Irony. That's all I could think of as I read the e-mail asking me to help a fellow literotica member out . . . Irony. I mean, what are the odds? What are the chances that HE would contact ME? HA! "It's a small world" doesn't even begin to touch this one.
I guess maybe I better explain before anyone reading this thinks I'm just some total nut job with nothing to say on a long road to saying it.
See, my real name is John and I've been submitting my stories to literotica for about a year now. Then, a couple months ago I got an e-mail from some guy who wanted me to write a story about his wife having an affair. I thought it'd be kind of fun so I did it. He seemed happy and we went on about our lives.
Then, here just about a week ago I got another e-mail from yet another guy. A guy named Kenny. Seems Kenny had a problem. His wife HAD had an affair . . . Well, a few little tryst at least . . . and Kenny just couldn't get the images of his wife being stuffed by another man's hard cock out of his head. So he went looking on literotica for someone to help him, someone to write a story describing this for him. Someone to give him a better, sharper image of his wife being fucked by these other men. And, thanks to some fellow lit-chatters he was sent to me.
To ME! HA! Irony.
Well, at first I was just interested in the idea of doing the story for Kenny because, if nothing else, it offered me something new to write. A new story line to use. But then he threw a few of the details at me and my heart starting pounding. As I read the names and the generalized events he was telling me about I couldn't believe it. I just could not F'ing believe it.
'No way,'
I thought.
'No fucking way!'
Sure enough, there were the names and the events. But I had to be sure. I had to KNOW. So I asked him for a pic of his wife. A photo to use as a stepping off point for my imagination. Yea, he'd described her, but a picture is so much more tangible. Then I got it. Actually I got them. He sent a few pics. All of them showing his pretty little wife's smiling face.
And then I KNEW. And my mind exploded! Irony.
Yea, I knew. There she was. Brandy. The married girl from work that me and a couple of my buddies had recently had little flings with. Irony.
Here Kenny is looking for someone to write him a story describing how his wife was getting stuffed by some strange meat and he finds me, one of the guys that was doing the stuffing. Irony.
Well, what the hell. Kenny, here you are.
To begin, Brandy is a pretty little brunette with a teenager's face, a nice set of B-cup tits and a curved shape that would get just about any man's attention. When she first started working with me at our local Wal-Mart I knew right away that there were possibilities there. She just had that kind of attitude, friendly and flirtatious. Plus she was young and trapped in a marriage with a little baby, so her youthful vigor was being dampened and that didn't exactly fit her well.
My buddy and fellow co-worker Frank saw the same thing and the two of us started working the situation for ourselves . . . For our own end results. We listened to her moan and complain about her home life, taking every opportunity we could to point out her husband's faults and mistakes and make her believe that she deserved better.
Whether or not any of what we were saying was true or not didn't really matter, at least not to us. We just wanted to get in Brandy's pants and to hell with her old man and the marriage.
As time went by we could see that our tactics were having the desired effect. The number of her complaints steadily increased as did the level of her flirtatiousness. A few times, when I figured no one was around, I even managed to grab her ass in the store, filling my hand with the soft tissue hidden beneath her pants. When I did this she would playfully tell me to stop it, but she never gave me any wicked stares or even frowned, so I knew she was having fun with it too.
Then one day she came to work looking really upset. Part way through our shift I managed to ask her what was wrong and all she said was:
"That husband of mine again."
I asked her if she wanted to talk about it but she said she didn't feel like it at work. Then an hour or so later she caught me and asked if I'd go somewhere with her after work to talk. Of course I said "Yes" as my mind started reeling with ideas and the possibilities.
I had her follow me to this one boat ramp with a picnic area, next to the lake, which I know is usually void of people. Once there, she climbed into my pick up and started telling me how Kenny had done something or not done something. I don't remember what it was all about, all I was doing was staring at her pretty face and those beautiful tits of hers.
She was wearing a short sleeved, white top with a big vee-neckline that plunged down to show plenty of cleavage and the top edges of her bra. At some point she'd changed from her work pants into a pair of black shorts that, as she sat partially sideways on my seat, rode up her thighs to a tantalizing level. I let her ramble on about whatever it was that was bothering her as I devoured the sights of those precious tits and milky thighs.
Before long she was out of talk. For a few seconds we just sat there in silence, both of us turned and facing each other from only a foot or so apart. She stared into my eyes and I stared back, forcing myself to focus on her brown orbs and not allow my gaze to drop down to that tempting cleavage.
It was obvious to me that she was waiting for something and I decided to take my shot. I reached up with one hand and brushed a few loose strands of her hair away from her cheek, my fingers gently caressing her skin. My hand continued forward until I was cupping the back of her head and then I pulled her to me as I leaned forward.
