A Load in Every Hole

Message received! Chapter 1 was abused like a red-headed stephchild, in the reviews. Naturally I wondered why, so I reread it and realized: you just told a story limited to how an uptight dude cuts his frustration by masturbating to porn. Absolutely nothing of interest to see there, no matter how carefully told.

And for those who have asked, yes, Bobfr's 2003 story of the same name inspired the basic skeleton of this work, but as you'll see as we head forward, there are significant departures as well. I am both appreciative of his effort and reached out to him for the ok to employ the same title.

Those of you who think you understand where the story is going, be patient. I don't know where the story is going, so I'm not sure how you would.

Chapter 2 introduces Mary and tells the first part of her story. I think you'll find this chapter much more interesting and compelling, but it has its own backstory which takes a little time. Everyone remains 18 or older in the story. Enjoy!

Monday (Mary's Story).

I called Mark right away Tuesday morning. It wasn't like him to miss our nightly road talk.

"Good morning," I called out after getting his sleepy "hello."

"Good morning," he replied. There was a tightness in his voice I didn't like, the kind that said "oh no, it's her."

"Late night!" I added cheerily.

"Yes, very late night," Mark replied. Now I was convinced. Something was buried, a piece of news he didn't want to share.

"How was the Threxxco dinner?" I asked, prompting him gently.

"We didn't have dinner with Threxxco," Mark answered.

"But..." I began.

"I know," he said waking, "I said we did, but it didn't happen last night. We have the presentation today followed by a dinner tonight."

"So... what...?" I began.

"Just a 'sec," he replied, put the phone down, and went to the bathroom. It was moments like these, as I heard his pee cascade into the toilet as if from a hose, that I would just as soon we are not quite so casual with one another.

"Okay, sorry," he said. "I really had to go. We had an early dinner, but it was just the four of us. We did a lot of spadework on the meeting today. Afterwards Lisa asked me to go on a walk with her."

My blood pressure spiked so high that I felt the blood rush to my temples. Lisa! Lisa, Lisa! It seemed like that's all I heard from Mark for the last few months. He used to talk about his work on projects with Don, or Mel, or others, but no more. Now it was all Lisa, and the worst part of it was that he wasn't even aware how fully she occupied his mind.

"All right," I said tersely. I knew I had to just let Mark have his say. Maybe I was naïve, but Mark had always seemed to be thoroughly honest with me, and I knew from my married friends just how rare a commodity that was. When he did have something to confess and I confronted him about it or chopped up his narrative with questions, he usually clammed up or became evasive. I waited him out.

"She said she wanted to go for a walk, but she wasn't comfortable on the streets of Vegas alone, and she asked if I would walk with her. So, we walked the strip for about an hour or so, maybe two or three miles."

"I see," I responded. "And you didn't want to tell me about it and get into a fight."

"Exactly. I knew it would upset you and you'd stew on it all night. But there's more you should know," he continued.

Great!

I thought.

When we got back to the hotel, I walked her to her room. She asked me to come in for a drink or something."

I was now stomping mad. I sat up abruptly in our bed, then stood up and began pacing. My heart raced in my chest and my empty hand clinched into a fist.

How dare that little bitch! "Or something? Or something! No mystery there. Come in for a drink, or a piece of ass!

"I didn't go in," Mark continued. "I left... but... before I could get away, she kissed me, Mary. I wasn't expecting it. She had indirectly hinted at some things during the walk--very oblique--but I still wasn't prepared for it. She just reached up, grabbed the back of my head, pulled me down and kissed me. I pulled her hand away and backed out as quick as I could and went back to my room.

"I see," I responded, my blood boiling but trying to remain calm.

"I can understand why you didn't want to talk about that last night... or maybe ever..." I continued, unable to contain my anger.

"Well, I have talked to you about it, and I told you what went on," Mark replied defensively.

"Right, one kiss!" I said hotly. "Pardon me if I seem not to be buying into your story Mark, but if you ended dinner at 7;30 and walked around until eight thirty or nine. You didn't text me—lie to me actually--until two hours later," I pushed.

"I'm getting to that," Mark replied curtly, "And Mary, I don't need to be examined like a criminal defendant, especially when I'm telling you what happened voluntarily."

Bingo

, he was about to clam up.

"I'm sorry. You were, and I appreciate that aspect of it. It's just very, very unsettling news as I am sure you can understand."

"Sleeping with her would have been a whole lot more unsettling don't you think?" Mark answered snottily.

"Okay, I'm all ears," I responded as placidly as I could.

"Anyway, after I left her, I was really on edge, sexually. I noticed an adult theatre just along our route into the hotel from McCarren airport. I went to it, to... let off some steam."

You don't go to those places to let off steam, you go to them to get steamed up!

I thought but said nothing.

"Anyway, they have arcade booths with hundreds of channels. I spent about two hours there, relieving the pressure. Then I came home. I knew that if I told you the whole thing last night that we'd be talking about it until three or four in the morning, and I just couldn't do that with the presentation coming up. So, I didn't tell you the truth. I'm sorry."

"Mark! I can't believe this! First Lisa and now this! I don't know what to believe. She wouldn't have even tried unless she felt comfortable that her advances would be accepted. I know Mark, I'm a woman, she isn't going to reach out to you unless you invited it. And you wouldn't have gone hunting 'release,' as you call it, unless her kiss really sent you.

"That's bullshit!" Mark replied hotly. "I did not encourage her!"

"And the porn itself," I continued. We've talked about this for years Mark, about how it's totally false, how it corrupts your mind, how it always makes you want more and more, even violent, aggressive sex, how you can never get satisfied from it. I thought we'd agreed you wouldn't do it?" I implored.

"I've been completely faithful to you for twenty-two years, in every way," Mark began, "I've never so much as looked at another women and plenty have tried to get me to do it. But you give me no credit for turning down an enormous temptation flat. Zero! I have needs Mary, they aren't a secret. I always have had them, before we ever started dating. I'm human, Mary. I'm a man."

"So the temptation is enormous now is it?" I queried hotly, "and I'm not meeting your needs, that's what you're saying," I replied emotionally.

"No Mary, you're picking and choosing my words. Look, this...it isn't all you. It's us. We've put sex in the same category as chores like getting the oil changed in the car, paying the bills, taking out the trash. Spend fifteen minutes having sex? Check! Put the mark in the box, done for another week. When did we quit caring about sex?

No, I'm not speaking my mind, and I should. I never quit caring about it. I have never quit wanting to be with you, to share the connection that comes from making love with you. But somewhere along the way it has become way less important to you. You do the rock-bottom minimum necessary to make yourself feel like you've met your wifely responsibilities, and that's it. I still love you I want you constantly, but I feel like I'm a beggar in my own home asking for it. I'm sick of it, and yes, I'm frustrated as hell," he finished.

"Well," I said exasperated, "instead of pitying yourself, you might consider counting your lucky stars you have an attractive wife who hasn't paid attention to the many men who have approached her over the years instead of kissing your associate and watching porn for two hours because she got you so torqued up."

I hung up, then threw the phone across the room and burst into tears.

That little bitch!

I thought, over and over.

The morning was a blur. I cried, wiped the tears from my eyes, cried some more, put on my robe, got a coffee, and finally logged on to the company website just to have something to take my mind off what I'd just heard.

My employer, Geosynch, handles importation and distribution of products from Africa and the Middle East. My title was now Regional Director of Logistics for the Western US. It was a great job and earned us nearly 95K a year. While that wasn't Mark money, it was more than most people made. Geosynch's logistics weren't complex, but they needed constant care and maintenance to avoid going off the rails.

But I couldn't think well. Mark's admissions, punctuated by his surprisingly bitter reproach of me, were all I could think about. Images flooded my brain of Lisa, her hands on my husband, kissing him, and him kissing her back. I retrieved the phone. It was shattered across the corner where it had hit the wall, and there was a visible dent in the drywall where I'd flung it, but it still worked fine.

I texted my best friend Megan: "need to see you, ASAP!"

"Wassup?" I got in reply a few minutes later.

"Mark trouble," I replied.

"LOL! LET ME BORROW HIM FOR A NIGHT OR TWO. I'LL SET HIM STRAIGHT!" Megan answered.

I laughed despite myself. Megan was my college roommate. She was my opposite, carefree and liberal where I courted worry and was conservative. Megan's hourglass shape and flashy blonde hair always caused men's heads to turn. She spoke and drank like a sailor and bred like one too. She had just completed what she called a "rather successful" divorce from a much older man in the venture capital business which had left her a settlement in the millions. He was her fourth husband in the last seventeen years.

Still, she was my best friend and had been for two decades. We shared that magic time together when two young kids get away from home for the first time, have unlimited freedom to make mistakes, and wind their way through the world together. She was my go-to whenever the chips were down, like when I had miscarried with Paul, our third. If I had to share, it was with Megan.

"You can have him," I responded to her, "Turley's?" Turley's was one of the top bars and steakhouses in town.

"Have meetings until 6;30. Can make it by 7;00. Set us up. Will be good to see you. BTW on Mark, I accept, at least for a night or two a week! 😊."

"7;00," I replied, and called to make reservations.

But my meeting with Megan was hours away and Mark's confession still ate at me. Questions and doubts sprang up like weeds: how could he not see this coming? She's probably got him right in the crosshairs, she's been planning this for months. She set up the whole trip to get him alone with her. You can't tell me that they just had one kiss and broke it off. Things don't happen that way. Did they, do it? Is Mark lying to me? No, if he were lying to me why would he make up a whole story about going to an adult movie theatre? He knows I hate that. Could he giving me something he knew I hated just to divert me from something far worse?

Then I shook myself. Things like this don't happen to me. I happen to them. I make things happen, I have a brain, and a will, and I know how to use them both. I went through a brief list of what was needed to get the situation under control.

Step one was Megan. Step two was to get online and book a flight to Vegas. I wasn't about to leave Mark alone with the girl for another minute. Unfortunately, the first flight available was a 3;45 the next day. A long time to wait under the circumstances, but it couldn't be helped.

I finished the entire day's work assignments in a couple of hours and drove to the club to work off my frustrations, pushing myself through a long run and punishing workout. The endorphins helped, and I felt immensely calmer and more focused when I finished. I'd spent nearly two hours at it by the time I was done and the workout came with unexpected side benefits.

The gym I attend is big and it was surprisingly busy for a Monday morning. Like any big gym there were several male and female trainers who worked out of it freelance. Several were musclebound idiots, but a couple of the guys were true studs. I watched from afar as their mostly female clientele reacted either by maintaining a professional distance or melting into a puddle of hungry servility. I had studiously avoided paying any attention to them despite several attempts on their part to engage me.

But not today. Today I returned their nods, giving welcoming smiles to both and chatting up Mike, the younger, hunkier of the two. I wasn't even conscious what I was doing until later, and realized it was likely just a reaction to Mark's hurtful words. Of course, I was interested in sex! And intimacy! Unfortunately, when I tried to remember the last time we'd made love and how we'd done it, I had no clear recollection.

Still, if Mark couldn't stay loyal to me, there damn sure were other guys who would be interested in what I had to offer. In one of my wilder bouts of anger, I rationalized that

I could go to their place for a tryst and Mark would be none the wiser

.

Coming back to the house, I stripped to shower in front of the big mirror over our bathroom sinks. Normally I'd hang my sweats to let them dry and jump immediately into the shower. But today I stopped and took stock in myself, looking myself over carefully from top to bottom, trying to be objective, to see myself the way one of the guys from the gym would see me if I'd gone home with him and stood before him naked.

I looked

good.

No, I wasn't being fair to myself. I looked

great

for a woman my age. My breasts weren't huge, a B cup in larger bra brands and a C cup in the smaller ones, but they were extraordinarily firm, well-proportioned across my chest, still upturned, with a nice natural lean away from the sternum.

I carried no fat, my waist was narrow, and my hips belled out nicely. My legs were long, lean and well-muscled. I had a little definition in my stomach muscles, making them plainly apparent, but not "cut" like the women bodybuilders who looked like men.

I twirled and looked back at the mirror over my shoulder at my behind, thinking all the while

this is a porn pose.

Mark had always been gaga about my behind, telling me that men were sneaking peeks of it all the time. Of course, I wouldn't know about that since they were behind me, but being attractive is something a girl never minds hearing, even if men were acting like dirty little boys to pull it off.

Still, Mark always called it

spectacular,

and I had to admit it looked damn good. My buns were well rounded and jutted out from my back. They were separated by a deep flat triangle at the top and a crevice that was "deep enough to sail a small yacht in" (per Mark).

Turning back to the mirror, on impulse I touched my breasts, squeezing them together at first to gauge their firmness before raking my nails across the top of my nipples and ending with a hard pinch of each. The impulses traveled directly to my crotch and my pelvis pushed forward in reply.

Where did that come from?

I wondered. I paused to imagine standing in front of Mike, the boy I'd spent time with at the gym. What would he look like naked? How would he look at me? What would it feel like to go home with him? Take his gym shorts off and see his penis pop out...?

Maybe the touching was some sort of fight or flee impulse, but who the hell cared? I was alone, none of the kids were around. I could touch myself all I wanted. I continued to touch my breasts lightly, circling the areole and tweaking the nipples, imagining I was doing it for Mike, and he was sitting down in front of me watching and touching himself as well. Wetness gathered between my legs.

I turned my back to the mirror once again, lifted my right leg and placed it on the countertop to get a glimpse of how I looked "down there." The move spread me out quite lewdly, exposing my ass and pussy to the well-lit mirror just a couple of feet away. My pussy was covered with dark brown curly hair that ran the length of my labia almost to my behind, but my lips were clearly visible, and I thought I looked rather nice back there. They looked and felt lush and healthy, their pinkish brown roll covered with a fine sheen of sweat. A small pearl of liquid gathered at the tip of my clit, a testament to my arousal.

I bet Lisa shaves her pussy. All the young girls shave their pussies these days. Did Mark see it? Did he kiss it, suck her cunt lips? Did he fuck her? Did he bend her over and fuck her?

These thoughts inflamed me with anger, of course, but unexpectedly with lust as well. I reached between my lips with two fingers, pushing them gently into my opening. It felt good. In fact, it felt much better than good. I realized to my surprise that I desperately needed release, and needed it right now, and that there was no point trying to analyze why.

I went to our big double drawers and got down on my knees. Over the years Mark had brought all kinds of sexual devices home, clearly trying to nudge me into doing things I didn't want to do. I hated them, and the fights that always ensued when he brought something new and bizarre into our home were sometimes horrid, but Mark insisted that we keep them just "in case I changed my mind." As if that were going to happen.

I found a spot in the space below the bottom drawers to keep them securely hidden. About four inches of space existed between the bottom of the drawer and the floor. No one would see it unless the drawer was completely opened and pulled off its tracks. I opened the bottom drawer, depressed the buttons on both drawer guides, and pulled the drawer free. The small void held a graveyard of lustful devices, vibrators big and small, flavored lubricants, even wrist cuffs, nipple clamps and a dog collar.

They looked different today to me today. They looked like a series of unanswered puzzles. What would it feel like to have my nipples clamped? To have my hands cuffed behind me, to have a vibrator inserted all the way into me? I pulled out a flesh-colored rubber dildo, about Mark's size. Mark always claimed he was seven inches. Maybe, I didn't care. He was more than enough for me. Still, there was a joke in there somewhere about why women had poor depth perception.

At the moment, I was so angry with him that I didn't want Mark or anything like Mark around me, so I put the smaller flesh colored dildo back. That's when I remembered the very first thing Mark had ever brought home, and I pulled it from back where it hid in the shadows. It was a large, dark brown silicone dildo with an enormous head on one end, and a suction cup on the other.

The label called it "Colossal Ten Inches" and said it was the exact replica of some famous black porn star.

Why did he buy one so big?

I thought as I hefted the package.

And why a black one? Was this some fantasy of his? To see me with a black man?

The huge dong was still in its' original plastic case, and I had the dickens getting it out. When I finally succeeded and ran my hand down it, the lifelike veins and balls gave me a surprising jolt that traveled all the way to my center, making me wetter still. The silicone cock was both hard and soft, and it swayed and jerked as I handled it. The lifelike movement aroused me even more.