(Author's note - Please vote, as it will motivate me to finish the second chapter)
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Me and Carrie were typical high school sweethearts, and we were from a town where high school sweethearts were typical. What wasn't so typical was that we kept on dating even after she went away to college. Four years of nothing but vacations and a handful of weekends, and she managed to stay faithful to me.
At least, that's what I thought.
Not that I did much thinking when I got my hands on her. Every time we met up all the nights I'd spent alone kind of got their revenge. Even though she always dressed like a priss, hell, even though I thought she was a priss, when I got her alone I treated her like a whore.
She was built for it, too. Beneath her high buttoned blouses and beige sweaters she had perfect 38Cs, plump and pink nippled and as suckable as sin. Beneath her baggy jeans she had an ass too match, too, as white as snow but as fat as a niggers.
Hey, don't look so shocked. You know what I mean. She did too, the slut. I used to spank her just to hear her squeal, and to hear her you'd have thought that I'd caught her by all ten toes.
Good times.
Thing about those vacations was that I'd have so much pent up, unfulfilled, green eyed and sharp horned lust that I'd just about rape her. She loved it, too. Oh sure she'd struggle sometimes, act like she was trying to get away, but I knew she loved it. Like the man said, you can't call it rape if you make her cum. And she did that alright, time and time again, even with tears of shame running down her face.
See, the other thing about Carrie, was that she loved to hear about all the other girls I'd fucked when she'd been away. She'd get me to tell her all about them; what we'd done, and when, and how often, and all the time she'd be getting wetter and wetter. What really got her hot was when I told her that I hadn't washed my dick since. Or that the other girl had been laughing about how dumb she was not to know her fiancée was screwing around.
What can I say? Chicks are crazy.
So, like I said, we stuck together through her college days. After that, she got a job in the city and I thought, hey, whatever. It wasn't as though I was particularly attached to the lousy car dealership where I supposed to be working anyway.
A month later we were married and moving into our knew apartment, a thousand miles from home. Carrie had her new job, working as an assistant to an attorney called Mr. Lopez, and I kind of found myself relaxing between employers..
Well, fuck it. Her old man was rich enough to pay for a good looking son in law for his dowdy daughter. Sorry to break it to you but Carrie, although possessing world class tits and ass ( and the sweetest pussy a man could ask for) was no beauty queen.
Think Velma out of Scooby Doo, is what I mean to say.
Anyway, she got me, I got a free ride, and her old man got rid of his daughter.
Everyone was a winner.
Then, about two months after we'd got married, and about three weeks after she'd started working, the whole basis of our relationship just kind of . . . well, I don't know.
It all began when she decided to change the way she dressed. First of all, she stopped wearing those baggy old jumpers. Instead she bought a whole lot of tops. Maybe you know the ones I mean; I don't know what you call 'em, but they're made of stretch cotton, and they're as thin as paint. They're tight too, tight enough to show every bounce of a girls tits. And, as she also stopped wearing bras, Carrie's sure did bounce, wobbling away back and forth above the bulge of her tummy.
Maybe being braless was what kept the her nipples looking so permanently hard. They pressed out against the material, offering themselves up to the world as if ripe for suckling. Hell, when she wore white, you could even see the outlines of her aureoles, a pink blush beneath the lick of cotton.
Her jeans went, too. In their place she started wearing thin cotton skirts, knee length and floral print. Compared to her new choice of top they were almost conservative.
At least, they should have been.
The problem was that her ass was so fat that it swelled out, pressing against the cotton so that when she walked every flex and ripple was revealed. Even when she was standing still the groove that ran down between the bulge of her cheeks was as deep and dark as the slot of a credit card reader. Sometimes I wondered if the seams on these skirts weren't just gonna up and split apart as they struggled to contain her huge hips and pendulous buttocks.
I asked her about these new outfits a couple of times, but she told me that she just wanted to dress like the other girls in her office. To be fashionable for a change.
Even now I can't believe that I was dumb enough to believe her. I mean, what an idiot, right? But I did believe her. I would have carried on believing her too, if the air conditioning in her car hadn't gone on the fritz.
See, usually as soon as she got home from the office she went straight into the bathroom to shower and change. That day, though, she'd spent so long dehydrating in the summer traffic that she went to the fridge instead, started rummaging around for something cold to drink.
Well, the sight of her bent over, that fat ass of hers offered up to me through the straining fabric of her skirt, was just too tempting. I crept up behind her, slid my hand up her thighs, and squeezed between her legs.
For a second I got that weird 'what's wrong with this picture' feeling. Then, as surprised as she'd been when I'd grabbed her, I got it.
'Hey!' I said, my fingers still pressed against the slick lips of her pussy.'Hey, you're not wearing any panties.'
'No.' She agreed, turning back to look at me and closing her legs tighter against my hand. 'I don't wear panties to work anymore.'
For some reason the admission sent my heart racing with sudden excitement. I slipped my middle finger into the dampness between her legs, realizing for the first time just how sopping wet she was. Even the insides of her thighs were slicked with juices.
'Why?' I asked, my cock nudging against my zip as I explored her further.
'Because.' Carrie said, with slow deliberation. 'Mr. Lopez told me not too wear them anymore.'
Our eyes locked, hers mocking, mine uncertain.
' Mr. Lopez . . .?' I pictured the fat old bean counter telling my wife not to wear panties. I pictured her sliding them off in mute acquiescence. Incredibly, the image made my cock swell even more.
'Why did he tell you to do that?'
'Because.' She said, speaking slowly as she squeezed my hand between her slippery thighs 'He likes to be able to bend me over and stick his cock into me whenever he feels like it.'
'Bullshit.' I said, although I had a sudden, shocking suspicion that it wasn't. After all, if not for the fact that it had been greased by another man, why else would my wife's pussy be so dripping wet? Jealousy twisted in my stomach, but it did nothing to diminish my erection.
Far from it.
Face burning I pressed my finger deeper into her liquid heat.
