Harvey and I spent the night together in my husband's bed. Like the primordial female slut I am, I freely offered him my body servicing his black penis with ardor and passion. He fucked me three times before dawn broke. Twice he rolled me onto my back, spread my thighs, and slid his foot long ebony cock into my cunt. During each sexing I captured him between my legs and locked my ankles over his hips, squeezing him, drawing him as deep inside me as any man has ever reached. The third time he took me on my knees with my shoulders on the bed as I reached back with both arms spreading my buttocks, making it easier for him fuck my ass. God, but it was all sooo good, even though I was so sore the next morning I could hardly get out of bed.
My husband Alvin's return flight was due to land in the early afternoon. I had things to do to be ready for him and I was terribly nervous that Harvey wouldn't leave in time. For no reason other than to torment me he dallied. First he insisted that we shower together, and after I had scrubbed his back and soaped his cock and balls, he pushed me to my knees and made me give him a blow job. Even after he finally shot off in my mouth, and I had swallowed his cum, he wouldn't leave until I made him breakfast. Finally I was able to send him off over to his buddy Pete's house next door.
I rushed off to spend an hour or so in the hot tub and on the message table at the spa Alvin and I belong to, and then another couple of hours at the beauty parlor. By the time Alvin arrived home right after lunch I had managed to erase most of the ravages of being fucked half to death while my husband was away. That was a good thing because Alvin had brought with him an important house guest, Senator Causeway, who was sponsoring Alvin's research grant in Washington.
It seems that the Senator and Peter Carr had known each other in college. I gathered that they had been more acquaintances than close friends, but when Alvin happened to mention that Peter was our neighbor, Senator Causeway seized upon this unexpected coincidence as an opportunity to talk over old times with his former classmate. All that was fine and good for the Senator, but it made me nervous as hell.
How could I be so unlucky as to have a guest who knew the man who has made me his willing cunt slave? What might he tell the Senator about me? More important, what stories would get back to Alvin? How would Alvin react if he finds out that Peter has been fucking me? Life is full of bad breaks, and more than my share seem to have come my way. There was nothing I could do but hold my breath, hope, and wait and see.
The Senator seemed nice enough and I bucked up and started to think maybe things would work out O.K.. My worst time came the day after the Senator's arrival when he and my husband spent a couple of hours having cocktails with Peter by his pool. I watched and tried to listen to their conversation from my sewing room window. I couldn't catch everything that was said but I didn't hear my name mentioned, and equally comforting, Peter didn't call me over to 'entertain.'
What if he had? What would I have done? I would have gone of course, but then what would Peter have made me do? I had watched as he put Becky thru a degrading performance in front of her husband, delighting in her shame and humiliation. I was terrified he would do that again with me as the star, but nothing like that happened. So far so good, even though I was pretty sure the men had talked to one another on other occasions when I was unable to eavesdrop!
Things started to turn sticky the very next evening, however. Alvin and I were dressing to go out for dinner with the Senator. Alvin was acting strangely, inexplicably making unusual demands that were totally out of character. In all our years together, he had never before suggested, complained, or even commented about how I might be dressed for a night out. Yet tonight, for some reason I didn't understand at the time, he was suddenly dictating to me what I would wear to our dinner with Senator Causeway.
To begin with he insisted that I chose a sexy black silk dress with an oriental flavor that I thought was far too revealing and slinky for the occasion. The dress fit me like a tight sleeve, and it featured a bare back, a low cut bosom, and a slit up the left leg all the way to the top of my hip. Above the neckline were two thin straps over my shoulders that crossed as they dropped down the otherwise open back and attached to the lower part of the dress that rode rather too low down on my hips, My upper chest, back, shoulders and arms were of course all quite bare, or more accurately said, exposed.
Alvin next told me, no decreed is a better word, that I must not wear a bra. Under that tight skimpy dress, the absence of a brassiere to support my ample breasts was going to be embarrassingly obvious. I started to ask "...why in the world...?"
Alvin's response was totally unlike him. He was actually leering when he told me that the Senator was a "tit man" who would enjoy seeing my breasts bob and jiggle under my dress the way they do when I don't wear a bra. If that was so, then the Senator was in for a treat. In the tight black slinky outfit Alvin had selected for me, every sway of my breasts would be very noticeable, and my nipples plainly outlined against the thin silk would be no less so.
When I checked myself in the mirror, my worst fears were confirmed. I must admit the effect was very sexy, but I was embarrassed by my appearance. What was going on? My strait laced and conservative husband apparently wanted me to accompany he and his guest to a posh public restaurant looking exactly like an expensive hooker. Why? I was beginning to become decidedly uneasy. What WAS this was all about?
Every bit as peculiar as Alvin's decree that I could not wear a bra, however, was the way he ordered me to put my panty hose away and wear a pair of nylons and a garter belt instead. Like most women, panty hose make me feel safe and secure. I began to protest strongly, but he snatched from out of my hand the new pair I had just taken from the box and threw them against the wall at the back of our closet.
"Don't argue with me Melanie, God Damn it," he swore at me, scowling as he did so, "and wear your panties on top of the garter belt, not under it. Don't argue about it either. One more word out of you and you will go without any panties at all."
Well, I didn't want that, so I didn't say anything more. I draped a small white jacket over my shoulders that covered me up a little, and restored a bit of my modesty and confidence. The three of us took a cab to the restaurant, a swanky upscale bistro with a reputation for excellent French cuisine and well to do patrons. When we arrived, however, Alvin would not allow me to wear my jacket inside. He insisted that he should carry my security blanket draped over his arm. Without any cover at all for my modesty, that tight sexy black dress certainly received its share of attention as my husband paraded me across the room to a circular booth in the far corner. I was mortified. I slid into the seat between my two male escorts, the waiter gave us each a menu. I grabbed frantically for mine and held it up trying to screen my face and bosom from the from the stares of the other diners and staff. Our waiter was no help to my distress and shattered ego. He was so intent on staring down the skimpy top of my dress at my breasts that he could hardly take Alvin's order for two bottles of wine. I wondered if he could see a nipple. By the look on his face I suspected so.
