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by Lauren McAllister
My husband had just found another woman to sleep with and I was over the moon. Perhaps I should explain. We have a semi-open marriage. When Donald manages to find a comely lass who is willing to spread ‘em for him, I get to allow sightly gentlemen of my own choosing to feed the puss. There was a long weekend coming up and I had eagerly booked this rather romantic cottage by a lake to canoodle with a rather hunky monkey named Gordon from my office building. Don was heading off to an undisclosed location with a burger waitress and a naughty erection that needed to be taught a lesson.
Needless to say, I was a very happy lady and Donny got a big helping of hump-me-while-I’m-thinking-about-Gordon sex in the week preceding our temporary parting of the ways. Everything was sailing along until about 24 hours before my planned cottage frottage. That’s when I got a call from Tall, Dark and Delicious.
“What a naughty boy!” thinks I. Was Gordon going to campaign for a lunchtime parking-lot blowjob to set the mood for the weekend? I just was planning on how many times I was going to say “NO!” before actually acceding to his scandalous request when this hideous creature voice erupted from my cell. “Heelawwww,” it croaked.
“Is that you, sweetie?” I inquired.
“I have pneumonia,” he managed to get out between desperate gasps for air.
“That’s okay,” I sympathized. “As long as it isn’t communicable, it shouldn’t get in the way too much.” Hey, his dick didn’t need to breathe. He’s sexted me a picture of it and let’s just say that I was a fan.
“I can’t make it. Too sick.”
FUCK! Or should I say, “No fuck?”
“I’m really sorry.”
“They say being by a lake can really speed up a recovery,” I lied hopefully.
“Perhaps next time.” He started coughing and didn’t stop, so I hung up. Now what was I going to do?
This was a real jam. Donald was going to get his cute little burger queen but what was I going to get? 72 hours of furiously masturbating while reading online erotica? Shit! I had to find someone and find them fast. Alas, most of the gentlemen I’d hooked up with in the past were either already booked for the weekend or married now. I considered a couple of women I wouldn’t mind another frolic with but they were also genitally spoken for and didn’t feel like inviting me to tag along (and I asked quite nicely, too). I was in a real bind. There was no way I was going to a remote cabin with a complete stranger (I’ve seen the movies). I desperately searched every corner of my horny brain. There had to be someone that I sort of knew but didn’t work with directly and who didn’t have any plans for a long weekend that was now only hours away.
Things were looking bleak. An entire day of ignoring my job while I looked for cock had turned up zippo. I sadly gazed at my fingers in the elevator on the way down to the lobby, at five o’clock. Don’t get me wrong, I like a good wank as much as the next girl but three days worth!? I was going to end up with carnal tunnel syndrome. When the lift doors opened, Benny gave me a friendly smile. Ben is our security guard, though if anything ever did happen, he’d poop his uniform.
“Hello, Mrs. Clark,” he welcomed me.
“Hey, Benny.” I looked at him for a couple of seconds and considered if I was truly that desperate. He looked at me and continued smiling.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
I scoured my brain for someone else. There wasn’t anyone. I tried to get a vaginal response to imagining him naked and on top of me. There wasn’t one.
“So, you’ve probably got big plans for the weekend,” I said hopefully.
“Oh no. Probably just read a book or play video games.” There was a certain amount of sadness in his voice.
Benny was not what you’d call, “A catch.” He was probably around 45 and a bit on the pudgy side. He had all his hair and seemed like nice guy but that’s about all he had to recommend him. Alas, all the real catches had been caught for the weekend and it was either the schlub in front of me or wanking myself blind till Monday morning.
“Listen, I’ve got this great cabin booked on Lake Gromlin, you could join me, if you’d like.”
Benny looked a little confused. And he should have been. Here was this great lookin’ gal (I have to be honest, I’m a stone fox.) inviting him to go away with her.
“Wouldn’t Mr. Clark mind?”
“Donald won’t be there. It’ll be just me and you.”
Even to a guy of Ben’s understandable sexual inexperience, it should have been obvious that I was inviting him to a major pussy-fest. To my surprise (and semi-humiliation) he didn’t jump at the offer right off. What was wrong with this idiot?
“Would I have to drive?” he inquired.
Hey, most guys would have crawled on their hands and knees over dismembered rat parts to go a few rounds on top of me. Who did this cocky corpulent cretin think he was. It was now 5:15 on Friday.
“I could pick you up,” I pathetically offered. My right hand was beginning to sound better by the minute.
“It’s just that my back seat is full up with coke cans and the recycling depot is closed until Tuesday.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble on my account,” I fumed (Did he know that I had a glorious slice of quim under that skirt?), “Shall we say nine o’clock?”
When I got home that evening, Donald was practically dancing around the house as he packed. I could have slugged him.
“So, got some muscled-up Neanderthal rarin’ to park his pork in you?” he deliriously queried. Man, this date he had must have been a knockout. He was obviously going to get a ton of anal. I only allow him to fire a load up my ass on holidays and birthdays (his not mine).
“Oh yeah. You know me; I like ‘em beefy.”
That night I lay awake and wondered what I had just gotten myself into. Donald slept like he’d just gotten back from Brigadoon. Even his snoring sounded happy. We didn’t have sex that evening, he wanted to save his charge for his dream girl’s colon.
When I got to Benny’s place in the morning, he had nine bags. Nine! They filled up the entire backseat of the car. I had a nightie and some lube.
“This is really nice of you, Debbie. Are there a lot of fish in the lake?”
“I don’t know, they’re all below the surface.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m not much of a sportsman. Except for this of course…” Ben took out some sort of handheld device (to my disappointment, it wasn’t his cock) and showed it to me. He told me the name of it but I don’t remember and then he played with the fucking thing for the rest of our two hour drive.
It wasn’t until we were at the cottage and I was standing in front of Benny naked, after my shower and waiting for him to vigorously split the slit, that he dropped the bombshell.
“I’m gay,” he half whispered. “At least I will be, once I get the courage to meet someone.”
Now my nightmare was complete. I was spending the long weekend with a middle-aged, plain looking homosexual virgin while my husband was fucking some young, stunning bimbo up the patoot. Something had to be done. I deserved better than this. Heck, even poor Benny deserved better than this. We didn’t have a television or even fishing poles. The only entertainment I had planned for the whole stay was gigantic brain-sloshing bottles of alcohol and my cunt; he was going to be bored out of his mind.
It took me almost all afternoon and some very concentrated conniving, but eventually I came up with a magnificent plan to solve both our problems.
“We’re going out to a bar tonight,” I announced over a rather mediocre chicken picotta and mushroom risotto I’d defrosted.
“What kind of bar?” Benny inquired nervously.
“You are going to have the time of your life. You just have to pretend to be married to me and be horrified by everything I tell you to do.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“It’s better we play it by ear. Just follow my lead and practice looking sad and humiliated.”
“I’m a security guard. That’s easy.”
That night at the saloon, I went looking for a very specific type of guy. Now let’s face it, all we girls get a little wet for mono-syllabic jerks with big arms and small brains. A little bit of rough (as the British call it) can markedly liven up an evening in the missionary position. It’s just not something you want hanging around your penis pouch for an extended period of time. Plus, there’s a thin line between rough and too rough. Out in the wilds, I wouldn’t dream of taking home some sinewy grunt-monkey from a hygienically-challenged guzzle-barn. It just wouldn’t be safe. Unless of course, I was accompanied by another guy with a gun in his bag! Benny always keeps his gat with him because he lives with his mother and when she gets into the port, she likes to wave it around doing Al Pacino impressions.
“Now just relax,” I told my partner in deception. “I’m going to go up to the bar and find us a likely candidate. Remember, look very upset at the things I tell you to do and that you’re my husband.”
It didn’t take more than about five seconds and a sideways glance to get Dirk to call me “girlie” and offer to buy me a drink.
“I’m actually with my dishrag of a husband, tonight,” I flirted, then rolled my eyes and indicated Benny back at the table.
He just shrugged and poured on the backwoods charm. “So, why don’t you ditch that loser and we can meet up later?”
Dirk practically had his hand up my shirt. Yes, this was just the kind of guy I was looking for.
“I think I’d prefer to show that shithead of a limp-dick just what kind of a loser he really is,” I half-growled. “Show him what a real man does with a woman.”
“What do you mean?”
I had his attention.
“I’ll have a Chivas on the rocks. Bring it over to the table, when it’s ready,” I licked his lips and then swung my hips back to the table.
“That guy is coming over here,” I informed my confused faux-husband. “Whatever I say, I don’t mean. Just look very unhappy and reluctantly go along with my demands.”
“I’m nervous,” Benny whined.
“Hey there,” Dirk the jerk knowingly smirked as he plopped himself down at our table. He flipped his chair around and sat on in backwards with his legs splayed open, of course.
“This here is a real man, you useless piece of shit.”
“Yes dear,” he simpered and sipped his diet coke.
He was getting the idea! This might actually work.
45 minutes and two unwashed whisky tumblers later, Dirk and I were in the back of my car heavy-petting our brains out and Ben was playing the humiliated husband behind the wheel.
Mr. Man had my top off and my pants undone before we even reached the porch. By the time we reached the couch, clothes I had none. Dirk threw me down hard on pounced on top of me. Benny just stood by and forlornly watched us, playing a really convincing cuckold. There was really no foreplay to speak of. Forget him even symbolically giving me head. Luckily, the whole situation had me practically dripping so he managed to park his dong with very little resistance.
“You see! This is how a real man fucks me,” I yelled up at my cottage mate and winked. To his credit, Dirk was doing a fine job in there. Sometimes, getting a good twat pummeling from a brain-dead pile of muscles is just what a gal needs and this pugnacious pud-pumping really hit the spot. I could feel the first orgasm start to rise in me as I looked up into Dirko’s face.
“Make him feel your nuts, baby. Make him feel your big beautiful cock as it’s slamming into his wife.”
There was a moment of hesitation, but the cruelty of it outweighed his homophobic senses.
Benny begged and begged me not to make him do it before getting his first true handful of guy-cock and balls. Boom! The blissful look on his face set off my little clit bomb. I wrapped my legs hard around Dirk’s and sucked every last climactic spasm out of my decimated fuck-hole as he continued to pound the stuffing out of my womb. It was only a couple of seconds later when Gorilla Boy emptied his heavily-massaged nutsack into me.
When we’d finished doing the dirty for a second time, I made Benny get us some drinks. When Ben came back, I got up and forced his head down between Dirk’s legs.
“Now lick my cunt juices of the dick that just finished fucking me you little girl!” I yelled.
I could see Dirk was just about to balk so I kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Make him lick you clean, baby. He’s got to learn that if he isn’t man enough to satisfy me like you, then he has to suffer.”
By now, Benny was already licking his balls and shaft. I slapped the back of his head really hard. “Take the whole thing into your mouth and do a proper job, limp boy!”
Dirk sat there very uneasy as Benny sucked him hard again. He pretty well hightailed it immediately after his cleanup and once he’d gone, we and I laughed ourselves sick.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he beamed. “That was my first time.”
“Take you pants down.”
“Hey, if you hadn’t been here, I wouldn’t have felt safe bringing King Kong and his Schlong back here. Everyone got an orgasm except you. Just pretend it’s Dirky going down on you instead of me.”
He was so shy about it; I had to stop myself from giggling. I took him into my mouth and gave him a masterful hummer. The whole procedure didn’t take him more that a couple of minutes to pop one. Benny let out this caveman grunty thing and then submerged my tongue in his sticky goo. I gave his nards a nice going over and kept gently sucking to ease every little squiggler out of him. Hey, this was his first blowjob, I wanted him to remember it fondly.
The next night we followed the exact same playbook. Benny should definitely go out for local theatre. He has a real gift. My new prick with a dick made Dirky look like a anemic metrosexual. It was all I could do to stop him from fucking me over the hood of the car in the bar parking lot. When we did get back to the cottage, he gave me a schtupping that practically popped the eyeballs out of my head. Tony was also very aggressive to my “husband”. He was yelling at him and humiliating him more that I was during our mind blowing sex. I had a blistering orgasm that almost caused me to faint. Steams of girlie cum shot out of me as I bucked and writhed like I had a cattle prod up my twat.
Meanwhile, Tony starts screaming at Benny. “This is how you fuck a woman you weedy little fag!” It was actually getting a little painful now. “After I’m finished fucking your woman, I’m going to get up and knock your fucking teeth out.”
Yikes! Things had to be turned around before Benny had to shoot this idiot. I saw him anxiously eying his dufflebag.
“Don’t hit him, baby. That’s too good for the little girlie shit stain. You said it. He’s a weedy little fag.” Now his big meaty thrusts were really starting to sting. “Let me hold him down while you fuck him up the ass. Just like the little queer shit turd he is.”
Not giving Tony any time to think (not that he was very good at it at the best of times), I maneuvered him off me. God was that a relief!
“Now get down on your hands and knees you disgusting dickless queen!”
Benny implored me not to make him do it. I even saw tears. Tony finally grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed his face into the couch.
“This is what you deserve, faggot!” yelled Mr. Heterosexual as his jammed his cock up into Benny’s sphincter. Tony slapped his ass and rode him hard. Ben just grunted and cried out for mercy. This drove Bully Boy over the top and he shot big globs of his oh-so-manly cum up my fake husband’s cornhole.
Needless to say, when Tony came back to his senses, he didn’t even bother to get dressed before running out of the cottage. My guess is, he’s either on suicide watch at some metal hospital now or he plays on a gay man’s hockey team.
“I hope you don’t mind me calling you some of those names,” I apologized later, over a big glass of wine.
“Nonsense. You can call me anything you want, after tonight,” he sigh contentedly.
“Tell me, does your ass hurt as much as my vagina?”
“Let’s just say, we’re going to need to drink a lot more of this wine.”
From then on, Benny was the only person I ever took up to that cottage when my husband managed to wrangle a date. Once he loosened up, he was funny and smart and could cook like a TV chef. Our barroom patter and technique improved with each trip and we shared no end of lunkheaded beefcakes.
I still feel bad about calling him all those horrible names but it seems to be the only way I can get super heterosexual macho-men to butt fuck him. Go figure.
Copyright 2015 Lauren McAllister
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