THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SUSAN ADAMS 4 (of 7)
Dinner was very pleasant, the first they had together since Maine. After a reasonable time for digestion, Don found himself facing two very seductive women who ushered him to the bedroom where two very hot cunts were finally cooled off. Don never did find out why they were so fired up, but he certainly made the most of the situation. Both women were soundly fucked, the ejaculation taking place deep within Susan as usual, and they all relaxed, lying on the bed, reminiscing about their experiences in Maine. Inevitably, those memories, and the two naked women with him, caused a revival of D0n's cock. Susan began to work on it with her mouth, anticipating sucking it to completion, but Jean interrupted the process, saying to Don, "I have a better idea. We don't have to rush tonight, so why don't you fuck her in the ass? You haven't done that since we came home." As might be expected, Don was all in favor, so Susan ended up with her stomach resting on several pillows, raising her ass to the proper angle. With her legs widespread, her asshole exposed, Don eased his lubricated cock inside and proceeded to a mutually very satisfying ass fucking. Finally withdrawing his now-limp cock from her asshole, Don lay back, sated and through for the evening. Susan fingered and licked Jean to one last orgasm, concluding an exceedingly enjoyable evening.
After dressing, Susan went home to discover that Jim was already there, in bed, reading -- and very tired. There are few things more tiring, or innervating, than spending a day and evening in meetings with self-important, opinionated windbags, a type of character that is always present on university faculties. After a day of listening to useless proposals and self-serving pronouncements, Jim was ready for bed -- and sleep, to Susan's relief. As she undressed, she felt uneasiness, or shyness, in front of Jim for the first time since the early days of their marriage. This was particularly true as he watched her take her panties off. She knew that her cunt and ass looked the same as always, but, somehow, it didn't feel that way.
Afterwards, lying in bed next to her sleeping husband, she still had peculiar feelings. She'd had sex with him immediately after Don had screwed her, and had felt no moral qualms about having done so, even when Jim had licked her freshly fucked cunt. Nonetheless, she still felt funny, probably, she realized, finally, it was because she had just been ass fucked, something Jim had never done to her. She began speculating why she could do that with Don, but wouldn't think of doing it with her husband. A real puzzle.
Actually, of course, the question Susan was asking herself was answered frequently by psychologists, sociologists and, for that matter, by the police. When a well-known married man, a pillar of the community, would be arrested for soliciting sex from a female undercover agent or was caught in a prostitution raid, the question invariably would be asked, "Why, with a perfectly lovely wife back home, would he want a prostitute?" If asked, his wife certainly would assure her friends (or lawyer) that she had never refused sex with him. The answer, of course, was that he was interested in a different kind of sex, different practices that he would never suggest to his straight-laced wife.
There is nothing new in this. In Victorian times, good old "Victorian morality," it was almost assumed that a wealthy man would have a mistress. He would go out in the evening to the club (or whatever), and actually spend several pleasant hours with another woman, leaving his chaste, unsullied wife at home to do womanly things (e.g. embroidery, poetry reading, etc.). His mistress would happily accommodate his aberrant desires, sucking his cock, permitting him to plumb the depths of her ass, or whatever other deviant activity appealed to him. He could then go home, his "unnatural" fantasies satisfied, returning to his virtuous spouse who would be scandalized if he so much as hinted at such perverted activities. In fact, of course, he would never dream of suggesting such things, and would certainly expect her to be outraged if he did so. As a wife and, potentially if not yet, a MOTHER, she was supposed to be too virtuous too countenance such behavior.
Ironically, quite often, the woman who happily provided the unconventional sex he wanted was the pure and chaste wife of another man! When she lay in bed beside her husband with the semen of a lover deep in the recesses of her cunt and ass (and, perhaps, stomach), his ejaculate might well reside in the same regions of another man's wife. So, as Susan dozed off, her question unanswered, her cunt and ass flooded with Don's cum, she was not too different from millions of other adulterous women throughout history. In any case, as said before, she did, finally, use her mouth to satisfy Jim when she was deep in her pregnancy, surprising him since he thought she was too upright and uptight to do such a thing. However, her ass remained Don's private preserve, primarily because she was too self-conscious to suggest such lewd activity and he never dreamed that she would permit such a depraved act. Too bad.
The rest of August went smoothly, with no unusual happenings. While reading an account of their lives, it might seem that there was one major sexual experience after another, but, in actuality, most activities were quite mundane. Susan went grocery shopping, cooked, cleaned house, shopped at the mall fully dressed and quite modest, etc. Most evenings were spent quietly reading, watching television with Jim or Jean, or just enjoying an unimportant conversation with either. Such things are mundane, and, while they make up most of people's lives, they don't make edge-of-the-seat reading. Sex, on the other hand, is always titillating, particularly the voyeuristic peeking into the illicit activities of regular, normal people. So, while their day-to-day activities, the minutiae of everyday life, would not interest an outsider (or Literotica reader), there were enough of those illicit interludes to maintain interest.
