Dinner was beige. Beige and starchy, and mostly straight out of a can. My sister-in-law Becky is a woman of many talents, but cooking is not one of them.
Butch, my husband, and his brother John had talked golf all the way through dinner, and were now settling in to watch the game on tv. The kids were squabbling more or less peaceably in the play room. Me and Becky were left with the cleaning up.
I was married to a man who played golf, talked golf, and watched football with his brother while leaving me with the dishes. It was just too depressing to contemplate. How had my life ever come to this?
I wondered if Becky ever felt the same way. I didn’t know her very well. Butch and I had gone to their wedding back when we were dating. We’d been together almost ten years now, four of those years as a married couple. Would I do it all over again? I thought about it. I couldn’t think of anything I’d do differently, anything that was actually wrong. I just felt vaguely dissatisfied. Incomplete.
Becky didn’t look dissatisfied as she loaded dirty plates into the dishwasher. Actually she looked hot. For a woman who was three years older than me, and who had two kids, she was in pretty awesome shape. She had a really nice ass, I couldn’t help noticing. And wondering what exactly she was wearing under those jeans. If this was twenty years ago, if we were in college together, I might have had to make a pass at her.
I was suddenly horny. When was the last time me and Butch had had sex? Oh yeah, it had been last Friday night, after dinner. It had been nice.
Nice. I had never wanted to have a sex life that was ‘nice’.
Dishes done, we sat at the island in the kitchen in front of their collection of knives, sipping diet ice tea. I would have killed at that moment, absolutely killed for a beer, but John was a recovering alcoholic and there was no booze in the house.
Becky seemed… wholesome; a more-or-less idealized version of the American Housewife. She was pretty, smart, competent, and a lousy cook; she stayed home while John made more money than Butch and me put together. We visited them a couple times a year; they weren’t geographically far away, but nearly two hours by the convoluted streets and highways of New York and New Jersey.
Her eyes lit up when it came out that we’d both studied Kung-Fu. She said she had practice mats set up in the basement. She said she liked to spar down there with some of her girlfriends. It was the one thing, she confided in me, the one thing that kept her from going completely insane.
I hadn’t kept up with it. I hadn’t practiced in years. I hadn’t sparred since college. She insisted. The guys will be busy with the game for hours. The kids are playing by themselves, they’ll be fine. I demurred. She insisted.
The basement was semi-finished, with unpainted sheetrock walls and compact fluorescent lights that may have been eco-friendly and efficient, but cast a harsh, ugly, relatively dim light. There were a couple of battered old grey gym mats down on the concrete floor, a large diameter circle spray-painted roughly in the middle.
Becky pulled off her jeans and top. She was wearing black boy shorts and a matching black sports bra that kept her sizable breasts held tightly in check. I stripped out of my street clothes, sort of wishing that I’d chosen to wear something sexier than my old off-white panties and clunky flesh-colored bra. Back in college, I used to just go commando half the time. ‘I wonder what she would have made of that,’ I thought, ‘Now that might have been interesting.’
We stood, facing each other, at opposite sides of the circle. Automatically, we both bowed. I let myself fall into the old, familiar stance, half-crouching, my center of gravity low. Upstairs, I was dimly aware of the muted noise of the game filtering down through the floor.
Becky and I made eye contact, and I felt a thrilling rush of adrenaline. I was suddenly fit, strong, fierce, hyper-aware, a predatory animal. God, I’d missed this!! We slowly approached each other across the mat, stalking like a couple of prowling cats.
I made a sudden, feinting lunge toward her, testing her defenses. She grabbed my arm mid-swing, pivoted, and suddenly I was flying, tumbling, spinning on three axes. I landed flat on my back with a hard WHUMP that knocked the wind right out of me. Becky was on top of me, kneeling on me, pinning me, my head between her knees, the weight of her body on my chest. Her pussy was so close to my face I could have kissed it through the crotch of her panties if only I could have moved my head. I could feel her heat; I could almost smell her. No, I could smell her; not her pussy per se, but her sweat, her excitement, a faint whiff of deodorant.
“Get up!” she barked, springing to her feet, “Get the fuck back up!”
The room was still rotating slowly. I gave my head a vigorous shake and gingerly stood back up. She kicked my feet out from under me, and down I went again, WHUMP!
“Up!” Becky commanded, “Get back up, Young Dragonfly!”
This time I was ready for her. As I slowly got back up on my feet, she sent a vicious roundhouse kick toward my head. I ducked, and rushed her, fists flying.
She rolled out of my way before I could connect, and suddenly she was behind me. I was slammed face-first into the wall. Her hand was on my throat, poised to snap my neck; my arm was wrenched behind my back; and her pantied crotch pressed hard against my ass.
It seemed Becky had studied at a different dojo than me. The women’s Kung-Fu group I had belonged to had been mostly about empowerment, self-defense, and exercise. Becky’s dojo seemed to be all about kicking ass. Her hand was pressed hard against my pounding jugular, ready to crush my esophagus.
We stayed that way for a long moment, both of us breathing hard.
“Ok, ok. You win” I managed to croak.
Slowly, she relaxed her grip on me, her hand sliding down my neck and gently, almost shyly cupping my breast. Her pussy remained pressed snugly against my buttocks.
“Your Kung-Fu’s pretty good, Dragonfly,” she said, letting go and stepping back and away from me. “You’re just out of practice, that’s all. We should do this again sometime. Sometime soon.”
The game was still going on upstairs. I sat and watched the final quarter in a daze, absorbing nothing, aware only of how hard my heart was beating, how wet and slippery my pussy felt, and how obnoxiously hard and horny my clit was. It was about all I could do to not surreptitiously masturbate right there in the easy chair as the guys cheered the final touchdown drive and Becky organized the kids for bedtime.
Butch and me had sex that night. It was nice sex. I almost cried out for him to fuck me in the ass, but I didn’t. When was the last time we’d had anal sex? I honestly couldn’t remember. Anyway, the sex was nice. I was really turned on, and he went down on me, bringing me to the brink several times before sliding his thick cock up my pussy and fucking me with a deep and satisfying rhythm. We orgasmed simultaneously, as we nearly always do, and then he slowly, gently pulled out, rolling the condom off and tossing it into the trash. I wished we didn’t need condoms, but we’d more or less decided we didn’t want kids, and the pill wreaks havoc with my endocrine system, so there you go. He kissed me very sweetly before rolling over to his side of the bed and drifting off to sleep.
I quietly masturbated myself to a second orgasm next to him, thinking about my sleeping husband’s brother’s wife. I wondered what she tasted like; I wondered what she sounded like when she came; I wondered what it would be like to kiss her; I imagined what it would be like to lick her pussy. When was the last time I had sex with a girl? I could figure out exactly how long it had been if I thought about it, but that was almost too depressing. It had been years, since long before Butch and I had even gotten together.
I started working out a lot, hitting the gym really aggressively. I lifted weights until my muscles quivered. I did pushup and crunches and pull-ups and more pushups. I ran until I thought I was going to puke, and then I kept on running. I did my old Kung-Fu drills, shifting from stance to stance, lunging at invisible opponents, ducking invisible kicks and punches, trying to make myself more like bamboo and less like an oak tree.
At the gym, I caught guys, and occasionally girls, looking my way. I smiled back, a fierce, edgy, competitive flirtation that gave lie to the gold ring on my finger. One girl approached me in the locker room. She said her name was Brianna, and she was cute. A girly girl kind of cute; not exactly my type, back when I’d had a type. I told her I was married, but she left her phone number on a little slip of paper folded up on my towel anyway.
It was my idea that we spend a Saturday with John and Becky and the kids. Butch seemed slightly surprised that I would suggest a day with the in-laws, but he was into the idea, so we went.
As it happened, we ended up dividing forces: Butch and John took Megan out for mini-golf and ice cream, while Becky and I were to stay home with little Emily. Perhaps not a completely equitable arrangement, but I certainly wasn’t complaining!
Becky was resplendent in a foxy red dress, cut to the mid-thighs with big red buttons running up the back that just begged to be slowly and leisurely un-fastened. It did not look like the kind of dress you would wear around the house to do chores and look after a rambunctious two-year old.
Which is exactly what we did: washed dishes, watched cartoons, played games, did some tidying up. We chatted and gossiped like (and I shuddered to think it, but it was true), like a pair of middle-aged housewives.
Then Emily went down for her nap. I was unloading the dishwasher, putting away glassware. Becky came into the kitchen, brushing cookie crumbs of the front of her red dress. “You wanna go downstairs and do a little Kung-Fu?”
Down in the basement, I watched hungrily as Becky stripped out of that sassy red dress. Underneath, she was wearing sensible black panties and a rigid-looking black bra. I felt suddenly silly and ashamed of the frilly little red thong I’d chosen to wear, and the fact that I was wearing a camisole with no bra on underneath.
Becky watched me intently as I stepped topless into the ring and performed the ritual bow. “I like your style, Young Dragonfly” She said it lightly, but her eyes were flinty-hard and intense. I felt my nipples harden beneath her stare.
I dropped into a crouch, and this time when she came flying at me, I was ready, dropping and rolling out of the way, coming up with a flurry of kicks and punches that had her dancing back, just out of reach.
I aimed a punch right at her solar plexus. She grabbed my wrist and twisted, but I had anticipated the move, and I went along with it, spinning around and sending her flying. She landed easily on her feet, laughing. I was panting, my naked breasts flushed and shaking.
“Stop trying to hit me and hit me!” Becky said.
“Do you think that’s air you’re breathing?” I rejoined.
She punched me square in the face, breaking my nose.
Becky helped me pop the cartilage back into place. It hurt a lot, and I had to bite down hard not to scream. Becky smiled and rested her hand lightly for a moment on the front of my silly lace panties. I almost came just from that touch. I groaned out loud, and lifted my pelvis up toward her, begging for more. She ignored my frustration, fetched me a wet washcloth and an icepack, and we both got dressed.
Butch actually seemed to believe my ridiculous story about tripping over a push-toy and falling down the stairs. John clucked sympathetically, and said something about how Becky should be better about making the kids put their toys away. Becky said she hoped we’d see each other again soon, and squeezed my hand in parting, making my pussy get wet and squooshy all over again.
The nose healed pretty quickly, but while it was still discolored and swollen, I felt oddly proud of it. I got a lot of questions and comments at work, but what I really enjoyed was fantasizing about what they must be whispering behind my back.
Butch and me started having a lot more sex. For the first few years we were together, we’d had amazing sex, six or seven times a week. Gradually, the intensity had faded, and it had become routine. Suddenly our sex life had gotten a jump-start. It was still nice sex, but there was a lot more of it, and I wasn’t complaining. Neither was Butch.
I was working out harder than I’d ever done in my life. Without even meaning to, I lost eight pounds. I was running too much, and gave myself shin splints, so I started swimming instead.
I started looking at a lot of internet porn. Before work, after work before Butch came home, late at night after having nice sex with him, sometimes surreptitiously in my office at work. I’d looked at porn before; Butch and I used to watch it together sometimes, back when you rented VHS tapes from a seedy little store with taped-over windows and yellow and red signs proclaiming GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS XXX; but our taste in porn was different. Neither one of us was big on mainstream pornography; gigantic breasts and oversized penises. He liked for there to be at least a modicum of storyline, and he liked pretty girls. I liked edgy, slightly scary girls with tattoos and piercings; and I liked to watch people fucking without too much plot to get in the way.
I thought about calling Brianna, the girl who had left me her number in the locker room, and arranging a rendezvous. I thought about it, and then decided I couldn’t.
I masturbated so much I made permanent stain on my computer chair at home. I watched girls fucking each other with strap-ons, 69ing, having all-girl threesomes, fucking, licking, fingering themselves and each other.
“Fight!”
I aimed a kick directly at Becky’s head, but she easily ducked under my extended foot and danced in close to me. She yanked my panties down, exposing my pussy, which until recently had been an unruly, fluffy muff but that on a whim I had decided to shave. The underwear around my knees hobbled me, and she casually kicked my feet out from under me. As I went down, she kneed me in the chin, and stood above me, laughing as I spit blood onto the grey vinyl mat.
One half-drunk night when Butch was working late at the office, I tried out one of those Cam Girl sites. I paid up my money, and waited to see what would happen.
The girl I got was kind of cute, in a skinny sort of way. She was Eastern European, Romanian, I think. She seemed nice, and if she was surprised to see an older American woman watching her strip, she didn’t show it. We exchanged names and pleasantries; I lied about my age and told her I was 30, she lied about her age and told me she was nineteen. I’m not sure which of us was lying more. Formalities dispensed with, the show began.
She did a strip tease for me while I watched and slowly fingered myself. When she was naked, she started oscillating around, describing a sine wave with her hips, pinching her nipples seductively and running her fingers back and forth across her shaved pussy. The whole effect seemed rather artificial, mechanical. She told me to imagine eating her out. She told me to imagine her licking my pussy. I did. I was definitely wet and slippery. I told her I was close to coming. She said ‘Oh yes Baby, yes” and I came, and she smiled a really big smile, like she was proud of what she had done. It was a pretty good orgasm, but not earth-shaking. I thanked her and logged off.
I called Becky up in the middle of the day, asked what she was doing.
“Nothing much,” she said, “The kids are in daycare and Jimmy is at work. Why? Did you want to come over and do some Kung-Fu?”
I told her I’d be there in half an hour. I made up a doctor’s appointment and ditched out of work. Forty-five minutes later, I was knocking on her door.
We went straight down to the basement and stripped out of our street clothes. I was wearing work underwear, nothing very exciting. Becky had on her habitual black panties and jog bra. I wondered if she owned any other kind.
“Take your bra off too,” Becky told me.
“Why?” I asked, slightly taken aback. I don’t know why I was surprised.
“Well, so I can look at your breasts, Young Dragonfly, while I kick your ass.” She smiled.
I unsnapped my bra, setting the girls free. Becky squirmed out of her own sports bra. Her tits were significantly bigger than me, large and round, like a pair of cantaloupes, with pink areolae the size of CDs and shy little dimpled nipples. They jiggled and swayed as she moved. I figured they must get in the way when she was fighting.
We bowed. Cautiously, we approached each other across the mat. I tried not to be distracted by her swaying breasts. I ducked under a flying kick aimed at my head; I popped up inside her defenses and punched her in the stomach, making her OOF.
She flipped backward, taking me with her. I was suddenly off balance and reeling. She punched me full on the tit and it hurt. I blocked another punch and another, but she kept coming, overpowering me. She grabbed my wrist and twisted, flinging me against the wall, so hard it cracked the drywall. It knocked the wind straight out of me.
Becky was on me in a second, like a pouncing spider. Her steely left hand caught me by the throat, pinning me where I stood gasping for air, my backside pressed hard against the sheetrock. Her right hand tore my panties aside, started roughly grinding into my pussy, rubbing me hard, mashing my labia.
She found me wet, and her touch immediately made me more so. The hand around my throat didn’t relax one iota. The fingers on my pussy probed and slid inside. I gasped and whimpered.
She finger-fucked my pussy hard; hard, fast, and deep, with two fingers. Her fingers in my cunt actually lifted me up off the mat. I was crushed against the wall; I could barely breathe past the hand on my larynx.
“Come for me!” Becky chanted as she rammed her fingers deep inside me, “Come! Come! Come!” She kissed me on the lips, then bit down hard, threatening to tear my lower lip off. Her big breasts were pressed hard against my own.
I did come, screaming incoherently, humping wildly back against her. Her kiss became more tender, the hand on my throat finally relaxed. When it was over, I crumpled to the ground, a sweaty, sticky, battered mess. My panties were soaked.
She assiduously licked her fingers off, like a big, self-satisfied cat, and watched me shakily get dressed.
As soon as I got home, before I even showered, I wacked off to filthy internet porn. When Butch got home, I pounced on him, pulling him onto the couch and fishing his dick out, not even giving him time to get undressed. We didn’t use a condom. I came quickly on his hard cock, and then I climbed off him and finished him with my mouth, enjoying my tangy taste on his dick, relishing his moans, tickling his balls and the vicinity of his anus, devouring him, relishing the hot load of semen he finally squirted into my mouth. If he noticed the bruises on my throat, he didn’t say anything.
Butch made a Saturday golf date with John, somewhere out in suburban New Jersey, and I asked if I could tag along, hang out with Becky and the kids. In the past I would have made excuses, gone to great lengths to avoid that kind of an outing. Butch raised his eyebrows, but assented.
While Butch and John teed off, Becky and I took the kids to the zoo. She was wearing shorts that showed off her long, muscular legs, and a skimpy top that offered tantalizing views of her bouncy bust. While the kids watched the monkeys playing, I surreptitiously ogled Becky’s body. She had a little bit of a tummy going on. I knew that underneath that belly she was rock-hard, but still, it was there. Her big boobs had held up remarkably well for her age; when she was 21, they must have been glorious. There were little crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes, and I was pretty certain that her strawberry-blonde hair was dyed. Overall, she looked like the archetypical all-American housewife. Except for her forearms, which looked like they belonged to Popeye on a spinach bender.
All day she was perfectly friendly and correct with me; there was no hint of the woman who had repeatedly kicked my ass in the ring, punched me in the nose, manhandled my pussy. The children were being fussy, the sun was hot, and Becky seemed distracted. She mentioned to me that her husband was up for a new job, an even better-paying and more prestigious position, halfway across the country in Tennessee.
Butch has had the same job since we’ve been together. His position is neither very prestigious, nor very well-paying; but he does have to work late a lot.
It was frustrating to be with her like that. I wanted to get naked with her, to fight fight fight. I wanted to kick her ass, to do some damage, to taste blood, to pin her to the mat and molest her until she begged for fucking mercy. Just thinking about it got me all wet and squishy inside my panties. I had been collecting a lot of sexy lingerie lately; that day I was wearing a turquoise g-string that was barely there at all. The material rode up my crack, rubbing and tantalizing me.
John and Butch came back from their interminable golf game at long, long last. The kids were whiny and frazzled. Becky packed them into the car, and we parted ways, them in their car and me and Butch in ours.
On the way back to the city, I gave Butch a handjob while he drove. It was a blast. We hadn’t done anything like that in years. It was fun and it was sexy, and I loved making him all distracted and moan and squirm, teasing and teasing until I couldn’t tease him anymore. Finally I dropped my head into his lap and jerked him off hard and fast into my mouth so he wouldn’t get come all over his trousers, devouring his hot, salty semen as he howled and humped against his seatbelt in stop-and-go traffic on the Jersey Turnpike. It was really hot, and he was very appreciative, but neither was it very satisfying for me.
That night, after Butch had gone to sleep, I got out of bed and got on the internet. I browsed through porn for a while, masturbating idly, looking at naughty pictures and skimming through sex blogs, wishing my life were exciting enough to write about, wishing someone would take naked pictures of me. Then somehow I ended up chatting with some dude over the webcam. He wasn’t really my type at all; he was arrogant and kind of doughy. But I got really excited flirting with him, and we ended up jerking off together. It wasn’t so much that it was sexy to watch some strange dude jack off; what was exciting to me was how much he seemed to need me. I loved how he begged me to remove articles of clothing, how hot and hard he got when I finally took my top off, revealing my breasts. I’ve never thought my boobs were all that and then some to look at; but he nearly came just from seeing them. When I squirmed out of my panties at last, finally showing him my pussy, I was literally dripping wet. The slick come was all over my inner thighs. I wiped the joy juice all over my fingers and held it up to the camera, just to demonstrate. Then we whacked off together, my legs spread wide and my feet propped up on the computer desk so as to give him a porno-camera’s view of what was going on between my legs. He came explosively, shooting an arc of come right at his webcam, and it set me off like a volcano. I rubbed myself until my clit was too sensitive to touch; the seat of my chair was soaked through. He stayed with me the whole way, telling me how hot and sexy I looked, and I ate it up. Finally, we both signed off. It was nearly three in the morning when I crept back to bed. I had never even asked his name.
I was blurry and less-than-functional at work the next day. My boss gave me a sharp look when I came clodhopping in almost ten minutes late. I kept wondering if I had cheated on Butch last night. I hadn’t really, I figured, it was all right. I hadn’t even touched the guy after all, it was just a little naughty fun, playing on the internet. A girl’s got a right to play around a little now and then, right?
I didn’t ask myself if what I was doing with Becky was cheating. It was too painful of a question, the answer was too obvious, and I knew that I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. What we were doing, whatever it was called that we were doing, I was in love with it.
Once I’d asked Butch if he’d ever thought about doing a threesome. ‘Of course,’ he’d said, ‘Isn’t that every guy’s fantasy?’ But then he’d gone on, ‘I don’t think I could ever really do one. I’m too possessive, too jealous, too insecure about that kind of thing. I’m afraid I’d get hurt.’
After work, I went straight to the gym, and beat the living shit out of a 100lb punching bag. Then I ran ten miles on the treadmill. I saw Brianna in passing in the locker room. I smiled at her, what I hoped was a friendly smile, but what I’m afraid may have come across as wolfish. Leaving the gym, I felt miles better.
When I got home, I signed up for a triathlon. Why not, I figured, I was already three-quarters of the way there in the training anyway. Butch told me he felt jealous of my state of fitness. He’s always been somewhat of a couch potato, and he’s definitely been trending toward corpulent the last couple of years. I told him he was welcome to come jogging with me whenever he wanted.
“Do you still love me?” he asked out of the blue.
“God yes, absolutely!” I replied without hesitation.
“Good,” he said, “I love you too.” He paused. “Do you ever think about having kids? Like John and Becky?”
It was a conversation we’d had before, but not a conversation we’d had in a long time. In the past, both our answers had been negative. But not negative enough to warrant a vasectomy.
“I don’t know,” I said, “We should probably decide soon though, if we are going to do it. I’m already a little old to be getting pregnant. What about you?”
“I don’t know either,” he said, “Maybe we should just stop using condoms and see what happens.”
“I like that idea,” I said.
Butch fucked me in the ass that night. He didn’t ask permission, he wasn’t especially gentle, and he wasn’t nice about it. It was awesome.
He started out by eating my pussy, something he does exquisitely well and until recently not nearly often enough. He brought me close to the point of explosion again and again, always backing off just before I came. Then he flipped me over onto my stomach, parted my cheeks, and stuck his tongue up my ass. It was not something he’d ever done before; it was not something I’d ever experienced before. It felt amazing. It felt like his tongue was about six feet long, curling and twisting in my asshole. Every sensation back there was magnified about ten-fold. I realized that I was gurgling with pleasure, humping my ass back against his face like a horny slut in a cheesy porn movie. My fingers made an end-run for my swollen clit, but he grabbed my wrist and restrained me. I was strong enough, by this point, that I probably could have overpowered him, but I didn’t.
Just about the time I was thinking that I couldn’t stand the torture one moment more, that I’d have to beg for it, he finally withdrew his tongue. He snagged a bottle of lube from somewhere, I don’t know, he must have pre-positioned it in the nightstand or something, and poured slippery stuff all over his erection. He spread my cheeks apart, took aim, and jammed his big wet cock straight up my asshole. I howled as the head of his dick muscled past my sphincter. He fucked me hard, almost violently hard, pounding my ass with his cock. I humped back at him as hard as I was able, fingering my clit and screaming obscenities into the pillow.
I don’t think he lasted 30 seconds, but that was ok, because neither did I. We came at the same time, I was aware of his hot semen flooding my anus even as my own orgasm broke over me. I saw stars. I think I blacked out a little. It was the most intense orgasm I had ever had in my life.
We spooned for a while after he had gingerly disengaged, and chuckled at the irony of the fact that our first experience with un-protected sex was highly unlikely to result in a pregnancy.
Becky called me at my office.
“What are you up to?” she asked. Her voice sounded shaky.
“I’m up to my neck in work, and I’m on the boss’s shit-list. Why? What’s up?”
“John got the job,” she said, “We’re moving to Tennessee. The movers will be here tomorrow.”
I made up an important doctor’s appointment that I’d forgotten to mention, and left the office behind, my boss’ frowns and dirty looks and snarky emails be damned.
The house was a shambles. They were already halfway packed. The walls were bare, the floors littered with cardboard boxes, taped shut or gaping open.
We went downstairs into the dimly lit basement, and stripped silently out of our street clothes. I was wearing a thong, as had apparently become my habit, a satiny green one, and a matching bra that I discarded as a matter of course.
Becky pulled off her blouse, and the sports bra underneath, setting her big breasts free.
She pulled down her pants. She was wearing, for once, skimpy little white cotton panties that were revealing enough to tell me that she had a nice, trim bush underneath them.
We stepped into the circle and bowed.
Right away, we exchanged a few kicks and punches, but nothing got through; by now we knew each other too well. I did a forward flip and nearly got away with kicking Becky right in the tits, but she jumped back out of the way at the last minute, spinning around and clocking me with a roundhouse kick that knocked me to the floor and cracked two ribs. (They took forever to knit up, and for weeks, whenever I coughed, sneezed, orgasmed or breathed, I thought of Becky.)
I vaulted back up, hot and pissed. I got a solid punch through to her torso, but she grabbed my arm and tried to flip me. I went with it, using her own momentum against her, and pulled her along with me, yanking her arm hard at the last second, and sending her flying uncontrolled through the air, spinning on three axes. She landed hard, face down, WHUMP, and I pounced on her like a hunting cat.
I took a big handful of her hair and yanked her head back, poised to break her neck. My other arm cranked her hand behind her back, holding back just before I dislocated her shoulder.
“Ok,” she said, “Ok, you win.”
I relaxed my grip on her arm, and she exhaled. I continued to hold her by the hair though.
With my free hand, I yanked her panties down around her thighs. I probed her pussy. It was wet, slick and wet. Her white panties were still in the way, so I tore them off, shredding the waistband, and tossed them aside. I ran my fingers up and down her slit, felt her opening up for me, felt the rigid bump of her clitoris, her slippery juice all over my fingers.
“Please,” she whispered, “Please fuck my pussy!”
I took one wet finger and jammed it straight up her asshole. It was tight, crazy tight and hot.
“No!” she half-screamed, “No!” I yanked hard on her hair, threatening to bust her neck, sever her spinal column, and I wormed my finger deeper and deeper inside. Her anus clenched and spasmed on my invading finger.
“No!” she was almost sobbing, “No, please no, please just fuck my cunt, please!”
I worked two, then three fingers into her tiny, impossibly tight little pink asshole. I fucked her ass as violently as I was able, until my shoulder ached. At last, I released my grip on her hair and her head fell onto the mat. I slapped her ass hard, once, twice, three, four times, leaving livid red handprints on the pale flesh of her cheeks. Three fingers were buried to the knuckles in her wide-stretched asshole. I reached underneath her hips, placing my hand on her sopping wet pussy, finding her distended clit, and I rubbed her hard and fast, in time with the fingers up her butt.
She came, screaming and writhing. It went on so long it was a little scary. She was shaking, and her voice was hoarse by the time it was over. She had made a good sized puddle of wet on the mat.
I licked her juices off my hand. I liked the way she tasted: salty, tangy, female, clean.
We got dressed silently, and I went back to the office, reeking of sex.
Butch and I saw them one more time before they left. There were hugs and handshakes all around. I noticed that Becky had a black eye, discretely masked under her makeup.
“We’ll see you again,” Becky said, “Soon, I hope. Maybe you can come out and visit.”
“Yeah,” Butch said as he shook hands with his brother one last time, “Maybe we could fly out for Thanksgiving.”
I thought of over-cooked, dry turkey, and yams out of a can. I couldn’t wait.
Butch bought me a present, a brand-new vibrator, and it wasn’t even my birthday or our anniversary; and Valentine’s Day was six months off. It was a work of art; sculpted pink silicone, vaguely penis-shaped, with all sorts of interesting bulges and ridges, and a strong motor with various settings, and a plug-in charger.
We downloaded a porno, and Butch watched me break my new toy in, and I watched him watch me. His dick was harder than I think I’d ever seen it. I don’t think he’d ever watched me masturbate before, certainly not with a toy. Neither one of us came; we kept edging closer and closer, then backing off, daring the other to come first. At one point I had to yank the vibrator out of my pussy and fan my clit to keep from getting off.
The porno was actually pretty hot. The girl who starred in it was a pretty, waify young thing, but I liked that she didn’t have huge tits, and there was definitely something twisted and edgy about her. There was a modicum of plot, just enough to string the sex scenes together. It was supposed to be her eighteenth birthday (she looked about 25 to me), and the movie was all about how she celebrated throughout the day. Two of the guys she was with were actually really cute, a rarity in pornos! The movie culminated with a scene where she got fisted by her best friend, a skinny, hard-edged looking girl with pierced nipples a constellation of stars tattooed on her back, and a crooked nose.
“I’d like to try doing that to you sometime,” Butch said. Skinny Girl was buried up to the wrist in Birthday Girl, who appeared to lost in a fog of sexual ecstasy. Butch’s dick was red and swollen, and looked like it was ready to explode. Pre-come was oozing copiously out the tip.
“You should do it!” I told him. My new vibrator was buried to the hilt in my pussy, the vibration turned way down to low to keep me from slipping into a massive orgasm.
We fucked right there on the couch, me on all fours and Butch taking me from behind, no condom, and when he came, he flooded my pussy with his semen, and it set me off like the Fourth of July.
Afterward, we did a little 69, I licked his cock and balls clean, and he slurped my sloppy wet pussy. He couldn’t quite get hard again, but he seemed to enjoy me gently washing him with my tongue, and I got another orgasm out of the deal. We slept hard that night.
I did my triathlon, and shockingly, placed second in my age category. I was filled with lust to do another one, and to win next time.
Butch started jogging with me, two or three times a week. It was frustrating, because he could only go a couple miles, and because I wanted to go faster than he was able, but it was nice, too.
I ran into Brianna in the locker room again. I was getting changed into my gym gear, and she was fresh out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her waist. Her breasts were smallish and beautiful. They reminded me of tangerines. I imagined pulling on the nipples: pulling hard and twisting until she cried out for me to stop. I wondered how old she was. Mid-twenties? Early thirties?
She loitered by my locker, asked if I still had her number. I said that I did. I asked her if she’d ever taken any martial arts.
“I’ve got a green belt in Karate,” she said proudly, “How about you?”
“I’ve studied Kung-Fu,” I said, “But we didn’t really do belts at my dojo. We just fought.” I was picturing her all sweaty and flushed, standing topless in her panties, blood streaming out of her nose and dripping down onto her breasts, red droplets on pale white skin, making little puddles on the mat like rose petals.
“We should spar together sometime.”
Our house doesn’t have a basement, but we do have a nice, private back yard. I wondered where I could pick up some used gymnastics mats, cheap.
“Yeah,” I said, “That would be awesome!”
END
So Wrong (the collected pornographica of Elsie) 