Goddess Or Slut

This is a sad story for me to have to tell, but perhaps it might help some horny and misguided husband from falling into the same trap. I am not sure why it is, but there are some guys who have hot wives with whom they are simply not content to have for themselves. They think it will expand their pleasures if they "share" her with others. Sorely misguided and doomed to failure is all I can say. This is just one story (of many) that chronicles the steps of such a fool.

"I know I am a lucky bastard, but I can't help wishing for more."

"More?" Mike asked.

"Yeah. More. I mean, look at her." Trevor nodded at his wife chatting with Mike's wife as the two women sat on the patio next to the pool. "She's a hottie." He lowered his voice to make sure the girls didn't hear him add, "and she is a great fuck."

Mike nodded just before Trevor added that last comment, timing lost on Trevor. No doubt Marsha was a hottie. Not so tall at only about 5-4, but what a body. Slender just wasn't fair enough of a descriptor. She had an ass that alone qualified her in the 'Hotties Hall of Fame.' Then those breasts. That those tits were perky were obvious as she seemed to rarely wear a bra. But the fact that they seemed oversized for her slender frame made for some great curves.

Trevor continued, "I see the way guys look at her, and sometimes I think about how hot it would be to..."

His voice tailed off, gauging Mike's interest. Mike had a pretty good idea where Trevor was headed. He managed to appear both engaged in listening to Trevor while occupied with the steaks on the grill. As Mike waited for Trevor to take charge of his message and not leave it up to Mike to fill in the blank, Mike couldn't help but admire Marsha as she sat there chatting with his wife.

His wife, Kathleen, was the envy of many eyes as well. But as their giggles cascaded across the patio and caught Mike's attention, he couldn't help but allow his eyes to discreetly linger on Marsha. She was wearing a sheer cover-up over her yellow bikini. Her toned and tanned legs were crossed as she relaxed in the chair. The way her cover-up parted in front - no buttons - made it very easy to see how the fabric of her bikini top hung about as low as public decency allowed.

Trevor's pause was still hanging in the air as Mike gave a thumb's up signal to Kathleen, letting her know the steaks were just about done cooking. She and Marsha got up and went into the house to grab the baked potatoes. As they walked away, Mike saw how Marsha's ass danced just beneath that cover-up.

His thoughts were interrupted by Trevor. "What an ass, eh?"

Trevor knew Mike was looking, but Mike tried to deflect any possible misunderstanding by quickly replying, "Two great asses in my humble opinion."

Trevor smiled and nodded. Unfortunately though, Mike's attempt to affirm his appreciation for both of their wives didn't quite translate as well as he had hoped. "You see what I am talking about, right?"

Mike wasn't sure how to reply. Clearly, Marsha had all the physical assets a man could hope for. Trevor's wealth, good looks and good luck had landed him quite the prize for sure. And though Mike wondered how any one man could satisfy such a goddess, those were his own private thoughts which he never would reveal, let alone admit, to Trevor.

A stroke of semantics came upon Mike as he calmly replied, "I see who you are talking about for sure."

Trevor laughed at Mikes clumsy attempt to play it halfway. He had known Mike for years. Mike had been his best man at their wedding. He knew when Mike was searching for his balance.

"Yeah, I know you know WHO I am talking about; but that wasn't my question." Trevor let Mike stew in the silence before he pressed forward. "My question was you see WHAT I am talking about, right?"

Mike held firm. "Who. What. Not sure there's a difference."

Trevor put his hand on Mike's shoulder and with all seriousness said, "There is a BIG difference. You and I, Mike. We need to talk." That was where things ended when the girls returned with the potatoes in hand. Mike pulled the steaks from the grill and the four proceeded to enjoy a lovely, evening, poolside meal together. But Trevor had put Mike on notice. Of what, Mike was unclear. But as he sat across the table from Marsha, his mind was racing to balance the curiosities of his confusion over Trevor's message and his discreet vision of Marsha sitting right in front of him. Cover-up parted open. Bikini top obscenely daring his eyes to study her flesh in more detail.

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The evening unfolded without any further cryptic comments from Trevor.

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Two days later, a quick exchange of text messages set the stage for what would follow.

Trevor:

We need to talk. You available?

Mike:

Sure. What's up?

Trevor:

I really need your help

Mike:

With what?

Trevor:

Marsha - can you stop by the house around 4 this afternoon?"

Mike:

Sure. Should I bring Kathleen?

Trevor:

HELL NO.

Mike:

lol... ok see you then

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4:13 pm

When Mike arrived at the security gate, he entered the code. He then drove up the private road that lead to Trevor & Marsha's place. He parked under the portico and climbed the steps to the front entrance. The door was open. He peeked in and called out, "Trevor?"

No answer.

"Trevor? Marsha?"

Nothing. So he stepped on through the entry way and slowly moved towards the dining room adjacent to the kitchen. Every few steps, as he looked around and fought off the eerie feeling, he calmly called out, "Trevor... Marsha?"

He noticed the french doors were wide open leading to the indoor atrium. He peeked into the lush, green expanse. Listening. "Trevor?" Silence. "Marsha?"

As his mind fought off concerns, his phone signaled an incoming text.

Trevor:

upstairs

Mike:

ok

Mike was relieved, and intrigued. He climbed the spiral staircase until he reached the upper level. "Trevor?"

"Down here," Mike heard Trevor's voice signal from the down at the end of the long hallway. It was their bedroom. When Mike arrived at the doorway, he saw Trevor sitting in his recliner. When Trevor saw Mike he waved him in. Mike stepped in, looking cautiously around.

"Where's Marsha?" Mike was almost frightened at what Trevor might answer to that question. "Is she okay?"

Trevor motioned for Mike to sit down on the padded bench across from him. As Mike sat down, Trevor quietly said, "Marsha is fine." He paused. "But, you have to read this."

He handed Mike a long, handwritten note; a full page front and back on a legal sized sheet of yellow pad paper. Mike asked, "What is that?"

Trevor just plainly said, "Mike. You have to read it."

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7:15 pm

Mike had read the note. He was stunned. Trevor had then did his best to try to explain what had precipitated the writing of the note. Mike was even more stunned. Then the two of them went back and forth. Initially Mike acting as Trevor's advocate in trying to help him find a reasonable solution. Then the dialogue, more of a debate actually, devolved into an argument that seemed absolutely absurd.

After nearly three hours of oral debate, their war of the wills and core values busting pleads left them both exhausted. As they sat emotionally and physically spent in the silence of the moment, Mike broke the hush with what he intended to be his final word; his exit line.

"I don't fucking believe this, Trevor. You are better than this. I am better than this. WE are better than this."

From just outside the bedroom doorway, Marsha's unknown presence was announced as she interjected a comment of her own that pushed things to a new level. "So, Mike, you do understand what Trevor is talking about, don't you?"

Mike spun around, startled to hear Marsha... to see Marsha... there... now. "Marsha?! Where did you come from? How long have you been standing there?!"

Trevor sat silent. Marsha picked up the note that was setting on the bed. Her eyes skimmed the front, then as her fingers flipped it, she skimmed the back. She looked directly at Mike. "I had to read this three times for it to fully register."

Mike calmly, but assertively, interjected, "Marsha. I had nothing to do with that note. I am as shocked by it as you are."

Marsha smiled and offered a soft, sweet sigh. "I know that Mike. Your passionate defense these past couple of hours is plenty enough proof of that." She then pivoted and stepped toward Trevor, moving to his side. "I could not have asked for a better man to plead my case."

She dared to stroke Trevor's hair as she looked directly at Mike. "I could not have asked for a better man - period."

In the heat and shock of the moment, it wasn't until that exact point in time that Mike even noticed that Marsha was, of course, hot as hell. She stood barefooted, wearing a pair of sheer, white, yoga pants and a tank top. As far as he could tell in that brief moment of discreet inspection, that was all she was wearing.

Marsha then stepped away from Trevor and towards Mike as she held the note in her hand. "I know what you think of this note. But what I am unclear about is how you feel about... me."

"About, you?" Mike echoed.

"M-hm... me."

The conflict between Trevor and Mike was thick. He had just spent over two hours vehemently arguing with his dear friend about how wrong that note was. How wrong it was for him to have given it to Marsha. How wrong it was for him to push such an idea upon her. He had argued with points of logic, morality, religion, and basics of good judgment. But none of his arguments had dare suggest that Marsha was anything but the goddess he thought her to be. And now, with that conflict between him and Trevor hanging oppressively in the room, Marsha was daring Mike to dip his toe in the very waters he had passionately argued against - in her best interests - as she had been listening just around the corner.

Mike quickly gathered his senses and politely replied to Marsha, "Excuse me?"

Marsha seemed to blush slightly as she sat her firm bottom on the corner of the bed, leaned forward in a way that placed her amazing breasts front and center between her and Mike, and with a certain demand in her tone she mused aloud, "Let me ask again. What do you think of me? Are you going to let Trevor's note speak for you?"

Mike firmly shook his head no. There was no way Trevor's note spoke for him.

Marsha smiled. "Then tell me. It can't be that bad." Her tease was cruel.

Mike said, "Bad?"

Marsha leaned forward a bit more. It was now clear that she was daring Mike's eyes. "Am I, Mike? Am I bad?"

Mike shook his head no again. "Marsha. Trevor's note was his thoughts, not mine. I have nothing but good that I think of you."

Marsha's fingers slithered down her neck and between her cleavage in an obvious erotic tease. "And what good is it that you think of me, Mike?"

Mike felt trapped, He was finding it hard to breathe. He was finding it hard to collect his thoughts. And, as frustrating as his good intentions felt about this whole scene, he was finding it hard where it mattered most.

"You, Marsha, are a goddess."

"A goddess," Marsha echoed as she turned to look over her shoulder at nearly barked at Trevor. "Did you hear that, Trevor? A goddess. That is a bit different than that slut you ask me to consider being for your perverted pleasure."

Mike felt just a glimpse of a fighting spirit revealed in Marsha. He nodded. Marsha then turned back with a tender tone as she looked Mike in the eyes, "A goddess, not a slut."

Mike nodded, "Yes, a goddess." After a moment's pause he shook his head and added, "No, not a slut."

Marsha relaxed her posture a bit, slinking backwards on the edge of the bed. "A goddess is served. A slut serves."

Mike nervously nodded, as this entire topic was unnerving in its tone and mysterious unfolding texture. "I agree."

Trevor opened his mouth to speak, "But..."

Marsha spun to look at him directly and firmly said with a sense of restraint, "Silence. You have said, or written, more than your fair share, Trevor." The way she said "Tre-vor" almost sounded like a two-syllable curse word.

She returned her softened gaze to Mike. "You read the note. And I know he has certainly told you things like that about me in the past."

Mike quickly spoke, "Actually, he has never called you a slut... EVER."

"But, he has spoken to you about his desire to see me doing slutty things."

Mike felt completely trapped. On the one side was his friend who he sensed was against the ropes and needed help. On the other side was this goddess who he sensed was a damsel in distress. He was at a complete loss of words as he looked at Marsha's inviting eyes in contrast with Trevor's downcast spirit. He had read that note; twice. He felt the filth oozing from the very fibers of the page. He had battled his friend, in an attempt to protect him and his goddess of a wife. And now, here he was, seemingly caught in the middle. Put on the spot. Left with no alternative but to either remain silent, or speak the truth and damn his friend, or speak a lie and betray the damsel in distress.

"Marsha. I don't think it is my place here to cause either of you any problems. You know I love you both."

Marsha nodded. Trevor's eyes appeared to be sneaking around the corner during a game of hide-n-seek. "Mike. Do you really love me?"

Mike, nervous at the pointed question, but willing to nod and say, "Yes."

"And do you really mean it when you call me a 'goddess'?"

Mike, all the more nervous, but again willing to nod and say, "Yes."

"And you agree that a goddess is to be served, right?"

Mike suddenly felt trapped. Trevor looked up and seemed to re-engage with both Marsha and Mike.

Marsha leaned further back, now reclining on the bed, Her top was twisted so that it spiraled snug against her flesh. Her yoga pants were nothing more than a sheer layer of fabric that appeared as a layer of flesh. Her eyes were smoldering.

"Am I a goddess, Mike?"

Mike nodded yes.

"Am I a slut, Mike?"

Mike shock his head no.

"Should I be served, Mike?"

Mike nodded yes. Trevor, silent in the background, also nodded yes in tandem.

"That... that is all that Trevor really wants, Marsha. He wants to serve you... his goddess."

Marsha smiled. "Oh Mike. You are right about that. He definitely wants to serve me. But, do you understand what he wants to serve me? Or perhaps to quote you in your witty wisdom spouted to him recently, perhaps you understand WHO he wants to serve me?"

Mike's heart was racing. His conscience was screaming. His mouth was paralyzed as his ears pounded him with wave after wave of this... this edgy message.

Trevor rose from his chair and stepped towards the bed. Marsha's glance stopped him in his tracks. She then looked back at Mike. "Maybe you want to ask him for yourself?"

Trevor smiled. In almost a whisper he said to Mike, "You remember the other night at your place... I said, 'You know what I mean' and you replied, 'I know who you mean.'"

Mike swallowed hard as that line now was echoing back at him.. in front of Marsha... in this moment.

Marsha's body snaked along the bed, now obviously beckoning Mike's eyes... Mike's desires... Mike's service. "You did say that, didn't you Mike?"

Marsha slowly lifted her arms over her head. Laying on her back. Legs extended so that her toes pointed straight at Mike. His eyes given full access to every provocative curve from between her legs to those amazing breasts. Still clothed, but every bit the vision -- a goddess indeed.

"Do you think Trevor's note has any merit?"

Mike tried to be as steadfast as he could... he shock his head no; yet again. But his will was fading. Trevor's second wind was emerging. Marsha's powers of seduction were overpowering.

Then, as Marsha squirmed on the bed, Trevor spoke. "She wants to be served. She wants to be served by YOU, Mike. She wants you.. to serve her... an opportunity to be... MY slut."

Mike was shocked as he saw Marsha in sync with Trevor. After all of Mike's attempts at protecting her, to defend her, to appeal to her in the most dignified and honorable fashion. After all of that, she was twisting her goddess of a body in a way that was about to wrap around him and leave him no choice but to serve her... to worship her... to give Trevor the very thing that Mike had exhausted himself in arguing against.

Trevor leaned down and gave her a passionate kiss. As they kissed, his hands slid to the bottom of her top... they broke their kiss just long enough for him to lift the top over her head. As they kissed again, her amazing breasts were exposed to Mike's eyes.

He did not look away.

Trevor playfully flipped Marsha over on her tummy, and proceeded to tug down her yoga pants.

Mike did not look away.

Trevor returned to his chair. Marsha turned over and smiled up at Mike and beckoned him closer as she softly moaned, "Come serve me."

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What Mike did that night with Marsha was goddess-worthy. Trevor, in the moments he observed his sweet goddess with Mike, was not disappointed.

But that night only lasted so long. Mike returned home with a difficult lie to offer his own wife to explain his length absence; his aloof presence over the following days; the odd distance suddenly existing between she and Marsha.

Trevor got what he sought. He had delivered his goddess an experience of being a slut. He had watched. He had been aroused. But that was that night. What followed was a twisted assortment of awkward realities and emerging insecurities.

Marsha lost not an ounce of her goddess-like physical attributes. But the ease with which she floated about seemingly comfortable with the eyes of others on her soon faded into dark shadows of regret.

Mike was right.

Fucking right.

Yet, in the end it didn't matter.