Driven To Desperation Ch 01

PROLOGUE

IT LOOKED LIKE THE MAN WAS BEHEADED.

At least, the head was missing. What was left was the rest of the body, and reclined against the wall; it looked like the man had been sitting on some kind of a reclining chair.

That, he was a man was evident: there was a hard up thrust penis between his open thighs, almost perpendicular to his body.

In proportion to the body, the penis seemed extremely huge, almost, impossibly so. It was around seven inches in length and by no stretch of imagination was it thin, because the diameter would have to be about an inch and a half.

In reality, the man was a portrait. An outstanding painting done on a life size canvas; well, almost entirely.

The penis was not a part of the portrait. Nor was it real. It was an artificial penis, one of those found in sex shops. It was fastened between the legs of the headless man in the portrait by drilling a hole there and fixing a few rivets from behind the painting.

He stared at the portrait with unseeing eyes. He was sprawled out on a chair that was remarkably like the one in the portrait. And like the man in the portrait, he was naked too. But unlike the man in the portrait, he still had his head on his body, and too, his penis was totally flaccid.

He was fucked out. Totally, absolutely fucked out.

And he knew that it would be next to impossible to ever have an erection again. His flesh was not willing, and neither was the spirit.

He had given up. Fifteen years down the line and it was time to call quits. He just couldn’t take it any more.

His amorous wife had killed him off sexually.

Numbly, he turned his head from the portrait and watched his wife in the center of the room. She was in a sexual frenzy. She always was. And he supposed he had been a fool to marry her. The difference in their ages had been too much. And it had taken a heavy toll.

She was sitting on the longhaired man, her back to him and his cock up inside her cunt. The other man, short and bulky, stood by her side, languidly moving his hips to and fro and watching his cock gliding in and out of her mouth. The third man knelt on the other side, his head at her jiggling tits, lips licking the large nipples when he was not sucking an entire tit.

She was making small gurgling noises in her mouth, bouncing up and down on the longhaired man, impaling herself, no gorging herself, with his hard and erect cock. One hand held the short man whom she was sucking by his buttocks and her other hand was behind the third man’s head, urging him to suck on her large tits.

As he watched the four of them from the chair, he felt a twinge of guilt, and then a flash of pain course through his body.

He was angry. He threw away a penis-enhancer he had been holding in his hand and slowly got up from the chair. Continuing to look at them he backed away till he was at the door that led to their bedroom.

He paused at the door and turned to enter the room. He hesitated, and then glanced at them again.

They were not even aware of him. It was as if the husband did not exist.

“Oh yes, fuck me,” she wailed, drawing her head back and rubbing the glans of the cock she was sucking over her cheek. “Fuck me with your hard cock, yes, yes, like that, oh god, you fill me up!”

“Suck me,” the stocky man reminded her, moving his hips in circles, helping her smear his pre-cum over her face.

“It’s my turn, now,” the third man who had been at her tits protested, getting to his feet.

She laughed. “Both of you, now. Stand on either side of me and let me suck both your dicks.”

The two men arranged themselves on her sides as instructed as she continued to ride the cock that was fucking into her powerfully.

The man, on whom she was sitting, brought his hands around her and grasped her heavy tits, mauling the flesh. Her head was like a windshield wiper, turning to one cock and then to the other as she took turns sucking the two men. At one point, she brought both the cock heads together and giggled as she tried to stuff them simultaneously inside her mouth.

The longhaired man grunted and got off the chair, his cock still buried inside her cunt and the three of them managed to arrange her onto her hands and knees on the floor.

He grabbed her hips and began to slam inside her like a battering ram, shoving her body forward till she was gagging on one cock and furiously jerking off the other.

He looked away. With short steps, he entered the bedroom and waded across to the closet. He opened it and from under a stack of shirts, pulled out the gun.

He flipped open the magazine and checked the charge. It was loaded. He heard his wife moan, the almost obscene noises of sucking and the dull rhythmic sound of her buttocks slamming against the man’s hips.

He wouldn’t be doing this, he thought. And he hadn’t till now. As long as he could raise an erection watching her being serviced by other men, he was okay.

It had initially started with the portrait he had made. Then, he would get charged when she would straddle the dildo and take him in her mouth. That faded away and the portrait had to be replaced by real flesh.

Her appetite was enormous. Watching her with another man kept him going till that too faded away and the desire to watch her doing it with more than one to be able to raise an erection, had made him accept the current situation in hand. Three men!

He slid back the safety catch and looked at the door.

He was ready.

******

I AM CRAZILY IN LOVE WITH MY WIFE.

Fifteen years later and I still am. And to have her with me and beside me until the end, I would do anything that she wants. Which was precisely what I planned.

At forty-seven, I am not what one would call in a physically okay condition and there in lies the crux of the matter. My doctors tell me I have sinusitis, an irritable bowel syndrome, a depression problem and most of all the two words most men usually dread: ED. I had tried everything, from Viagra to herbal capsules and lotions prescribed by psychiatrists, sex consultants and roadside quacks. Nothing had worked for me and I was resigned to the fact that nothing ever would.

My wife is thirty-three and at her physical peak. Basically, she has always been the aggressor in almost everything we come across in day-to-day life. Taking decisions was her forte. Running the house and managing the finances (in addition to adding to them) were her portfolios. And she was, in two words what most women her age would like to be: sexually active. Anita (I call her Ann) is extraordinarily inventive when it comes to sex and her drive never ceases to amaze me. When in sexual need, she was like a nymphomaniac.

Under other circumstances, I would never dream of trying to do what I finally did. But I reckon, love makes one forget about all circumstances. And to have her with me till the end, (most couples who are really in love with each other have that goal) I had to keep both of us happy.

I guess I have always been in love with her and will continue to do just that.

But before coming down to describing what I did to try and keep the marriage going, it is necessary to know the background: not just the basics, but the complete details.

I realized that I was hopelessly in love with her ever since the day she attended the birthday party my folks had hosted when I turned twenty-eight.

“Happy birthday, dada,” she had wished me, smiling that radiant smile of hers, which strangely I had never noticed before. The word ‘dada’ implies literally ‘elder brother’ and that is what she had always called me.

After that day and the days that followed, I would be seated at my desk in my aunt’s place, pretending to be absorbed in my work, but mostly glancing out of the window, hoping that she would show up.

She lived in a tiny bungalow whose backyard faced the window of my study room. I had always preferred to do my work from here for two reasons (after the twenty-eighth birthday, I added a third reason) – one, the purely residential area was located far away from the hustle and bustle of the city, in tranquil surroundings boasting of having the densest woods; and two, my uncle and aunt had no children. And peace was intrinsic to my area of work: I was studying to be an architect.

I proposed to her only after I reached thirty-two for the simple reason that she attained major age at that time. So figure out how old she was when I actually fell in love with her!

“Isn’t the difference between your ages too much?” Most of my friends would ask me the question; or, “But hey, she calls you dada!”

I hadn’t proposed directly to her. Instead, I had preferred to take up the issue with her parents. And having known me so well for so many years (more particularly, being aware of the fact that we were quite well to do) they had eagerly agreed.

She was doing her senior in commerce at that time, and naturally, she had friends of her age who ridiculed my proposition. She had seemed to be sort of shell-shocked when she got the news, and I had told her to take her time and think about it.

It took her a week to say ‘yes’.

It was decided that we wait for six months before exchanging vows.

In these six months, we met every day, ostensibly, I suppose, to get to know each other better in a relatively different way than we knew both of us to be.

We went to the finest restaurants, took in vague movies and went for long drives. I let it be known that I was crazy about trekking; I had, after all trekked the Himalayas twice. She was fascinated and I promised her that we would go there for the honeymoon.

“Not trekking, for gods sakes!”

I had laughed, “No way, we fly!”

She was everything I desired. Witty, bright (she read a lot), innocent about a lot of worldly ways and plus, she rode the motorcycle like a she-devil.

At about five-seven, she was five inches shorter than me, but the stilettos she loved to wear compensated that by a couple of inches. She was strikingly well built and good looking enough to make one look at her more than once.

She had always been well built. Broad shoulders, sort of double-boned, there was really very little that would suggest that she was petite or very feminine if you discounted her very generous breasts and her lush curves.

She had a rather large nose, equally large eyes, thick eyebrows and a very wide and full mouth. Once, when I had knocked on her door at an unexpected hour, I saw her in a short robe. She had tremendously well made thighs. She had long legs all right, but very powerful thighs.

She always tied up her long curly tresses in a sort of a ponytail with brightly colored bands. Without the ponytail, those long hairs of hers framed her face perfectly: like a kind of a halo.

What was a delightful surprise was the fact that she was an extremely passionate girl. The first time I kissed her (I had intended it to be a gentle quick peck on the lips) I had felt her opening her wide mouth and trying to push her tongue in mine. She had read a Sidney Sheldon novel and coincidentally the film was in town. We had enjoyed the movie (although the scenes involving the guy having sex with the women before killing them had made me squirm) and after a couple of coffees at the coffee bar, I had driven her back to her place.

It was rather late, around eleven-thirty I guess, when I decided I wanted to kiss her goodnight.

Under the porch, surrounded by bougainvillea, I proceeded to do just that. Imagine my surprise when she kissed me back hungrily, pushing herself hard against me.

I was thirty-two and a lot more experienced in these matters than she. When her hands went around my shoulders and her tongue into my mouth, I almost thought of taking her back to my aunt’s place; I could easily sneak in. But somehow, the thought of doing it with her like that didn’t appeal to me, so I let go.

My cousins and friends had decorated my bedroom for us to spend our first night after the wedding. There had been the usual bantering and taunting reserved especially for the bridegroom and bride before I was allowed to close the door.

Roses, marigold and even lotus had been used profusely. The bed was literally strewn with them, and I thought she looked gorgeous when I saw her sitting on the bed, looking demure and shy.

She was bedecked with all kind of ornaments and was wearing the typical silk sari that is worn by a new bride: five yards of the yard-and-a-half wide silk cloth wrapped around the body, with one border curving over the front to cover the chest and hanging over the back.

I remember sitting close to her that night, whispering to her that she looked so beautiful and wonderful, as I took my time and removed every single ornament she had been wearing.

“You look especially beautiful when you blush,” I had told her.

Devoid of ornaments, I had begun to now concentrate on the clothes. First, I gently pulled the border of the sari from around her shoulders. She hid her face in her hands when the garment came away in my hands. I felt choked when I realized that the blouse she was wearing under that border, was so low at the front, I could easily see a fourth of the top of her bunched up large breasts. The fact that I wasn’t aware of this during the entire reception party, made it look sexier. I swallowed and leaning forward clumsily, I kissed the top of her head.

“All the clothes,” she had murmured.

She had to stand up on the floor for me to unwrap the sari, and as I did it, she kept her gaze fixed on my hands. The top of the sari is tucked into a long petticoat, and it took quite an effort on my part to get it off. She giggled once when she found that it was tough going for me, but made no move to help me.

When I threw away the sari on a chair by the side of the bed, I pulled the little drawstring that held the petticoat at her waist. This time around she did help me.

“Wait,” she whispered, “let me do it. Or you may end up tying a knot that you may not be able to remove.”

I waited and watched her nimbly pulling the small end of the thread, and then, the petticoat slid down to the floor around her knees.

I gulped again when I looked at her. Clad in blue panties and the red skimpy blouse, she looked incredibly sexy. Before I could continue, she stopped me.

“Wait. It’s your turn now.”

“I undressed you so far. So it’s only fair that you undress me,” I told her, my voice husky and my throat dry. And needless to mention, my heart was racing like I had just come off a thousand meter jogging track.

Shyly, she reached out to unbutton my silk shirt. I had stripped off my coat and tie at the reception hall itself. Suits and shoes stifle me. They don’t allow me to breathe the way I want to.

I stood there, so close to her, my eyes riveted on her heaving bosom and her naked thighs beneath her panties as she drew the shirt away from my body. I raised my hands so that she could pull out the vest. When her hands fumbled for the belt, I caught them.

“Wait. Let me do it. Or you may end up tangling it so that you may not be able to remove it.”

She giggled and allowed me to tug out the belt.

There’s something wonderful about a couple undressing each other. Especially when they haven’t seen each other naked before. All those months of having restrained myself from even partially undressing her, paid off. I was having a ball.

I allowed her to unbutton my pants and when they fell in a heap around my legs, I clearly saw her eyes widening in disbelief when she saw the enormous bulge inside my underwear. She blushed again.

We stood facing each other for a long time. She looked very radiant and incredibly beautiful.

I gently put my arms around her shoulders and pulled her into my embrace. I wanted to bury my face in her hair, but she raised her face and my lips brushed her cheek.

I realized that she wanted to kiss me, so I put my lips on hers.

I felt her arms going around my waist and she ground her body against mine when our mouths fused together.

She kissed me hungrily, just like that day under the porch. But this time around it was with gay abandon than out of sheer urgency.

I felt her soft tongue meet mine and I was surprised when she suddenly started to suck my tongue, letting out a soft moan.

We kissed like that for a long time and I pushed my erection against her stomach. She must have felt it because she pushed right back. She rocked her body from one side to the other and this made me let out a groan.

I pushed against her and she kept going backward till her knees came up against the bed. She tumbled down onto it and I held her by her shoulders so that she wouldn’t fall.

I made her sit on the edge of the low bed and then slipped down on my knees on the floor. I dragged my mouth away from hers and kissed her chin, trailing slowly down to the hollow of her neck.

She understood. Grasping my face with her strong hands, she pulled me down so that I could bury my face between her big breasts. I inhaled deeply, taking in the musky fragrance of perfume and sweat. Blindly, I groped for her breasts and felt her twisting around so that I could get my hands around them.

She let out a long sigh when I squeezed her breasts. I felt her hands slide down over my back and then over my stomach, down, down, till she could squeeze my bulge.

I almost ejaculated then. Though I was still in my underwear, I could feel the heat of her hands as she struggled to grip my erection.

“Wait, wait,” she pleaded, “Together, please, please”

I drew back and she went still as I unbuttoned her blouse with shaking hands. She gripped my wrists, as if to steady my hands. As the buttons came off, I could see her blue bra sagging down, struggling to contain her heavy breasts inside it. It was a kind of a push-up bra (though she didn’t need any support there) and that bunched her breasts together, revealing an enticing cleavage.

She pushed back her hands to allow me to remove the blouse off her body. The top of her breasts glistened with her sweat, rising and falling as she breathed deeply.

I bent down and kissed the top of her breasts. She moaned, arching her back and thrusting her chest at me. I let my mouth move down and closed my lips around one bra-clad nipple. She shuddered.

I let my hands caress her naked thighs and she softly called my name.

“Oh, Ashish!”

I moved on to the other nipple and felt her legs go taut as I took it in my mouth.

“Oh God!” she moaned.

She clutched the back of my head to her bosom. I was now only too aware of my painful erection, so I drew back.

With trembling hands, I reached behind her and fumbled for the bra hooks.

She stopped me again, giggling girlishly when she realized I couldn’t unfasten the hooks.

When she reached behind to take off her bra, her breasts swelled to fill up the cups. Any which way I looked at them, I was fascinated.

When the bra joined her blouse on the bed, I stared speechlessly (not that I was talking a lot) at her bare breasts.

That’s when she surprised me. Reaching up to lift her breasts in her hands, she pouted: “Like my tits?”

Hearing her sprout out the word brought me to the very edge of ejaculating in my underwear. I dumbly nodded as I gazed at her breasts. They were extraordinary. Large, firm and soft with big and hard nipples, the areolas were almost an inch and a half in diameter.

“Want to suck on my tits, Ash?” she whispered.

“Where,” I managed to croak, “did you learn those words?”

She laughed impishly. “The advantages of reading Robbins and the other lot.”

“I want to suck,” I muttered to her, leaning forward to do just that.

She drew away teasingly. “Want to suck what?”

“Your tits!” I spat out harshly.

She offered them to me, and boy! Did I go after them!

I began by licking one nipple with the tip of my tongue till it was dripping with my saliva. She was pushing her chest at me making animal like sounds deep in her throat.