I didn’t know what was worse—going prematurely from a handjob or creaming my underwear.
The last time I had to throw a pair of underwear away was in junior high, when I first began masturbating. At first I would stop before the tension got too much. But then one day, staring at some big-titted tenth-grade cheerleader in my brother’s yearbook, I felt this new sensation. In a panic, I tried to stop it. My first orgasm was a ‘what-the-fuck-is-happening’ moment, as my dick went crazy, shooting into my white briefs. The next day I secretly took those briefs in a plastic bag and stuffed them in the garbage in my parent’s garage.
And now here I was, twenty years later, just as shamed, about to trash another pair of underwear.
Ashley’s become familiar with Mr. four-pumps guy, but a fucking lazy handjob? What would she think of me now?
Would she think, Well, I did just admit to getting fucked in that ratty bathroom. And I told him Jim Murta had a bigger cock.
Are dots like that really so hard to connect?
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the shower the next morning I kept thinking about what had happened.
Jim Murta surely wouldn’t have cum prematurely from an Ashley Martens handjob. Stroking his cock, looking at Ashley’s tits, he was probably close enough to shoot his load all over her. But Jim Murta had stamina. He wasn’t going to bust his nut and miss an Ashley Martens full-throttle fuck-opportunity.
Stroking had been just a warm-up act. With Ashley’s husband now relegated upstairs, he would take his sweet time, savoring the fuck. Had Ashley compared the two of us last night? Jim’s big-cock stud-fuck performance and me creaming inside my boxers from a simple handjob?
I noticed Ashley’s skin cleanser in the shower caddie and squirted it into my left palm. It had the look and consistency of cum. I kept pumping until I had a puddle of white cream in my hand. I imagined it as Jim Murta’s monster load. As it began slipping through my fingers, I felt its thickness and heaviness, picturing how it had dripped out of my wife’s pussy as she returned to the party. Had it puddled up and soaked Ashley’s thong as she walked back outside? Might someone have noticed a stray glob of Jim Murta semen errantly sliding down her tanned bare leg?
Had she even put her thong back on? In the heat of the moment had Jim ripped it off, rendering it un-wearable? Or had he pocketed my wife’s thong as a Jim Murta-Ashley Martens fuck trophy?
I thought of her knowing Jim Murta’s sperm was inside her pussy as we took a cab ride home together, and suddenly came.
****
I knew Ashley would be at the gym for a while, so my plan was to quickly jerk off at home. I figured that would give me better stamina than yesterday, when I hadn’t masturbated at all.
I hadn’t looked at much Internet porn, certainly not since getting married. But now I searched free porn sites, entering the keywords, “amateur bathroom fuck.” I was looking for a girl who resembled Ashley—a young, petite brunette with big tits. I finally found one of a college girl getting fucked by her boyfriend that looked real and amateurish—like they had drunkenly invited a friend to film them.
At the time they probably saw it as a fun and kinky thing to do. They were capturing themselves in the natural act of fucking. But how could the girl not possibly regret it now? It’s one thing to have nude photos posted online, quite another to have a photo with your boyfriend’s dick in your mouth, and yet another to have an actual video of yourself sucking and fucking, for anyone who stumbles upon it to watch.
I imagined the crawl-under-a-rock embarrassment when another classmate would tell her, “Last night we watched Alex fucking you. Sound familiar?”
Ashley could probably relate in some small way after having to face everyone and the rumor that Monday.
Of course the girl on the video had it worse—that graphic intimate video for anyone to see on the Internet into perpetuity. The girl in the video was younger but resembled Ashley in a general way—not as pretty, but with big tits, long hair, and similar proportions.
The video began with her on her knees sucking the guy’s cock. He was pretty big, maybe eight inches.
How could Ashley not have sucked Jim’s cock beforehand? Maybe he did go straight for the fuck, but as in this video, cock-sucking was a fairly common preamble.
I thought of myself knocking and being sent upstairs.
And then I watched the video really begin. The guy was sitting on the toilet, his big cock pointed to the ceiling. She eased herself down, guiding his cock with her hand, like they’d fucked plenty of times before. The guy wasn’t using a condom and I was glad for that. I watched as his cock went up inside her.
I wondered if Tamara’s view had been the same.
Then the real cock pumping ensued. She had her head tilted back, her big tits bouncing, as she rode him right down to his base, his balls.
Soon he had her lying on the sink counter, and I watched him pumping quickly. I listened through headphones. The girl was moaning, “Oh yes,” “Oh God,” “Oh baby.”
Then it happened. He had her bent over the sink and he was doing her from behind. I couldn’t see his cock from that angle, but I watched his body thrust into her and her tits bounce in front of the mirror. The girl grinded back into him, like it was her mission to get his cock to explode. Suddenly the guy pulled out and shot several good bursts onto the girl’s ass. I froze the picture as the cameraman zoomed in. It was a good amount of cum.
Jim didn’t shoot on Ashley’s ass. All that cum that was sitting on that girl’s ass had gone up my wife’s pussy instead. Jim would have made a statement by simply pulling out and leaving his sperm on Ashley’s ass. But he wanted the full enchilada. That’s how Jim Murta rolls. He wanted my wife’s pussy seeded.
I rewound the video clip slightly, watched the doggy bathroom fuck, and came.
****
I quickly washed up.
It was a cool summer night, and I thought I’d mix it up a bit by serving our Caesar salad in the living room and setting up the table there.
Ashley came home looking all sweaty in a cute and hot way, and by the time she came out of the shower, I had everything ready and laid out.
“This looks great,” she said as she sat down across from me.
“How was your day?” I asked.
“Well, better than yesterday. It seems like accounting has eased up a bit and is going to approve a slightly scaled back budget on the convention.”
“That’s cool,” I replied, “you’re OK with that?”
“Yeah, it’s just the whole jumping through hoops nonsense,” she said, “I mean …”
Suddenly a huge black bug came screaming through the window, landing on the hardwood floor nearby. We were all frozen for a moment—me, Ashley and this big fat water bug. The bug seemed as freaked out as we were, sitting motionless, like it had just survived a kamikaze mission.
Ashley shrieked, “Oh my freaking God, Dave, do something!”
The bug made a lightning fast beeline right for the sofa.
I hustled into the bedroom and came back with a shoe.
“It’s under the couch,” Ashley screamed. “What’s that going to do?”
“I’ll get the Raid,” I said, and ran into the kitchen.
Ashley pulled back the couch as it headed under our bookcase. “Oh my God,” she said, “Did you see that? That thing was flying. God, this is so freaking disgusting.”
“I’ll get it,” I said, spraying under the bookcase.
“You’re getting it on all the books!”
“I’m trying, Ash.”
I saw what Ashley meant as the Raid drove the bug out. It could kind of fly. Not like a bee—more like a bloated dirigible attempting to get off the ground. It rose several inches before hitting the counter and flying a few inches more. When it stopped briefly on the counter’s edge, Ashley slammed it with a magazine.
She recoiled, muttering, “That is so gross.”
It had left a disgusting mess—white splattered goop
and black bug body parts. I grabbed paper towels and used the disinfectant wipes Ashley handed me.
She was shutting the window when I returned from the living room. “What happened to the screens you said you were getting?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m going to get them now.”
“Dave, it’s already August.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but we’re on the eleventh floor. It’s not like we’ve had bugs before.”
“What did Jimmy say about construction across the street—that residents are signing up for the exterminator?”
“Ashley, I know what the doorman said, but we’re up high. This was an anomaly.”
“Anomaly? So, you analyzed the percentages? Being on the eleventh floor trumped what he said? Based on your analytics, we don’t need screens?”
“Hey baby,” I said, “calm down. I’m sorry, I will get the screens taken care of. It freaked me out as well. But it’s over now. Let’s just sit back down and have some dinner.”
“Go for it,” she said, “I’m done, I lost my appetite.”
“Can I get you something else instead?”
“No, really, I’m fine. I’m not hungry anymore.”
She told me she’d be on her laptop in the bedroom.
That fucking bug, I thought as I sat alone on the sofa. Of all the windows in New York City to kamikaze through, this freaking bug had to chose mine—and just as we were starting dinner.
****
I wasn’t looking forward to joining her later in the bedroom. I was bracing for an “If only you had put that screen in like you said you would” type comment.
Instead she said, “Sorry I was such a bitch tonight. That bug really freaked me out.”
“I understand,” I said. “I will have those screens in by this weekend.”
“No rush now. It’s supposed to turn hot again tomorrow. It doesn’t look like open-the-window kind of weather for the next week. Sorry I made such a big deal. It’s just my bug phobia.”
She motioned for me to lie beside her, and I quickly joined her.
“Well,” I said, putting my arm around her, “that was one nasty bug. I’ve never seen one like that before, even in Florida or Costa Rica.”
“Well, that’s why we needed my platypus friend. He would have gobbled it up like a super-sized Happy Meal.”
“Well,” I said, “remember that spider web you had me knock down last week? He might have nabbed him.”
“Oh please, this bug was a monster. That mini-spider would have said, ‘What, are you crazy? He’s all yours, guys.’ ”
“You never know,” I said. “He might have seen it as a challenge. A spider is cunning.”
“That would have to be one helluva spider” Ashley said, “and I’m not talking Charlotte.”
“Yeah,” I said, “maybe a team of spiders could have gotten Mr. Jumbo bug.”
“OK, I’m with you, like they join forces and go after the really big bugs.”
“Well, why stop with bugs?” I said. “They could have even larger blue-sky aspirations, right?”
“Sure, they just need a spider leader who gets them spinning one collective massive web.”
“Yeah, and the leader would say, ‘We’re going big time, guys. We’re gunning for small dogs, bratty little kids. We’re gonna bag the old crabby lady out in her garden.’ ”
Ashley broke out laughing, and it made me feel good.
“You know that stupid job interview question,” she said, “I’ve never been asked it, but the one where they ask, ‘If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?’ ”
“Yeah,” I said, holding her close.
“I’d say a spider.”
“Well a spider’s not an animal.”
“It’s a stupid question,” she said, “so I’d ask for some leeway.”
“I got you,” I said, “so, you were saying—”
“I might not tell him that I’d bag old ladies, but I’d say, ‘I’d be a spider.’ And he would look at me funny, but nod for me to go on, so I’d continue, ‘Because I’m a leader, a team builder, and a visionary. I’d persuade other spiders to join the cause. We’d build a web that was the spider version of the Great Wall of China, and we’d go for broke. No ambition is too high. We’d get our feet wet with raccoons and squirrels, just to get the kinks out, and then, you name it: coyotes, pit bulls, pot-bellied pigs, wild bores, we’d bag them all. What do you think?”
“Mrs. Martens,” I said, “in all my years of asking that question, I’ve never heard such a thoughtful and outside-the-box answer. We need a young go-getter like you running our team. You’re hired. When can you start?”
Ashley laughed and held me tight.
Yeah, I thought to myself, you’d say all that with your tits upfront, and your pearly white smile, and you’d land the job on the spot. Me, if I ever said that in a job interview, I’d be taken out by security and blacklisted.
CHAPTER NINE
“I think I’m going to grab a drink with Tamara tonight.”
Ashley might as well have just kicked me in the balls, when she told me that as I sat in my office the next afternoon.
“That’s cool,” I said, “so will you still want dinner when you come home? Should I make something?”
“No, we’ll get a bite to eat, I’m sure. I can call you later in case you want to meet up with us.”
I wasn’t sure if that was even a real invitation, but I couldn’t imagine why she would think I’d “want” to meet up with Tamara.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll probably stay in. I have some work to do and it’s Yankees-Mariners tonight.”
Goddamnit, I thought, as I said, “Have fun” and hung up the phone. What the fuck would Ashley be telling Tamara tonight? I started pacing, first in my office and then later at home. I knew they talked at work and went to lunch together, but now I pictured them toasting over margaritas and having closer one-on-one time.
“Really?” Tamara would exclaim, smiling, “so you told Dave the truth about what happened at the party?”
“Yeah, I came clean, I was honest,” Ashley might reply.
“How honest?” Tamara would come back. “You told him Jim fucked you?”
“Yeah, I told him we had sex.”
“And what did Dave say?”
“It was weird,” Ashley might say, “he was all nervous, stumbling and bumbling, but mostly he just thanked me for being honest.”
“He didn’t get mad or look like he was going to storm off?”
“Not at all.”
“Ashley—you admitted to fucking Jim, and he didn’t have anything more to say other than ‘Thank you for being honest’?”
“Well, it seemed like he already knew, but he looked a little nervous and shaken. He wanted to know if I still loved him, and I said I did.”
“That’s great,” I could hear Tamara replying. “You didn’t even need to explain yourself? I guess he’s wrapped around your little finger.”
“He asked a question about Jim.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Well, after I admitted it—”
“Yeah,” Tamara would break in, “after you admitted to your husband that another man fucked you, yeah? He asked what?”
“He asked if he was bigger.”
“That is too funny,” Tamara would laugh. “Tell me, how did Dave say it?”
“He stammered and sweated and then asked if he had a bigger penis.”
Tamara would have a belly laugh over that one.
“Were you honest with him? Did you tell him ‘Oh fuck yeah he was bigger’?”
“Of course not. I couldn’t tell Dave that. I just told him that he was.”
“Did you tell him how much of a better fuck he was?”
“I didn’t rub it in by going into specifics.”
“I know, you’re so nice,” Tamara would say. “So, how did Dave react when he learned his cock in no way measured up?”
“He quickly changed th
e subject.”
“So there were no consequences? Dave gave you no grief?”
“No, just stuff about how he understands getting caught up in the moment.”
“Wow, he’s more of a pussy-whipped doormat than I even imagined.”
Reluctant Cuckold Page 9
