Louise... Slut at Last

Mark was still smiling.

"Well, I'd like that very much, indeed, Will!"

"Awesome!" I said.

"Just to be clear here – you're asking me to cuckold you? Is that right?

"Exactly."

The waitress came by right at that point, and we ordered another round. When she had gone, Mark continued, "You know, I must say that your timing in asking me this is impeccable, almost prescient!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I just lost the use of the last wife I was using. Her husband accepted a job in North Carolina a couple of months ago, and so she's a thousand miles away now."

"So ... you've done this before?"

"Yes, pretty steadily for the last five years. Ever since my wife's health challenges started to really impact our sex life."

"She is ill?"

"Yes ... mentally ill. It began earlier, but we last had intimate relations about five years ago. She's incapable, at this point. And I don't feel called to celibacy."

"So, you fuck other men's wives?"

"I much prefer it to the singles scene. Married women have a special attraction for me that other ladies simply cannot match."

I reflected as a brought my ale glass to my lips and took a draught.

"So ... that question I asked you earlier, about the adulterous affair in your novel. Was that non-fiction?"

"It was pretty damn autobiographical," he replied.

"So ... YOU were Ben Withers? Who was Julia?"

Mark chuckled. "Did you ever meet Alice Lindell? From the Literary Group? Blonde, five-foot-seven, great legs. Married to a tall, fat guy?"

"Did I ever! What a hottie she was! What ever happened to her?"

"She got a divorce and moved out West. Pity. I really loved fucking her."

"Did she ever see your novel?"

"Oh, I made sure of that. Sent her an autographed first edition. We were still carrying on at the time, but it was in the later stages of her marriage. She liked it very well. She had a keen, wicked side to her."

"Did Alice's husband ever see it?"

"He did. Never recognized his wife or himself or me in the book, though. Not the brightest chap."

"So, this is kind of a delicate subject. I mean, you really seem ideally suited to be the one to help me with Louise. But there's a detail ... a kind of prerequisite feature you sort of have to have in order to make this kink work for me. And that ... umm ... has to do with the size of your equipment."

Mark laughed and took a swig of his brown ale.

"So, if you could give me a number representing a length dimension, that would be ... uh ... really helpful."

"Sure. It's a bit over 24." He kept a straight face. I took the bait.

"But nobody has a 24-inch co ...", I started. And then I saw what he had done. Mark has always liked to put on a sort of faux-European persona. He had even copied a mild Continental accent. He was giving me the metric length of his dick, in centimeters.

"Ok, wise guy. What is that in English units?" I demanded.

"Nine-and-a-half inches," he stated matter of factly.

I gave a low whistle. "Fully Meets Requirements," I let him know. "I won't say my number, but let's just say, you'll have four-and-a-half inches of unexplored regions of Louise to play in!"

We both laughed at that.

"Speaking of which," I said, "I need to text her. I didn't tell her I was going to stop off at the pub."

I sent Louise a brief text, telling her I had run into an old friend at Callahan's, and would be late.

"So, what's the plan?" Mark queried. "Is there one?"

"I'll need your help in crafting it," I said. "Or, at least, in filing in the details. I have a kind of general strategy."

"Great. What've you got so far?"

I explained to Mark my theory of the three things that drive Louise, the three things we could exploit in Mark's quest to bed her. The first was duty. If there was a way set up that she would "owe" Mark a debt she could never repay ... well, that would motivate her. Louise was also driven by compassion for those in difficult situations. So, obviously, Mark could play up the situation regarding his sexless marriage. And then, too, she was motivated by justice. If we could somehow brainstorm a way that fucking Mark would set right a horrible wrong ... well, that also might do the trick."

Mark looked impressed. "Wow, you've really done your homework, Will. You're really making this easy for me. I already know how we can hit all three points. Shall I lay it all out for you, or would you like to be surprised by it as it happens in real time?"

I considered. "I think I'd like to be surprised," I answered. But I do have a few more questions and clarifications for you, now that I thing about it. This was going to require another drink for each of us, so I waved the waitress over. After she'd brought the drinks, I explained myself to Mark.

"Okay, just so you know ... my ultimate fantasy is two-fold, and wouldn't necessarily fall within the realm of what you've done before. One is that I'm the sort of cuckold who wants to actually be in the room, watching his wife being fucked. Films or even audio are great, but ultimately, I want you and Louise to humiliate me in person, flaunting the fact that you and she get to fuck, but that I do not. I can't explain why I need that, and I know it sounds crazy, but there it is."

Mark looked serene and unsurprised, so I continued.

"And the second feature is probably different from your past affairs with other men's wives. And that is that I eventually want her transformed. I mean, it's all well and good, it's a great START to have her fall for you and fuck you. But I eventually want her to be extremely licentious, dropping to her knees, or opening her legs to virtually every interested cock that comes along. I want her made into a slut."

"Hmmm ..." Mark observed. "Well, that would seem to go somewhat against my own self-interest in this. I mean, on the day I first fuck Louise, she will immediately become the sexiest wife I've ever fucked. I'm not sure exactly how I am incentivized to share that kind of women with others." He laughed a hearty laugh.

But I picked up on the word "incentivized" and stored it in my heart. "Maybe I will think of an incentive," I told him.

We parted in great joy and comradeship, and Mark assured me that he would waste not time, but would start in on Project Fuck Louise the very next day, Saturday.

Saturday morning, I was close by Louise at home when she got a call from Mark on her cell phone. I only heard her half of the conversation, but given our planning from the previous evening, I could pretty much guess at his half. Louise confirmed this with me when she got off the phone.

"That was Mark Upshaw. He's having some kind of issue that he thinks I can help him with. He wouldn't say what it is, but I'll be he's got a character in his new novel that isn't ringing true to him, and he probably wants me to review some passages for him."

Louise had often performed this editing service for Mark in the past, giving the writer a valuable "fresh eyes" perspective on his characters and their words and actions.

"Anyhow, he's asked me out to a late lunch, so you can pretty much count on me being gone for the afternoon," she said apologetically. "You won't mind too much, will you Will?"

"Not at all. Mark is your good friend. I think you should help him. He's a worthy cause."

Louise look relieved. When it came time, she changed clothes, but did not dress in a sexy way, just what I would call "business casual." She gave me a peck on the cheek as she left.

"There's still half a quiche in the fridge," she remind me.

I texted Mark, "Any chance you can call me when you start talking to Louise, so I can see how this goes?"

He texted back, "Sure. Will do."

Their appointment was for 2:00 pm, so you can imagine my nervousness when it got to be 2:30, and Mark hadn't called. Had he forgotten? Chickened out? I thought of all the worst things that might have happened. But then, at 2:35 pm, the phone rang. It was Mark. He said nothing, but I could hear Louise, ordering her food, and then I heard the waitress leave their table.

"So, what is it that I can help you with, Mark" Louise queried. Mark paused for two seconds.

"To be honest, I'm rather embarrassed to bother you with this, but you have to understand, I literally have no one else to share this sort of thing at the moment."

"It's fine," Louise assured him.

"Okay, well, I don't recall how much I've told you about my wife Millie's situation ... "

The way he tailed off made it seem like Louise's turn to speak. She actually knew quite a lot about Midred (Millie) Upshaw, none of it good or hopeful, and only about half of it from Mark.

"I know that she's not well," Louise started. Mark was quiet, so Louise continued.

"I know that her ... umm ... health ... puts you in a very difficult situation. And I know that you're an absolute Saint to stay with her and care for her as you do!"

"I'm not so sure about the "saint" part," Mark returned. "But the rest of it is in the nature of an understatement. Her condition is not life-threatening, but it renders her unable to complete many normal life functions." Now, it was Louise's turn to be silent, bidding Mark to continue.

"Let me just say it. I haven't had sex with my wife in five years." As I listened on my cell phone, I notice that he omitted to tell about the several married women he'd been fucking in place of Millie. I laughed silently to myself.

"Oh, dear, that terrible Mark! I had no idea!!" Louise's compassion moved her to say. This was really proceeding well, I thought.

"Well, I try to put a brave face on it all, but you know Louise, I'm not all that far past the prime of my life ..."

Louise interrupted him as if he'd insulted a dear friend, which in a way, he had. She sounded almost angry.

"You are IN the prime of your life, Mark, unless possibly you have not even reached it yet!"

There was a silence from both parties. There was some noise in the background, possibly food being brought to their table or another nearby.

Finally, I heard Louise say, "Is she ... mean to you?"

There was alarm in Mark's voice: "What have you heard?"

"Oh, nothing, really," Louise lied. "Just trying to put two and two together.

"Well, I try not to say a word against Millie, but I can't deny that, yes, she is now quite mean and even belligerent lately."

More silence. Between Louise's concerned questions and Mark's pretendedly longsuffering answers, he painted my wife a picture of the ever-suffering, dutiful husband, saddled with the additional burden of five years utterly without the sexual pleasures of a woman. Even through the phone, I could tell Louise wanted so badly to reach out and touch Mark. And, perhaps she did. And, she clearly wanted to help him somehow. Mark was summing up.

"Dear Louise – I feel so guilty for having brought you into the secret of my hidden pain. I just wish that there were something you could do to ... help alleviate my burden."

Louise apparently paused to reflect. I checked my cell phone battery level to make sure I would not miss the rest of their conversation. Fifty-nine percent. Fine, I thought. I hope Mark fully charged his cell phone before lunch. Finally, Louise broke the silence.

"My dear Mark ... you KNOW that anything I could possibly do to relieve your pain, if it were within the will of God, I would do. But all I can promise is to pray for you, and if I come up with anything further, I will let you know right away! Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Don't be love. It is I who must be sorry for burdening you with this. I accept your offer of prayers most heartily! And now, let us pass on to talk of more pleasant things. Any news on the publication of your own novel? It's been nearly two years now."

That stung. Louise had come to the end of her rope trying to find a publisher for her novel. All her test readers had told her it was an excellent first novel, self-contained, and compelling. But those sorts of compliments don't make publishers front you any money. She had sworn a solemn vow to herself not to self-publish the thing (at her and Will's expense). Every single one of the eight friends she'd know who had self-published books had turned into insufferable bores after the publication. They each seemed corrupted by the self-promotion in slightly different ways, but she'd far rather remain unpublished than to turn into the kind of monster that self-publication had made of her friends. But now, Mark was expecting an answer.

"No news is bad news!" she said with false brightness. "Isn't that what they say?"

Mark's reply could not be distinguished from the background noise at that point. Louise went on.

"I do have a handsome stack of rejection letters, with various purported reasons why they won't take the thing. But I'm at the end of my struggle, I think. And I'm kind of at peace with remaining unpublished."

"Oh, nonsense!" Mark objected vigorously. "Utter rubbish and nonsense! You SHALL have a publisher!"

Louise laughed gratefully at his support. "Thanks, Mark. If only you were a publisher!"

At this point, either Mark's phone battery died, or he hung up on me, because that was all I got. When Louise returned home, it was all I could do not to pester her with questions about how her lunch with Mark had gone. I waited for nearly and hour, and finally said simply:

"How is Mark? Did you get his novel passage sorted out for him?"

"He's fine, and I did!" Louise lied. Lying to me about this was a very, very good sign. The old Louise would have spilled everything to me about what Mark had said. This was real progress, and in only one day.

*****************

It was Monday morning. Will had already left for work. Louise was saying her morning prayers, after which she would head out to the gym. After cutting a wide swath through her perpetual prayer list, she added the following petition on behalf of her suffering friend:

"And, dear Lord, please be with, encourage, and sustain Mark in this time of terrible trial for him. Grant him the joy of thy salvation. And, oh Lord, if there be any way known to thee, grant him sexual release, within the confines of thy holy law. Let him not waste the prime of his life in some joyless, sexless, slough of despond. Amen."

She breathed out, a yoga-like exhalation, and felt the peace she always felt after praying. And now, the gym. She strode easily over to her clothes dresser, and opened the drawer with her gym wear (jog bras, leggings, etc.), which also kept a few of the lingerie items she most frequently wore for Will. Her hand fell on a pair of lacy purple panties. And then she had her first epiphany regarding Mark's problem. She opened the drawer below the gym clothing drawer, and there, safely packed away were her lesser used lingerie items. Each one reminded her of some "photo shoot" Will had done of her. That's what he called them, anyway. He was an amateur with a camera, and the background of the photos was just their own bedroom, but he made a big deal of asking her to let her take the photos. He always had, even from early on in the marriage. For the moment, she forgot all about the gym.

"I wonder where he keeps all those pictures," Louise wondered in a whisper. His computer desk was obviously the first place to look. She entered his Study, and started looking for any kind of memory storage device near his computer.

"Not likely it'd be labeled," Louise thought. She continued rooting. Fortunately, Will was so disorganized that almost any amount of rooting through his stuff would be undetectable to him at a later time. So, she just kept looking. She found a likely contender, a blue USB memory stick. She shoved it into the USB port and navigated through its files. This is all just financial documents, she thought. She "safely ejected" the USB stick and tried another one, this one with a brushed aluminum finish. When she navigated to its location under "My Computer" she realized that the capacity of this USB drive was 2 terabytes. "Wow!" Louise chuckled to herself. "I never knew my husband had such a big stick!" She laughed again at her joke. Will's diminutive penis was an occasional source of merriment for them both.

"Bingo!" she said, as she read some of the folder titles on the drive:

Red_Thong

Little_Black_Dress

PVC_Dress_with_Boobs

HotAF_MiniDress

Fuck_Me_Shoes

Unless Will was doing "photo shoots" with other models, this drive was chock full of sexy pictures of her. She started browsing, losing track of the time. She went to fetch her own USB memory stick and transferred several dozen of Will's sexiest images of her to her device. Finally, she put everything back to the way it was, and returned to her own office area. She was almost sure that these photos could help Mark with his problem.

But she wanted to pray on it a bit more before sending them out. She did text Mark to say:

"Hi, Mark. I've thought a lot about what we talked about on Saturday, and I may have an idea to help. Look for an email from me within about 2 hours. – Louise"

Now, at last, she changed for the gym, choosing her most sexy outfit ... a fluorescent peach jog bra with matching leggings. One of Jim's favorites, as he had told her. She was walking on air, buoyed up by the thought that she might be able to help Mark after all. Her workout for the day was shoulders, and she had one of the best workouts ever. She was very focused, and by the end of it, her capped deltoid muscles glowed with health and were fuller than she could ever remember them being before. John, Jim, and Fred noticed, too. But she paid no mind to them or the remarks they gave out in stage whispers. She was a woman on a mission.

After her post-workout meal (protein shake and oats), she checked her cell phone and there was only a brief text back from Mark:

"Thanks, my friend. Standing by!"

She went up to her office desk and took hold of her USB storage device. She put it into the port and navigated to the folder of her sexy photos that she had created earlier that morning. She opened Outlook and began an email:

To: Upshaw, Mark

From: Louise Irwin

Subject: Toward Your Relief

Dear Mark, As I was praying for you this morning, or actually, just after I had finished praying, I hit upon a small thing I could perhaps offer you to help with your "situation." I know it has to be impossibly hard for you, remaining chaste like you are. And so, make the humble offer of these "R-rated" photographs, in hopes that they may, through the mercy of God, allow you some measure of relief.

–L

She then attached her 15 favorite photographs from the approximately 50 she had selected that morning. She paused only a moment before pressing "Send". Two minutes later, Mark had viewed them all, and ten minutes later, he had forwarded Louise's email, with the photos, to Will. If Mark was duly impressed by Louise's near-naked body, Will was similarly impressed with the progress Mark had been able to foster in his wife. Things were truly looking up.

Mark eventually emailed back to Louise to thank her for the photographs, and for the trust that she showed by sending them. He assured her of his complete discretion. She didn't hear from him again until Tuesday, when he wrote:

"Dearest L,

Not to be too grasping or acquisitive, but ... is there any possibility of sending another set of photographs?"

Yours, in torment, but now of a different sort,

M"

She immediately sent Mark another set of 15 photos, and he thanked her with an immediate email. Then, of course, he forwarded the email and attachments to Will, to keep him up to speed.

The same thing happened Wednesday, and she sent Mark the final 20 photos of her initial hand-chosen set. Again, he wrote back that he was gratified.

But Louise did not hear from Mark on Thursday or Friday. By Friday night, she couldn't stand it any more. She texted him: