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.