Confessions of a Southern Wife Entry #02

I again turn to my laptop to purge my soul of sins. Much has happened since last I wrote, as will soon be revealed. – Erica H.

Journal Entry – 8/22/02

The Wednesday rendezvous' with Jonathon, my black lover and lawn care man, have continued for a month now. His thick, long cock and incredible lasting power have led me to explore a side of myself I was unaware existed. I have entered a different realm and partaken in forbidden pleasures. Our trysts have left me sore, spent, and totally sated. Yet I find myself almost immediately looking forward to our next encounter. I worry that I have in some way become what my friends refer to as a 'slut'. I have increased the frequency I masturbate, and have brought a new, exciting attitude to my sex life with my husband. It is only on this point that I feel guilt. Though I must hide my affair from the public, not daring to tell even my most trusted friend, I ache to confess all to my husband. But I dare not. I cannot bear for him to know I have turned him into that most pitiful of southern men, a cuckold.

Yesterday something happened that might change all that. As I have stated before, though my friends claim satisfaction that their husbands no longer demand sex, I have always enjoyed making love with my husband. Despite his reaching fifty this year, we have sex at least three times a week. Far more than any of my social circle would admit to. In fact, some of them have boasted outright that their husbands are seeking pleasure elsewhere and they are happy with that. I could never fathom why, nor how I would react if I discovered that about my own spouse. Yesterday caused me to find out.

Jonathon had not been gone for more than an hour when it happened. I was still in bed, reliving in my mind the events of the previous three hours. The soreness of my rectum a reminder of the new pleasures I had recently discovered in anal sex. I finally arose and slipped into a pair of shorts and halter-top. I looked out the window to see if Jonathon's truck had left when I spied my husband's car down the street. That struck me as odd. Jonathon was gone, the driveway was empty. Why hadn't my husband parked there? I went outside to see.

As I approached the car, which was facing away from me, I saw the back of my husband's head above the driver's seat. He seemed to simply be sitting in the car, staring ahead, at what I could not imagine. I was within a few feet of the vehicle when I stopped short, astonished at what I saw. Another head suddenly popped up above the seats, that of my best friend, Mary Sue Whatley. I watched as she wiped something from her mouth, then leaned into my husband and kissed him! I didn't need any pictures drawn to know what they had been doing. I rushed back to the house before they saw me and got a wine cooler. Visibly shaken, I drank the cooler dry and waited for my husband to come home. Fifteen minutes later, in he walked. By this time I had decided not to confront him. After all, was I not guilty of my own transgression? I am not such a hypocrite as to call the kettle black, so to speak. Instead, I greeted him with my usual deep kiss and we went about our lives as if nothing had changed. Two cheaters hiding the fact from each other. At least for now.

Journal Entry – 8/28/02

Am I a two-faced bitch? Do I say one thing yet do another? I don't know the answer to that. I do know that seeing my best friend blowing my husband has eaten at me like a cancer. Betrayal twofold. It was only with an intense display of self-control that I was able to keep from confronting Mary Sue at tennis last Saturday. I finally decided there was nothing I could do to revenge myself upon her, at least, not at this time. My husband, though, he was a different matter. My mind worked through several different scenarios. Each, however, ended with the two of us splitting up. That was not my objective. I simply wanted to hurt him as he had me. I know, I am a cheater as well. What right do I have to feel betrayed when I have been sleeping with the lawn man, and a black man to boot? And yet, I could not let it go. Finally, I decided on a plan.

Today, when Jonathon visited, I introduced a new aspect to our play, a digital camera. At first Jonathon was hesitant. Though there has not been a lynching recorded here in decades, he was not comfortable with leaving visible evidence that he was fucking a white woman. It was only after I was able to assure him that his face would not be in any of the pictures that he finally relented. I was on top of my game today. I dressed in white silk stockings, four inch red heels, a white garter belt, and matching bustier. I was determined to come across as slutty as possible. I quickly stripped Jonathon of his clothes and handed him the camera. My attire was enough to ensure an enormous erection.

I eagerly feasted on his cock, running my tongue the length of the front, feeling the thick vein throbbing with blood. I asked him to take pictures as I sucked up and down the front of his penis, and then sucked on his balls. My eyes looked hungrily at the camera as my lips slipped over his big cockhead. I ran my tongue around the rim, slipped it into the slit, posing for the camera as I did so. Next, I positioned myself on the bed, on all fours, presenting myself to him. He entered me and I cried out in delight, feeling his thickness fill me. I had him alternate pictures of us in the mirror with pictures of his thick cock pounding into my pussy. I orgasmed, long and hard. Then pulled away. I turned and hungrily devoured his cock, as he continued to take pictures.

Time, then, for the coup de grace. I turned and again presented my ass. This time, Jonathon knew what to do. He was as into the picture taking as was I. His cock head pressed against my anus, pushing slowly into me. I moaned with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Such good pain. He began to stroke, filling my tight ass with his huge penis. Faster and faster we went, until, at last, he could hold out no longer. Pulling out, he came, spurting huge jets of cum on my buttocks and back. I asked that he be sure to take several pictures, and he complied. Later, we loaded the pictures onto the computer and I sucked him off as we looked at them. This time, I swallowed all he had to offer.

After Jonathon left, I showered and dressed. I left the pictures in the computer. I knew that, in time, my husband would come across them. Time will tell what will happen then. One thing I know, I feel vindicated.