23-12-2018, 11:34 PM
Jen went to the party, but she went by herself, not with Ricky. As far as his friends knew, they were still broken up.
She came home late that night crying, falling into my arms. I knew it before she said it. I knew by how she looked, how she smelt. She'd let Ricky fuck her.
"What happened?" I asked, surprising myself with my calmness. She told me everything, in a sobbing rush. Ricky asked to speak to her alone, just for a minute. She agreed because there were so many others around; she felt safe in the crowd. They stepped into the den. They were alone, but the rest of the party was just on the other side of the door, she could hear their voices.
They sat down and Ricky took her hands. He said he loved her, he was broken up inside, he couldn't live without her. He was practically begging, and she felt terrible for him. She hugged him to console him, and before she knew it they were kissing. Then his hands were inside her dress, and then she was on her back with him inside her.
She admitted she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She returned his kisses, she tugged at his pants and stroked his cock, she opened her legs, she guided his cock into her pussy.
When it was over, she hurriedly dressed feeling guilty and ashamed. When they opened the door the rest of the party clapped. The guys slapped Ricky on the back and Melody kissed Jen and said "I'm so happy you're back together again, you two were meant for each other." Jen had been set up. It had been a celebration for Paul, but also Ricky's friends had wanted them to get back together. That's why no one had bothered them in the den, everyone had been in on the plan (with Ricky being the ring leader of course).
I looked down at Jen's legs. Her stockings were laddered. So much for my stupid rule about not wearing stockings for him.
"Did you let him cum inside you?" I asked.
She looked down shamefaced. "Yes," she admitted.
"So, did it work? Are you his girlfriend again?"
She began to protest. "Mike, baby, I ..." But then she realized they'd been no bitterness in my voice. No anger on my face. Instead, she saw ... excitement. "His friends think we're back together again."
"Are you?"
She paused, then hesitantly asked, "Do you want us to be?"
I looked down at her thigh again. I traced the run in her stockings. "I guess Ricky liked seeing you in these." She didn't say anything.
I traced up her leg, pushing her skirt up. Her lacy stocking top came into view, and pushed her skirt higher until I saw her bare skin above. Then I saw her stocking was attached to a garter strap. She'd worn a garter belt to the remembrance. She hardly ever wore garter belts. Only when she wanted to be extra sexy. Had she expected -- hoped -- things to turn out as they did?
"I think you want to date Ricky again," I said looking into her eyes. "You want the romance as much as the sex."
"Baby ..."
"Please don't call me that," I said practically winching at the name. "Until you're over with him, you can't call me that."
I saw hurt in her face. Good! This had to hurt her some too.
She rubbed my arm. "Mike ... where does that leave us?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I guess, go out with him if you want, be his girlfriend."
She rubbed my arm more, and looked into my face, looking concerned. Then she straddled my legs and took my face in her hands. "Is that what you want?" she asked softly.
She felt my erection. I was so hard it hurt. She reached down and pulled me out, and then guided me into her. She felt loose and wet. She slowly rode me up and down. In moments I lurched and came inside her. It was the best orgasm I'd had in months.
******************
By unspoken agreement, she didn't tell when she was going out with Ricky. She would just ask "Are we doing anything tonight?" or "Do we have plans Saturday?" or "I'm staying over with a friend, okay?"
I always watched as she dressed for her dates with him. But we didn't talk about him or even speak his name. I always got hard watching her dress. Sometimes she'd open a package and pull out a new dress or new lingerie, and I'd know she'd bought that special to wear for him.
I saw changes in the way she dressed. She usually wore her hair down, which is how I liked it. But on her dates with him she almost always wore her hair up. There were other things. Her skirts got a little shorter and her heels a little higher. She wore more off-the-shoulder tops. Sometimes she went braless. She wore pantyhose under jeans. She bought cowboy boots! She looked sexy as hell in those boots with jeans and short skirts, but she'd never owned any before.
One good thing, Jen definitely had the extra bounce in her step again. Sometimes I'd see her smiling and humming to herself. It hurt since I knew it was because of Ricky and not me. But I benefited from it too. She became her bubbly flirty self again, and flirted more than ever with other guys. I think she flirted with other guys for my benefit as kind of a payback. It worked too, it never failed to turn me on.
When they first started dating again, when she got home from a date she'd shower, brush her teeth, and put her rings back on before coming over to me. One time though, I couldn't stand it, not with her looking so freshly fucked (and she always came home from their dates looking that way). I grabbed her and pushed her onto the bed and fucked her, smelling his cologne in her hair and neck, tasting his cum in her mouth, feeling her loose pussy, feeling his ring pressing against my chest as we kissed. After that, she stopped taking showers after her dates with him, waiting instead until the next morning after I'd used her freshly fucked body as much as I wanted.
They went out more often than just Saturday night, sometimes going out Fridays and Wednesdays, sometimes going out more. It seemed the more Jen saw him, the more she wanted to see him. They couldn't get enough of each other. I hurt when she was gone, and the fact she spent so much time with him hurt me more. She sensed that, so when she was home she always paid extra attention to me, holding my hand, giving me hugs from behind, kissing me, falling asleep in my arms. Pretty much, when she was home she was always in contact with me, even if we were just hanging out watching TV or reading the paper and it was our hands or hips touching.
Sometimes my hurt got the better of me. It usually happened when she went out with him two or even three nights in a row, or when she spent the night with him. My hurt and depression built up the longer she was away. It wasn't just the sex. I mean, by that time it was clear he was the better lover, I couldn't satisfy her sexually as good as him.
It was the emotions that really hurt. She fell more in love with him each time she saw him. At least that's what it looked to me. Sometimes I'd catch her looking off into the distance, a smile on her face, and I'd know she was thinking about him. When he called or texted her, her face always lit up. If they had a date planned, then she'd wake up that morning all excited, and stay that way all day long. If she wasn't seeing him that day, she didn't seem as happy.
Sometimes I thought about divorcing Jen. That's how much it hurt, how bad it got. But then I'd realize the hurt wouldn't go away if we divorced. It would make it worst, unbearable, because then I wouldn't have her at all.
I guess people might think her relationship with Ricky would make me love her less. But it did the opposite. I realized even more how much I loved her and needed her. Life without her was unimaginable.
Despite all my hurt, their dating and fucking kept me aroused constantly. People not into hot wife and cuckold fantasies won't understand this, but that's how it was. After their dates, we'd fuck and I'd always asked her the same questions, "Did Ricky fuck you good?"
"Does he fuck you better than me?"
"How many times did he make you cum?"
"Does he make you cum better than me?"
I always asked the same questions. Jen always answered like it was the first time, instead of getting annoyed or acting bored by the same questions. I guess since I gave her freedom to do what she wanted with Ricky, she paid me back by playing along.
But those were the easy questions, the ones during sex. The questions after sex were harder. In bed lying on our sides, looking into her eyes, I'd asked, "Last night, did you sleep in his arms?"
"Yeah. You know me honey I like that."
"Yeah," I said knowing she liked to be spooned when she slept. We never called each other baby anymore. Sometimes she called me honey. I didn't stop her; it was something.
"Does he still say he loves you?"
"Yes."
"Do you tell him you love him?"
"Mike ..."
"I want to know."
"Sometimes," she hesitantly admitted, but then quickly added "but I told you, I don't love him like you."
"Not like me," I repeated. Then I added bitterly, "Maybe you love him better than me, the same way he fucks you better than me."
"Mike, no," she soothed, rubbing my chest.
"Do you tell him you love him before you go to sleep?" I snapped. "And when you wake up?"
"Mike ..."
"Tell me, I need to know!"
"Yes."
"Which one!"
"Well ... I mean ... both."
I usually don't go down this road. It hurts too much. Sometimes I get taken over by the dark side of the force, I guess. Usually, she's able to soothe me with her words and caresses, and she ends up on top of me slowly fucking me, caressing my face, assuring me she still loves me.
You might think I hate her, but I don't. I understand her intense attraction and addiction to Ricky. I'm addicted to my own fantasies. The problem is, I know -- I KNOW -- she's going to leave me to be with him. I know it in my heart. That's the day I'll die, the day she leaves me. I won't kill myself, I'm not like that. But I'll die inside.
She came home late that night crying, falling into my arms. I knew it before she said it. I knew by how she looked, how she smelt. She'd let Ricky fuck her.
"What happened?" I asked, surprising myself with my calmness. She told me everything, in a sobbing rush. Ricky asked to speak to her alone, just for a minute. She agreed because there were so many others around; she felt safe in the crowd. They stepped into the den. They were alone, but the rest of the party was just on the other side of the door, she could hear their voices.
They sat down and Ricky took her hands. He said he loved her, he was broken up inside, he couldn't live without her. He was practically begging, and she felt terrible for him. She hugged him to console him, and before she knew it they were kissing. Then his hands were inside her dress, and then she was on her back with him inside her.
She admitted she wanted him as much as he wanted her. She returned his kisses, she tugged at his pants and stroked his cock, she opened her legs, she guided his cock into her pussy.
When it was over, she hurriedly dressed feeling guilty and ashamed. When they opened the door the rest of the party clapped. The guys slapped Ricky on the back and Melody kissed Jen and said "I'm so happy you're back together again, you two were meant for each other." Jen had been set up. It had been a celebration for Paul, but also Ricky's friends had wanted them to get back together. That's why no one had bothered them in the den, everyone had been in on the plan (with Ricky being the ring leader of course).
I looked down at Jen's legs. Her stockings were laddered. So much for my stupid rule about not wearing stockings for him.
"Did you let him cum inside you?" I asked.
She looked down shamefaced. "Yes," she admitted.
"So, did it work? Are you his girlfriend again?"
She began to protest. "Mike, baby, I ..." But then she realized they'd been no bitterness in my voice. No anger on my face. Instead, she saw ... excitement. "His friends think we're back together again."
"Are you?"
She paused, then hesitantly asked, "Do you want us to be?"
I looked down at her thigh again. I traced the run in her stockings. "I guess Ricky liked seeing you in these." She didn't say anything.
I traced up her leg, pushing her skirt up. Her lacy stocking top came into view, and pushed her skirt higher until I saw her bare skin above. Then I saw her stocking was attached to a garter strap. She'd worn a garter belt to the remembrance. She hardly ever wore garter belts. Only when she wanted to be extra sexy. Had she expected -- hoped -- things to turn out as they did?
"I think you want to date Ricky again," I said looking into her eyes. "You want the romance as much as the sex."
"Baby ..."
"Please don't call me that," I said practically winching at the name. "Until you're over with him, you can't call me that."
I saw hurt in her face. Good! This had to hurt her some too.
She rubbed my arm. "Mike ... where does that leave us?"
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I guess, go out with him if you want, be his girlfriend."
She rubbed my arm more, and looked into my face, looking concerned. Then she straddled my legs and took my face in her hands. "Is that what you want?" she asked softly.
She felt my erection. I was so hard it hurt. She reached down and pulled me out, and then guided me into her. She felt loose and wet. She slowly rode me up and down. In moments I lurched and came inside her. It was the best orgasm I'd had in months.
******************
By unspoken agreement, she didn't tell when she was going out with Ricky. She would just ask "Are we doing anything tonight?" or "Do we have plans Saturday?" or "I'm staying over with a friend, okay?"
I always watched as she dressed for her dates with him. But we didn't talk about him or even speak his name. I always got hard watching her dress. Sometimes she'd open a package and pull out a new dress or new lingerie, and I'd know she'd bought that special to wear for him.
I saw changes in the way she dressed. She usually wore her hair down, which is how I liked it. But on her dates with him she almost always wore her hair up. There were other things. Her skirts got a little shorter and her heels a little higher. She wore more off-the-shoulder tops. Sometimes she went braless. She wore pantyhose under jeans. She bought cowboy boots! She looked sexy as hell in those boots with jeans and short skirts, but she'd never owned any before.
One good thing, Jen definitely had the extra bounce in her step again. Sometimes I'd see her smiling and humming to herself. It hurt since I knew it was because of Ricky and not me. But I benefited from it too. She became her bubbly flirty self again, and flirted more than ever with other guys. I think she flirted with other guys for my benefit as kind of a payback. It worked too, it never failed to turn me on.
When they first started dating again, when she got home from a date she'd shower, brush her teeth, and put her rings back on before coming over to me. One time though, I couldn't stand it, not with her looking so freshly fucked (and she always came home from their dates looking that way). I grabbed her and pushed her onto the bed and fucked her, smelling his cologne in her hair and neck, tasting his cum in her mouth, feeling her loose pussy, feeling his ring pressing against my chest as we kissed. After that, she stopped taking showers after her dates with him, waiting instead until the next morning after I'd used her freshly fucked body as much as I wanted.
They went out more often than just Saturday night, sometimes going out Fridays and Wednesdays, sometimes going out more. It seemed the more Jen saw him, the more she wanted to see him. They couldn't get enough of each other. I hurt when she was gone, and the fact she spent so much time with him hurt me more. She sensed that, so when she was home she always paid extra attention to me, holding my hand, giving me hugs from behind, kissing me, falling asleep in my arms. Pretty much, when she was home she was always in contact with me, even if we were just hanging out watching TV or reading the paper and it was our hands or hips touching.
Sometimes my hurt got the better of me. It usually happened when she went out with him two or even three nights in a row, or when she spent the night with him. My hurt and depression built up the longer she was away. It wasn't just the sex. I mean, by that time it was clear he was the better lover, I couldn't satisfy her sexually as good as him.
It was the emotions that really hurt. She fell more in love with him each time she saw him. At least that's what it looked to me. Sometimes I'd catch her looking off into the distance, a smile on her face, and I'd know she was thinking about him. When he called or texted her, her face always lit up. If they had a date planned, then she'd wake up that morning all excited, and stay that way all day long. If she wasn't seeing him that day, she didn't seem as happy.
Sometimes I thought about divorcing Jen. That's how much it hurt, how bad it got. But then I'd realize the hurt wouldn't go away if we divorced. It would make it worst, unbearable, because then I wouldn't have her at all.
I guess people might think her relationship with Ricky would make me love her less. But it did the opposite. I realized even more how much I loved her and needed her. Life without her was unimaginable.
Despite all my hurt, their dating and fucking kept me aroused constantly. People not into hot wife and cuckold fantasies won't understand this, but that's how it was. After their dates, we'd fuck and I'd always asked her the same questions, "Did Ricky fuck you good?"
"Does he fuck you better than me?"
"How many times did he make you cum?"
"Does he make you cum better than me?"
I always asked the same questions. Jen always answered like it was the first time, instead of getting annoyed or acting bored by the same questions. I guess since I gave her freedom to do what she wanted with Ricky, she paid me back by playing along.
But those were the easy questions, the ones during sex. The questions after sex were harder. In bed lying on our sides, looking into her eyes, I'd asked, "Last night, did you sleep in his arms?"
"Yeah. You know me honey I like that."
"Yeah," I said knowing she liked to be spooned when she slept. We never called each other baby anymore. Sometimes she called me honey. I didn't stop her; it was something.
"Does he still say he loves you?"
"Yes."
"Do you tell him you love him?"
"Mike ..."
"I want to know."
"Sometimes," she hesitantly admitted, but then quickly added "but I told you, I don't love him like you."
"Not like me," I repeated. Then I added bitterly, "Maybe you love him better than me, the same way he fucks you better than me."
"Mike, no," she soothed, rubbing my chest.
"Do you tell him you love him before you go to sleep?" I snapped. "And when you wake up?"
"Mike ..."
"Tell me, I need to know!"
"Yes."
"Which one!"
"Well ... I mean ... both."
I usually don't go down this road. It hurts too much. Sometimes I get taken over by the dark side of the force, I guess. Usually, she's able to soothe me with her words and caresses, and she ends up on top of me slowly fucking me, caressing my face, assuring me she still loves me.
You might think I hate her, but I don't. I understand her intense attraction and addiction to Ricky. I'm addicted to my own fantasies. The problem is, I know -- I KNOW -- she's going to leave me to be with him. I know it in my heart. That's the day I'll die, the day she leaves me. I won't kill myself, I'm not like that. But I'll die inside.
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