Is the fact that a husband is a big fat idiot, a good enough reason for a wife to cheat?
*
Swift Branchbaum was on a quest!
Scott Landsford had hinted that an oh-so hard-to-find box of Arturo Fuente Opus X BBMF cigars was going to be auctioned today.
Swift Branchbaum would not to be deterred. He ascertained where the auction was taking place, and he called his chauffeur, Moses Williams. After he was assured by Landsford that Hedda was in good hands staying at the estate until he returned later that evening, he left for the auction. The Opus X BBMF's weren't known as the big Bad Mother Fuckers for nothing. They packed a kick. MF's for sure; it took a man to smoke one, an uber-mensch to own a whole box. Swift Branchbaum wanted that box!
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Hedda Branchbaum sat straight, her hands demurely clasped on her lap. Her knees were pressed together. Her feet, in their 4 inch heels were firm on the floor.
The chair on which she was sitting was an odd one. It looked almost to be a throne. The chair was narrow also, reaching upwards, high enough to allow her to support the back of her head which she leaned against it.
Her eyes looked straight ahead, staring but not looking at anything. She was 'in the moment.'
Behind the chair, Scott Landsford stood. His hands reached over, rested at the side of Hedda's neck, and gently kneaded her tense shoulders. "I take it that Swift is treating you well?" Scott said.
"He's a fuzzy-wuzzy bear. That's his term for himself. He treats me well," Hedda replied. Her voice, even to herself, sounded distant, far away, removed from the situation and separate from what she was saying. "He's a soft, pleasant, fuzzy-wuzzy to me," she repeated. A warm fuzzy wuzzy and she hated him.
Scott lifted his hands from her shoulders and placed them under her arm pits slowly moving them so that his fingers pointed downwards just brushing the side of her breasts. She breathed heavily, and he shifted his hands so that his fingers now smoothed the sides of her swollen breasts. "It's been a long time," he said, "and you still feel good."
"Hmmmn, hmmnn," Hedda's voice was subdued, not yet a moan.
He moved one hand to just under her right breast and then down to just above her belly button. "Are you treating him well?" Scott asked. His voice was low, confidential.
"I let him fuck me in the ass when he asks," she replied. She wondered why Scott was wasting time discussing ol' fuzzy-wuzzy.
Scott's hands continued their exploration of Hedda's body. One hand now rested on her thigh and squeezed gently. "He fuck you good?"
"Fuzzy-wuzzy," was her reply. "He fucks me." Her voice was without much inflection. It gave away nothing of her feelings. Hedds Branchbaum thought that even if Swift had, improbable as that was, fucked her 'good,' she still would hate the man.
His hand had moved to her knees and then under the hem of her dress, exploring now the flesh of her upper thighs. "Does this feel good?" Scott said, his finger was now rubbing her silk panties, pressing against the gibbous folds of her labia. "Feel good?"
For answer, she breathed in deeply, drawing her stomach in, pushing her breast out. "Mmmmm."
His voice was private, whispered into her ear, "Shall I stop?"
"No. Please. You don't have to stop. Don't stop. You'd better not stop."
His fingers, two of them, were now inside her panty, pressing now against her vulva, touching the sheath that covered her clitoris. "Once a slut, always a slut," he commented, making it a secret between them.
She offered a slow nod of her head to agree with him.
"Let's go to my bedroom," he said.
She tried but was unable to quiet her breathing as they walked up the stairs, he behind her, his hands underneath her dress hard against the skin of her waist. "Is Swift aware of where I am?" she asked.
"Swift aware?" Scott answered. "If he was aware, he wouldn't be Swift."
Scott stopped their climb up the stairs and pushed Hedda against the wall. He wanted to fuck her right there, but, forbearing that, he kissed her instead, forcing his tongue into her mouth, lifting her dress to where it bunched just beneath her breasts, pressing his unpantsed cock against her body. Her mouth was opened wide. His tongue was in eager motion against hers. She rubbed her stomach against his cock, making meewing sounds as she rubbed her tummy against his tumescent cock. Scott continued to grind his cock into her. Suddenly, wanting to say something, Scott stopped kissing her. "Swift knows what he wants to know. He knows that I am showing you the house. He does not want to know more."
"What if I told him that you had your cock out and that my dress was all the way up to under my tits?" Her breathing was more of a gasping.
Scott began to laugh. "Would you tell him that your pussy was soaking wet?"
She pushed him away and knelt down in front of him, taking his cock into her fist, preliminary to taking it into her mouth. "I'd tell him my pussy was soaking wet and it was because I was giving you a blow job on the staircase."
This was all play, preliminary to the real action to come soon, but it was fun, part of how she enjoyed her sex. She took his cock into her mouth. He couldn't tell exactly what she was doing with her hand, her lips, her mouth and her tongue, but whatever it was, it rendered his prick as stiff as it was capable of getting.
She loved this. Hedda loved being the slut, sucking a big prick on a staircase, getting it hard, being in control. She liked the taste of a stiff prick, the feel of pubic hair against her nose, the smell of a sweaty perineum and whiff from a not-quite-clean-as-it-might-have- been ass. She placed a finger at the entrance to his ass, inserted it, removed it, and, letting his cock fall from her mouth, replaced the cock in her mouth with the naughty finger.
"Let's get us to the bedroom," said Scott, holding Hedda by the wrist and moving up the stairs quickly.
She felt her cunt as being beyond wet as she followed him up the staircase.
The bedroom was huge. Scott's bed must have been a double king size. Hedda sat down at the side of the bed and Scott pushed her down. "It's my turn," he said. He lifted the skirt of her dress from her knees up her thighs.
Hedda raised her ass off the bed a bit and Scott pushed her dress skirt higher so that it was now bunched at her stomach. He then pulled her panties down. They hung at her ankles until she managed to kick them off.
Scott buried his face in her cunt and began tonguing her slit and her clit. He knew that whatever pleasure he delivered now, she would reciprocate later. He dipped his tongue deep into her cunt, his lips rubbed against her labia. He groped outward with his hand until he found her arm and brought it down, placing her hand against her clit so that she could excite her clit with her finger, his hands and fingers squeezing and spreading the skin of her inner thighs.
Hedda began to moan. Her moan grew louder as Scott continued his ministrations. Her moans grew in length as well as in volume until her body began to shudder, her toes curled and her legs shot upwards and, as her body climaxed, she grabbed Scott's head and repeated, "wow, wow, wow," over and over again.
Scott Landsford pulled himself up onto the
bed, at the same time pushing Hedda Branchbaum down so that they lay next to each other.
"I haven't lost my touch. Have I," Scott asked.
"Not at all," said Hedda. You've been practicing?"
"Don't need practice. I'm a natural," said Scott, a wide smile on his face wet from Hedda's discharge. "Tell me," he continued, "Swift fuck any good?"
Hedda let out a loud exhale. "I'd much rather be fucking than taking about Swift. He tries. Ol' fuzzy-wuzzy tries. But he doesn't have a clue, can't stay hard no matter how much Viagra he takes, and cums in 30 seconds to a minute. Did I say he tries? He follows a routine. He showers. Then he comes into the room and tells a dirty joke (usually not funny). He repeats part of his radio monologue that he thinks was particularly brilliant, he puffs out his chest and sucks in his stomach. Struts around like that. Gets up on the bed and then gets down and does his duty: a lick up and a lick down my slit, then a touch of my clit from his tongue. Oh, Scott, it's so sad, and I've got to keep myself from laughing the whole time. It's like he read about how to fuck in a book that was in a foreign language. When he finally gets his pecker into my cunt, I got to work my keagles to keep him hard until he trickles out his cum." Hedda Branchbaum paused for a second. She looked at Scott. "You really want to hear all of this?"
"Truth?" he asked.
Hedda nodded.
"Not interested at all," he said.
"So," she said She cradled his balls with one hand, stroked the staff of his tumescent cock with her other hand, and maneuvered his and her bodies so that he was three-quarters sideways and just above her as she lay one-quarter open on her side and just below him. They each concentrated on the feeling the other was bestowing at the site of their sex. And then they were ready to fuck...which they did in earnest for ten-fifteen minutes. Sliding in and out of her was so easy, she was so wet. For her, it seemed as if he touched a new spot in her cunt, a different point at her clit with every stroke. She came...a quiet yelp accompanying every shudder of her orgasm. He didn't some, but rolled off her anyway and lay quiet next to her as they recovered their breath.
"That was fun," he said.
