Tye looked over the ad, grinning and nodding. Finally, he said, "OK, little miss 'anything', that's a pretty raunchy offering. I think I'll just hold on to it for a while, before I figure out where to send it. And, oh, yes, I did see two non-S- words."
"What?," I squeaked, "you're not really going to send it in, are you. No one would print that about me, would they?"
"You'd better believe they would," he replied, still grinning. "But first," he continued, "we have some other tasks to do. How about getting the marriage license off the wall?"
Long ago, for some reason--maybe Tye's affair--I'd gotten out our marriage license, had it framed, and hung it up on the bedroom wall. Now that I came to think of it, the framed document hung right in front of the bed...our formerly dull, sexless bed. But, now what was he thinking of?
I said I'd do 'anything', so I went to the bedroom (I hadn't changed the sheets, and could swear the room reeked of used sex...not a bad scent at all, at all). I got down the framed paper, and brought it out to Tye.
Then he told me to pull out the license, which I did. He handed me a cigarette lighter, and raised his eyebrows. I held the paper in one hand and the lighter in the other, blankly looking at him. A sort-of permanent smile on his face, he ordered, "OK, now burn it."
"Huh?"
"Burn the license." Shaking a bit, I applied the flame to the paper, and held it up until the document caught, putting it in a big, formerly unused ashtray. He went on, "From right now, you're just living with me, making me happy, taking care to be sure I'm fucked out as often as possible. Your first priority is keeping me aroused and interested. You show lots of leg, butt, tits, pussy. Even when you're in your old clothes, you think of getting my dick hard and in or on you. You wear sexy clothes as often as you can. You want to jump on my shaft and slide it into you whenever you can get it. You'll do 'anything' to keep me aroused."
"And," he finished, "I'll do the same for you. I'll feel you out, caress your skin, brush your hair, put my cock-head between your lips, fuck you hard or fuck you soft, anywhere in the house, or outside, or in the car,...in fact, just about anywhere."
"So," he pointed to the ashes in the glass tray, "right now we're just living together, no security, no marriage, just a partnership based on mutual attraction, trust, and a willingness to 'do' the other as often and as imaginatively as possible. Got it?"
The rational, logical part of me knew that the license was really on file with the County and State, but the 'anything' part- -real strong now--felt the excitement of the freedom, to keep my man satisfied...and for him to get me to do what I'd always secretly lusted for.
"Oh, yeah," he added, "I wanna hear you while you fuck me, too".
"Hunh?" I said intelligently. I was screaming 'fuck', and 'take' and 'rape' pretty regularly, I thought. I said so.
"Not good enough," Tye answered. "I want you talking while you fuck. I want to hear how well my cock fits into you, how much you like it to have a big one shoved between your legs, or your lips. I want your mouth drooling words. It turns me on, it always did. Give me some encouragement...in fact, lot's of encouragement. I want to see your fingers pulling at your own tits, while mine are busy doing other things. I like to hear words like 'bitch' an' 'slut' an' 'whore' coming outta your pretty lips, while your little titties bounce and jiggle from the fucking you're getting."
All I could do was nod my head. I should've been numb, but I was anything but. This was getting heady, kinda scary fun.
What was that thought, when he was fucking-slamming me there in the hall? Fucking me into the moaning, grunting, dirty- talking slippery little slut I've always wanted to be? YEAH!!!
I was 'dressed' in an old short nightdress and panties. My nipples got hard so fast they almost popped off my chest. I actually felt a gush of wet in my pussy. Turning toward Tye, I almost screamed through gritted teeth, "rip it off."
He looked over me, up and down, slowly, maddeningly, and queried, "oh, yeah? Tell me what you want. Tell me all about it. In detail."
"You fucker," I grated, "you grab a handful of this damned stuff, an' you rip it off my body. Do it NOW!" My own hands were sliding all over my body, as if they belonged to someone else. I couldn't get them to do the up, over and down motion that would have bared me to him.
Moving slowly, deliberately, he gathered fold after fold of the old nightgown in his hand. Then, in one fast motion, he pulled. The material tore across the front. Suddenly, my heaving boobs and quivering belly were bare, but it wasn't enough.
"Do it again!"
This time, his hands were at the neckline. He pulled, but the material wouldn't give. He tugged harder. Then, using both hands, and with me braced against the desk, he ripped out and down, the material shredding with a satisfying shearing sound. Now I was bare to the waist. Then I arched my back, and presented him my panties. These he yanked down my hips. I stepped out, bare, panting, oozing wet, rigid-nippled...proud!
I reached for him, mouth dry, pressing my rigid nipples against his chest. I grabbed his hands, and held them up to the nipples, letting him feel the erected tips, the erected aureoles, the swollen tit flesh, hotter than my body. Then, grinning, I turned on my mouth:
"Oh, do you like these little tits, do you?... Pull at 'em, that' right... you like the way they feel, don' you, huh, baby?"
