage. The sweet “ding dong” sound of the
front doorbell ringing while I laid in bed reading the paper went as well with my
coffee as blasphemy. My first-touch with sunlight for the day would usually be
when I open the door for
Nancy.
Her routine ― yet irritating and redundant ― question of “Is the lovely wife
gone?” would usually be the only words out of her mouth not dictated through screams.
I usually respond by saying: “I am going to fuck you so hard you are going to
split in half.”
Nancy’s
daily visits opened up the windows to both experimentation and wariness. When
my wife caught us for the second time together I was once again entering
Nancy from a rear
position. This time the words “In here” were written on
Nancy’s lower back with a black marker and an
arrow was pointing towards her anus ― unlike the previous time, my wife
refrained from making a comment.
My affair with
Nancy
became the oyster garden for my inspiration as a writer, but not for my life.
Even though a lot of work was being done behind the typewriter and behind the
18-year-old sexual prodigy, I kind of became bored with life. Screwing
Nancy behind my wife’s
back was exciting to a certain extend, but I had a bigger lust for wickedness. At
the tender age of 27 I have achieved tremendous success by means of simply
minimising my workload and maximising my self-confidence and persistency. But
despite all of that, I have simply run out of ways to enjoy the simple things
in life. It started to feel that every day I lived and every single thing I did
was just another forgettable moment that has passed. The more I searched for
excitement the more erratic my behaviour became, especially my new-found habit
of touching myself while in conversation.
My sudden change in behaviour and my refusal to go for
therapy did raise some questions among my loved ones, especially my beloved wife
(who won’t learn about my and
Nancy’s affair for another three months).
Jenny was starting to feel guilty and she admitted that due to her long hours
at the office, she was neglecting me. I wasn’t that bothered by Jenny’s “negligence”
because I was too busy fucking
Nancy
and maintaining my mini orchard to even notice that there was a distance
growing between me and my wife. I was however very amused by the irony of the
entire situation since I was convinced that my wife was having an affair with a
co-worker, Michelle Olwagen. My suspicions of my wife having an
extramarital relationship with a female co-worker didn’t bother me even the
slightest bit; for starters, I was busy fucking a barely legal teenager on a
daily basis and secondly, it’s not like some other
guy was putting his fat cock inside my wife. And even though I have never met or seen
Michelle Olwagen before in my life, I knew someone very well who knew her very
well.
It was a Thursday evening and there wasn’t a cloud in
the sky when I drove through the city on my way back from a meeting with my
publisher. I was waiting for the green light at a robot when my eye caught two
superfine women standing on the street corner; the one was smoking a cigarette
and the other one was exchanging words with a distinctive gentleman who looked
like a policeman. Judging by the way the women were dressed and the quality of
the area, the thought that they were hookers didn’t even pass through my mind ― I would rather have mistaken them for two
power-dressed lawyers than streetlovers. But when
they approached my car with a charismatic “Hey there, you” I knew that they are
the type of women who only accepts cash.
Now I have never really gone as far as my brother to
actually sleep with one of the princesses of twilight, but it has always been
somewhat of a hidden desire and definitely in the top spot of my to-do list. If
this part of my life had a chapter, I would have called it: “Meeting the other
end of the rope”.
Prostitutes have always been similar to a good movie
to me. If a lot of different people pay money to go see a movie, it is most
certainly a box-office hit. The same goes for a prostitute. If many different
guys, who could rather fuck their wife or girlfriend, would go so far as to pay
a woman to fuck her, then her box must surely be a hit.
The two prostitutes that approached my car must have
been somewhat of an upper class or
new to the business, because they were too well groomed for a hooker ― especially the way the one’s pubic hair was trimmed
into the shape of a half-moon. The same night I saw the one prostitute’s
moon-shaped pubes, I learned that she does prostitution as a part-time job and
to “watch people act frail”. I found this absolutely intriguing.
That first night I met my two new friends ― Moonflower and Gothgirl69 ― I bought
them both. They were so cheap, it was literally a buy one get one free special.
I took them to a Holiday Inn near my house because it would raise the minimum amount
of suspicion and most importantly, it was convenient for me. Since I am the
type of guy who has enough confidence in his sexual performance, I don’t do
threesomes or orgies. So when we approached the elevator, I told Moonflower to
kindly wait in the bar area while I take her friend, Gothgirl69 (which turned
out to be a competitor), to the hotel room so we could get things up to business.
After I did both of them and paid for their drinks while they waited their
turn, I gave them their money and assured them that we would hook up again ― I did, however, only continue
seeing Moonflower.
From there on it became a regular thing. The sex I had
with the prostitute, Moonflower, was passionate and gentle and the sex I had
with
Nancy was
violent. My wife, who still haven’t found out about my affairs, kept on working
long hours and I was still convinced that she was sleeping with that Michelle girl. Now and then my
wife would query on the bite marks and bruises on my body.
Once when I contracted a mysterious rash on my dick (most likely from Nancy,
but it turned out to be Moonflower), I narrowly escaped being caught out before
telling my wife that I got the rash from her and that she might be suffering
from some fungus on her virginal area (luckily for me, Jenny just happened to
have a fungus on her left lip which she contracted from Michelle).
It was close encounters like these that made me master
the art of lying to Jenny, usually about the origin of my injuries. Sometimes I even
confused Jenny into believing that she gave them to me during some sexual
brawl.
“Those are your handy work my love,” I would often say
to her before accepting her apology which was usually followed by a
missionary-style fuck. It is when the sex life you share with your wife is
degraded to plain old missionary style that you know that the spark is gone.
But in the rare times that I did however made passionate love to my wife, it was usually with anger ― not the angry sex that I
had with Nancy, but the type of angry sex that says, “What the fuck have we
done to each other?” Sometimes Jenny wanted our lovemaking to be soft and gentle;
I preferred thrusting her like I was paying to do so.
The morning my wife caught me with
Nancy for the second time, I thought that it
was over for sure. It was only after an embarrassed
Nancy left and my wife and I sat down at the
kitchen table that she confessed to having an affair. My wife told me that she was suffering from
depression and that the affair was with a female colleague; she further told me
that her lover had decided to end their eight-month affair after meeting a man.
As I held my wife I felt her tears running down my chest ― which still carried the aroma of
Nancy’s pussy― and at that moment I told
her that I only slept with Nancy three times and that she caught us two out of
the three times. But whether my wife believed me or not about the “three times”
I had been with
Nancy, it was the truth when I
told her that I would never see
Nancy
again. After four months with
Nancy,
we have literally exhausted our imaginations and our sexual abilities ― there
was simply nothing more humanly possible that we could do in the bedroom.
After my wife confessed to
her affair with Michelle Olwagen, we didn’t separate. It had absolutely no
affect on our relationship as most people would imagine. We did however start
to have somewhat of a steamier sex life ― Jenny even allowed me to butt-fuck
her ― and she also started seeing a therapist to help her deal with her
depression. Jenny and I agreed to work harder at our marriage, but I wasn’t
able to let Moonflower go. With
Nancy
out of my life and my wife under the impression that the holes in our marriage
were all patched up, I was able to continue my affair with the prostitute. One evening when my wife was out with friends,
I invited moonflower over to our house for the first time. She told me that due to the feelings she
started to have for me after months of sleeping together, it was no longer
necessary for me to pay her. She sex that followed was the worst sex I ever had
with Moonflower; I guess since money was no longer involved it just wasn’t the
same. That night was the final straw in my marriage. When my wife caught me for
the third time with another woman, she did have a comment.
“So this is the jerk you
have left me for, Michelle?”
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