Roman Holiday

Married five years I believed I was meeting all his needs. Wrong I discovered after stumbling onto his large collection of porn. I thought we communicated. We had what I thought was a good sex life. Intercourse didn't provide me a lot of stimulation, but I enjoyed having him in me and the closeness. A finger, mine or his, on my clit did the trick to get me the big O when we fucked. What I really liked was being eaten. Best feeling in the world, even better because he both loved it and he was good at it.

I had handled a few penises; his was smaller than average, a little over four inches definitely not more than five. I didn't care. I loved him. He loved me. It was I thought all good.

Then I found his porn. He was into sharing, that is sharing his wife, me, sexually. With friends, strangers, and even relatives. The men all had big cocks. He even fantasized about me having sex with black men. He wasn't sharing his fantasies with me, but with other men. They were very graphic as were the magazines I found. I never knew cocks could be so big. I had heard black men were bigger, but the black men fucking the pretty white women in his magazines were huge. Those women looked like they were being skewered. Their mouths were open, obviously breathing hard, but they weren't in pain. He even fantasized about me getting pregnant by one of these men sporting a big black cock.

He really obsessed about penis size, thought he was cheating me because he was too small, that I didn't orgasm from just intercourse but needed help, thought he came too quick. He shared with some man how aroused he would get over being humiliated by his wife about his shortcomings in bed, how she would deny him intercourse, openly date, brag about her lover's size and stamina, lock his penis up, and make him eat me after my lover had climaxed inside of me. The men he was corresponding with agreed.

My reaction to everything I read was not good. I was as mad as a nest of hornets after being disturbed. It was a good thing he was out of town because I would have physically attacked him. I would have demanded to know why he didn't share this with me and to know if there was anything else he wasn't sharing. I was mad about the way his fantasies objectified me. I was just a receptacle for other men's cocks. I was mad because I thought the reason people married was because they wanted sexual exclusivity.

I wasn't just mad, but hurt by his secretiveness. Who were all these people he was corresponding with? Where did he get these magazines? He traveled a lot. Is this what he did when he was on the road? I also felt inadequate. Wasn't what we had enough? I thought we had a great sex life. He was a very gentle, selfless lover. He always made sure I orgasmed, usually several times.

I did what I shouldn't have done. I had no woman friend I could confide in about my discovery so I got dressed, called a taxi, and had the driver drop me off at a restaurant which had a big bar. Roland and I went there for the food, but I didn't feel like eating so I headed to the bar.

I didn't intend to get drunk, but I did. I didn't intend to let another man pick me up, but I did. I didn't intend for him to be married, but he was. I even let him drive me home. Against my better judgement I invited him inside. We ended up in Roland's and mine bed.

Mr. Married Man was a smooth talker, very confident, aggressive, handsome, and a good kisser. In no time we were naked and in bed. He didn't possess a monster sized cock, but it was much bigger than Roland's. He also possessed a lot of stamina, something Roland lacked, but which had never been an issue. With his finger petting me Roland lasted long enough for me to have an orgasm before having one of his own.

It was weird having sex in my bed with someone I just met, but it also felt very comforting. I was giving Roland, the little turd, what he wanted. Mr. Married Man fucked me to orgasm several times without needing the assistance of his finger or mine on my clit.

What made the sex so good had less to do with his penis size and stamina and more to do with the conversation. As he fucked me we talked about Roland.

He told me between thrusts he couldn't imagine for even a second letting his wife sleep with another man. He would he vowed, "kill the s.o.b.".

I was breathing fast and shallow by then and pointed out, "But, you're a married man."

"It's different. Men fuck around. I'm just doing what comes naturally. We have higher sex drives. Your husband is sick. Normal men don't want what he wants."

I loved the way he was characterizing my husband, a man he didn't know.

I was getting closer and closer to the big O. He did have a nice cock and lots stamina and I told him so. I should have felt bad for his wife, but didn't as my pity party was all about me.

I gasped, "You're right. He's not normal, but it doesn't seem to bother you to fuck another man's wife."

"Because that's normal. I'm always looking but that doesn't mean I want to leave my wife."

"Oh, I get it," not really understanding his logic. I just accepted it because my husband was the villain, on my shit list. I decided not to pursue the conversation any further because what I really wanted to do was to orgasm.

And what an orgasm it was. We fucked several more times that night. He was like Roland a businessman from out of town.

The best fuck was in the morning after we had gotten out, peed, and gotten back in bed. He lavished a lot of praise on me which I needed telling me how good looking I was, how much he liked by body, especially my tits and ass. He liked how I didn't lay there but moved my pelvis to meet his thrusts.

We exchanged a few kisses. He told me he wanted to take me doggy style, something I had never done with Roland because he had never asked.

He's soon fucking me and it's feeling great but what makes it feel even better is the picture of Roland and I on our nightstand. I'm still furious with him. Mr. Married Man sees the photo and asks if that is my husband.

"Yeah, it is," I answer.

"He's a dweeb. I can't believe he wants to share you."

"Me either," I grunt back.

I laugh out loud. I can't believe I didn't defend my husband when another man called him a dweeb.

He asked what was so funny. I tell him. He starts laughing. I keep laughing. He's pumping in and out of me saying dweeb again and again. I start saying dweeb. We fuck for what seems like another five minutes saying dweeb with each thrust. We have this great rhythm going. My breasts are jiggling like crazy as he's really driving in and out of me. The box springs are squeaking and the headboard is hitting the wall which would normally be a distraction, but isn't. His lower torso makes a slapping sound against my ass with every thrust. He's massaging my shoulders. It's just a great feeling, the best intercourse of my life. I come so hard hating Roland so much. I feel him swell, get harder, and ejaculate.

He's not wearing a condom and I'm not using any protection, but I just don't care.

I hear myself beg him to cum in me.

We cuddle for a few minutes, but he is in town on business, not just to fuck married women. He does let me make him breakfast. While he showers I cook. He comes down looking all fresh. He smells good. He's wearing Roland's cologne. We both have big appetites from all the sex.

He thanks me for the evening, looks at his watch, says he needs to get going. I walk him to the door and with it fully open we embrace one last time and share a very wet kiss. He tells me after his meetings he's headed back home, but that he's in town every few weeks on business.

I tell him, "I'd like to see you again too."

He answers, "You know where to find me."

"I do. Bye. Drive or fly safe," having no idea how gets to my town.

He's gone and I'm left alone. In the kitchen I do the dishes and reflect on the night I'm still mad at Roland, but my anger is waning. I have a smile on my face from all the good sex I had with a man I just met. My body is a bit sore, especially my vagina. Last night's sex was more physically demanding than the lovemaking I receive from Roland. With Roland I just lay there, my legs open wide, as he goes down on me. The intercourse afterwards is always missionary and doesn't last more than two minutes. Afterwards, we get up. He goes to the sink and washes his penis off while I sit on the toilet, urinate and push his sperm out. We get back in bed, cuddle, and go to sleep.

We've never done it doggy style and never so many times in one night, not even when we dated. Roland is one and done and always has been. He'll get me off several times but after he's climaxed he's done for the night. So different from Mr. Married Man.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and head towards Roland's collection of porn. I'm less angry now, thinking with a clearer head. Yesterday I let my emotions get the best of me. Roland teased me about my temper pointing out I was half Irish, half Mexican. I rarely did get mad, but when I did he avoided me. I was no match for him physically, but I would get in his face and let him have it verbally.

I sat on the couch and went through Roland's collection of porn. Now that I had something to compare him against I still didn't understand it. Mr. Married Man was the type of sex you had if you were cheating. Roland and I didn't have sex, but made love. So why was I smiling so much and feeling so content after sex with Mr. Married Man? I was still too angry to feel the least bit of guilt. What happened was one hundred percent Roland's fault.

I smiled and read, but what I was really drawn to were the magazines. Those cocks were so big and those women looked so happy. Mr. Married Man was big, but the men in those magazines were huge. Would their cocks even fit in me? I found myself squirming admitting aloud to my empty house, "I don't know, but I'd like to find out."

I thought about putting the porn back where I found it and pretending I had never discovered it and last night had never happened. I also knew that wasn't going to happen. I wasn't one to shy away from conflict. I didn't know when I would deal with it, but I knew I would. Besides, it wasn't healthy for our marriage for him to keep secrets away from me. He should be confiding in, not heading from, me.

I went into the kitchen and found one of the giant cucumbers I liked to make salad with. I took it and the magazine upstairs. I got in bed and began to experiment with the cucumber, placing it just between my labia, running it up and down my slit, pressing it against my clitoris. It was so hard. The pictures were making me wetter. I used my juices to lubricate the tip of my fresh from the grocer dildo and pushed it in just a bit, then back out, then back in. I slowly worked more of it into me. I liked the fullness, but wished it was more like a cock and not so firm and unyielding. I felt really stretched and open. I even took a mirror and examined my vagina. It looked like an open mouth. I went back to fucking myself while looking at the magazines.

It was feeling better, but still too hard. The squishing noise it made and the air escaping from my vagina, sounding very much like a series of farts, were definitely turning me on. I hadn't worked much of it into me as it was so wide and hard but I was definitely thinking bigger might be better, depending on the man. If he wasn't patient it would feel really bad.

I had all the time in the world as I didn't have anything to do that day.

I just kept at it, letting my mind wander, imagining what it would feel like to have a cock the size of this cucumber in me. I wished I didn't have to do all the work as it was distracting, but I really didn't have a choice. Like Mr. Married Man's cock the each movement of the cucumber stimulated my clitoris. I just wished it was less firm. Believing in the philosophy of no pain no gain I ignored the discomfort and focused on the pleasure. I got most of it in me. I wasn't going fast but slow as I was afraid of hurting myself. I was concentrating more on the activity and less on the sensation when I detected the signs of an orgasm approaching. I was quiet except for the occasional groan that just popped out of nowhere.

I picked up the speed of my thrusts just a notch and I went from very quiet to talkative.

"That's it Mr. Cucumber, fuck me. I'm almost there. Just a little while longer. Oh yeah, that feels so good. Don't stop. Huh huh huh huh, that's the way I like it. I'm coming!"

My body went completely rigid. It was too hard to keep fucking myself through my orgasm. I just lay there with three fourths of the cucumber shoved up my vagina, my eyes closed, and reflected on how good my orgasm had been. Not as good as Mr. Married Man's cock or Roland's tongue but damn good for a solo experience.

I rarely masturbated and until that day had never used a dildo. I didn't need to masturbate as Roland's tongue was always willing. Then again I had never cheated on my husband until that day. Two firsts I thought in less than 24 hours.

I was liking the illicitness of it all, how raunchy and physical the sex had been. This was what sex was supposed to feel like, nasty, uninhibited. Roland made love to me whereas Mr. Married Man and Mr. Cucumber fucked me.

My post orgasmic glow was short lived replaced by a funk. I had no idea how to proceed with Roland but I was determined to face the issue head on.