I was an avid reader of Literotica before I ever dared write anything here, and much of my reading was in the "Loving Wives" category. I found the stories very erotic, but sometimes a little too simplistic and not particularly credible in their explanation why a "good girl" converts into a "really, really, really bad girl." This work uses some elements common to all such missives while diving into the basic question; whether a conservative, moral woman would ever turn herself over to a group of men for a sexual romp, and, whether her husband would really let her do it.
This is chapter 1 and parts of subsequent chapters have already been written, so it should be something I can parse out into enjoyable segments.
Everyone in the story is 18. Hope you enjoy.
Sunday Night (Mark's story).
The small adult theatre was brightly and audaciously lit, plainly visible even compared to the shimmery background around it. "All Over Again Adult Entertainment Center" the big sign read. I looked it up on the net; big, highly rated--4.8 votes out of 5, with an Arcade, a theatre, and miles worth of shelves of scanty outfits, vibrators, restraints, paddles and other sex toys, and conveniently located right near a cannabis store. Just the thing.
Today was our travel day to the annual conference of the American Association of Certified Public Accountants, in Las Vegas. I'd flown out earlier with my partners and Lisa, the lone associate making the trip. Of course, Lisa.
My name is Mark Terry. I'm the owner, along with Don and Mel, of a boutique accounting firm in Fargo North Dakota. Don and I went through school together, and Mel joined us when one of the big majors failed to make him a full partner despite his generating a huge book of business by his 35
th
birthday. He was rough around the edges at first, but we weren't running a country club and he was a thoroughly competent and dedicated professional. That was 15 years ago, and we were now up to 22 accountants and a staff of 10.
Lisa, our associate, is young, personable, competent, and ambitious. She is also insanely attractive, with long golden blonde hair and a becoming, if not overly opulent figure. She'd been a capable small college basketball forward but was now a much better accountant. This was the team we'd assembled for the conference, rather the one or two who usually went, because we were doing a huge pitch to Threxxco, a military contractor on the cutting edge of drone development moving to Fargo. All our competitors were there as well, but we had the first shot on Monday and felt we could close the deal before the others even got their foot in the door. The entire team was staying through Tuesday evening on the assumption that Monday would be a late night entertaining the potential client.
I was anxious, just like I'd been for every day over the last several years. I assumed that when our daughters Allison and Carlyle to college our life would be simpler and quieter, but work had ramped up, becoming more complex and far more demanding. If I were being totally objective, I'd be forced to admit that my work filled my mind too much, to the detriment of my relationship with Mary.
But then, we'd been together since just after high school, she was my rock, and I was hers. Each of us over the course of our 22 years of marriage leaned on the other when our careers or family events challenged. I knew that she'd always be there for me. When darker thoughts percolated through my brain to justify my long hours at the office, I asked myself why I should go home to a cold house, occupied by an equally cold wife.
It wasn't fair to say, or even think that. Mary loved me warmly and wholeheartedly; I had no doubt of that. But that didn't mean that our bedroom was warm, even lukewarm. Sex had become unimportant to Mary, another thing to check off of her to do list like shopping for groceries or gathering the dry cleaning.
The adult theatre sign flickered again, and my crotch ached. I couldn't watch adult movies at home, Mary forbade it. She was the third of eight children born to a large polish Catholic family. Her older brother Paul had become a priest, and her younger sister ran the largest private Catholic School in Fargo.
Her mother and father were both blue-collar, hard-working, and insanely conservative on all matters of faith and personal decorum. Mary had taken all her life lessons from them. This was part of the package with Mary, and I knew it when we married, but it meant that if this mouse was going to play, he had to do it while the cat was away.
When I first set eyes on my Mary, I was convinced that she was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She was already tall, maybe 5' 8" as a freshman already with long lustrous brown hair, big brown eyes, a pert little nose and full lush lips that set me to daydreaming of holding her hand and of giving her a kiss.
She was extraordinarily bright, which I learned as we shared several honors courses over the high school years. By her senior year, she had grown to a robust and athletic 5' 10" and was captain of our tennis team, winning the regional meet handily and placing highly in the state tournament both her junior and senior years.
But the trouble, for me at least, was that I regarded Mary so highly that I froze up entirely around her. I could talk easily with any girl in high school but Mary. With her, I babbled incoherently and couldn't get my ox out of the ditch to make normal conversation. It was not until she joined me at McAllister college in her freshman year there that I decided to cast caution to the wind and make my play for her, nerves be damned.
A simple calculation caused the breakthrough. I saw her playing tennis and when she bent half-way over to receive serve, it was the most erotic sight I had seen in my young life. Her legs were spread seductively, and the short tennis skirt did not cover her crotch. Her legs were long and perfectly shaped with strong muscular tapered thighs and an ass that gave me an immediate woody.
I daydreamed as I watched her obliterate a much older male opponent, what it would be like to run my teeth over her hamstrings from the ankles to her buns, then eat her out until she confessed unequivocal devotion, or came, whichever came first. And when she secured her victory and came to the net, shook the guy's hand and gave him a long kiss, my jealously flamed and I decided right then that Mary Bolski would be my mate, or I would crash and burn trying.
It turns out that Mary was just as anxious about me as I was of her, and for the same reason. I had something of a reputation in our high school as a ladies' man, solely because I dated a broad variety of well-thought of girls in my class, and in the two classes above me. I'm tall--about 6' 3" and have what I'd consider typical Nordic looks--blonde hair, broad shoulders, a tight waste and strong lower legs and thighs. I played safety for our football team and did both the high jump and pole vault in track. I kept my hair long, which made me look a whole lot more dashing than I really was.
I was muscularly well proportioned, with 7 inches of cock between my legs when it was fully energized, but I didn't get nearly as much action as my reputation would have suggested. In fact, my friends would have been surprised to learn that I didn't lose my virginity until my freshman year in college. Still, my looks and reputation intimidated Mary, just as hers had me.
Once this mutual revelation was laid on the table, we became friends, and talked every day, sometimes for hours a day, quickly discovering that we held strong feelings for one another all along--feelings so powerful that they had made each of us too nervous to act.
We were engaged before the end of Mary's freshman year. You would think sex between two normal, active, healthy 20-somethings headed to the altar would be easy and enjoyable, but it wasn't that simple. The problem wasn't animal attraction, we were enormously attracted to one another, and passion erupted between us at almost the slightest touch or look.
The problem was what to do with that passion once it was kindled. Mary's upbringing kicked in so much that I came to feel that there were two Marys. The first, which I thought of as Mary's "true self"--was a woman who dearly loved me, wanted me, and would have devoured me at the drop of the hat but for the conventions she'd been raised with. The second Mary was a conservative and puritanical presence that worked hard to snuff out true sexuality before it could "get out of hand."
Mary was one of the last women of her generation to insist that she be a virgin upon our wedding night. This internal conflict on her part led to endless compromises. It turns out that handjobs, blowjobs, and cunnilingus weren't really sex at all--go figure. This kept us from losing our minds until we could consummate our marriage, which we did on the first night of our honeymoon, five times, like crazed racoons.
Unfortunately, marriage and with it the certainty of commitment to one another did nothing to remove these shackles, it just delayed their application. We developed the same "bipolar" sex life we had before marriage. One sex life was consistent with our public appearance as a responsible couple and later as good parents, the other quite debauched.
For "public" Mary simple missionary position intercourse was "plenty good enough" but when we'd attended a party or dance and Mary had enjoyed a bit too much to drink, Hot Mary emerged. Hot Mary swore, she begged for it, she delivered blowjobs in the front driveway of our home late at night or on the drive home, she went to the store wearing no underwear, and preferred to take it from behind, if not in the behind, violently, energetically, and enthusiastically, often as I yanked her head up by the hair, tweezed her nipples or spanked her. Hot Mary enjoyed her weed and the sexual focus it brought, and we had several wildly orgiastic marathons under its influence.
But the way Mary handled our one experiment with cocaine became a template for her entire sexual personality, and, though I did not know it at the time, foreshadowed a very straight-jacketed sexual future. Mary and I came into a very small quantity of cocaine as a gag gift from one of my college buddies a year after we were married. We agreed to try it, booking a rural B&B cabin in a rustic forest setting for complete privacy. Being the nerds we were, we read up on it.
The results were beyond anything I could have imagined. The drug made me feel like superman and roughly doubled my sexual stamina. More importantly, my ultra-conservative Catholic bride turned into a sexual harpy, a ravening slut who abandoned every convention she had previously imposed upon us, sucking my balls and licking my taint, begging to be spanked, and at the end demanding quite loudly that I "fuck her in the asshole" and screaming through several orgasms as I did it.
Hot Mary was too weak a nickname for that woman, so I jokingly nicknamed her Incendiary Mary. In the days following our wild night, however, Incendiary Mary not only disappeared, but as happens only in
Mission Impossible
