The Creation Of M P S

Chapter 1

"Gee, Zach! It sounds so... I don't even know how to say it... just dirty," she said. She leaned away and looked at me out of the corner of her eye. I held on to her hand, partly because I liked touching her - any part of her - and partly to prevent her from walking away in disgust before I had a chance to explain.

"No, no... the emphasis is on personal, not slut," I pleaded. "And it's only for me," I squeezed her hand for emphasis as I continued. "A possessive pronoun and an adjective - my and personal - are the primary ideas... the slut part is not to be taken literally." I looked into her eyes. "But I do want you to behave like one when you're alone with me," I explained. Back and forth my eyes darted, focusing first on one of her eyes, then the other. She couldn't have been surprised by my passion, but she seemed suspicious that it had all been focused on her as of late.

"And what exactly do I get out of this?" she asked, fighting a smile.

"Wow, well..." I stammered. "There's the benefit you'll derive from having the attention of a man, a man who worships you, and wants to give you as much sexual pleasure as he can possibly bestow upon you..."

"I see..."

"Yeah, you see, since I derive so much pleasure from making you cum, then the more I make you cum, the more pleasure I receive, and we're in a win-win situation." I continued to hold her hand, though I no longer felt as if she were going to run away.

"So, explain to me why I have to act like a slut in front of you all the time when we're alone, if you already derive so much pleasure from making me cu... uh..., giving me pleasure?" she asked, placing her other hand on top of mine.

"That's a good question... a fair question," I started, trying to buy a little thinking time before I spoke. "Well, you see, it's like this...," I began. Then I thought, aw fuck it, it's always best to just tell the truth, so I started to explain. "One of my biggest fantasies is to have a wife who can't get enough of her man's cock and tongue." I paused and looked deeply into her eyes. "She craves everything about having sex with her husband so much that she begins to need to be satisfied by him constantly. She understands that, if dressing like a slut and acting like a slut around him turns him on sooo much that he becomes wild with desire and gives her multiple orgasms, then she'll be happy to dress and act like a slut around him." I paused. She said nothing, just looked at me. I continued. "As I understand it, a woman who dresses like a slut wears as little as possible to make her more alluring to possible suitors, and to give them easy access to her goodies." I paused again. I waited. She said nothing. We stared at each other.

"Suitors?" she asked finally, raising an eyebrow.

"Euphemistically speaking, of course..."

"Of course..." she smirked. I smiled.

"I'll be the only 'suitor' in this case," I reassured her. She smiled. We sat looking at each other for another few moments before she finally said, "This is silly, you know?" Oh, fuck, here it comes! "Why are you spending all this time and energy worrying about how to dress me up as your personal slut rather than figuring out how we are going to get enough money together to pay the first installment of your daughter's tuition that's due in two months?" She pulled her hand away from me. Her demeanor was serious. Gone from her eyes was that sexy twinkle, replaced by an accusatory glare. Kate was dictating now! I had foolishly forgotten about Kate, and now it was too late. She was on me like a cat. I was shocked by the quickness of the transformation. I froze. It had destroyed my train of thought, and I was dead in the water. I cringed, waiting for the coupe de grace, when Sarah quickly said, "Let's talk about this later, I have to get started on the laundry." She patted my hand patronizingly and went on about her business.

At this point I guess I need to explain just who the fuck Kate and Sarah are. Sarah is my wife of twenty years. Unfortunately, somewhere inside Sarah lives, or should I say lurks Kate. Kate is a bitch. You do not want to mess with Kate, no siree, Bob. Kate does not believe in fun or romance. Kate will always find the darkest side of any situation and dwell on it. Kate will cuss you out in a heart beat if she thinks you've wronged her, sort of a shoot first ask questions later approach to human relations. Kate is mean. Kate is vindictive. Kate is ruthless. Kate is selfish. Kate is ..., I could continue in this manner, but it doesn't get any better, and I think you're beginning to get the picture. Yet, I feel that I must clarify for you that the nature of Kate's existence is a distinct part of Sarah's personality. Let me explain with some examples. I am reminded of two separate characters, cultural icons if you will, that are like Kate. One is Tweetie Bird. I know, you're thinking, "Tweetie Bird?" But, remember that episode where Sylvester chases Tweetie bird into Dr. Jekyl's laboratory and he accidentally drinks some of Jekyl's formula? Remember the hideous creature that takes over Tweetie's body periodically (no pun intended, but maybe I should look into the connection)? Well, that hideous Tweetie is Kate!

Now, the other character that reminds me of Kate is Gollum, a.k.a. Sméagol, especially Andy Serkis's rendition of him in the Lord of the Rings movies. His portrayal of the phenomenon of two distinct personalities inhabiting one body is as close to anything I've seen that describes the co-existence of Sarah and Kate, though in real life the transitions are neither as frequent nor quite so psychotic. So, if you combine those two examples, you get a better idea of Kate's personality. I have not yet been able to exorcise Kate from Sarah. Fortunately, I've discovered a treatment that at least keeps Kate at bay. Basically, I ply her with copious amounts of cannabis and multiple orgasms.

Make no mistake; Sarah Katherine Hill is a divine creature of the highest order. Sarah, as they say, is built up from the ground. She is extremely well proportioned. In today's urban vernacular she would be described as "thick". In her prime, her body could be said to resemble a combination of Serena Williams and Jennifer Lopez, with a little Vita Guerra thrown in. Yeah, if you morph those three together any way you want you get Sarah. Those of you familiar with the art work of Frank Frazetta no doubt know exactly the body type of which I speak. There is nothing small about a "Frazetta woman." Fucking a "Frazetta woman" is an athletic event. One should train for the occasion. In high school Sarah was a cheerleader in the fall and winter, and she played lacrosse in the spring. She even played lacrosse in college where I met her. At 5' 10", 155 lbs., 36DD – 26 – 40, she was truly a fine, athletic specimen. To "news-personality" beauty add brains, wit, compassion, perseverance, and moxy, and you have a pretty impressive human being, pretty impressive indeed, and terribly intimidating.

We met at a college bar on "Freshman Night", the first Thursday of the school year, when everybody on campus tried to squeeze into the on-campus disco to check out the new crop of freshman girls. The place was named "The Rathskeller" so it came to be known as "the Rat." It was my senior year and I'd only managed to fuck three girls in the past four years of school. The first was during my freshman year when this really hot sophomore pre-med named Christina decided I was cute. She was a tall (6 foot) light-skinned black woman with long, creamy brown legs. Her figure was lean but very shapely. She wasn't quite Frazetta material, but extremely desirable nonetheless. I kept thinking that I was dreaming. How could this fine lady be interested in me? And she was a sophomore! She invited me up to her apartment for a nightcap after we left the Rat one night. We fucked, or more accurately she fucked my brains out for three days straight, but that's another story. The second girl I had, I'd like to try to forget. The whole event lasted less than twenty minutes; and that's all I'm going to say about that. The third was a petite little hottie named Rachel that I really enjoyed, but she wanted someone with a little more pedigree than I had to offer, so that relationship didn't last very long. Thus, it was with this as my track record that I entered the Rat for my last "Freshman Night."

Exercising our seniority, my three friends and I butted into the front of the line, through the doorway, and into the catacomb-like space. The dance floor was illuminated by a twinkling mirror ball. The thumping bass of the DJ's music resonated in the chest and gave the crowd a common heart beat. We split up to hunt alone, planning to meet back at the door in an hour. This was a reconnaissance mission. No one expected to score tonight. And besides, there were bongs to be done back at the house.

I set out on my first sweep, talking to friends, grabbing a beer. There was lots of fresh pussy walking everywhere, and I made several laps admiring the crop. Finally, with only fifteen minutes left before I had to rendezvous with my boys I spotted my Frazetta-woman. She was poured into a pair of Sergio Valente jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin. The buttons on her shirt strained to stay closed around her large breasts. She leaned against a doorway looking over her shoulder into another large sitting area where booths and tables were packed with people. I approached down wind and was standing in front of her as she turned her head back to facing forward. This un-nerved her, startled her briefly so that she pulled her head back sharply with a blink. She opened her eyes and focused on mine. Now I was caught in the alluring stare of a most gorgeous set of eyes.

I opened with, "How ya doin'? I don't think I've ever seen you around campus before. Are you a freshman?" She looked me straight in the eye, cocked her head to the side and said, "No." She shook her head slowly in a coy and sexy manner as she said it. How a woman can shake her head in a coy and sexy manner I have no idea, but she did it anyway. "So you're a sophomore?" I offered, hopefully. She did it again, that sexy little wiggle in her hips as she shook her head, a blink of eyelash. I was embarrassed and enchanted at the same time. "A junior," I asked, nodding my head up and down with the hope that she would do the same. She countered with another head shake, this time looking at the floor, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Senior," we both said together, laughing awkwardly. (I found out later that that approach had been successful because it was genuine.) We talked. We found out that we shared mutual friends as her friend Jasmine dates my friend Charlie. Come to think of it, I had met Jasmine many times with Charlie. We'd done bongs together. This was totally cool! But time was running out. I told her that I had to run so I asked her for her number. She said, "You can get it from Jasmine." My god, she was going to make me work for it. I told her I'd call her and she gave me that smirk that said, "Yeah, right." We started dating the next day and were married two years later.

Chapter 2

In the time between the next date and marriage, Sarah and I had some memorable unions that are worthy of note. Our sex life had been slow in developing and never quite reached a roiling boil. I was, and continue to be, a highly sensual and sexual person. I'm also permanently horny. In all honesty, by the time I was a senior, I needed an absolute freak to satisfy my libido. Christina was a freak, but when I met her I had only had sex one time in my entire life, so she was a complete shock to my system. She was too much too soon. She scared me. Well, by my senior year I was looking for too much. I was looking for someone to scare the shit out of me.

Sarah wasn't as horny nor was she as talented in bed as Christina, but she more than made up for it in the body department. I mean, if you couldn't get off fucking a body like Sarah's, then you really don't know anything about fornicating. Nevertheless, I missed having a partner whose sexual appetite was more in line with my own; someone who's permanently horny and given to initiating satisfaction with the frequency of an addict. Now that I think about it, it was at this point in our relationship that I began to try to increase Sarah's sex-drive. I decided to try to tease and shame her into action.

After we had both graduated, I moved into a house with two other guys. Sarah was in grad school in a nearby town, about forty miles away. She lived alone in an apartment made out of a room in an old town house. Some weekends I drove to see her, others she'd drive over to see me. One afternoon, when she had come to visit me for the weekend, we were hanging out doing bongs with my roommates before they went off to a baseball game. We sat there in the living room with the afternoon sun laying down orange shafts of dusty light across the cluttered coffee table. When Sarah leaned forward to fill herself another bong hit, her breasts pierced the flat side of a rectangular shaft of light that fell perfectly across her chest, illuminating them in orange light. The dust particles danced and the smoke made psychedelic swirls in the beam. She wore this tight scoop-necked T-shirt with narrow horizontal black and white stripes. Like the lines on a topographical map, the stripes revealed all of the nuances to be found in the shape of each individual breast beneath. The sheer seamless bra was doing its job, supporting without concealing or distorting. If one stared shamelessly, and I was staring with all my might, one could see the smooth bulge of each breast capped by the more wrinkled surface of her huge areolas which puff up that way when she gets excited. Her actual nipples were so hard and so long that the material of her shirt was forced to conform to them, creating in the fabric a distinctive ridge that stretched across her chest from nipple to nipple. I glanced at Sean and Pat to see if they were looking at what I was looking at. Both sat opposite her, mouths open, tongues frantically trying to find or create some moisture inside, staring at Sarah's rack.

Sitting forward on the edge of the couch, Sarah straightened her back, lit the match, held it to the bowl, and slowly began to inhale. The white smoke quickly filled the clear tube as Sarah's chest began to visibly expand. Her breasts were forced upward and outward as if she were trying to put them on display. But she wasn't. She had no idea what effect this was having on us. She was just following the proper mechanics for doing a bong hit. She held the bong away from her while she struggled to suppress a cough, lowering it to rest her forearms on her thighs. Once the cough was avoided, she raised the instrument to finish the hit, and as she did, the top of the bong roughly grazed her left breast causing it to lift, fall and jiggle in a way that only real breasts can. She pulled the last of the smoke into her lungs through the tube and held it, lips pursed, chest out, eyes closed. She leaned back into the couch to hold the hit for as long as possible. In so doing anyone sitting opposite her was given an unobstructed view of her white panties stretched over her plump vulva, the cleft in her labia clearly discernable. We all exhaled at the same time, Sarah blowing smoke with hers toward the ceiling.

Rising from one of the two chairs facing the couch, Sean smacked Pat roughly on the thigh. "Dude, let's get going. I want to score this game from the first pitch." Pat tore himself from his trance-like vision and stood up, not bothering to try to hide his obvious erection. Sean had covered his with his newspaper. Sarah's eyes were closed, enjoying the effects of the bong hit, oblivious to the three erections she'd just induced. They said thanks for the bongs and were gone. No one acknowledged that anything remotely erotic had just been witnessed.

"Thanks for the bongs, dude," Sarah said mockingly after they left. She giggled. I snickered and filled myself a bong hit. Now that they were gone I started in on Sarah.

I slumped onto the couch next to her, giggling about something or other when I suddenly stopped and frowned dramatically. "You don't really love me, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked. She sat up, worried that I might be serious. I pouted pitifully.

"How come you never ask for sex? How come you never offer to suck my cock? I offer to eat your pussy all the time!" I pushed out my lower lip. She pushed out her lower lip and pouted back at me. Somehow, it looked a lot sexier when she did it. She reached over, stroked my hand and then gathered mine in hers as she stood, pulling me up with her. With a slow blink and the moistening of the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue, she looked up at me and whispered sexily, "Let's go fool around." I looked down into those magnetic eyes, glassy and full of lust. She walked backward pulling me toward the stairs, holding me in her gaze. It wasn't until she turned to look where she was going that my eyes were able to leave hers and take in again just what a magnificent body she had.

Sarah turned around at the banister and led me up the stairs toward the bedroom. The view from behind and below was exquisite. She wore a black pleated mini-skirt, white ankle socks, and white Ked's. Whenever Sarah got out of the shower, she'd rub her entire body down with baby oil. This made her naked legs glow invitingly. I slid my hands along the backs of her thighs as she ascended the stairs ahead of me. "My, but you have lovely legs," I said as I flipped the hem of her skirt up high enough to briefly expose her flexing buttocks, cut diagonally mid-cheek by the white cotton bikini panties that had managed to work their way into the crack of her ass.

Pulling me into my room she sat down on the bed and I stood before her. As I pulled my t-shirt off over my head, she jerked my shorts and underwear down freeing my painfully erect cock which sprang up through a full 180 degree arc and met my abdomen with a surprisingly loud, wet, smack. Sarah scooted to the edge of the bed and prepared to take me in her mouth. Sadly, blow-jobs were not among Sarah's best skills. The first time she gave me a blow job and I came in her mouth, she ran to the bathroom coughing and sputtering to spit it out. Ever since then, fellatio was strictly a means to a better erection, not a means to an ejaculating end. Still, she gave it the old college try even if she wasn't crazy about the liquids produced by my engorged penis.

Grasping my cock at the base she squeezed it firmly causing the mushroom head to balloon and a clear droplet of pre-cum to slowly roll down the vein covered shaft. She dragged my cock along the edge of her jaw smearing the viscous liquid all over her cheek. While the visual imagery was hot, I knew that her true motive was to remove the sticky liquid before she slid my cock into her mouth because she wasn't sure whether she liked the taste of my pre-cum and that was the easiest and sexiest way to wipe it off. Tentatively she licked at the head, finally sliding her lips over it and about a third of the way down the shaft. I didn't comment, just watched as she slid her mouth on and off my glistening penis. Her breasts were mashed into my thighs as I stood between her legs. I could feel her hardened nipples through her shirt and bra. I reached down with both hands and slid the bottom of her shirt and bra up and over her tremendous breasts. Freed from their constraints she mashed them back into my thighs, dragging the nipples down my thighs as she slid off the bed to kneel on the floor in front of me. I began to pull roughly on her nipples and tease her puffy areola as she continued to work on my cock with her mouth.