Chapter 2: Resisting the Inevitable

After Alyssa’s revelation of her terrible desires, Brad felt hollow and empty. He was thrown into turmoil, and for months it seemed that he just went through the motions of living. He wanted to turn to his sweet Alyssa and take her in his arms and kiss her and cherish her, to bring her back to him and him alone with the utter depth of his solemn, desperate, holy love.

And yet he could not. Whenever he broached the subject, she was gentle, even remorseful, but nevertheless very firm. The needs she had finally admitted aloud were real, she said. It had taken a lot of courage for her even to have dared to speak the topic aloud, she reminded him a little self-righteously, as if she were the aggrieved party. Yet she had thought about it long and hard before finally confessing to him what was required to satisfy her, and now she was certain, she told him—utterly certain—about what it would take to fulfill her needs.

And those long-secret needs...Well, if all of those dirty, terrible things she truly craved were shameful for a girl to have to admit, how much more humiliating they were for a husband to have to hear! Why, he was a man, a man with a wife who should belong to him alone, as was right and proper. To hear the silky voice of his own beloved crooning hypnotically about wanting to expose herself before leering strangers, feeling cheap and easy and yet oh-so desirable as they laughed and called her a slut and a whore and a cunt— To have unfamiliar eyes and hands running over every beautiful inch of her lovely white body, feeling her, caressing her, touching her everywhere, exciting the girl’s unapologetically betraying flesh even as these fellows excited themselves with the feel of her long slinky curves to work themselves into the most bloated, threatening erections imaginable— To get down on her pretty knees and wrap her shining red lips soft and supple and pleading around the naked, saliva-slicked pillar of the vein-roped purple organ of some man she did not even know, her glassy dark eyes flushed and dreamy, raven waves swaying softly about her pale bare shoulders while she bobbed and slurped and swirled, thirsty for the splattering squirt of his sperm— The forbidden images stabbed poor Brad to the heart.

He questioned, he begged, he pleaded, but she was unbending. No one man, she insisted, no matter how attentive and caring, no matter how beloved, could satisfy her needs alone. This was not open to debate, she asserted mildly, any more than was the question of whether she needed food or water or air. She knew her body, knew her mind, knew her soul. She would not let anyone, she maintained in a grim sort of resoluteness, deny her.

Brad had always been so happy, but now— Well, now it seemed that everything upon which he had always counted was gone, taken away. It was as if he were not even married anymore. When he came home after work, it was to a girl that he hardly even seemed to know, a girl whose familiar slinky figure both roused and yet frustrated all of his old, once-automatic desires, a girl whose elegant face of smooth-complected cream blinked back at him with long-lashed eyes whose infuriating placidness showed not the least bit of shame at what she so brazenly demanded, or even the slightest sign of regret or apology at what she was doing to him.

It was terrible to be alone during the workday, to be away from her when all of the issues of the future of their relationship needed somehow to be resolved. Sometimes as he scanned row upon row of stock quotations, columns of accounting entries, data from markets around the world, all of the once-solid figures that had anchored his professional life, suddenly the digits swam meaningless and disconnected, and then, blinking his misty eyes, he would have to backtrack and start all over again. He jumped nervously whenever his cell phone buzzed, hoping against hope that it was Alyssa calling to apologize and beg him to forgive her…yet suspecting instead that if it were she, the call instead would be simply to heap her desires upon him ever more insistently, haranguing him with her unflappable calm. Everything was uncertainty. Every moment was agony.

And yet to be home with the unapproachable ghost of the warm and caring woman he had married was perhaps an even greater torment. Nothing meant anything anymore, after all, did it? Their marriage vows, all their courtship and their once-happy life together, a reflexive smile, even the ubiquitous word love—nothing. Every look, every word, every gesture from the girl now simply reminded the empty Brad of what he had lost. It was awful.

But if Alyssa’s manner was gravely aloof, he was grimly sure that as a spouse he now must have been a disappointment to her as well. Aside from denying the girl her new-found depraved desires and thus certainly making her feel aggrieved and resentful in that way, he was also sure that without necessarily meaning to do so, he must have snubbed her countless times every day. Sometimes he tried to catch himself, tried to be the kind and considerate husband he once was, but bitterness choked the effort. He just could not help it.

Brad felt sullen and alone, sinking at times into a long, hollow-eyed gloom. He frowned habitually. At home he never initiated a conversation about anything except the most mundane necessities, and it was only with an effort that he could respond to her attempts at small talk. Brooding, he might stare at nothing for endless minutes with his mind traveling in slow circles that led nowhere. And then, after a long evening of silence, he would lay himself awkwardly down in the same bed next to a slender white thing he felt he could not touch, and his sleep would not come for a long, long time.

He had always been so comfortable and satisfied with his love life with Alyssa, and now with this appalling lack of intimacy he suffered not only emotionally but physically as well. He had been used to making love every day or two, or three at the absolute most, to rolling over to his wife anytime he felt like it, and knowing that he could start her heart fluttering with just one touch. Oh, how responsive she had always been, how kittenish and sly and seductive and sleek, ready for anything he might crave! He had always enjoyed her slinky white flesh completely, in any manner he desired—touching her, teasing her, stroking her, finally possessing her utterly and draining his hallowed lusts within the comforting depths of her snug, welcoming interior. Yes, he had prided himself on how unreservedly and thoroughly he had been able to gratify his inventive mistress, and yet the corollary of this was that he himself was kept physically satisfied to the utmost as well.

Now, however, Brad hung alone in an empty abyss of sexual frustration. Despite Alyssa’s attempted gentleness, he felt abandoned and betrayed, and while every instinct made him want to come crawling to his pale goddess and beg for the mere opportunity to be allowed to enter her once more for a desperately-needed and sure to be embarrassingly swift orgasm, his hurt pride made him recoil from that which seemed to have spurned him.

At first, for a week or two, he instead masturbated compulsively, to try to take the edge off of his desires, and to try to bring himself some small measure of physical comfort. He did it guiltily, two or three times a day, whenever he could without being caught. He always used to masturbate frequently when he was a teenager, of course, and yet while that had been a secret, naughty joy, the act now became a mechanical, almost psychologically masochistic chore.

If Alyssa happened to rise first in the morning, then as soon as he heard her shower start, he would just roll over in bed, drag the waistband of his pajamas down under his heavy scrotum, and begin to tug at his stiffening organ like a fiend. As the shower spray splashed and cascaded over graceful nude curves that now were as remote and untouchable as the clothed body of any shapely stranger on the street, he would jerk frustratedly at himself, faster and faster, trying to banish the empty, lonely feeling in the bottom of his belly that seemed to wilt his erection at the same time that his hand tried to fortify it. At last, however, he would grimly squirt his jizz, then wipe himself hastily up and toss the tissue under his side of the bed, to be thrown away sometime later when Alyssa would not notice. If he came home from work before she did, then he would do it again, mechanically emptying the tight-curled vesicles that day by day dripped with the fluids of his unreciprocated desires.

Soon, however, almost vengefully, he determined that he would use pornography—and the dirtier, the better. First, of course, Brad thought of using the internet. God, the things you could find there! There was no limit, literally none whatsoever!

If he wanted girls who would smile and look up provocatively from beneath their half-lowered lashes, and pose flirty and curvy and sly— Girls who would flaunt their lovely young bodies for him, caressing their tempting flesh in the most sweetly calculated and beckoning manner— Girls who would be either alluringly coy or wanton beyond belief at his dirty whim— Girls who would open their long thighs wide and masturbate, slowly and languorously, showing him every glistening pink crease and fold—

Yes, or girls who would kiss some other beautiful wench right on the red-lipsticked mouth on the dance floor of some nightclub, sighing, caressing her roommate’s silk-draped breasts as their boyfriends looked on in wide-eyed disbelief— Or get down on her knees in a back alley and suck a man’s cock, happily, and then bubble and smack and play with the gluey-gray glop of his ejaculate before swallowing it all down, thirstily— Or lie splayed and slim and vulnerable in a cheap warehouse movie studio somewhere as three, four, five, ten, twenty erect men, naked except little masks, gather around to grope her and fuck her, and pull her titties to make her thrash and squeal, and come all over her whorish face and her fluttering belly, and inside of her dilated cunt, making her glisten and drip and ooze with their splooge— Why, then the laptop, he knew shakily, was the place to go.

Almost immediately, however, the poor boy discarded the idea. Oh, he had looked at a thing or two on the internet in his day, but it was just too…well, embarrassing. Not for the thought of jerking off, of course, but for fear of being caught. Surely, after all, no matter how careful he was about clearing his browsing history, deleting his cache, and disabling cookies and whatnot, he would slip up somewhere. Yes, and then his beautiful young wife, whose fantasies were far worse than anything which he himself might ever imagine and yet who denied the poor suffering man the relief that only her shapely flesh could truly give, would find some file or hidden trail, and she would know what he had done. Most likely she would laugh then at how far the once-happy husband had fallen.

Ah, for the calm, implacably determined girl wanted to give her body to strangers, to lie beneath them and moan like a whore, feeling wild and slutty and free…but the hurt, humiliated Brad could not help whacking off by himself like a teenager. Even when she denied him, after all, and even with all the emotional pain that seemed to eat out his very heart, sometimes still beneath his empty belly his natural male needs ached and seethed, helplessly, and stood thick and embarrassingly obvious. How pathetic he would seem to her, and how predictable! Sneering in a cool, superior sort of triumph, she would know it all—every webpage her desperate husband had visited, and when. Alyssa would taunt him then about how many times he had clicked so compulsively, and how long he had leered through this dirty movie or that, and what he had done to himself, red-faced and panting and urgent, when he had thought no one knew...No, he couldn’t take the chance of using the internet. He couldn’t!

Soon, therefore, a little grim and yet desperately excited as well, he decided that he would go low-tech and use magazines instead, like some kid from the 1970s looking at his dad’s stash of Playboy or Penthouse. The delights were not as varied or as instantaneously delivered as those of the internet, naturally, but here there would be no electronic trail, and no worries—the perfect crime. Steeling himself, he sneaked into a sleazy adult bookstore one day after work and, glancing quickly about to make sure he saw no one who knew him, began to browse nervously through aisle after aisle of garish magazines, explicit DVDs and Blu-rays, seductive costumes of leather and latex and lace, handcuffs and little whips and nipple clamps, blow-up dolls and dildos and cock-rings and ass plugs and lube. Oh, what a helluva place for some poor married guy to have to look through! he marveled ruefully, sweating.

Now and then he caught himself thinking peculiar things. He didn’t mean to, he told himself guiltily—he just wanted some nice simple dirty magazine he could jerk off to. That was all. But he just couldn’t help it. Mm, for the way all these weird and varied temptations were displayed before his wondering eyes…

What would it be like, for example, to use those glossy silken ropes to tie up some pretty girl and just force himself on the squirming slender wench whether she wanted it or not? God, after having been denied, so dismissively, so completely, for so long, what wicked joy it would be to force apart some anonymous girl’s sleek bare thighs, touching her ruthlessly in all the ways his own wife would no longer allow, until, maybe humiliated and yet unable to resist, the poor thing began to juice up inside! Ah, and then to push himself purple-headed and drizzling into her again and again and again, biting at the sensitized tips of her heaving little bosoms to make her gasp and writhe like a tiny animal caught in the jaws of some slavering wolf—

Or what about those artificial vaginas? he wondered, eying a rack of the products discreetly with his head half turned the other way. Why, what kind of guy would actually buy one of those things? The bewildered husband could not even imagine. Thought was rather disgusting, of course, and yet on the other hand…well, the expensive ones did indeed just look so lifelike, he almost had to admit to himself, and maybe if you warmed it up first and put it under you, and you closed your eyes—

Or the nipple clamps gleaming there so intriguingly...Would anyone ever use any of those little spring-loaded gadgets on a man rather than a woman? Mm, the sight of those tiny metal teeth, and the very idea of his fiercely peaked little nubbins of sensitivity suddenly caught there and held, and pulled, and manipulated...The notion was a bit embarrassing, but sometimes it was indeed so nice simply to lie back and be played with, shivering as unhurried red nails patiently goaded his excitement higher, ever higher. God, how he missed that! Ooh, but the tortures one might endure once again if some inventive, sly-eyed, and mercilessly smiling female predator ever wished to make some simple male beast truly suffer—

But he was here for a magazine, Brad eventually reminded himself with great dutifulness, nothing more. At last, therefore, he selected something that looked like it would do the trick—a really nasty porno magazine with a number of pictorials in which ten or twelve guys took turns fucking some pretty girl in every hole before finally masturbating all over her face. How kinky it was! The magazine was thick and heavy, the size of a catalog, almost, and it was proclaimed a double-issue by a blurb on the cover and by lettering on the spine—yes, for there were enough pages that the thing had an actual spine like a paperback book would have.

And there was more than enough room, he saw in a breathless sort of awe, to showcase a host of ooey-gooey and beautifully degrading gangbangs of different situations, different settings, different models. Whether in satin-draped dungeons, a university dorm room, a secluded clearing in the woods, or the back of a van parked on some busy street corner, a girl always got utterly used and then absolutely heaped over with cum, bubbling and dripping. The forthrightness was a bit shocking, really, and yet the utter mess with which every scenario concluded…well, all at once it was strangely compelling. He was a little surprised to realize, actually, that despite the surroundings and his public exposure, his poor denied penis had surged into erection against the inside of his trouser leg. It felt good.

So this kind of stuff, he told himself fiercely, was what his wife liked to think about? Well, then he would think about it, too—and he would pleasure himself in as loveless and remorseless a fashion as she wished those imagined lovers would do upon her! Yeah, he smiled with a pleasant inner shudder, this mag was definitely gonna do him good...Breathing heavily, he took the glossy publication in his eager hand and cradled it against his side like some illicit lover’s hip, and he headed up front again to check out. He teased himself with the thought of how he was going to look through the thing later in secret, slowly, leeringly. Mm, and the way he was going jerk off...He licked his lips. God, how good it was going to be! Ah, the simplicity of it, the single-mindedness, the beautiful emptying of his brutish liquid needs, gout after gout after gout, jetting, splashing…

Despite his attempted bad-boy demeanor, though, Brad suddenly blushed red to the tops of his ears as he looked ahead to the cash register. Why, the person at the checkout station was a woman, he saw uncomfortably. He had already been a little embarrassed thinking about facing the clerk when he had supposed it was just going to be a guy at the register, but a woman...What a pervert she would think he was! The only reason you purchased a magazine like this, after all, was to get yourself all excited, and then take it home and jerk off with it. Well, or maybe even on the way home, if you got so worked up that you just couldn’t stand it any longer, and you tucked the car into a spot in the back of some secluded little park or something, and you just took out your poor denied red dick and started pulling, pulling pulling—

Brad almost stopped, and turned around to put the dirty magazine back in its rack and then scuttle away. But he couldn’t! he protested to himself, in a voice that even within his brain sounded like a whine. Because, God, he wanted this wondrous full-color catalog of gangbangs and cumshots and exquisite sensual humiliations so much, and he needed to beat off tonight, so, so bad! Mm, to think of sitting there with his naked cock in his sweating fist, rolling the thin, sensitive skin behind his circumcision scar back and forth over the rim of his bloated purple glans, oozing and drizzling! Yeah, getting all juicy inside as he leafed long and leering and languid through page after page of the absolute worst smut imaginable, and him thinking all the while, glassy-eyed and crookedly grinning, about at the end finally bearing down, his heavy balls clenching up tight and heaving, his urethra stuttering joyously wide as he squirted and glopped, and wallowed in it like a pig, dripping…

Oh, that clerk could probably read it all in his agitated face, he thought guiltily. But face? he corrected himself, blinking. Why, his betraying organ even now pushed thick and obvious against the front of his pants. Surely that skinny little blonde at the cash register, rather flat-chested and yet intriguingly pierced all along the edge of her dainty ear and wearing very bold eye makeup, could see. What would she think?

Brad’s hard-on would not go down. It shamed him, but maybe it excited him a little, too, very secretly. He forced himself to keep walking, and he thought about it with every thick pulse in his veins, and every grind of the fabric of his underwear against the blunt head of his naughty organ. Mm, to have this doe-eyed twenty-year-old coed look up, and see he was excited, a true man with manly urges he needed to express so desperately...Alyssa would scarcely even look at him, but this chick had to. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, after all, he told himself defensively. He was only coming up to a checkout station to purchase an item at a store. Millions did it every day.

Mm, except that his penis throbbed so thick and beautifully agonized within his trousers, and he could hardly wait to be alone so that he could pleasure himself like an animal, and yet he longed, too, for the peculiar sensual torment of the waiting, and the exposure, to be stretched on and on...This angular young stranger, rather cute, really, in a punkish sort of way, knew he was shopping for porno, and she knew he wanted to masturbate. It was a dirty, dirty thing to think, but he liked it, and his erection throbbed thick and obvious. He saw her glance down, casually, and the corner of her sardonic lips almost seemed to twitch ever so faintly, and he knew—knew!—that she saw. Jesus, he thought with a comfortable shudder deep within, what if right after he paid, he just looked the slender beauty straight in her heavily mascaraed eye and asked oh-so unconcernedly if the store had a bathroom he could use…?

His face sweaty, Brad slid the bright-covered periodical across the counter. He made sure not to stand too close, though, so that the crooked bulge of his congested phallus would not be hidden by the counter. Surreptitiously he watched the girl’s lanky body as she moved—the shape of her pretty arms with their delicate golden hairs, and the way those teeny-tiny titties stood so high and apart and obviously braless beneath her thin dark T-shirt, pointed at the tips. And the skin was so soft and fuzzy behind all her jangling little silver earrings, and if you nuzzled in and whispered at last all the dirty things you needed so badly, maybe her flushed cheek would bunch softly in a tolerant smile, and she would understand everything, everything…

Brad shivered faintly. God, he had never thought about another girl like this since he was married—not really, anyway. But the poor man just couldn’t help it. He was so pent-up, so frustrated, so lonely, and all because of his supposedly loving wife. Mm, but with a skinny bad-girl wannabe like this clerk there would be no mind games, no uncertainty, no hesitance, would there? No, you could reach one hand up into that cropped cotton top to play with those beautiful bare little boobies, and it would just feel so good, and if you pushed your other hand down into her pants, the slut would juice up so fast and easy. Ah, the sound of her there, liquid and splashing beneath your bunched, rapidly vibrating fingers, and the smell of her…

Helplessly, and yet somehow purposeful, too, Brad let his wicked mind run in crazy circles that traced the path of his thoughts, trapped them, pushed them higher, ever higher. He thought of touching her. He thought of kissing her. He thought of saying things that would make those pretty lips smile crookedly. His face felt very warm, but he wasn’t, well, cheating, after all, or really even considering it. He was nothing like Alyssa, he told himself angrily. And even if he got the chance, it wasn’t as if he would penetrate her or anything like that—why, he didn’t even have a condom. But, God, if she let him, the thought of going out into the back alley and just having her stand there and smile, and maybe kiss him a little, and tell him it was okay, as he just hunched over her teasing narrow body and jerked off all over her drum-tight belly, splashing and squirting and dripping…

A couple of times he thought the youngster’s half-lidded green eyes chanced to glance down at the front of his pants, and he liked this very much. His lip twisted roguishly as he considered his exposure beneath that silent, sidelong gaze, and wondered if it excited her, too. Mm, after the way Alyssa spurned him, even simply ignored him, how the idea that maybe he could still excite a girl riled him somewhere deep inside! Yes, for his own wife tried to make him small and pitiable, but he was a man, a real man, and his desires were important.

Silently, known and yet unacknowledged, he watched the punkish little blonde work—her long trim arms, and the bare midriff that made him want to touch her there and yet reach farther, too, and her taut boobies standing so high and apart and braless beneath the thin cotton, and the shaped of her slyly knowing face. Ooh, he was a bad, bad boy, wasn’t he? he told himself...All too soon, though, smiling with grand courtesy, the enigmatic clerk wrapped the beautiful porno magazine in a rustling brown bag, and she put it right in his trembling hands, and in tones somehow faintly ironic she wished him a good day. He opened his mouth and almost said something— But then, agitated and confused, he could only nod shakily and almost stagger out.

That night Brad was even more uncomfortable than usual as he suffered through a cheerless, mechanical dinner with the wife who purported to love him and yet who refused to demonstrate the love that his poor flesh so desperately needed. Sometimes he caught himself staring longingly at the dear shape of her face as she ate, the cool pillar of her kissable ivory throat, the soft nodule of her tender earlobe, the way her jet-black hair swung so gracefully about her shoulders. Guiltily, though, he would stop, filled with resentment at how she so purposefully denied him her lovemaking, and at how he now was forced to sneak around and jerk off to feel even a ghost of the pleasures that he had enjoyed so unthinkingly just weeks ago. Grimly he chewed and swallowed, chewed and swallowed.

Before bedtime he had ensconced himself on the couch with a book, and when she asked with a crushing lack of curiously if he was coming to bed, he was able to shrug back at her over the pages. “In a while, I guess,” he replied with an attempted steadiness, afraid she would suspect his plan—but her reply was unconcerned.

“Okay,” she said without apparent interest. Indifferent in the midst of his secret agitation, she went into the bedroom and closed the door against the lights he still had on. He waited for a long time, trembling in his naughty anticipation, until he was sure Alyssa would be asleep. Finally, then, he slipped his dirty magazine out of its hiding place.

His wide eyes scanned across a glossy bright cover whose various inset photographs promised page after page of shameless debauchery—teasing sluts who preened and pranced before groups of hungry-eyed men, pretty red-lipped mouths that gulped willingly at a circle of purpled cocks which ringed the kneeling things about, plump-lipped young pussies repeatedly penetrated, pumped, and polluted by long lines of randy studs. Acutely conscious of the fact that his own beautifully cruel wife slept unknowing and untouched in the next room, smooth and white and slender in a once-romantic marriage bed which she herself had caused to be devoid of passion, he unbuttoned and unzipped his pants to expose an absolutely phenomenal erection. On second thought, smirking faintly as he remembered where it all was going to lead, he took off his shirt. Mm, that made sense.

Eyes bright upon the big glossy pages of forbidden debaucheries, Brad flipped slowly back and forth through the magazine, teasing himself lightly now and then with one hand sly on the taut, trembling skin of his rampant phallus. Oh, how many, many scenarios there were, how many ways in which the vulnerable female form could be ogled and groped, used and abused! Breathing heavily, he finally selected a pictorial whose model reminded the poor denied husband—vaguely, secretly, yet inescapably—of Alyssa, a slender black-haired girl with smirking red lips. With one hand now and then turning the pages of the magazine and the other hand wrapped tight about his thick, sweaty cock, Brad began to masturbate in earnest. It was heavenly.

Oh, how badly he needed this! His poor mindless penis longed for the sweet sticky quenching of his dear wife’s wife supple wet cunt—and yet, restless and erect and alone in the face of her complete indifference, all he could do was yank at himself like a teenager. Well, it was dirty and embarrassing, but right now, he vowed silently, though the angel-faced temptress stretched asleep and alone and agonizingly untouchable in the sheets of his once-happy marriage bed wanted to be in charge, it was Brad and Brad alone who controlled his own dick! He leered down at a picture of the shapely young brunette clinging kittenishly to some guy’s hips, her red nails clutched into the hairy flesh of the man’s buttocks. There was already someone else’s cum all over her flushed and dreamy face—dripping down the elegant plane of her forehead, spattered in her flowing midnight hair, dangling thick and gooey from her chin—and yet still she sucked at yet another fat red cock, hungrily, greedily, compulsively…

How good it felt to pleasure himself to this dirty smut, how wickedly right! Brad had gone without sex for longer than he had in years, and he knew, grinning fiercely, that he was going work up a big load, a really thick, gooey one. Yeah, that was what he needed! On and on he masturbated, happily, feasting upon photographs wherein a crowd of muscular, broad-shouldered men with enormous purpled erections had their way with a lovely little milk-white slut whom they dominated completely and utterly. They squeezed the jiggling apples of her ripe breasts and pinched at her helplessly upstanding nipples. Now and then they pulled back on her long black tresses to elevate her flushed face for a moment, kissing her with a savage passion before laughing, forcing her willing red lips back down, and ejaculating into her mouth without remorse. They grappled with her supple buttocks and poked their fingers and cocks into her cunt or her ass anytime they desired. And yet, oh, how she loved it all!

After many long minutes he had reached the end of the wondrous pictorial he was perusing, a double-page spread showing the pretty black-haired slut touching herself as she knelt sly-eyed amid a circle of naked men, the submissive pose accentuating the primal womanly curve of her hips. Smiling tightly, Brad concentrated on the pretty perversions as he jerked himself more urgently. The men heaped the slender sable-tressed slut with their semen, bubbling and stringy, over and over and over. How she smirked and preened before them as she rubbed herself between her sleek thighs, her lovely body wet and shining, dripping with splooge! And through every languid stroke of her pretty, exhibitionistic masturbation, the grunting male beasts soiled her with their stringy seed.

Oh, how good it would feel, Brad thought suddenly, to do that himself—and yet not merely to some unknown model but instead to his own dear wife! Vengefully he imagined it—jerking himself off all over Alyssa’s smug, smirking face, covering her with spurt after spurt of his urgent goop. And then, just to show her how utterly she still belonged to him, he would pluck up the strings of jism from her flushed face with his trembling fingers and feed them to her one by one, and watch her feast and slurp…

And yet he knew, blushing, that it was not the jetting ejaculate of merely her husband which her hungry mouth longed to gulp down...Yes, Alyssa had made that all too clear, smirking cruelly as her voice went on relentlessly, rubbing his nose in all the dirty, nasty things she craved—like being felt up in public, and sucking a bunch of fat red cocks, and getting gangbanged until she was just a spread-legged, hairy pink cum-sponge...Her words purred naughtily in the haunted depths of his brain, and the forbidden images of what her dirty mind desired clicked across his retinas like a slideshow of utter debauchery.

Trembling on the very brink of orgasm, he tried to banish the thought, tried to bring himself back to the fantasy of being completely in charge of his wife’s slender white body once more, and doing to her whatever he desired. Alyssa, however, did not want that, he knew bleakly somewhere deep within—she wanted to be in charge, and she wanted him to just stand by and watch while she subjected herself to cock after cock after cock...The thought was humiliating, but he was only a few strokes away from his climax, and with his nerves jangling and the blood throbbing wildly in his swollen flesh, he could not stop his flying hand.

Urgently the distracted Brad forced his blurry eyes back to the magazine wherein writhed the beautiful raven-maned whore who seemed the secret counterpart of his own dear wife, naked and proud and alluring, surrounded by leering nameless lovers who exposed themselves, and did things to her, on and on and on, and finally covered in the sliding, sour gray glop of their lusts. Whimpering in his agony and his shame, the poor confused boy finally shuddered and simply soiled himself, ejaculating without control. The burst of pleasure that flashed in the base of his brain burned disappointingly brief, and yet the sticky cock in his guilty hand still pulsed and twitched, disgorging what seemed like an impossible amount of cool, gooey semen.

To his suddenly dispassionate eyes, the purple-headed piece of meat writhing in his grip was like a snake vomiting, and he watched the thing embarrassedly until it was done. On and on it went, on and on. When at last his spasming testicles were empty—long after he had lost interest in whatever sensations the process gave him—his hairy belly was covered in gluey goop, congealing and dripping. His once-strong dick had drooped and withered, until now the little tube of wrinkled flesh simply oozed slime into the damp curls of his pubic fur. Blinking back tears, he reached for a box of tissues…

Masturbating like that may have taken some of the physical pressure from his poor denied balls, but it was galling and often embarrassing, and ultimately still unsatisfying in comparison to how open and uninhibited and satisfying his love life had always been. After a few weeks, Brad gradually grew ever more resentful at his wife for bringing him to this state, and he finally resolved to stop touching himself. Grimly he determined that he should not have to satisfy his legitimate needs by himself—he would suffer untouched if necessary, he told himself, but he would not pretend that he was happy, or satisfied, when his own wife would not even fulfill that part of her marriage contract.

Yet though Brad may have suffered mightily for weeks on end, eventually he could not help it, and shamefacedly he would have to masturbate himself. It was embarrassing, and it was dissatisfying, but the cum which drizzled slowly, day by day, into the base of his heavy balls simply could not be denied. At such a time he would return to his favorite porno magazine, the one with the really gooey, dirty gangbangs, but no matter where he started, for some reason he always ended up squirting helplessly off at the sight of that tauntingly ersatz Alyssa smirking up at the big-dicked studs who glazed her shapely white flesh with the dangling strings of their bubbly jism.

He tried not to wonder why he kept coming back to that alluring pictorial, tried not to investigate the mixed desires those strange photographs roused within him. Yet return to that sweetly forbidden scene he always did. That series of pictures was simply the utmost in excitation somehow. Nothing set him rigid quite like the thought of that particular photo-spread, and yet nothing was as shameful as the way he always ended up thinking not of the nameless model but instead of his wife acting out all the dirty things shown in that depraved scene. He could not stop himself, though.

Why, sometimes he did it two or three times in a row, compulsively, until his poor exhausted little dick couldn’t take any more. He got so that he didn’t even wipe up anymore until he was all done, and that was very dirty, but it was very good somehow, too. Grinning tightly, and with his eyes bright on the wicked delights of that beautiful magazine, he used the cool, glistening mess of his previous climax as lube for the flying fist that made little drizzles plop and splat all over him. The consistency of it was perfect for masturbation, and the employment of his own ejaculate for this purpose seemed so unnaturally natural, the perfect symmetry. The juicy wet sound of his semen-glossed flesh on flesh was profoundly sexual, restlessly exciting, and the bleachy reek of his naughtiness filled his flared nostrils.

Was this what a gangbang was like? he wondered sometimes, crazily. All wet and juicy, with a dozen guys’ sperm sliding all over some slut, and pooled in the hollow of her back-arched throat, and dripping from the rigid dark nipples you could not help still hunching over to nuzzle and bite and suck? Yeah, the chick’s curvy form slippery as a circus seal as you grappled with her teasing white body, and clutched her to you, striving atop her sodden hairy mound with your balls slapping in the froth of everybody else’s sperm that poured out of her betraying loose-lipped cunt. And even as you struggled so desperately between her kittenishly upraised thighs, more to please yourself than for anything it did for her, still she might crane her swanlike neck now and then to suck at some random man’s purple-headed dick, and as other naked guys stood around and beat off, and laughed about what a slut she was, they would keep stepping up close and squirting all over her lovely face and her beautiful upstanding white titties, splashing, but still you couldn’t stop yourself.

No, for no matter what she did, or how she betrayed you or ignored you even as you went all the way down inside of her so thick and needy to try to make her feel what you did, you knew somewhere in the lightless depths of your psyche that you couldn’t live without her. You just needed her, so, so much, and if the betraying whore was for all those other guys, well, then she could be for you, too. On and on you would go, even while sweating strangers watched and chuckled and made filthy comments about her, and jerked off like animals, and your hips would move faster, ever faster, and you wallowed helpless in the exquisite vulnerability of your need. Mm, holding her down, crushing her, punishing her, hating her, loving her, kissing whimperingly at her laughing, lively, bubbling mouth and wanting it never to end...It was, well, rather confusing, really, he had to admit uncomfortably sometimes in the cold letdown afterward. But he could never keep himself from doing it.

For months, Brad grew ever more restless and agitated, enduring seemingly endless days of sexual frustration punctuated only by the embarrassing moments when his will broke, and in an awkward frenzy he would bring his trembling flesh to a climax that depressed his mind almost as much as it relieved his needy physicality. For most of the time, except during those brief bittersweet moments when the guilty handling of his organ brought him a cool, lonely orgasm, his poor body was so unsatisfied that he could hardly stand it. His scrotum felt absolutely full, swollen and heavy with his unrequited lusts, and he woke every morning with a hard-on as fat and purple as he never even imagined was possible.

He tried to keep Alyssa from having the satisfaction of seeing how pent-up he was, but anytime that she chanced to see that tremendous erection some mornings, she merely looked away and said nothing—and her easy dismissal was just as infuriating as it was embarrassing. Once the sight of his body in such a state would have set her juices flowing immediately, but though she was still polite and even made attempts at chumminess now and then, she seemed to be completely uninterested in him sexually anymore.

He almost would have wondered if she was having an affair, but when, shamefaced and dreading, he had asked her that shortly after his ordeal began, she merely looked back at him in grim puzzlement, as if the matter were of no consequence. “No,” the girl had told him evenly. “If by ‘affair’ you mean to ask if I’m just fucking some other guy, then of course not.”

Brad blinked. On the one hand, no was no, and yet…well, her tone, her eyes, even the way her hands rested almost challengingly on her shapely hips did nothing to reassure him.

“You should know,” Alyssa reminded him pointedly, “that merely trading off one dick for another isn’t what’s going to satisfy me.” She held his eye, her gaze hard. “You know exactly what my lovely little white body desires, and it’s a lot more than any one man can provide.”

Brad had swallowed, his belly feeling hollow and awful. “S-so does that mean,” he sputtered bleakly, “that, um, that you…”

“That I’m letting more than one dick inside of me right now?” she wondered with a nasty smile. “Preferably a lot more?”

She eyed him coolly, her gaze faintly mocking as the poor squirming boy imagined it. It was possible, he admitted to himself helplessly, very possible. God, after all the terrible things she had told him, how easy it would be for her to arrange! Why, a beautiful girl like her would have no trouble picking up any man she wanted. At the thought he felt a fierce stab of jealousy, galling to any husband, to any man, an emotion primal and raw and absolutely overwhelming, something to spur even the meekest to a blind rage—and yet beneath it all was sickening wash of betrayal and defeat, the knowledge that he had so little hold now over this creature so soft and shapely and slight, and yet so iron-hard and commanding…

“You think I’m sleeping around with a bunch of random guys, Brad,” she asked, her voice teasingly mild, “letting them fuck me one after the other in a hotel room somewhere? Mm, or better yet, maybe in our own marriage bed? Yes, there my squeamish little husband has done nothing but deny me for months, my desirable body aching with its unfulfilled needs, but now erect, grinning strangers at last can strip me bare and manhandle my happily shivering flesh, and make me pant and thrash and moan like the true whore that I am—is that how it is?”

Mercilessly she watched Brad squirm. “Maybe while you’re at work I take a nice long lunch break and invite three or four studs back here to use me any way they like, eh?” Her smile was slow and oh-so superior. “Would I use condoms, do you think?” she asked with wicked matter-of-factness, watching him blanch. “Or would I take it bareback, all slippery and juicy, just flesh to flesh the way sex is supposed to be, so that I can feel wicked and desirable and slutty, and beg for them to squirt every single string of their sperm inside of me…?”

Brad could only blink back at her, his heart aching.

“You think perhaps I pick ’em up online on some swingers’ website, Brad—frigging myself silly late at night as I webcam back and forth, just thinking about how good it’s gonna be to lie back and open my legs and get gangbanged to my heart’s content? Maybe I make all these guys show me their penises, and I watch them masturbate, and I rate them on it to help me decide who should have me first. Ooh, but I’d make ’em tell me how bad they want me, too, and all the terrible things they’re gonna do to me…yeah, and of course you know it’s the filthiest, hungriest guy who would get to have his way with me first, isn’t it?”

Alyssa’s dark eyes lanced vengefully into his. “So you think I’m finally doing it, Brad?” she asked him again, staring hard. “You think I’m finally getting satisfied? Maybe I’m orchestrating some kind of secret orgies or something, huh? Yeah, and at last I can get treated the way I need to be: put on a pedestal and yet thrown naked in the gutter at the same time, where I’m pampered and flattered like a queen, but I can just get ogled and groped and objectified like a piece of meat, too, and I can wallow in all the dirty, cummy things I need, whenever I want, however I want, with whomever I want. Is that it?”

Within his clothing his embarrassed manhood felt shrunken and tiny. “W-w-well—” he had begun quietly, blushing.

But she had cut him off. “Unfortunately for my poor hungry pussy,” she replied grimly, “I am not. What I want, Brad, is not some measly little cheating spree, whether with one man, or two, or ten. I’m not going to sneak around, and always have to think about keeping you from knowing what I’m doing.”

He must have looked puzzled, for she went on, “Even the ooey-gooiest gangbang would still be merely sneaking around if you have not bowed down and subjugated yourself to me, acknowledged the primacy of my needs, and begged me to betray you.” Her eyes smoldered, and Brad could only goggle back at her.

“I have nothing to hide, Brad—only the needs that I have already told you about. They’re part of who I am, and they are not subject to negotiation. I will ultimately wallow in those desires, no matter how bad you think they are.” He gulped at the determination in her steady voice. “If you’re a good little boy, I might just let you watch,” she told him with a faint sneer, “but one way or another, you will allow me—even encourage me, help me, beg me—to fulfill my needs.”

Brad sputtered, but she merely stared him down. “Until then,” she warned him, “don’t you dare come whining to me about your needs.”

Resentfully he brooded about, night after night. It simply wasn’t right. She had chosen him in marriage, after all, willingly. She had given herself to him so freely and seductively throughout what he had so foolishly thought was a happy and loving relationship that now it seemed impossible to live without the sweet comfort that only her alabaster flesh could bestow. It was her body for which his poor mindless phallus plumped up fat and aching and drizzling, and yet she refused even to acknowledge this natural fact, let alone take the slightest action to bring him any relief. Yet that was what his wife was for, he told himself angrily. Though she talked of her needs, she seemed to be ignoring his. He finally put it to her again like that one night at bedtime, sullenly.

Alyssa looked him over slowly, dispassionately. “Why do you think I should help your little dick?” she said at last. “Have you been satisfying me?”

“Well, no,” he said, feeling affronted, “but, look—”

“No, you look,” she spat with sudden vehemence. “I told you what I needed—don’t think that was easy. I opened myself up to you, I made myself vulnerable, I told you things I had scarcely even admitted to myself. And all the response I get from you is what? Nothing!”

“But—”

“But nothing!” Her dark eyes flashed. “You and your stupid male pride, and your male needs! I told you my needs, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, then, you should know that what I’m not getting right now is a lot worse than what you’re not getting!” Her nostrils flared.

Brad could only stare back at her, wide-eyed. Even in her anger, how beautiful she was! Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes gleamed darkly. The raven tresses which cascaded about her shoulders were like some cruel, crooked halo.

“Have you given me what I need?” she demanded. “Have you let me truly express myself, sexually, and do all the things I crave to do? No!” She glared at him. “I mean, my God, can you even imagine how badly I need a cock in me?”

For a moment she seemed to struggle for breath, and he could only gaze with helpless longing into that flushed, desirable visage. Oh, how the thought of her physical needs made his flesh surge! Why, if only she put aside these foolish notions, took two little steps closer, and apologized…ah, how utterly he would satisfy her every desire! Her every legitimate desire, he amended mentally. Blood fluttered in the unsatisfied piece of mindless meat beneath his belly.

“But not just one cock, Brad,” she pressed insistently, “like you want to do to me—I need a whole line of ’em, I need to really get used. I want to lie back and spread my legs and maybe play with own nipples while everybody watches, and just get pounded like an absolute slut, cock after cock after cock humping me balls-deep, until I’m fuckin’ filled with their cum, all sweaty and gooey…”

Brad licked his lips uncertainly, and suddenly, despite her animosity, the terrible scene she described made his poor neglected penis suddenly stand straight up in his pajamas. Oh, how beautiful she was now, how slender and white and cool on the outside—and yet, he knew all too well, how snug and slippery and burning within! What man would not long to have her splayed open and ready beneath his urgent flesh, waves of sable fanned out against her pale bare shoulders as her face contorted in the sweet feminine delight of her utter penetration? His organ throbbed full and mindlessly urgent at the thought.

Suddenly he could picture it as she said—his beloved young wife lying slender and unashamed in sweaty sheets, submitting herself to cock after cock. Fat and red and hungry, those swollen erections would plunge again and again into her sweet black-haired cunt, balls slapping against open, oozing labia that already squelched and bubbled from what each previous man had done to her— Brad shivered convulsively. Though the forbidden sight gleaming bright and alluring in his mind’s eye revolted him, and embarrassed his every sensibility, and broke his heart, somehow it also agitated the poor confused boy so wildly that he himself was almost ready to squirt right off now, untouched…

As he gaped at her then, helplessly, Alyssa suddenly pulled up her nightshirt and exposed herself before him, naked and hairy and wet between her sleek white thighs, and almost in a frenzy she began to masturbate. “Now get out of here,” she gritted out, rubbing herself beneath her sweaty, curl-wreathed belly. “I’m just so goddamned horny I could scream, and if you’re not gonna let me have what I need, then there’s no reason you should be able to stand there and get off on watching me come!”

Brad could only blink back as she reached hurriedly into the nightstand for the enormous, nubby black dildo. Biting her lip, she hurried to fuck herself with it one-handed. Breathless in her haste, she reached in with one shaking hand to draw her sopping pink labia wide, while with the other hand she plopped the big rubber phallus right in her open lap with a mushy wet slap. She rolled shudderingly back against the pillows, her hair spilling about her lovely shoulders as her white thighs spread themselves wide. Oh, how ready her body was, how shamelessly open and needy!

Awkwardly the girl rubbed the bulbous head of the great dildo around for a moment, smearing it blindly through her ready lubrication. Then suddenly her questing wrist found just the right spot and just the right angle, and her plump labia split open like a glistening pink flower—and then her breath caught in her throat as she just pushed, pushed, pushed, and the thickened portals of her cunt stretched beautifully wide, a pink-lipped mouth screaming in silent ecstasy as inch after inch of the veiny intruder slid deep within her unsatisfied flesh. Entranced, poor Brad watched in reverent, wide-eyed adoration.

God, the groan that escaped the girl’s sweetly sighing face, guttural and needy, suddenly unguarded and completely unashamed! How could anyone begrudge her this feeling which would make that husky, somehow almost feline noise growl up from the very bottom of her diaphragm? And how his heart soared at the sight of her, too, that once-familiar receptive pink flesh wrapped wet and hairy about the lifelike, ever-widening shaft of that thing! At the shameless penetration her eyelids fluttered drowsily, in a kind of relief he had not seen for months and months. Oh, how beautiful she was with that big black rubber cock shoved deep up her cunt, shuddering as she filled herself so utterly! How the poor girl must have craved the possession!

Breathless and uncertain, Brad watched this display of profound feminine need. His cock stood plump and needy, aching for the welcome which her shivering body gave the mindless blunt intruder. And yet…well, how deliriously lovely it was, too, merely to see her get fucked like an animal, a slender white beast craving only pleasure and shamelessly unconcerned with how she took it. Mesmerized, he watched that enormous phallus penetrate her again and again, as hungrily as any of the fleshly dicks for which she truly longed. Deeper she pumped the fat thing, deeper, the fingertips of her other hand squelching all the while about the rigid purple point of her hungry clitoris.

He licked his lips, acutely conscious of the dark spot of anticipatory seminal fluid that had oozed from the tip of his swollen member to wet the thin fabric of his tented pajamas. Oh, he was so tremblingly erect, so needy! Alyssa, however, did not deign to notice his poor untouched erection. All her senses seemed focused on her own unapologetic self-indulgences.

Brad gazed at the sight in helpless longing. Usually when he had dildoed her like this, she was already full of his sperm, bubbling and squelching in a beautifully smelly mess that always excited him most profoundly. What she wanted now, though, he remembered, was not just a jizzing from her familiar husband but a relentless gangbang that would leave her plump-lipped and sated, absolutely overflowing with her many welcome ravishers’ sperm...He licked his lips as, despite himself, he imagined her lying sly and smirking beneath some nameless stranger who strove to hump her messily full, while other rampant red dicks ringed her about, waiting their turn at the wicked cock-tease...His own poor organ throbbed so guiltily erect at the thought—

Oh, how desperately he wanted to masturbate, too! He longed to pull the waistband of his pajamas down under the heavy, sperm-swollen sac of his scrotum and show her the enormous depths of his love, and his raging desire. He wanted to shock her with the fierce animality of the giant, dripping erection she caused the poor denied boy. He wanted to shove it in her face and punish her with it.

God, if he could, he would have grabbed her shoulders and her breasts and her belly and her hips and her thighs, grappling deliriously with the teasing body she had withheld from him for so, so long. He would kiss her and lick her and bite her, heedless of her protests, mouthing every inch of her, breathing her, tasting her, feeling her. Groaning in his agony, he would run his wild, possessive hands all over the once-familiar planes and curves of her fluttering body and force the taunting thing to respond, whether she liked it or not.

He wanted to thrust his engorged purple cockhead right up to her gasping red lips and simply jerk at himself like an animal, faster and faster. And as the imagined sights of all the shameful debaucheries with which she so teased and tormented him burned behind her beatifically closed eyelids, he would just squirt every urgent jet of his frothing semen all over her lovely, tempting, cruel face, and then, whimpering in his impossible love, he would fall upon her helplessly, and kiss her and hold her and cherish her, and he would thrust his poor sticky shrunken dick into the furry squelching nest of her smelly womanhood and make her all his again, somehow—

Suddenly those heavy-lidded eyes of hers chanced to glance up and find him still rooted to the spot and watching her open-mouthed. “I said to get out of here!” she grunted. Moaning, she took her breath away with another particularly deep stroke, and then eyed him again fiercely. “If you won’t give me what I need, you’re sure as hell not gonna stand there and get off on watching me.” She swallowed, then rasped out, “Now get out, so I can come!” Shivering prettily, she began pinching at her own nipples with one slender red-nailed hand while the other fist dildoed her cunt mercilessly. “God, I need it so bad,” she whimpered, “so bad…”

Trembling, Brad broke his gaze. Red-faced and rejected, he could do nothing but stagger back into the other room, his poor organ standing thick and rigid and congested as he tried not to listen to the sounds of his dear wife taking out her frustrations upon herself.