His Secret Sins

by Henri Couesnon

  They both came together, Marc’s muscles tautening visibly in front of Albert’s wide-open, staring eyes. The tension was a warning sign. A moment later, Albert felt an extra pressure and degree of throbbing deep within his asshole, and he knew that Marc must be ejaculating, depositing his load of cum into the reservoir tip of the rubber encasing his dick. At the same time, Albert, too, ejaculated, splashing his rich white cream all over Marc’s sweaty, heaving chest.

  “Shit!” Albert shouted. “That’s right, you fucker. Come in my ass!”

  “You’re getting it—you’re getting it all,” Marc gasped.

  With a sigh, Marc began to relax after his orgasm. But his partner wasn’t finished with him just yet. Bending forward, Albert began to lick greedily at the residue of his own cum on Marc’s pecs and nipples, not stopping until he had lapped up all of it. Then he levered himself gingerly forward and allowed Marc’s big, still-stiff cock to slide out of his ass. Albert peeled the condom off Marc’s prick and tossed it aside. Then he applied his mouth to the hot, cum-smeared, pulsating fuck tool which had just been up his ass.

  Marc had by now opened his eyes, and he watched, lazily, while the insatiable Albert licked and sucked him, until his penis was completely clean.

  But still Albert wasn’t satisfied. He sat up on the bed and began to jerk his own prick, quite roughly.

  “Motherfucking thing,” he mumbled. “It just doesn’t want to go down!”

  “Don’t tell me you’re still horny,” Marc protested. “And that you’re going to come again?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, feel free to jack off. I can watch. It’s kind of hot, seeing you do that, if fact. I’d prefer to join you. But I can’t promise I can get mine hard, or keep it hard, again. Not so soon after coming. But if you’re willing to wait—”

  “How’d you like to do something for me?” Albert panted. “Something different … something special.”

  “Sounds interesting. What, exactly?”

  “Something really dirty.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I like to get a little freaky, sometimes. I like to be pissed on. Are you into water sports?”

  Marc shrugged. “I’m open-minded. If that’s what you’re into, I’m willing to give it a shot. Not in here, though, obviously. In the bathroom.”

  Marc hadn’t suspected that Albert was into anything kinky. But Marc was open-minded, so he led Albert into the bathroom. They used the bathtub rather than the shower stall, because there was more room. Albert sat down in the bottom of the tub, his dark skin vividly contrasted to the gleaming white porcelain. He leaned back, and he stared up at Marc, imploringly.

  “Get in here with me,” Albert urged. “Stand over me.”

  Carefully, Marc stepped into the tub and stood astride the sprawling stud. Albert had turned out to be such a satisfying sex partner that Marc was now quite willing to accommodate him. In fact, the more Marc thought about it, the more excited he felt at the prospect of trying something different.

  “That’s right,” Albert told Marc, looking and sounding even more aroused. “Piss on me, man. Piss all over me, and into my fucking mouth, too. Do it! Please!”

  After his strong orgasm, Marc need to take a good, long piss, anyway.

  It was a little while before he could comply with Albert’s request, though, because his cock was still stiff. Eventually, however, Marc’s bladder relaxed and the first thin stream of urine came out of his expanded piss slit, soon turning into a flood. He directed his dick expertly so that his piss splashed all over Albert’s sweat-shiny ebony torso, and then he concentrated the flow on his trick’s eager face, soaking his hair.

  Next, Marc shuffled forward a bit and bent his knees so that his genitals were right above Albert’s face. Sticking his dick in between the other guy’s waiting, parted lips, he pissed abundantly into Albert’s mouth and throat, until he heard Albert choke on it. Albert came again, without even touching himself, his cock spurting its jets of frothy jism high up into the air behind Marc, so that drops of it rained down upon his back and butt.

  “Fuck!” Marc shouted. “Oh, fuck!”

  Chapter Three: Marital Duties

  After his encounters with Dimitri and Albert, Marc needed some rest.

  He slept late on Sunday, went out for brunch, and then he spent the afternoon reading and listening to music on his new stereo system. He also went through the house, making sure that no evidence of his weekend debaucheries was visible.

  That evening, Marc drove to the railroad station, to pick up his wife.

  “Ah, look at all the shopping bags and boxes!” he pretended to complain, as Ghislaine emerged from the train car.

  “I only bought a few things,” she protested.

  “Yes, a few hundred, as I see.”

  “And these aren’t all for me. I found a few things for you, too. Wait until you see the beautiful neckties I bought for you.”

  “I can’t wait. But the important thing is—did you have a good time?”

  “Oh, the best, Marc! Except for the fact that you weren’t with me. Next time—you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “Maybe I will,” Marc said, evasively.

  “Did you miss me?”

  “Terribly,” he lied. “Every moment.”

  “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll start by making you a nice dinner, as soon as we get home.”

  “But you must be tired, after spending more than three hours on that train. We can stop at a restaurant.”

  “No, I’ll cook for you,” Ghislaine insisted.

  Marc had to admit that, when his wife chose to exercise her domestic skills, she was good at it. Upon their arrival home, Ghislaine went into action. After getting dinner started, she started unpacking and putting away her Paris purchases. Like her husband, she was a good cook. But on this occasion, she firmly refused to let him help.

  “I know you must have felt neglected while I was away,” she said.

  “Neglected, yes.” Marc fought to keep the irony from becoming audible in his voice.

  “Well, now I’m going to make it up to you. I’m going to spoil you.”

  “I don’t mind being spoiled,” Marc agreed, lazily.

  During the meal, Ghislaine told him how she’d amused herself in Paris, and told him the latest news and gossip about some of their mutual friends who lived there.

  “And your weekend?” she asked, at last.

  “Oh, it was uneventful,” Marc lied. “Which was good, in a way. I had a chance to relax and rest up. Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. The new stereo system was delivered. I’m very pleased with it, so far.”

  “Good. I suppose I’m better off being a music widow than a golf widow,” Ghislaine teased him. “At least listening to records and the radio keeps you here at home, and out of trouble.”

  “Who, me? I wouldn’t know how to get into trouble, if I tried.”

  After dinner, Ghislaine excused herself, to get out of her traveling clothes and to soak in a hot bath.

  Marc was in the living room, enjoying another cup of coffee and listening to a recording of Mozart’s Don Giovanni, when his wife rejoined him. She wore a floor-length jonquil-yellow silk peignoir, trimmed in pale green lace, over a matching slip. With her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her natural blonde hair falling down loose over her shoulders, she looked truly stunning.

  Marc studied her, with genuine pride and admiration.

  He was a bisexual, though with a pronounced preference for his own sex. Nonetheless, he wasn’t altogether immune to female beauty. He appreciated the fact that Ghislaine was everything most men could desire in a wife. She was beautiful, sophisticated, a good housekeeper, and a charming hostess. The latter quality was especially important for the spouse of a man in Marc’s position. He knew that other men envied him.

  It was true that Ghislaine could be a bit flighty and scatter-brained, and she was undeniably extravagant. But Marc could afford to pay f
or her extravagances, quite apart from the fact that she came from a good family and had brought money of her own to their marriage. And she had a good heart. He could have fared much worse.

  “Let me guess,” he said, at last. “That’s new?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it lovely?”

  “It is. But your drawers and the closets are already full of such stuff.”

  “I like to look pretty … especially when it’s just the two of us, at home at night, getting ready to go to bed.”

  “You’d look just as pretty naked,” Marc retorted, salaciously. “I always sleep in the nude. Why can’t you?”

  “It’s different with a man. A man looks sexy in bed, in the nude. A woman just looks—well, slutty, and lacking in mystery.”

  “Mystery, ma cherie, is highly overrated.”

  “According to you men. That’s why you like to look at porn, with nothing left to the imagination. More coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “I think I’ll go to bed, then. Are you going to listen to the rest of your opera?”

  “No.” Marc took the remote control and stopped the playback of the recording. “Not tonight. After all, I know how it turns out. He goes straight to hell, because he’s fucked so many women. An unfair punishment, if you ask me.”

  “Oh? What should his punishment have been?”

  “Marriage,” Marc quipped. “He should have been forced to marry every single one of his conquests. Trust me, that would be the end of all his screwing around.”

  “Oh, you beast!”

  In the bedroom, Marc unselfconsciously stripped. He used the bathroom, and then he returned to the bedroom, where Ghislaine was already sitting up in the bed.

  “I’ve set the alarm,” she said.

  “Thanks. Are you ready for me to turn out the light?”

  “Yes, Marc.”

  Marc flipped a switch, which extinguished the lamps on the nightstands on either side of the bed. The room was plunged into a soothing darkness.

  “You aren’t tired, are you?” Ghislaine whispered.

  “Not particularly.” Marc knew what his wife’s question implied. She was offering him sex. Somewhat to his surprise, considering the erotic excesses he’d indulged in during the weekend, he wasn’t particularly tired. He knew he could rise to the occasion. And he might as well get it over with. A good screwing invariably kept Ghislaine satisfied for several days—often, for as long as a week. Women were strange!

  Dutifully, he went through the preliminaries, embracing her, kissing her. She had taken off the peignoir before she’d gotten into the bed, and now his hands traced the contours of her body through the thin material of the slip.

  “Maybe I ought to tear this overpriced rag right off you,” he threatened, playfully.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “Then you’d better take it off, before it gets cum stains all over it.”

  “Marc! Must you be so crude! Sometimes you talk almost like—”

  “Almost like what?”

  “I don’t know. Almost like a common laborer, I guess. You know. The kind of rough, dirty, working-class man who fucks his wife like an animal.”

  “Maybe you’d enjoy that,” he suggested. “Just as I might enjoy screwing the kind of fat, homely, working-class wife who stays at home and is constantly pregnant.”

  “Well, if that’s your fantasy—don’t let me stand in your way.” Ghislaine wriggled out of the slip. “Unless you’re willing to settle for this,” she breathed, taunting her husband, displaying her nude body on the bed.

  Groaning, Marc lay on top of her, his heavily-breathing, hard-muscled chest resting upon her luscious soft breasts. His lips pressed tightly against hers and his tongue slowly, lasciviously entered her mouth. His steely-hard dick rested between her legs, only inches away from her cunt.

  Ghislaine’s breathing was accelerating, too. As their bodies rubbed restlessly together, she reached over to the nightstand and slid open its top drawer, taking out a tube of water-based lubricant. Before she could unscrew the cap, though, Marc gently took hold of her wrist.

  “Maybe, tonight … instead of using that … we can find some other way to make my cock nice and wet and slippery for you,” he whispered.

  “Oh? What do you mean?” Ghislaine asked.

  “You can put it your mouth and suck on it a little, first.”

  “You know I don’t like that, Marc.”

  “You might learn to like it, of you’d just give it a try.”

  “You’re too big,” Ghislaine protested.

  Despite his sexual tension, Marc managed to laugh. “That’s flattering to hear. But I’m not asking you to go down on me all the way, and deep-throat me, like some porn actress. All you have to do is put it inside your mouth and play around with it a little, with your lips and your tongue.”

  “I’m sure I’d choke on it.”

  “No, you won’t. Not if you just relax and take it easy, a little bit at a time. Come on, Ghislaine. Be a sport. You can’t imagine how good it feels, to get a really hot blow job.”

  “No, I can’t imagine that—not being a man,” she pointed out. “But you sound awfully eager, all of a sudden. How do you know what it feels like?”

  Marc was momentarily unnerved by the question. But he quickly regained his composure.

  “Well, I wasn’t exactly a virgin when we got married, you know,” he said, trying his best to keep his tone of voice light and casual—even flippant. “It’s been a long while, but there’s nothing wrong with my memory.”

  “I’d prefer if we didn’t talk about any of those slutty girlfriends you had before we got engaged,” Ghislaine said, primly. “I wasn’t a virgin, either. But I don’t regale you with bedtime stories about how good my lovers were, and how much I miss what they did to me. All that’s ancient history now.”

  Marc decided that he’d be wise to change the subject, and fast.

  “Then let me go down on you,” he suggested. “You always like that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” his wife admitted, a bit shamefacedly. “I do. I can’t help myself. You’re so good at it. It always makes me feel so good.”

  My point, exactly! Marc wanted to say. But he restrained himself.

  “Give me a taste of that hot, sweet pussy of yours,” he coaxed.

  “Oh, Marc … you’re really turned on tonight, aren’t you? Going without sex all weekend long—it’s obviously made you extra horny.”

  “Obviously,” Marc replied, with a smirk. Yeah, he thought. I’ve gone without sex all weekend long, all right! Poor me!

  Ghislaine caught her breath with a gasp and began to squirm about on the bed as her husband reached down between her thighs and began to play with her pussy. His fingertips pried apart her labia, gently, and then they penetrated her slit. She felt herself spasm helplessly as Marc worked one fingertip back and forth inside her. At the same time, the ball of his thumb touched her clit and began to rub it, until the tiny blade of flesh responded to the pressure by stiffening and quivering against his thumb.

  Next, Marc buried his face in the warmth between her legs. He kissed her cunt, his tongue licking rapidly up and down within its groove, moving in sure, skilled swipes. Ghislaine felt her pussy opening, surrendering itself to the probing of her husband’s tongue. When his tongue slid deep inside her, she gripped his hair with both of her hands and held his face pressed against her cunt. His mustache tickled and tormented her clit, and his tongue drilled deeper into her. Each time he slurped and licked at her flesh, she moaned and shuddered, in a near-orgasmic ecstasy.

  When he finally pulled his tongue out of her pussy and took his lips away from the seething aperture, she thought she might faint.

  He repositioned himself on his knees between her legs. Breathing hard, he took his cock in his hand, bending it down and stroking it.

  He had a vivid mental image—a flashback—of Albert, there in the bed with him. Sitting on his dick. Getting ready to spray his semen all o
ver Marc. It wasn’t the most appropriate thing for a man to be thinking about, while he was getting ready to fuck his wife. Perversely, though, the memory of his sex with the black man only heightened Marc’s excitement.

  “You’d better be ready,” Marc warned Ghislaine. “Now that you’ve got me all worked up.”

  “Oh, yes … I’m ready,” she gasped. “I can’t wait. I’m so hot and wet down there!”

  “Say it,” he commanded, gruffly. “Tell me you want to be fucked!”

  “Yes … go ahead. Fuck me, Marc. I want to be fucked!”

  “You’re going to get it.”

  Why won’t she suck me? All I’m asking for is a goddamn blow job! Marc could feel himself seething internally with a secret resentment, as he began to push his cockhead between Ghislaine’s legs and against the lips of her pussy. And this once-a-week screwing is starting to turn into a chore. It’s not as though I ever really get off on it! All I’m doing is providing stud service.

  As he often did when he fucked his wife, he permitted his thoughts to wander. He relived the hot sex he’d enjoyed, first on Friday evening with Dimitri, and then on Saturday with Albert.

  Damn! he gloated. Either one of those studs would’ve satisfied me. Having both of them, one right after the other, was kind of greedy of me. I don’t know which one was better—that pretty blond Russian whore, or that big black muscle stud!

  Too bad I couldn’t have both of them at once. Yeah … imagine that, how hot it would be. A sandwich fuck, with me in between the two of them! Both of the horny, hung bastards using me at once. Taking turns with my holes. White cock in my mouth, black cock in my ass. Black cock in my mouth, white cock in my ass. Fucking my face and my ass, really reaming me out. Damn!

  Marc’s cockshaft was driving in and out of his wife’s wet, slippery cunt. Gasping for breath, Ghislaine threw her legs up over his shoulders and she clung to him, her immaculately manicured fingernails digging into his back.

  “Oh, God, Marc!” she gurgled. “You’re really behaving like a wild man tonight!”

  “Do you like it?” Marc demanded.

  “I love it! You must have missed me, while I was away.”