For Want of a Snow Blower

This is the second part of a three-part story, as you probably could have guessed by the title. Please read the first part before reading this one. Although this part could stand on its own, you'll have much more insight into the characters if you start at the beginning.

Like many of my stories this one takes time to develop the characters before getting to the sex. If that's not what you're looking for, cool, but you might want to go on to a different story. Much of this story is concerned with FF and FFM sex, which is very much a fantasy of mine.

All characters in this story are at least 18 years old and take part in all activities described with full consent. After reading this story please take a moment to rate it and leave a comment. Constructive feedback is sort of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow for a lot of writers. Thank you!

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For Want of a Snow Blower, Pt. 2

If you read the first part of my story you know about how I met my wife, Jackie, while we were in school. She was perfect for me - smart, sexy, and exciting. We were married as soon as we graduated, and we lived an ideal bohemian existence as we both got our graduate degrees. We only had money for the rent on our little hole-in-the-wall apartment and the food we put on the card table we used in place of a kitchen table. Going out to eat - hell, even going to the movies - was an impossible luxury. So, we spent all of our spare time with each other, and as crazy-in-love newlyweds will do we had sex all the time. We were both virgins when we met, but we certainly made up for lost time. We tried everything, every way, every time: oral, anal, outdoors, quickies, drawn-out sessions that lasted until we were both exhausted.

Then we got our graduate degrees, and we ended up in Syracuse. We had great jobs and a great little house, but it was a traumatic move for a couple from the Southwest. We settled into our new jobs and our new routines - Jackie as a junior professor of American literature at Syracuse University, me as a high school librarian. Jackie was working constantly, almost frantically trying to prove that she belonged. It got lonely pretty quickly.

When the first real snow storm hit in the middle of December, we were woefully unprepared. Jackie struggled off to teach her classes, while I spent my first "snow day" breaking my back trying to shovel the heavy, wet accumulation from our long, steep driveway. Then a snow angel appeared in the form of a neighborhood girl who knew how to shovel snow a lot better than I. She helped me with the driveway and, when she got locked out of her own house, I invited her in to get warm.

It was a bittersweet experience for her. She had spent a lot of time in our house growing up. Her best friend had lived there. They had played together, dressed-up together, and even cleaned the driveway together on many occasions. Then they had fallen in love, and when the other girl's parents found out they had moved away.

So, there we were, snowed in, a lonely twenty-five-year-old guy and a heartbroken high school senior. We talked and laughed and comforted one another, and the comfort eventually became a kiss, and the kiss became the hottest sex I had had in months. Delaney hadn't had sex with a guy since she was fifteen, and being the captain of the crew team, she had plenty of energy to spare. More than that, she needed me. I felt needed for the first time since we had moved to Syracuse. I should have thought about Jackie, but I really didn't. Not until we were done, and Delaney collapsed on top of me making satisfied noises deep in her chest, and I looked over her shoulder and saw Jackie standing there.

The University had let all their employees go early in light of the snow emergency. She was standing there in the door to the bedroom, snow melting and dripping off her coat and hat, eyes wide as saucers, not believing what she was watching. Her gloved hands were over her mouth, trying to hold in the shock and pain and horror. Then, believe me, she let it all out. Delaney was over six feet tall and she towered over Jackie, but she got into her clothes and got out of there with her head down and at a dead run. I wasn't so lucky.

When you've just hurt somebody as badly as they've ever been hurt in their life, somebody you love, how do you explain it to them? Even I couldn't understand what happened. How had I ended up fucking a high schooler here, in the bed I shared with my wife? Sure, sure, I was lonely and hurting and horny, but how could I? Needless to say, the rest of that snowy day hadn't gone well. There were tears, and anger, and outrage, and enough hurt to last the rest of our lives. I wanted to just hold her and make it better, but my touching her was the last thing she wanted. She eventually made the point that she was lonely and horny, too. She missed me just as much as I missed her. She was as concerned as I had been. She needed to do her research and writing and to prepare her lectures, but she needed me just as much. All of those nights when I had just gone up to bed so that she could stay up late and get a bit more work done; it turns out I should have insisted she come with me on occasion. If only I had closed her laptop and pushed her books aside and maybe even just taken her right there on the office floor. It's something we...I...would have done when we were back in our Tucson apartment. Why hadn't I thought of it here? Eventually I got mad, too. If she was so horny, why hadn't she come on to me? Why was it my responsibility? Of course, responsibility or not, in the end I was the one who had crossed the line.

The two weeks left before Christmas were even colder in the house than outside. It wasn't that she refused to talk to me or gave me the cold shoulder. It was that she seemed defeated. We interacted. We got through our days. We did our work. But the spark was gone. I tried to talk about what had happened; hoping that we could resolve something or even that she'd just get angry again. Anything was better than this listlessness. Nothing helped. She didn't forgive me, but she didn't want to keep talking about it, either.

Needless to say, the holidays weren't very merry and bright. We didn't have the money for a lot of decorations and we weren't planning on spending Christmas in Syracuse, anyway. The house remained cold, bare, and dark, even while our neighbors all tried to out-do one another with extravagant light shows.

One of the benefits of working in education is getting the week between Christmas and New Year off. We had planned to fly west and spend time with both of our families - mine for Christmas and hers for New Years. We ended up changing our plans and taking separate holiday breaks. My mother-in-law worked for an airline so changing the tickets wasn't a problem. On the 21

st

Jackie flew home to Anaheim. I had two more days until school ended for me, and they were the loneliest days of my life. All of the kids and staff at school were totally jazzed for break, but each night I came home to what felt like a cold, dark cavern. On Christmas Eve morning I drove to the airport, parked in the long-term lot, and caught my flight back to Tucson.

I can't speak for Jackie, but there weren't too many questions about our arrangement from my family. I told them that Jackie had accepted an offer to teach a seminar during the short January semester, so she would have to cut her holiday break short in order to get back and prep. Since she had so little time, she wanted to spend it with her family. She sent her regrets and love. Pretty much everybody bought it, though I caught my mom giving me one or two long, concerned looks. She could tell something was wrong, but she didn't ask any questions. I threw myself into the celebration, and I really did enjoy seeing my parents and my sister, her husband, and my niece and nephew again. There were presents and games and familiar places and faces to see all around town. I almost forgot my troubles for a few days, though I found myself checking my phone every so often for any contact from Jackie. The only message I got was on New Year's Eve day, and then just to tell me that the car would still be in the airport lot when I flew back to Syracuse. Her plans had changed and she wouldn't need it. I was almost frantic at that, wondering if it meant that she wouldn't be returning to Syracuse at all or if she had found another place to stay, but all she would tell me was we'd talk later.

I flew home early on the 2

nd

, even though school didn't start again until the 4

th

. I wanted to give myself an extra day of cushion in case of bad weather. Good thing that I did, too, because Chicago was having high winds and snow. My flight from Tucson landed okay, but my flight out to Syracuse was delayed by several hours. Instead of getting in around 6:00 I got in at 11:00. Except for my fellow passengers the airport was almost completely deserted. Since I traveled light with just a carry-on, I skipped the crowd at baggage claim and headed toward parking. The cavernous terminal, with all of the restaurants, shops, and car rental kiosks closed and dark, only served to underscore how lonely and out-of-place I felt. I was going home to a place I wasn't even sure was home anymore.

Out of habit I texted Jackie that I had landed, then pushed open the door and stepped out into the night. The cold slapped me in the face, almost instantly numbing my cheeks as I dashed across the road to the old, salt-stained parking garage. I had taken the cheap open-lot parking on the other side, so I had to walk all the way through the garage to get to my car. The structure was open at both ends, so the wind moaned and whistled past me as I trudged, ducking as far down into my light jacket as I possibly could.

It seemed that Syracuse hadn't had much bad weather over the break. I didn't have to brush any snow off the car. After a couple of minutes warming up, I was off. My route back to the house took me right through the heart of the city, and the highways were clear. I could see the huge Christmas tree in Clinton Square and all of the holiday lights up and down the major streets. People were crowding into all the downtown bars. Everything looked so warm and inviting and happy, and then I was out of the city and heading toward the suburbs on the outskirts of town.

I had no idea what to expect as I drove up our street. I hadn't heard from Jackie all day, despite a series of texts keeping her updated on my progress. When the house came into view I was happy to see that the porch light was on, though the house itself seemed dark. As I got closer, though, I could just make out a faint light upstairs, from our bedroom. I guessed she was already in bed and had left a light on for me. At the bottom of the driveway I hit the remote to open the garage door. At least I didn't have to shovel, I thought ruefully as I drove up and into the garage.

The warmth was welcome as I stepped into the mud room. I knew that the programmable thermostat had already turned down the heat for the night, but it was still a lot better than the frigid temperature outside. The range light over the stove was on, but aside from that everything was dark on the first floor. I took off my shoes, left my duffel bag just inside the door, and padded into the kitchen. I spotted an empty bottle of wine by the sink, but aside from that there was no sign of habitation at all. I checked the fridge and was surprised to find it fully stocked. So was the pantry. At least Jackie had been home long enough to grocery shop. I went through into the living room and my heart sank to find the sofa all made up for me already. I had been sleeping on it ever since my indiscretion and I had hoped that things might change once we got back home from seeing our families, but apparently not.

Sighing, I started back toward the kitchen to get something to eat when I froze in my tracks. I had heard a noise from upstairs. I listened for a moment and then heard it again. It sounded like somebody talking or whispering, but I couldn't place the voice. Jackie had never talked in her sleep that I knew of, but there's always a first time for everything. I eased over to the stairs and looked up toward the second floor, listening for any noise I could detect. The hallway lights weren't on, but it wasn't dark, either. There was a very faint, glowing light dimly illuminating the upstairs hallway. Then I heard the noise again, and my blood froze. It was definitely Jackie's voice, but she wasn't talking in her sleep. She was moaning in pleasure.

I prayed to God that she was masturbating, but I was afraid that she wasn't. And if she wasn't, that meant she was upstairs, in our bed, with somebody else. Suddenly, I recalled something I thought I'd seen when I first came into the house. I hurried out to the kitchen and confirmed that there were two glasses sitting next to the wine bottle. Why hadn't I noticed that earlier? My heart sank, and suddenly I was sure. She was cheating on me with another man in our own bed. She was getting back at me by hurting me in the same way I had hurt her. I couldn't believe it. For a few moments I was numb, but then as I continued to hear her moans of pleasure - moans I knew so well - I got angry. I knew I had hurt her, but that was out of weakness and stupidity. This was planned. She had set this up. She knew from my texts exactly when I was getting in, she had left the car there for me, she knew when I'd be getting home. She wanted to hurt me just as much as I had hurt her.

I finally let out the breath I had been holding and sucked in a lungful of air. I tried to settle myself down. I still only heard Jackie moaning - there was no other noise. Hell, the old hand-me-down bed we slept in wasn't even squeaking. Maybe she had just had a friend from work over for a glass of wine earlier? Odds were that she was just masturbating, and I wasn't even sure how she'd feel if I went upstairs and looked in on her. It never occurred to me that she might want me to do so - that this might be her opening to me. Instead, I felt like I should just go sack out on the couch and leave her be. Then that sneaking suspicion that she might not be alone came back. I knew that if I just lay down I'd never get to sleep, wondering. So, I started up the stairs, avoiding the creaky third and seventh steps, moving as quietly as I could.

Once I was in the upstairs hallway, I could clearly see that the faint light I had noticed before was candlelight. She had candles burning in our bedroom. I sniffed cautiously and picked up cinnamon and holly - our holiday candles. The moaning was louder up here, and it was definitely coming more frequently. As I crept down the hallway I could hear the gentle creaking of the bed, too. Between moans, Jackie was breathing raggedly. I knew from experience that she was really starting to feel it. Her climax wasn't far off. I really didn't want to disturb her concentration at this point, but I was also desperate to see her body. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen her naked, and I wanted to so badly! I was hard as a rock, my cock uncomfortably cramped in my jeans, as I cautiously peered around the corner and into our room. Then, all my worst fears were realized. She wasn't alone.

My beautiful wife was, indeed, naked, and propped up against the headboard of our bed. Her eyes were closed, her long brown hair cascading around her shoulders, and even in the uncertain light from the candles on each bedside stand I could tell that her face and chest were flushed. Her tits are a large D cup with wide, light pink areolas and fat nipples. Those nipples were larger than I had ever seen, engorged with need. She was sitting on top of the rumpled covers, and her legs were splayed wide. Her thighs and calves were flexed, her toes pointing as she strained toward orgasm. Between her legs a guy lay face down. His head was bobbing furiously as he licked and suckled at her sex. He was slim and muscular, his body a perfect line with his feet and toes pointing directly toward me as I stood in the doorway. His arms were folded under her thighs, his shoulders keeping her from closing her legs on his head. I couldn't see his hands, but they seemed to be cupping her ass, pulling her pussy toward him. I couldn't see his cock, either - maybe that's what saved me from going crazy - as his legs were pressed tightly together and he must have been lying on it.

How can I explain all of the emotions that were running through my head, seemingly at the same time? I felt a draining sensation through my whole body, almost as if somebody had stabbed me and all of my blood was running out on the floor. Anger - furious anger - raced through my head so fast that I could hear my pulse pounding in my ears. Then there was sadness, and the realization that this was exactly what Jackie had felt when she caught me with Delaney. In fact, this was exactly where she had been standing when she walked in on us, and the realization returned that she had set me up. It was perfect. She planned this to the last detail, just to hurt me. That's when the anger came back. If there had been a heavy lamp right there I might have thrown it at them. But I couldn't move - underneath all the disbelief and sadness and fury there was a sick fascination. My wife's pussy was being licked by some stud, in our bed, and she was loving it.

It's funny the things you notice when you're in a situation like that. I noticed that Jackie had freshly painted her nails - fire engine red, of course. I noticed that her lips were full and almost bruised looking - she had obviously been kissing him for a long time before he went down on her. I noticed that she wasn't propped up flush against the headboard, but instead she was sitting at an angle with pillows stuffed behind her back to support her. It was the perfect angle for me to look right at her crotch and see her lover's head working there. I noticed that she was gripping the covers with her right hand, clenching them spastically, while her left hand was twined into his short reddish-brown hair, pulling his face harder and harder against her crotch. I noticed that he was big, like I've said. He had large shoulders and well-defined muscles running all down his back. His ass was muscled, his thighs rock solid, and his calves sculpted. But there was something strange about him that I couldn't place with everything running through my head.

Then she opened her eyes and saw me. Jackie opened her eyes and looked right at me, and smiled. At least she started to. I saw it. The smile touched her mouth and almost reached her eyes, but at that moment she started to cum. I have no idea if it was seeing me that pushed her over the edge or if she was already on her way, but her head suddenly snapped back, her eyes closed, and her mouth flew open. She gripped her lover's hair even more tightly and ground his face into her pussy furiously. She moaned, a long, drawn-out wail, and shook all over as she came. I remembered that look, and the pride I felt when I used to make her cum like that. All the emotions I had just been feeling ran away from me like water down a drain. Her muscles were clenching and she was curling forward over his head, holding him, cumming, and then she flopped back onto the pillows and banged her head against the headboard a little bit and took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. She wasn't looking at me, though, but him. He had popped up on his elbows and was breathing heavily himself. He was trying to untangle his arms from underneath her, and after a moment or two he crawled up her body and kissed her. As exhausted as Jackie was, she stirred herself enough to kiss him back enthusiastically, plunging her tongue into his mouth and licking her juices off his lips and face. Just like she used to do after I went down on her. She always loved licking her pussy juices off of my face or my cock, but I wasn't in this picture.