Bert

Bert

My wife and I had just arrived that day at Las Vegas and were enjoying the pool. I noticed an older guy, bald, paunchy, and sixtiesh checking out Julie.

My wife in her early thirties is about fifteen years younger than me, but was at least half this geezer's age. Nonetheless, it was quite obvious he enjoyed the view of Julie in her bikini and exhibiting a figure that most men dream about—36-25-35.

I felt lucky to have found Julie and lucky she somehow fell in love with me.

Trust me, there was no way I'd ever see her being with the old creep I was now observing laying on his lounge chair and staring her up and down. No way.

What was funnier to me is that he wore a Speedo type bathing suit. I chuckled to myself that he didn't realize how foolish it looked on his flabby, slight, and hairy body.

Julie entered the pool and swam around oblivious to his stares. I was amused just to watch the old man watching my wife.

Then he rose to get into the pool himself, and I was a little taken back by his endowments. The pouch of his Speedo suit sagged and stretched to contain what appeared to be a massive dick and pair of balls.

He entered the pool and swam over to where my wife was perched on the pool's far side, on a submerged ledge.

I could see him chatting up Julie, and she politely responded. I figured this would last only a few moments and she'd be on her way. But the conversation seemed to carry on...and on...and on. After about 15-20 minutes I thought, "OK, enough."

I got up and into the pool, swam over and found my wife giggling a bit, and then turning to me, introduced me to "Bert."

Little did I realize at that time how momentous this introduction would be to Julie's and my life...

"Frank," Bert smiled, "So you're the lucky man accompanying this gorgeous thing, eh?"

"Actually, I'm her husband," I responded, expecting to set him back a bit.

But Bert was confident, smooth and persistent: "Well, you

are

a lucky guy then..." Then turning to Julie he said matter-of-factly, "Why'd you settle for this old guy?"

I was pissed, but Julie broke out laughing.

"You know, I really have no idea what I was thinking about!" Julie laughed, going along with Bert's ribbing of me.

Then the two of them started laughing together, as I stood there miffed. As they laughed, I noticed Bert place his hand on Julie's upper arm, and then rub it gently. Julie, laughing along, hardly noticed it. But it really, really, bugged me. I thought him touching my wife was inappropriate. They had just fucking met for chrissake!

Then Bert continued, "You know, if you're going to settle for an older guy you should find one with dough...like me. "

"Oh, are you wealthy?" Julie asked, amusedly.

"You could say that. Own a bunch of insurance agencies up and down the coast. I do OK," the old, creep said with a wink at my wife. God, it made me sick.

"Impressive," Julie remarked, less kiddingly now. My wife has always been impressed with wealth.

"Yeah, well look, why don't we have dinner together tonight—and hey, Frank, you can come too," the jerk joked—with Julie cracking up, "and then we can go dancing or something. What do ya say?"

I jumped in, "We're really busy tonight. You know, our first night in Vegas and all."

"Well gee, I'm just trying to be friendly...you know, spend a little time to get to know you folks..."

It was awkward, which is exactly what 'Bert the Jerk' wanted.

Julie jumped in, "Oh come on Frank, it's just dinner and some dancing. Besides, you never dance with me."

This was true. I'm just not much of a dancer.

"Hey, I love to dance," Bert chimed in, not leaving the opportunity missed.

"Frank, let's join Bert tonight, come on," Julie smiled at me—half teasing me, enjoying that I was getting jealous of this geezer, and, I suspect—half really wanting someone to dance with.

"Ok," I surrendered.

"But just for a while. Then I want to go gambling or see a show...just us," I said looking at my wife, "This

was

supposed to be our getaway."

After making our arrangement for the evening we all exited the pool: Julie first, then myself and lastly Bert pulled himself up the ladder and out of the pool.

"Well, see you tonight," he said, casually.

I looked over to my wife and was startled to see her eyes momentarily glued to Bert's crotch. When I followed the track of her stare I could see Bert was, in fact, enormous.

"Alright Bert," Julie's voice quivered a bit, "I'm looking forward to it."

I thought the phrase sounded a bit more sincere than just a formality.

"Come on, hon," I said pulling my wife away. I noticed her head swivel just slightly to take another peak at Bert's outlined genitalia.

"Come on, time to go!" I repeated brusquely.

As I looked back, I could see the old fart standing there, hands on his hips, and a big smile on his face that was meant for me. His hairy, concave chest shook just a little as he chuckled at my impotent, jealous anger, while he more than noticed my wife's involuntary gaze at his bulging masculinity.

I pulled Julie away and we went back up to our room.

*********************

After quarreling a bit about her accepting Bert's invitation, Julie took a shower. Exiting the shower, drying her hair, Julie said tentatively, "Honey, did you notice Bert's...trunks?"

I paused. "Meaning...?"

"Well...if you have to ask, you didn't notice," she giggled. "He was pretty incredible."

This comment really ticked me off. I've always been a little self conscious about 'size.' My wife's obvious bedazzlement over this old creep's endowment chipped away further at my insecurity.

"In bed we're all the same," I tried to pass off casually. But I noticed that she seemed to be lost in thought...I wondered, about what?

As Julie got dressed, I admired her. At 5'8", she was slender, yet amply endowed. My Julie was blonde, blue eyed and had a face that was chiseled to be a model's. And her breasts were still firm at 32. She was an amazing catch...and most of all, she was mine. All mine.

***********

After being led to our table at dinner, I noticed Bert quickly slide in next to Julie. I thought to myself, "This guy is really a jerk. Julie is going to catch on pretty quickly."

But Julie just giggled and looked at me, surprised at the temerity of this short, balding man.

Through dinner we chatted fairly amiably, and after several drinks I noticed that as Bert made points in the conversation he would subtly tap my wife's thigh, exposed by her rising skirt.

I tried to provide stern enough looks that Julie would get the point, i.e., ask him to please stop the touching. But she just would stare back at me, in effect, telling me it was my job to insist that he stop.

For some reason that I can't explain, I found it hard to muster the fortitude to just tell him—flat out—to stop touching my wife. I don't know if it was his smoothness, his confidence, his persistence, or maybe even his endowment, but I felt frozen by the man.

As time passed, his confidence and easy intimacy with my wife's thighs progressed until Bert was gently resting his hand on her crossed thigh, now stroking it as he spoke to her, and occasionally would turn and make a remark to me.

But now it was more as if the two of them were having their own conversation and I was just eavesdropping in on it.

As the restaurant grew louder and the bar filled, I could hardly make out what they were saying. The drinks were starting to hit me too, as I threw them down in my increasing depression from being swindled out of an evening alone with my wife.

Bert was now stroking Julie's thigh regularly and she seemed to be enjoying the old codger's advances. Then he looked at me, leaned over, whispered something into her ear and she giggled.

I wanted to call an end to it right there...but couldn't bring myself to do it.

The next thing I knew we were getting up to repair to the bar where there was a band and a dance floor.

We took a booth in the dark bar and as before he slid in next to Julie. I sat across from them with the loud music blaring, odd man out. I couldn't hear a word of their ongoing, intense conversation.

Soon, they were rising; Julie leaned over and said something I couldn't quite make out. I think she was asking me to watch her purse. Then Bert took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor.

They looked ridiculous as a pair. Bert was trying to dance what he must of thought was a modern step, but he was just shaking around. Julie looked beautifully out of place with the short, old man who could have been her Dad...or Granddad, but she danced on, eyes glued to his, and a beatific smile on her face.

I knew it was time to get worried. Nothing was happening the way I imagined, and I was afraid that if Julie had too much to drink, who knows what this lecher might do?

They were on the floor, dance after dance. It was now 15 minutes or more and I was about to go get Julie when a slow dance came on. Bert now pulled my wife to him and they danced in an embrace—not politely apart.

I felt funny. I was angry, and yet there was something else too. In the pit of my stomach I felt a gnawing pain. It was both jealousy...and a kind of excitement. This old letch was patiently and persistently seducing my wife, right in front of me. And I couldn't seem to stop him!

When the dance was over my wife had a glazed look about her which seemed half buzzed on liquor and half...aroused. As they approached the table I noticed a tremendous bulge emerging and straining Bert's trousers. I realized that during the slow dance, Bert was rubbing and grinding it into my wife's belly.

I was stunned this could be happening, and that my Julie seemed to be letting it...even encouraging it. Had the world gone crazy?

As we sat in the dark, watching the band play, Julie seemed to be off in la la land. Then I noticed Bert's arm moving rhythmically. It stretched down beneath the table...and between my wife's thighs.

My mouth was dry, as I sat stunned realizing that not three feet away this old loser was playing with my wife, and she seemed to be allowing it. I leaned slightly to see that in fact her legs were lewdly parted and Bert's hand was massaging the crotch band of her panties. Yet, they both just stared straight ahead as if watching the band's performance.

Bert stopped momentarily, and gently pulled the one thigh wider. My wife let her thigh spread as he directed, and then Bert re-applied his hand to its previous activity of massaging my wife's pussy.

I had noticed as Bert spread my wife's thighs, providing him easier access, that her panties were darkened in the crotch. It appeared they had grown very wet from the geriatric's manipulations.

Julie's eyes were even more glazed now, her nostrils were flared, her neck red and her nipples poked out clearly visible through her dress.

For my part, I was also hard and getting wet, as the excitement of being cuckolded right before my eyes caused precum to drool from my penis.

I wanted to stop it, but, yet again, I didn't.

Bert looked over at me, noticed I was watching, held his hand to his nose, sniffed it and smiled widely and triumphantly.

He seemed to sense the kill.

"Why don't we go on up to my suite?" he said loudly.

Then he confidently took Julie's hand as he slid out of the booth.

As Bert and Julie walked to the elevator, hand-in-hand, I followed behind. I felt as if I were a third wheel on someone else's date—Bert's.

******************

When we got to Bert's room it was dark, he put the TV on and was playing a porn film. He offered Julie and me another drink and we both accepted. I sat myself in a chair while Julie plopped herself down on the small couch. Obviously, after handing us our drinks, Bert sat himself down next to Julie.

The next half hour was sort of blurry, but as I watched the porn film I noticed activity coming from the couch. Bert was grabbing Julie's hand and pulling it to his lap. He was trying to get her to play with him.

As I looked over, Julie for the first time that evening seemed to be nervous and looked over at me with a look that was pleading for help. But I felt powerless and frozen. At this point, I somehow felt there was nothing I could do to stop him. Whether Bert put something in my drink or what, I'll never know. But I left Julie fending for herself.

For a while, she seemed to wrestle a bit with Bert, then she seemed to settle down, looked one last time over at me, then at the TV screen and the porn movie.

A few moments later I could see her awkwardly stroking Bert through his pants. I looked back at the film, my cock throbbing in my pants. A few minutes later I looked back over at Bert and Julie, and there it was...in all its glory, his huge dick stood straight up with Julie's left hand awkwardly reaching over to her left, stroking the magnificent weapon.

Julie stared straight ahead at the movie, but glanced with increasing frequency at the slickening monster she held in her slender, now sticky, hand.

Soon, Julie's hand grew tired. She turned to Bert and he put his arm around her, drew her to him, and Julie began frigging the behemoth dick with greater urgency, now using her right hand.

The sticky "whacka, whacka, whacka," sounds of her jerking away at Bert's monstrosity was getting louder and louder.

Julie was staring down intensely at the dick she was frigging...

Bert mumbled, "Ever have one like that, eh?" to which my wife shook her head, 'no.'

The man I thought would never get within 20 feet of my wife now grabbed Julie behind the neck and began to push her face down toward the frothing head of his grotesque organ.

Julie struggled briefly...then to my amazement—as if the struggle was for appearance sake only—she opened her mouth widely and hungrily devoured the head of Bert's cock.

Like a woman possessed, Julie bobbed and sucked and choked and coughed, jamming Bert's trophy of a dick down her slender throat.

Observing her debasement, Bert looked over my wife's furiously bobbing head and smiled at me.

"Got yourself a natural born cocksucker here, Frank. You just needed a little help bringin' it outta her."

Then somewhat amazed himself as Julie continued slobbering away at his cock, helooked up at me bewildered: "Geez, look at this bitch go! What were you starving her, Frank?"

"Swirl your fuckin' tongue, sweetheart!" he demanded of the woman who was once my wife.

"Ahhhh...that's it. Again! Swirl your tongue on the head. Ahhhh...yesss!!! That's it you fuckin' whore!"

Bert then slapped my wife's ass loudly, saying, "You need a good riding, bitch! And you're about to get it!"

He grabbed Julie's hair roughly and pulled her face off his dick. Immediately he got up and began dragging my wife—who stumbled on all fours trying to keep up with him—into the bedroom. Once at the bed, Bert threw her by the hair onto the bed.

He literally began ripping the clothes from her. First her skirt, then, buttons popping and flying in all directions, he ripped her blouse open and pulled it from her shoulders, flinging it to the floor.

Bert roughly, spun her over ripped open the back of her bra and, again, yanked it off her like a wild man.

Lastly, he yanked my wife's panties from her. Ripping them right off her hips and sliding them down her legs. He held them up, sniffed them and then threw them on the floor with the rest of her shredded garments.

Looking down at my naked wife, curled in a fetal position, Bert began undressing casually.

As he sat in a chair removing his shoes he looked up at me standing in the doorway:

"Now I'm going to show you how a man handles a woman like Julie. In other words, how a man handles a true slut. Because that's what Julie is, did you know that Frank? Yep, a slut. What other kind of woman would let a man my age approach her at a pool, and right in front of her husband let him use her? Let me answer that, a slut! A whore! Believe me Frank, any guy who wants this bitch could have her in a few hours of chat. Correction: After I'm done with her tonight...in a few minutes. Just sit back and watch."

Bert finished undressing; his dick stood straight up, a thick, pulsating, meaty spire, bobbing in front of him as he padded barefoot to the bed.

He roughly rolled Julie over—who had listened to his description of her, without objection—and Julie spread her thighs, willingly. Even anxiously.

Bert slowly mounted my wife, occasionally looking over and smiling to me. He rubbed the hugely bulbous head of his gargantuan dick along my wife's vaginal lips.

"Geez, this whore is already wet," he said in mock amazement, then winked at me

"Alright, slut. Put it in!" he commanded.

Slowly Julie reached down and in her delicate hand she took the heavily veined club of manhood and rubbed it along her lips, and finally positioned it. With that, Bert thrust his hips penetrating Julie so profoundly that she grunted, loudly.

Bert held my wife's wrists over her head and began to plunge the largest weapon I'd ever seen deep into the depths of my wife's womb. In a few moments, he was driving into her depths, right to the hilt of his rigid, incredibly-sized cock.

Julie took it all, grunting and moaning with each thrust, slowly her legs rising and spreading wider, offering her assailant greater access to her womb. Julie took it all, grunting and mewing in encouragement of her own defilement.

The bed and room shook from the loud bestial love-making between my wife and the lecher who was taking her from me, forever. With each powerful plunge into her belly, Bert began owning more and more of Julie. I could feel it. He was taking more and more possession of what was once mine.

Suddenly, there was a loud grunt and Bert churned and ground his hips to Julie's. His ass clenched in a mating spasm. She responded in kind.

I knew I was witnessing a child being conceived.

It would be Bert's and Julie's.

They lay grinding and grunting before me for a great while. Julie's legs were wrapped about Bert's hips, hugging the hips that had just pleasured and impregnated her with her first child.

When all was done, Bert placed a wide mouthed kiss to Julie's lips. Entwined as they were, the kiss went on for minutes.

Then Bert began to try to pull away.

"Please..." Julie moaned, "Stay with me a while longer."

"Nope," Bert curtly responded. "All done."

Bert dragged his dick from Julie's hungry cunt with a loud sucking and slurping sound. A load of white, thick cum flowed from Julie's gaping nether lips to the bed, staining it with enough of Bert's copious seed to have birthed quintuplets.

As Bert got off the bed, his long dong hung, flaccid, half way to his knees. Julie's eyes followed it as if it were the most important thing in her life. And it was...

The next few days of the Vegas trip, I saw little of Julie...or Bert for that matter.

The two spent the remaining days shacked up in his room fucking all day long.

Julie came back to our room to get a change of clothes, but that was it.

Occasionally, they let me watch again, while I beat off. They said it was ok as long as I stayed quiet and out of the way. I did as instructed. I watched, beat off, crying silently the whole time from the anguish of having my wife taken from me.

Today, Julie and I have his child...Bert visits from time to time. We usually meet at—and pay for—his hotel while he's in town, chat about the baby, and then I leave him with Julie for the night.

The biggest joke was on my wife and I. Bert wasn't some wealthy guy that owned a bunch of insurance agencies. That was total bullshit. He's a fuckin' cashier at a 7-11. He's semi-retired, just making ends meet.