The Planted Seed

The next day I resumed my trip down memory lane. I don't know why I was feeling nostalgic, but I was. Perhaps it was the realization youth is fleeting and we can't go back in time. I didn't feel old, but I was. I really enjoyed my life. I had a long term boyfriend and a sweet, cuckold of a husband, both of whom I loved very much. Maybe I was thinking about the past because the present was so damn good.

Anyway, the slap I gave Donny was certainly heard not around the world, but its impact on my marriage was certainly felt.

The red on my Donny's bottom took a few days to go away, but the memories of his humiliation at the hands of his wife persisted. I unceremoniously asked him to lower his pants several days afterwards so I could inspect my handiwork. As I ran a nail over his still tender bottom I told him, "Next time won't be with a belt." I then showed him a ping pong paddle I had bought.

The temptation to paddle him was strong, but I resisted. I wanted his bottom back to normal before I disciplined him again. I told him to turn around. His underwear and pants were at his ankles. I felt the heat of sexual arousal coursing through my body. I wanted to know if he was feeling it too.

"Lift your shirttail."

He did revealing his very swollen manhood. It warmed me to know he was equally excited. I knelt, wrapped my fingers around it.

I took him into my mouth. It wasn't a minute later he warned me he was about to climax. I grabbed his buttocks signaling him it was okay to let himself go. Jet after jet of his seed flooded my mouth which I eagerly swallowed. When I was done I licked his penis clean.

I knew he could smell his seed on my breathe and taste it on my tongue. I wondered how he would react if I kissed him. I gave him an open mouthed kiss. We stood there French kissing for several minutes. His reaction I thought was very positive.

After finishing our kiss, I looked him in the eye and softly said, "See what happens when you're good. You get rewarded. Now it's my turn. And afterwards I want you to fuck me."

Life was damn good and simple in those days I thought.

We didn't really discuss or even set boundaries. We just did it. I was the Alpha in our marriage. He was going to screw up and the paddle would keep him in line. The transformation was rapid. I was soon behaving more like my dad and he like my mom. I noticed I was becoming a bit of a chauvinist. He'd have dinner made. He had taken to wearing an apron when he cooked, not to look girly, but to keep his clothes from getting dirty. The effect however was it made me see him as wifely, subservient, inferior to me. I wondered if that's how men's perception of women was molded. Equal footing while dating, but after marriage we were suddenly second class, especially if they were the breadwinner, even worse if we were a stay at home mom.

I vowed to be the primary breadwinner and if anyone was staying at home to play housewife it was going to be Donny. There was no way in hell I thought I was going to turn into my mom. I loved her dearly, but I didn't want to be like her, but like my dad.

Plenty of other things were still in play in our marriage. I hadn't thrown away the magazine I found, but privately perused it. I didn't want Donny to know I was looking at it until I was ready to tell him. It was my first real time to look at porn. When I first discovered the magazine I was too upset, but it piqued my curiosity. I hoped it would help me understand him. He was a grown man, not an adolescent boy. Why was he looking at pictures of naked women when he had me? I soon discovered he was drawn to this magazine less because of the naked women and more because of the subject matter and the pictures of men gifted with really big dicks.

The magazine theme was cheating wives and while there were zero photos of betrayed husbands there was plenty of written narrative detailing their anguish. Rings featured prominently in every picture. Wedding bands and engagement rings with big stones. I thought the women looked overly made up and whorish, their breasts pumped full of silicone. They certainly didn't look like any wife I knew. They weren't really married, but pretending to be. The pictures weren't the artistic ones I'd expect to see in an adult magazine like Playboy, but raunchy, vaginas and buttholes stretched by or stuffed with enormous penises. I was in disbelief at how big the penises were. The men weren't all fit or even handsome, but they were all hung. They also produced a lot of cum which was visibly displayed, usually as it coated a wedding ring or dripped from a very open vagina.

I read the letters and stories accompanying,the pictures almost always told from the husband's perspective, the pain they felt at being cheated on, their marriages turned upside down, their wives addicted to big cocks. They described the indignity, humiliation, feelings of inadequacy and in spite of their pain and discomfort their arousal. Instead of throwing their wife and her lover out, they spied on them fucking while they masturbated. Many of them described being so aroused by it all they climaxed without even touching themselves.

They didn't say it, but it was obvious from their letters they weren't capable of satisfying their wives. I thought Donny doesn't have that problem; all it takes is a finger on my clit while we have intercourse and the results are quite nice.

I wondered why he was drawn to this genre. Did he really feel inadequate? Is this what he wanted in our marriage? Did he understand why I would feel offended to be seen by him as some cock hungry whore? As I leafed again through the magazine my focus turned towards the cocks. Did their size really make a difference? Would it feel exponentially better as these women claimed when compared to an average or even smaller penis? I didn't think I was big enough to take something so big. Donny felt plenty big. He never left me sore, but I didn't want to be sore.

I told myself I wasn't like those women and never would be. I was a good girl, with high morals. We attended church every Sunday. We taught Sunday school together. Donny was a member of the Knights of Columbus. I put the magazine in the trash, but I couldn't put the pictures or its theme out of my mind.

One night, feeling friskier than normal I asked Donny if he wanted to take intimate photos of me. He jumped at the chance. We had a lot of fun and a lot of sex over the next few weeks as I posed for him. The problem we faced was where to get them developed. A few days later Donny said he figured out where to send them. He mailed the rolls of film off and a month later we received a package containing all the photos along with the negatives.

The pictures were nowhere near as graphic as the ones in the magazine. They were me in various stages of undressing, in my nighties, topless, bottomless. He certainly made me feel sexy while he took the photos and he approached it as if he were a professional. He draped my body this way, then that, all the while clicking away, telling me how incredibly sexy and beautiful and desirable I looked. As the sessions progressed his excitement got the best of him and the fantasy he could never keep submerged surfaced.

Dead bodies surface from a lake and so do people's darkest desires.

We were very happy with our first set of photos so at my insistence we took more, but these were a lot more daring.

As he snapped away, Donny drifted away from telling me how desirable, sexy, fuckable, beautiful I was to him, but to other men. I surprisingly found myself aroused. I thought about those men with their big cocks. It wasn't long before he was taking pictures of my lady parts. I thought I was sufficiently wet and swollen, but after taking a break to lick me I was really wet, my flesh pink, and my spirit open to whatever he suggested.

He had me spread my labia so he could take a photo of my vagina. On my belly, legs spread wide he snapped pictures of my exposed, still virginal, asshole. He didn't neglect my breasts either. I would make my nipples even harder twisting, pulling, and pinching them. He even got me to masturbate as he photographed me rubbing myself. He captured the expression on my face, the flush of my chest and face, my swollen breasts and hard nipples, and my genitals as I orgasmed.

Those months were a lot of fun, but instead of suppressing his desire we incorporated it more and more into our bedroom activities.

I fed his kink by playing along. Instead of being the one telling him he had reached his limit, I was the bartender pouring him another drink.

I should have quit serving him the fantasy he thirsted for, but regretfully I didn't. I thought our bedroom talk would stay in the bedroom.

What horrified me was discovering a swinger magazine in his briefcase. Leafing through it I found an ad he had placed looking for someone to satisfy his beautiful, sexy, young, wet wife. There was a photo of me in a nightie and one of my genitals.

I felt violated. He hadn't consulted me. He hadn't asked my permission. He hadn't even blacked out my face. When he got home I used my new paddle on his ass. There was no hot post punishment sex. His penis shrunk to the size of an acorn and I walked away disgusted.

It marked the longest time I had ever been mad at him. We eventually made up and he said he really understood why I was so angry and hurt. I wanted to believe he was sincere, but deep down I had my doubts; the grip of his obsession was just too strong.

I also learned that swinger magazine was read by many and some of them were in positions of authority.

Donny and I faithfully attended Mass. We both even went to confession weekly. Our parish priest was Father Jack. In his mid 40s, he was handsome with his dark brown hair and deep brown soulful eyes. He had been in this country for over twenty years, but he still had a slight accent revealing he hailed from Ireland. His nickname among his female flock was Father What a Waste. He gave the best homilies. Couples sought him out to be married by him. Grieving families wanted him to preside over the Mass of their deceased loved ones. He was beloved and respected.

Unknown to me he was also a subscriber to the swinger magazine Donny had posted an ad in. Father Jack didn't break his vows of celibacy very often, but he did break them. He had discovered magazines like the one of me in a nightie alongside one of my pussy allowed him to discretely meet people, people he could count on to exercise discretion. He would have lots of sex with their eager wives, get the lust out of his system, and return to faithfully shepherding his flock.

He recognized me from my photo, but instead of exchanging letters, meeting with the prospective couple, seeing if there were sexual sparks between them, and arranging for sex, he decided to eschew normal protocol and bypass my husband. He enjoyed the sex he had on these arranged trysts, but it was too formulaic, too clinical. He wanted to operate in an uncontrolled environment. He knew it was crazy and he was playing with fire, but the demons he had kept bottled up inside for so many decades screamed for release.

I hadn't confessed to the discipline I administered or the photos because I didn't view them as sinful, but as ways to keep my marriage intact. Even though Donny's behavior drove me crazy at times, I loved him with all my heart. When I was in the confessional I'm sure I bored Father Jack with my list of sins. Unbeknownst to me, my hubby was confessing to everything, from dancing with that woman, to having lustful thoughts which he didn't spell out, to behaving duplicitously. Father Jack didn't need to press Donny for details because back at his house, hidden under his t-shirts, was the swinger magazine where Donny had placed an ad seeking the services of a man to satisfy his young, beautiful, orgasmic, sexually adventurous, wife.

Father Jack was always friendly to Donny and I, but he now became really, really friendly to me. He could have blackmailed me into sex, but that would have been too easy and not very Christian. He instead decided to woo me. He wanted a passionate affair and figured if I was open to swinging I was more than likely open to something deeper and more spiritually satisfying.

I noticed him making a lot more eye contact with me during Mass. I swore he was looking at me and only me when he preached the homily. During communion he stared at me with his brown eyes flecked I swore with spots of gold. Instead of taking the host in my hand I opened my mouth to receive Christ's body from Father Jack's fingers. As we exited the church and said our goodbyes he clasped my hands rubbing the back of them with his thumb as he told me how lovely my dress was. His behavior in front of Donny was aboveboard and my husband was completely in the dark, but a woman knows when a man likes her and I knew Father liked me.

I found myself responding to his interest in me. I began thinking about him a lot, wondering what it would be like to spend more time socially with him, to kiss him, to run my fingers through his hair, to hear him tell me what makes me special, to confess his attraction to me. I began to fantasize about having sex with Father, sometimes while Donny and I were making love, sometimes when I was just alone with my thoughts. It was arousing physically and emotionally because it was forbidden. He was a priest. I was a married woman.

Around him I became shy and nervous, afraid he might, but desperately hoping he would, sense the attraction was mutual. I thought how this would play out in my marriage. I rationalized an affair wasn't much different than swinging. Donny wanted me to have sex with other men. We just hadn't discussed the mechanics of it.

I found out Father's birthday and gave him a card signed only by me. I gave him as a gift a shirt I thought he would look good in. I even had Donny participate, having him retrieve the gift and card from the trunk of the car, while Father and I talked. He told me he thought it was sweet I had thought of Father on his birthday, never noticing the change in pitch of my voice as I told Father I had something for his birthday or my shaking hands as I took the gift and card from Donny and handed them to Father. Father didn't open them in front of us. He gave Donny a quick handshake, but embraced me, telling me he appreciated my thoughtfulness.

I became aroused by that quick hug and while Donny performed cunnilingus on me later that night I fantasized about Father's hug leading to something much more passionate.

I probed deeper into Donny's mindset with regards to his fetish. Once he loosened up and revealed the full extent of his desires he was into much more than a threesome. In fact, he really didn't want a threesome. He just wanted me to have sex with another man and it wasn't just the two of us having sex he was interested in, but something deeper. How deep I wondered.

I asked, "Like dating? You'd really be okay with me dating someone? Isn't that risky? People might see us. What if we develop feelings for each other? You know the possibility of that happening would be strong. What will you be doing when I'm out?"

"Waiting for you to come home."

I teased him, "You might be waiting a long time, like all night."

He smiled, clearly happy with the idea. I noticed he was also erect. I gripped his penis which looked ready to explode thinking he had just cum fifteen minutes earlier.

I said, "So the idea of me being out with another man turns you on. You do realize we'll be doing more than having sex. We'll be doing what you and I do, talking, holding hands, doing those mundane things couples do. I'm going to be focused on him. Won't that bother you? I wouldn't want you doing it with another woman."

I caressed his penis thinking how hard it was. I wondered what Father's penis looked like. He and Donny were the same height and their builds were similar so I figured they were the same size. I didn't care because Donny's four inches satisfied me.

He answered me, "Susie, more than you can ever imagine. I can't explain why it turns me on. I just know it does. And I don't want another woman."

I squeezed his penis, liking the way the head turned a deeper purple, "Good, because I have zero interest in you being with another woman. I don't even like it when you are too friendly. I want them to know you are my man, not theirs.

"How long have you had this fantasy Donny?"

"It seems like forever Susie. I thought I could control it. I never meant to let it get out of hand. I'm so sorry I put that ad in the magazine."

I shushed him because if he started feeling guilty he'd quit talking.

"Donny, it's okay. You did wrong. I punished you. It's been a few months and no pervert has been banging on our door. No one's tried to blackmail us. Getting back to me going out. What will you do while you're waiting for me?"

Excited by my question his little penis twitched.

"Thinking about the two of you. Imagining what you are doing. Picturing you and he kissing, his hands all over your body, undressing you, his cock inside of you making you feel so good."

"Making me feel better than you?"

He groaned because I was now jacking his little penis, "Yes."

"A lot better or a little better?"

He was with me in our bed but in his head he was seeing something else.

"A whole lot better."

"Why would he be better? Because he's bigger?"

He grunted out a yes as he ejaculated several streams of cum all over his abdomen. From the quantity, you'd have never known that was his second ejaculation of the night.

I was ready to be eaten again and I hoped immediately fucked afterwards. Thankfully, Donny's pump was still primed and he was able to satisfy both of my wants. I petted myself as he thrust in and out of me imagining it was Father on top of me. I orgasmed hard.

Having a better understanding of how deep Donny's obsession consumed him I had the unenviable task of putting the genie back in the bottle telling him as we cuddled afterwards the conversation had been hot, but it was only a fantasy, telling him I would never go through with it, making him feel guilty enough to say the same thing. I was on the fence so mine was only half the lie while his was a total fabrication. He said what he said because he knew that's what I wanted to hear. I was afraid if I didn't immediately throw water onto the fire burning inside him he'd do something dumb, like take out another ad or invite some stranger into our home.

The comments by the cheated husbands bothered me. They were jacking off as their wives got fucked. They felt inadequate, humiliated, but they also displayed a lot of anger and bitterness. They referred to their wives in the most awful ways calling them sluts, whores, cunts and more. There was nothing loving in their reaction to something they clearly found arousing and felt they deserved. I didn't want Donny to think of me in those terms. Even more upsetting to me was wondering if that's how he really felt about women. Was I married to a closet misogynist? I never detected in him any dislike for the fairer sex and he treated me with the utmost respect. In fact, from the day I slapped him, our marriage had never been better.

I discovered I really liked being in charge and adored by a loving, supportive husband who was at my beck and call. It became second nature to me to be waited on by him. I remember being at a party talking to another woman. Donny was talking to someone else, but we were within view of each other. I finished my drink, but not wanting to break off my conversation, I made eye contact with Donny, held out my empty glass. He was over within seconds. He didn't say a word. I told him what I was drinking. He took my glass from me and several minutes later brought me a newly filled glass. I took it from him without saying thank you and continued my conversation. Donny went back to his group of friends.