Iller Blonde 02

*Author's Note: Any and all persons engaging in any sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.

Disclaimers: Yes I need an Editor; no I do not want an Editor. Yes, it jumps around too much, yes, there's too many people to keep track of, yes it's in the wrong category, yes it's too long, yes it's not long enough, yes this is stupid shit, and yes I suck.

For those of you that have not hit the backspace key, I hope you enjoy this rather dark little tale.

*.*.*

Dwight Doucet felt a shiver of anticipation run through him as he clocked out. Tasha, his beautiful wife of five months had promised him a big surprise when he got home that evening.

His parents had objected bitterly when he'd announced his engagement to Natasha Iechenbach.

"You're only eighteen; you're too young," his mother had said.

"What's the hurry; aw, Jesus Freaking Christ, is she knocked up? That it? The little bitch's knocked up, ain't she? Beautiful, just freaking beautiful," his father had said.

His dad had agreed, Tasha Iechenbach was stunning, a true beauty. She stood five foot four inches, had pale flawless skin, light brown, almost golden eyes, and a stunning smile. Her ash blonde hair hung down to her perfect small waist, often drooping over one eye or the other.

Her chest was an impressive 34DD, and her rear end was perfectly heart shaped, just begging to be squeezed.

Despite his parents' objections, the five foot seven inch boy married the recently orphaned girl and moved into her house. Her father had died just a few weeks before Tasha and Dwight's high school graduation; congestive heart failure. Then her mother died just before Christmas that same year. Her mother had been diabetic and was forever forgetting to take her insulin. Or she would too much.

Donna Iechenbach had taken too much insulin that morning and suffered a seizure while Christmas shopping at Babbage's Department Store in Bender, Louisiana. She'd fallen backward, struck her head on the jewelry counter and never woke up.

"Good luck trying to support you and a wife on, what, Eight bucks an hour?" his father had sneered when Dwight announced their engagement.

"Eight fifty five, Dwayne, Dwight's older brother had sneered.

"Whoop de freaking do," their father sneered. "And without college? Working at Cowboy's Barbeque is about the best you'll ever hope to do too, hear?"

But Tasha's house was paid for; her father had seen to that. And she'd been the beneficiary on her mother's life insurance, one hundred and twenty five thousand dollars. Donna had been the beneficiary of Rudolph's life insurance policy, a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar policy and Donna had been fairly frugal with that money.

But even though she had plenty of money, Tasha insisted that Dwight work, that he be responsible for their utilities, their homeowner's insurance, and the insurance on his 2010 Camaro and her 2014 Lexus. Those bills usually wiped out his meager paychecks.

A check of the schedule showed Dwight that he was again working the lunch shift that Saturday and he fought down the groan.

Getting into his red Camaro, Dwight again felt that shiver of anticipation. Just that morning, Tasha had flashed him her pretty pussy, showing him that she had freshly shaved her pussy bald. He loved the look of her puffy pubic mound when it was hairless, loved the sight of her plump pussy lips peeking out of her bald slit. And she had first flashed him a smile, then moved the side of her robe aside and flashed him her pussy.

Dwight didn't know why, but lately, Tasha had been denying him any access to her. Gropes of her breasts were met with slaps to his hands and a hard look. Gropes of her sweet backside were met with forceful shoves. Pleas and entreaties for pussy were met with scornful looks.

But she said she had a surprise for him.

So he drove home, his favorite CD, 'Vulgar Display Of Power' by Pantera blaring.

Her car was there, and there was a dark blue Mercedes-Benz in the spot that Dwight normally occupied.

Dwight didn't know enough about cars to know what year, make or model the car was, but he didn't have to know much about makes or models to know it was an expensive car.

The uniformed driver standing next to the car was a dead giveaway that this was an expensive car.

"Hey, how's it going?" Dwight greeted the man.

The driver's only answer was a curt nod.

"So, uh, what you doing here?" Dwight pressed.

The man just nodded toward the house with his head.

Dwight walked to the door and opened it.

The curtains were drawn tight; Tasha didn't like much light; avoided direct sunlight as much as possible. It took a moment for Dwight's eyes to adjust to the semi-darkness.

When his eyes did adjust, he saw his wife, nude. Dwight saw his nude wife's long ash blonde hair draped over her back, head thrown back in a silent scream of pleasure.

Tasha's tiny little ass hole was stretched wide around a large cock. Her pale white buttocks actually looked pink in the dim lighting, then a large meaty paw came down and delivered a resounding slap to her pretty little buttocks.

"Fuck yes!" Tasha screamed and shuddered in orgasm.

"WH, WH, wha, what?" Dwight yelled, rooted to the spot.

"Surprise," Tasha said in her curiously flat voice, peering over her shoulder at her husband.

"Ugh!" the unseen man grunted as Tasha rose up and slid down again on his fat cock.

Dwight stood, mouth open in shock as another man's semen started oozing out of his wife's stretched, raw looking anus.

Then Tasha dismounted and sat on the couch next to the man, legs spread wide. Dwight could see that her bald pubic mound was coated with semen, that her heavy pussy lips were slick with semen.

"Hello, Dwight," the man said in a deep, resonant voice.

"Wha, wha, what?" Dwight said, uncomprehending.

"Surprise," Tasha said again. "Dwight, this is Marcus Whitehead. I'm sure you've heard of him. Whitehead Generators?"

Dwight now saw that her breasts had teeth marks on them, and her left one even had a large hickey on it.

""He, he's, what's he doing here?" Dwight stupidly asked.

"Fucking me like I've never been fucked before," Tasha said in her emotionless voice.

She sneered at Dwight's crotch.

"Like that little thing of yours could ever do it?" she asked.

"Well, I see the idea of your wife getting fucked by a real man excites you," Marcus commented as he grabbed Tasha's long ash blonde hair and pulled the girl's mouth toward his slimy cock.

"Huh?" Dwight asked, shifting his attention to the older man.

"You're itty bitty pee-pee's all hard," Tasha sneered as she knelt on the couch and opened her mouth for Marcus's cock.

Dwight's cock felt constricted in his jeans as he watched his wife suck on a cock that was still slimy from her ass.

"Dwight, know why you haven't been getting to touch Tasha?" Marcus asked as Tasha performed a noisy blow job on his thick cock.

"Huh?" Dwight asked.

"It's because that pussy's mine, boy," Marcus said.

"Pussy's his, tits are his, ass is his," Tasha agreed, then resumed sucking the man's cock.

"But I've agreed you can fuck her, if you clean her up," Marcus said, then slapped Tasha's head lightly.

"Enough with the mouth; I want my pussy now," he ordered

"Okay," Tasha agreed and swung her leg over and squatted down on the man's cock.

"What? What you mean?" Dwight asked. "She's my wife, God damn it!"

"Oh yeah, she's your wife," Marcus agreed calmly.

"But I'm his fuck toy," Tasha grunted as she bounced up and down on the man's lap.

Dwight could see semen oozing from Tasha's stretched anus and his cock twitched and jerked in his stained jeans.

"She's your wife, she'll sleep in your bed, she'll even let you eat her pussy," Marcus grunted as Tasha bounced energetically on his erection.

"After he fills me with his hot cum," Tasha panted, then screamed in orgasm.

"Bull shit! I'm getting a divorce!" Dwight screamed.

"Be a shame to throw that hot pussy away like that," Marcus said. "But do what you have to do."

""Oh God, yes, come in me, oh give me that hot come," Tasha begged.

"Ugh! Here, it, oh!" Marcus grunted and Tasha screamed in another orgasm.

"And I'll sue you for every God damned penny you got!" Dwight screamed at Marcus.

"And I'll bury you and your lawyer under such a mountain, you'll never see daylight again," Marcus said calmly.

Tasha again dismounted and sat, feet up on the couch, displaying her sperm filled pussy to Dwight.

"You clean me up, I'll give you a hand job," Tasha offered.

"But if you agree to stay married? If you don't bother me with this silly little lawsuit?" Marcus said as he pulled up his silk boxers and suit trousers. "I'll give you a job at Whitehead."

"You didn't say anything about that!" Tasha gasped, looking at Marcus with adulation.

"I don't tell you everything," Marcus chuckled, lightly slapping her beautiful face.

The man got to his feet and grabbed his suit jacket from Dwight's recliner.

"Think about it, son," Marcus said as he shrugged the suit jacket on. "I'm going to fuck your bride, whenever and wherever I want to, whether you like it or not."

He opened the front door of the house.

"Might as well get a job out of it, huh?" Marcus said, then left the house.

"Oh, a job! Oh Dwight, isn't that great?" Tasha said and got to her feet.

She hugged Dwight, then kissed him.

Dwight realized, as his wife thrust her tongue into his mouth, he was tasting her shit and another man's semen on her tongue. He also realized he could feel Tasha's slimy pussy rubbing against his thigh, and his thigh was wet, moist from another man's semen.

He bolted away, just making it to the kitchen in time to vomit heartily into the sink.

"You're cleaning that up," Tasha said in her nearly emotionless voice.

Dwight sat down heavily on the kitchen floor and almost vomited again when he realized his cock was still hard. He also realized, his cock was sticky from his own ejaculation.

"I work the lunch shift again tomorrow," he stupidly said.

"And if you took the job at Whitehead, you'd never have to come home stinking of barbecue sauce again," Tasha replied.

She bent to look into Dwight's confused, almost vacant eyes.

"Like the man said, he's fucking me whether you like it or not; might as well get a job out of it," she said.

"How long's this been going on?" Dwight asked.

"Huh? Oh, about a month, yeah, about a month now," Tasha said calmly. "I was at Dustin's; God, I love their country fried steak, and anyway, this gorgeous guy comes over and says he wants to fuck me and I said okay."

"What? Just like that?" Dwight yelled.

"Yeah, just like that," Tasha shrugged. "I was horny, he was gorgeous, so we did it."

She pointed to her still slimy pussy.

"So, you uh, you going clean this up? If not, I'm going take a shower now," she said.

He glared hatefully at her. She shrugged and padded out of the kitchen, perfect little ass wiggling seductively.

"That's it; I'm getting a divorce," Dwight snarled.

"You hear me?" he screamed.

"You do and you'll just wind up paying me alimony for the rest of your life," Tasha said, sticking her head back into the kitchen. "Remember? I don't have a job."

"You got all that money," Dwight argued.

"Got it before we got married," Tasha said.

She dipped a finger into her pussy. Then she sucked the finger clean.

"I really was hoping you'd clean me up, eat all this delicious sperm out of my little honey pot," Tasha cooed, smiling seductively to Dwight.

She rubbed her pussy with her hand.

"Fuck, just thinking about it makes me hot," she admitted.

Dwight hefted himself to his feet again and faced the sink. He retched several times, but nothing came out.

Tasha shrugged and padded out of the kitchen again.

A moment later, Dwight heard the shower start.

That night, Dwight spent a restless night, listening to Tasha's heavy, contented breathing.

"I was horny, he was gorgeous," he repeated to himself.

He looked at the thick mane of ash blonde hair on the pillow next to him.

"Really?" he asked out loud. "It really was as easy as that? He just asked and you let him?"

The next morning, Tasha looked at her cell phone.

"Oh. I won't be home when you get home," she said. "Marcus is taking me to New York."

"Wait, what?" Dwight asked.

"So, you taking that job or what?" Tasha asked as she spooned the Cap'N Crunch cereal into her mouth.

Dwight didn't answer. She shrugged and finished eating her cereal.

"Did you ever love me?" Dwight asked quietly as she was putting her bowl into the dishwasher.

"Yeah, probably, shit, I guess," Tasha said. "I don't know. Why? What's that matter?"

"Doesn't matter, I guess," he spat.

"Oh, now we're going throw a big old temper tantrum?" she jeered. "Go ahead, Dwight; I need to pack. Is it cold in New York City right now?"

Later on, at work, Josh Jordan, Dwight's supervisor was in a highly agitated state. Rumor was that the scrawny young man went to N.A. meetings with Brooke, the restaurant's manager; no one could think of any other reason Josh had a position of any authority at the restaurant.

"Move your fucking ass, Doucet," Josh snarled as Dwight hustled to put a load of still steaming platters into the turret.

"Fuck you, Jordan, I quit; do this shit yourself, bitch," Dwight snapped.

Two of the waitresses tried to get Dwight to stay; he was a hard worker and didn't make sexual advances toward them.

"No, fuck, can go to Whitehead, make twice as much as I'm making here and don't have to put up with his shit," Dwight said.

Dwight sent a text message to Tasha's cell phone that he'd decided to take the job at Whitehead Generators. The response was from Marcus, not Tasha.

Dwight's cock grew hard as he imagined why Tasha would be too busy to answer the simple message.

He imagined that they were on Marcus Whitehead's private jet and Tasha was on her knees between Marcus Whitehead's muscular legs, giving the powerful man one of her noisy blow jobs. Employees and business partners walked back and forth, trying to ignore the attractive ash blonde as she slurped and moaned on the man's large dick.

Dwight jerked out of his reverie as his cell phone chimed with another text message.

Dwight was instructed to go to the Pinoak facility, told to ask for Heather Aucoin.

Dwight's already hard cock grew even harder as he imagined Heather Aucoin to be a mirror image of his wife, a beautiful and sexy young woman.

The facility itself was a metal warehouse. The building covered four acres and stood at one hundred feet tall. There was a large door that was wide open and Dwight walked in and asked the first worker he saw for Heather Aucoin.

The six foot tall, nearly three hundred pound woman with the high and tight haircut was not a mirror image of Natasha Iechenbach. (Tasha had not taken Dwight's last name when they married.)

"Yeah, Marcus said you'd be by," the woman said. "Here, fill this out."

Dwight slowly, methodically filled out the job application. Then Heather had the young man perform a few basic tests.

"Pretty good at math, huh?" she asked, looking over his test results.

"Yeah, it was one of my favorite classes in school," Dwight agreed.

"Good, good, here, read this, bring it back tomorrow; shift starts at seven," Heather said, handing Dwight a well-read manual.

"Um, so I got the job?" Dwight said.

"Well, yeah," Heather said. "Wear clothes you don't care about; you're going get dirty."

Dwight didn't know why, but Heather had given him a manual for the electronics of a primary substation generator. He studied the schematics, studied the specs sheets, and then studied the coupling procedures.

The next morning, he dressed in a pair of blue jeans that Tasha had insisted he buy; the price tag was still attached. He then pulled on the Polo shirt she'd bought for him. Then, with Slayer's 'Reign In Blood' playing at an intolerable volume, he drove to work.

"That manual about put you to sleep?" Heather asked as she showed Dwight his locker.

"Huh? The book? No, it was pretty interesting," Dwight said.

She pulled him to a workbench and showed him that they were just beginning work on a primary substation generator.

"All connections are crimped and then cold soldered; that's two connections makes sure our fail rate is super low," one of the men explained as he showed Dwight what to do.

And few minutes later, the man nodded in approval to Heather and she walked away to where the crew was completing a secondary full station.

When they'd finished the substation, Dwight was pulled to the full station. Again, all connections were crimped together, then soldered. He was shown a punch board and, in the cramped, noisy interior, he did his best to follow the specs sheet he had been given.

At four o'clock, a bone tired Dwight was slapped on the back and told, "See you tomorrow."

Tasha came home three days later, wearing a new leather overcoat, new leather boots, and an extremely snug dress that reached to just below mid-thigh.

"Hi Sweetheart; so? How you like working at Whitehead?" she asked, kissing him.

Once again, he could taste how foul her tongue tasted and he pulled away.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, had to clean Marcus's cock before he went home to his wife," Tasha giggled. "But, come on, tell me about the job."

In silence, Dwight walked away and sat on the couch, the same couch she'd fucked Marcus Whitehead on, and continued studying the schematics for the return grid.

"Oh, whatever, fucker," Tasha snarled. "Was in the mood to let you eat me but you can forget about that now."

"Oh, what a shame," Dwight said.

Marcus and Dwight rarely crossed paths at Whitehead Generators. The few times they did see each other, Marcus did not smirk or gloat. He simply nodded in greeting, then turned his attention to Heather's reports.

Four days later, as he completed a punch board for a full station, Dwight heard a few whistles. Production ground to a halt. Then he saw Tasha slowly, purposefully stroll her way across the floor to the steel staircase.

She was wearing a long sleeved red dress; it looked like a long sleeved tee shirt since the hem reached to just below mid-thigh. As she walked, the bright red dress rose up so that everyone could see the tops of her thigh high stockings, the straps of her garter belt.

If the hem rose up a fraction of an inch higher the whole work force would be able to see if she wore panties or not as her legs pistoned.

"Mother fucker," Heather groaned. "I'd eat a bucket of her sit just to see where it came from."

Dwight was seething. It was bad enough he had to put up with a cheating slut wife at home. It was unforgiveable though, for her to come to his place of employment, parade her whorish behavior in front of all of his co-workers.

Tasha gingerly climbed the stairs in her five inch heels, then turned and locked eyes with Dwight. Her golden eyes almost seemed to mock him as she then opened the door to Marcus Whitehead's office and disappeared.

Slowly, the men, and four gay women got back to work.

Roughly an hour later, Tasha came out of the office, looking slightly rumpled. But the little smirk on her lips once again caused production to grind to a halt as she slowly, methodically negotiated the stairs, then leisurely strolled across the concrete floor.

Dwight felt nauseated, excited as he, and most of his fellow workers could see the trails of semen on Tasha's stockings. He hung his head in shame, embarrassment.

Fortunately for him, none of his fellow laborers knew that the mysterious, gorgeous woman that strolled from office to warehouse door was his wife. Had Dwight told them that the wanton slut was his wife, none of them would have believed him.