I Married a Blow Job Queen

People, by their nature, have a voyeuristic streak in them.

They see flashing lights and slow down, crawling along the highway while stretching their necks in an effort to look at the blood and gore.

Guys ogle girls, girls check out guys. There’s a little bit of voyeurism in everyone.

I’m a normal guy. I’ve attempted to look up a few dresses and down a few blouses in my day. Once I walked past a car in the parking lot of an Olive Garden and caught a glimpse of a couple making out. I slipped into my car and observed the couple break their embrace, look around and struggle into the back seat where they began making love. I couldn’t help watching. I’m human.

Last weekend I saw a girl giving my best friend Steve a hummer. They were in the living room of my house of all places. And while I have that voyeuristic streak, this Kodak moment was anything but tantalizing.

How could it be? The girl in question was my wife.

The nerve of that girl! For those who have read the first two installments of this saga, you know I found out at a high school reunion that my darling wife Nancy Jean was known as the Blowjob Queen of Ridley High. Her reputation was gone faster than a lead balloon falls from the sky. I caught her in the act at that reunion, learning that my darling, loving, schoolteacher wife of 10 years was a slut.

Nancy Jean begged me to stay with her, told me how much she loved me, and explained about her unnatural urges. In a nutshell, the woman loved to suck cock. She needed to suck cock. Mine wasn’t enough, she required variety.

Because of the children, we stayed together. I did love her, and knew deep inside she loved me, so although I did not grin, I did bear it.

I swallowed my pride and allowed her to satisfy her needs, as long as she followed the rules. Those rules were simple. She wasn't allowed to rub my nose it, and she couldn't play around where she might be recognized. She could not suck off men who I knew, or dealt with in business. The "cock-of-the-night" had to wear a condom, and she had to bring the used condom home in a plastic baggie. She had to tell me all the sordid details after showing me the plastic baggie.

For the last two years things had gone along swimmingly. She had blown a few guys, sucking on their condom covered dicks, and then told me all about it when she returned home. On some of those occasions she sucked my dick, but normally she’d jerk me off while telling the details of her naughty rendezvous. Every once in a while I would slip it in from behind and fuck her while she grunted out her sordid tale.

Until today, that is. Today Steve was coming over to help me install a ceiling fan. Nancy Jean asked me to go over to Home Depot for some gardening items, and a power screwdriver while I was at it. Unfortunately, I forgot my wallet and had to return home before entering the store. Was I in for a surprise? Uh huh.

I entered the house and stopped when I heard the telltale groans coming from the living room.

“Oh yea, Nancy Jean, suck it!” came the passionate manly howl. “Suck my dick!”

They obviously hadn’t heard me enter the house, and I stole my way toward the living room, knowing in advance what I would find. I wasn’t wrong, and boy was I disappointed. There was Nancy Jean, kneeling on the couch with her head bobbing up and down on good old Steve’s rock hard cock.

He had lifted her skirt above her ass, and had her panties pulled down around her thighs. Steve’s fingers were diddling her pussy while his midsection bounced into her face.

“Eat it baby, lick it too,” horny Steve begged my compliant wife. “Oh, you are one helluva cocksucker.”

Nancy Jean was attacking Steve’s cock like a dog chases after a tasty bone. She had her hand around the base of the dick, stroking it into her mouth. After a few minutes she pulled her head off of the cock but never slowed her stroking hand.

“You have a great cock, Steve,” panted my wife, taking his dick out of her mouth and looking up into his rolling eyes. “But you have to cum soon, Jon will be home any minute!”

Steve’s answer was simple. He placed a hand on the top of Nancy Jean’s head and pulled it back down on his throbbing cock. He reached down with his other hand and placed it on top of hers, and the two jerked off his dick in tandem with the bobbing head. He kept nailing her mouth with his dick, pushing his own head back and closing his eyes as Nancy Jean focused on the task at hand.

“You’re the best cocksucker I’ve ever had, Nancy Jean. Oh yea, uh huh, you are great, you bitch. I love it when you suck my dick.”

Obviously this wasn’t an initial breakdown of our most recent vows. Steve must have been using my wife’s talented mouth right under my nose. Maybe after a round of golf or before we went bowling with Steve and his wife Kellee. Has this woman no shame? Has this man no honor?

His words sparked me back toward the affair at hand. “Oh yea I’m coming. Take it you bitch!” wailed the man who was supposed to be my best friend. “Suck it down you whore!”

Nancy Jean performed her own wet, sloppy, mind-numbing, toe curling method of fellatio. She was an expert cocksucker, as I and most of her old classmates could attest. She was breaking her promise to me, but there wasn’t much I could do at this point. I had caught her in the act, but couldn’t propel myself into the room to confront them.

Of course I should have sped into the room and pelleted them with an avalanche of slaps, punches and screams. I could have yelled and hollered. Yet my feet were glued to the floor.

Steve bucked back and pulled Nancy Jean’s mouth off his still-throbbing dick. He jerked his cock several times, finally grunting and sending a greasy glob of sperm to line my wife’s face. Another rope emerged from his cock before she capped his spurting dick and sucked the sauce into her mouth.

I quietly stole outside and sat in my car for a couple minutes before slamming the car door and heading back to my house.

Yelling to the neighborhood that I was home, I closed the front door and slowly walked into the living room. Nancy Jean came into the room and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Hi honey,” she said, an air of sex around her. Looking closely I could swear she hadn’t even washed the cum off her sticky face. She quickly turned and walked toward the basement. “Steve’s here…I’m getting some laundry.”

Steve emerged from the bathroom and came into the living room, a guilty look upon his face. Why not? I had nearly, in his mind, caught them in the act. I couldn’t say anything, couldn’t look either in the eyes, so I went into the kitchen to grab a couple beers. “I forgot my wallet and never did get that stuff at the store. But we can still install the fan.”

That thought only lasted a bit, as Steve begged off saying he wasn’t feeling well. Yea, I suspect he was drained.

When Nancy Jean emerged from the basement her face was white as freshly fallen snow. No fuss, no muss, no caked sperm on the whore’s cheeks. I was so mad, yet I felt helpless. I knew if I said anything we’d end up in a rip-roaring brawl, so I kept it to myself and when on with my business of the day. I finally got to the store, the ceiling fan got installed, and somehow she knew I suspected something, given the tension in house.

Humiliation brought blood flowing to my face that night as I remembered what my wife had done. I thought back at how she promised she’d change, but she clearly hadn’t. She was still sneaking around, sucking the dicks of people who knew me, people I trusted. It was obvious I couldn’t trust her, even with giving her the freedom to satisfy her guttural urges with men I would never know. No, she had to do it with someone who I dealt with all the time, my best friend.

Throughout the night I would sleep for a bit then find myself awake, thinking about all of the slutty conquests she had made. The ones before we were married were understandable to a point, but those wicked trysts, like the parade of guys she blew at our 10th reunion, were not. And now today my not so darling wife showed me what an unreformed slut she was.

Somewhere between nightmares number 4 and 5 I made my decision. I just couldn’t live with the situation any longer. Nancy Jean may be adorable and wonderful 25 ways 'til Tuesday, but her desire to use her mouth as a sperm receptacle was her choice. It was a decision I didn’t have to like. Or live with anymore. My decision to divorce her and use my knowledge of her unfaithfulness would not impact the settlement.

The next day at work, I thought about how I would tell Nancy Jean of my decision. In the midst of this deliberation my boss, Richard, walked into my office.

“Hi, Jon, how was your weekend?” he said with a strange, almost forced, smile.

I couldn’t tell him how I really felt, so I babbled something about it being okay. Not one to beat around the bush, Richard looked me over and asked if I would like a bigger office, who which I replied something to the effect of: “Who wouldn’t?”

To make a long story short, he said he’d decided to recommend me for the Department Manager position that had been open for about a month. All that was required is that the Division President give the promotion his okay, which Richard thought would be a mere formality. “You are the best qualified for the job, and I know you will do a good job. Oh, by the way, everything is okay on the home front, right? No surprises there, I hope, because you know how much Mr. Connors feels about family values and all that.”

I merely nodded, wondering if he knew that Nancy Jean was up to her old tricks with Steve. Maybe he was merely suspicious? My brain was sending all kind of messages from the left side to the right as he turned and left the room. I thought of the promotion, the dollars and company car that would come with it. Then it went over to the fact that I’d throw that all away if I went into divorce court with Nancy Jean. Or if the upper echelon at work knew of her oral addiction.

That night Nancy Jean was the perfect wife. Dinner was on the table when I arrived home, along with a nice Cabernet Sauvignon. She told me of her great day at school, how she had papers to grade that night, but wondered if she should slip into something “comfortable” after dinner or later that night.

I told her later was fine, and that the French Maid outfit would be perfect. Sure enough she greeted me in that attire when I made my way to the bedroom after SportsCenter. Somewhere along the line that night I decided, divorce or not, that I was going to use the little woman as my own little whore that night, and I did. Nancy Jean told me how much she loved me in between licks of my cock. She jerked my dick for a while, sloppily sucked it, bringing me to near orgasm before sliding onto her back. While I loved her blowjobs, I kept thinking that so many had been in the same situation, and it was sometimes a turnoff knowing my darling wife had sucked so many dicks.

I was happy to get on top of her and rub my dick up and down her wet slit. I teased a bit, then pulled back before firing my dick at her hole. For the next several minutes I fucked her like there was no tomorrow. I rutted her hard, thrusting deeply into her in an effort to expel all the shame I had at her transgressions. I couldn’t bring myself to kiss her, as who knew whose cum would still be in that oral cavity. Still, I humped her hard. I’m not sure it helped my hatred of her oral activities, but when I emptied my load in her I knew that at least for that moment I had her totally to myself.

I wanted to confront her about Steve, but thought better of it. I had to decide if the promotion meant more than my self-esteem. In the morning I realized it did. I wanted the job, I wanted the money, and I wanted the car.

The next evening I confronted Nancy Jean about Steve, and she was shocked I knew. She told me it had been going on for about three months, that she had only blown him, but that, yes, he refused to use a condom so the half dozen times he used her mouth she swallowed his cum sauce. She said she couldn’t help herself, it was so hot and exciting, but that she had cut it off after that close call over the weekend. I told her I was glad she cut it off, but that she couldn’t be doing any of her nocturnal activities anymore. When I told her of the potential promotion, she nodded her head in agreement.

The following week my promotion was announced, and Nancy Jean unexpectedly told me over a celebratory dinner that she wouldn’t be seeing men outside the area any more, that I was the focus of her attention. The fact she committed to be faithful was comforting. Somehow, I found a way to believe her.

It was a mistake.

Oh, things went along great for several months. There were no telltale signs of her transgressions, no strange calls late at night, no unusual behavior. She didn’t ask for a night on the town, she was wonderful in the bedroom. She seemed very content and was very proud of my new role at the company. Everything seemed well.

My new position required me to travel a couple times a month to our field offices, generally just a one or two night stay. I was worried that Nancy Jean might be up to something, so much so that I would call her each night to check on her whereabouts…which was really not necessary because I had two security cameras installed at the house which captured each of the entrances to the house. So unless someone was slipping in through a window, I knew who was coming and going. And no men were visiting. The odometer on her car didn’t show any abnormal use, she was always at school or home at the appointed times, and I truly thought she was over her oral cravings.

My job was fantastic, and my boss a gem. He gave me plenty of rope to run my operation, and was constantly praising our bottom line. Twice he took me to “his club” where he introduced me as one of the company’s rising stars. Nancy Jean and I had dined several times with the Johnsons, Richard and his lovely wife Samantha. I’d have to say that first year on the job was one of the most satisfying years I’d had. Nancy Jean and I had grown closer, her job was good, mine great, and our personal life wonderful. Or so I thought.

I was in Chicago, battling the winds, on a quick business trip in March about a year after getting my promotion. There were several business meetings during the day, but as was my custom I called my boss about 4 p.m. to fill him in on the details of the day. Richard wasn’t very talkative that day, in retrospect I should have known something was amiss, as he couldn’t seem to hold a conversation. Several times I had to ask, then re-ask, a question. If I didn’t know better I’d think he was hitting the sauce, but figured it was just a cold or a headache or something that was causing his mind to wander.

I called Nancy Jean that night and told her I’d be home the in two days. She was especially nice to me, and said she couldn’t wait to see me. The next day there was a change in plans, as several of the customers we were to meet cancelled, and I flew back home early. Since it was still early, I went to the office and was surprised to see Nancy Jean’s car in the parking lot in my spot. Confused, I went to my office and asked where my wife was. Carol, my secretary, had a confused look on her face, and said she hadn’t seen Nancy Jean in a couple weeks.

“Couple weeks ago? But I was in Phoenix,” I said, “you must mean last month when she met me for lunch.”

“No, it was a couple weeks ago. She must have stopped in to pick something up, because I saw her in the hallway,” said my secretary.

I had no idea of why she would have been in the building, or why her car was in the parking lot right now, but soon I found out. I was walking to the lunchroom to grab a cup of coffee when I ran into Mrs. Perkins, Mr. Johnson’s secretary. The look on her face was full of surprise, and when I asked if I could see my boss she quickly said he was busy. Mrs. Perkins face reddened as she said it, and my mind immediately thought the worse.

I looked the woman in the eyes. I had long been one of her favorites around the building, and she would regularly get Nancy Jean and I company hockey and theater tickets. “Mrs. Perkins…. what is it?”

She looked at me and began to cry. “It’s, it’s, well, it’s just not right,” said the woman. “It’s not right what they are doing. I feel sorry for you but also…”

The woman began sobbing, and I offered her my handkerchief. After she regained some sense of composure, I asked: “What’s not right?”

The woman looked at the floor, then at me. “Mr. Johnson and your wife. It was bad enough when they’d go for a drive at lunchtime, but whenever you are away they do it right here in his office. It’s disgusting. It’s wrong.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Tears came to my eyes as the woman relayed the story of the sordid affair. She was embarrassed to tell all the details, but I begged and pleaded for all the information. Mrs. Perkins said that Nancy Jean and Mr. Johnson had been seeing each other since before my promotion, a fact they disguised from others at the company but not the boss’ secretary.

She said she had suspicions early on, as her boss began taking extended lunches and was behind “closed doors” with my wife. But it wasn’t until Mr. Johnson accidentally left his dictating record in the “on” position that the evidence was undeniable.

The woman told me to head to my office, and that she’d drop a package off in a few minutes. The package consisted of a small tape cassette, very similar to the one I used. “I’m sorry I had to break this to you, but it really is disgusting what they are doing. She was up there today, behind closed doors, and I can just imagine what they were up to. And yesterday when you called in from Chicago she was in there too, probably doing some of that,” she said, nodding to the tape. “Please don’t tell anyone where you got that. I need my job.”

I stared blankly at the tape and nodded, thanking her for the tape and wondering how many others knew of my wife’s indiscretions? I’d hear snickers from time to time, but I truly thought Nancy Jean was being true. About 10 minutes into the tape I realized how wrong I was. Oh, the tape started with a lot of general business dictation, a couple items of basic correspondence and some fine-tuning of a report. It wasn’t until I heard a bit of shuffling and the sound of a button being pushed that my suspicions were confirmed.

“Ah, Mrs. Roberts, so good of you to drop by,” said my boss; loud enough for anyone near his office to hear. “Did you bring the list of issues for our charity event? Thank you so much for working on this…. Mrs. Perkins, please don’t disturb us while we are working on this project, Mrs. Roberts’ time is valuable and I want to get her on the road as quickly as possible.”

I could hear the door closing, and some movement around the room, but it wasn’t until I heard my wife’s voice that I knew what was coming next.

Mr. Johnson!

“Hi Richard, busy day today? Too busy for me?” It wasn’t the best of recordings, but that voice undoubtedly belonged to my wife. “I have to get back to the school by 1, so we don’t have much time. But I wanted to stop by and say, uh, hi.”

My boss laughed, and barely hesitated before telling Nancy Jean to get on with it. My mind didn’t hesitate for a second in understanding what “on with it” meant. I couldn’t hear a zipper sliding open, but I did hear what my wife said.

“Oh, you’re so big, Richard, your big dick is already hard for me!”

“No, you can make it harder, m’dear. Suck it!”

“Gladly…I love sucking your dick.” My wife was apparently in the midst of blowing my boss, and while I couldn’t see it I could envision it due to the near play-by play description given by my boss.

“Oh, baby, you are a great cocksucker…that’s it, that’s it, lick the underside. Now the balls, please, lick my balls. Oh yes, like that.”