My husband, Sandy, is one of the nicest people on Earth. He doesn't have a single enemy. He cheerfully helps anyone he knows, anytime he is asked. His basement workshop has always been a friendly neighborhood hangout for the other husbands on our street.
Sandy is also a failure at everything, including our marriage. He has no particular talents, never learned a trade, and floats from job to job. Our bedroom is kind of a torture chamber for me because he won't leave me alone but never gives me an orgasm unless I literally take things into my own hands. He's always touching and cuddling, which would be sweet if there was ever a payoff for me, but there never is.
His almost-five-inch cock might be -- just barely -- up to the task, but it only ever gets "almost hard," never totally rigid. I've insisted that he eat me for a few minutes before climbing on, and he seems really to enjoy sucking my cunt before trying to fuck me. I always hope that he'll lick me long enough to bring me to climax, but he tires too quickly (big surprise. Not.) and soon tries intercourse.
I think Sandy's little dick is kind of evil, actually. It is just firm enough that he can get it in, wiggle it round and round and side to side, and get his own rocks off. But the little pink worm is never hard as stone, never stiff enough to push my clit around, or long enough to touch my G-spot. He always comes, and quickly, but I never do, until I stroke myself. But at least he squirts his little load in only two or three minutes and doesn't prolong my teasing. Soon after he's started he's done for the week and I can grab my vibrator and get myself off.
I've tried to get him to eat me after his orgasm, but he simply refuses to do "something that disgusting." I think he could give me an orgasm if he did, but he really digs in his heels and says licking his own cum would make him sick.
God, I'd rather he was impotent, or gay, and just left me alone in the bedroom. At first, I'd sneak into the bathroom to masturbate, but I soon discovered the pleasure of doing it right beside him. Let the little guy KNOW he wasn't a whole man, by having a loud, messy battery-powered dildo orgasm right next to his wimpy, Pillsbury Doughboy self.
Yeah, he's a soft and pudgy guy, and always was. I joke that as a boy, he was always chosen second-to-last by the stronger boys when they choose teams. Too clumsy to be selected early, but such a nice boy that he was never "The Last One."
There are two different kinds of wimp: the nice ones, like Sandy, who know their place in the masculine pecking order and seem at ease with themselves. They don't mess with the bigger boys, and they don't harass the cheerleaders. It would never occur to a guy like Sandy that a beautiful girl would be interested in him sexually, so he treats them all respectfully, like big sisters.
The other kind of wimp is - I can't resist the pun - a bit of a dick. He's never accepted the fact that he's not on the varsity team, so to speak, and he's always trying too hard. He comes on to all the girls as if he really has a chance to score, and treats girls badly when they turn him down. He's loud and self-centered, and never at ease in a group. He's the wimpy kid the other boys loathe, and he's the one chosen last.
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About a year ago I was really unhappy with my married life, and was toying with the idea of a divorce. Just toying, because I really love our three children, and couldn't imagine splitting up the family. They really love their Dad, too. And like I said, Sandy was really pleasant to be around most of the time. It was a drag always being among the poorer people in our neighborhood due to Sandy's poor earnings, but my part-time work kept our bills paid. So really, my divorce thoughts boiled down to the vague unhappiness of being married to a loser, and my unsatisfied sexual desires. Then Tom took over my pussy.
Tom is one of Sandy's friends from the neighborhood. Three or four guys seemed to gather in our basement every weekend. Sometimes they were all hanging in Sandy's workshop, talking woodworking or something, and other times they had the TV on and watched football games. They'd take turns coming upstairs every now and then to fetch another six-pack, or bag of chips.
Every one of them had, at one time or another, made a pass at me. I found their attention kind of nice, and had never discouraged their flirting. It was kind of fun to banter with them when it took the form of suggestive jokes, and I'd let a couple of them cop a feel once in a while before brushing their hand away with a smile.
The guys would tease and flirt right in front of Sandy, too. He just figured it was good-natured and harmless. He knew the guys liked him, and it never occurred to Sandy that I might actually cheat on him. Of the group, Tom always got the longest feels, and I think he knew that if I would ever spread for anyone other than Sandy, I'd spread for him sooner or later.
You see, there are two kinds of stud, too, just like there are two kinds of wimp.
The most masculine guys can sometimes be really comfortable with what nature has given them. They don't need to lord it over anybody else to be satisfied with themselves. They know that they are prime meat, and they don't find it all remarkable that some other guy is less manly.
But the other kind of macho man is all about being on the top of the pile. He's nasty and competitive. He gets his sense of accomplishment from putting other guys down, and getting women on their backs. Instead of being proud of what he has, he is contemptuous of what other men lack. If a woman has her head screwed on straight, she'll give these pricks a wide berth to avoid being used and discarded.
Tom was one of the nice studs, and one day he came upstairs during a game, walked up behind me in the kitchen, and put his hands on my hips as a kind of a half-joke, half- flirt. This time I didn't brush his hands away; I turned into his arms and allowed him to kiss me. He wasted no time; knowing he had to move quickly, Tom bent me over the dinette table, reached under my skirt, and pulled my panties to the side. For the first time since my wedding, I had a really hard cock inside me, and I was in heaven. Tom's cock was much longer and wider than Sandy's; one of the biggest I'd ever had. My pussy was absolutely drenched and on fire. We had quick and dirty sex standing up right there in the kitchen. I had one enormous orgasm, and might have had a second one if Tom had kept at it, but he came, too. He spun me back around, dropped to his knees, kissed the front of my crotch right through my now-soaked panties, and said, "I'll be back for more of this every chance you give me." And then he went back downstairs!
Like I said, a gentleman stud!
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In the next few months, Tom and I found frequent opportunities to fuck like rabbits. I was simply on fire for the man; I couldn't get enough of his terrific dick. At least once a weekend we'd reenact our first fuck; he would slip away from the group downstairs to rail my cunt somewhere upstairs. Other times, if Sandy and the kids were going to be out of the house for an hour, I'd send him a text, then I'd strip naked and jump into our bed. Within 10 minutes I'd hear Tom coming up the stairs, and he'd bring me one orgasm after another. His cock always felt like it was made of iron, and he rode me so hard that my pussy was actually sore when he was done.
I came to like riding him -- he'd lie on his back and I'd drop my cunt onto his ramrod and fuck myself silly while he mauled my breasts with his hands or mouth. When we fucked in an otherwise empty house, he always made time for some post-coital hugging and kissing before getting dressed and slipping out of the house.
Can you see why I stopped daydreaming about a divorce? I had it all now: a sweetheart of a hubby, and regular lover with a constant hard-on for me.
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Of course, it's when everything seems best that shit happens. In this case, the shit was named Jack. As in, Jack, one of the other guys who hung out in our basement. As in Jack, who figured out where Tom was going every time he snuck upstairs.
Jack was the other kind of stud, the kind who had something to prove. He decided to prove that he could fuck me, too, and Jack couldn't be bothered to ask nicely. He just showed up at my door one afternoon mid-week and told me he had something important to tell me. When he came inside, he threatened to tell Sandy what was going on if I didn't suck his cock right then and there.
I was thinking as fast as I could, given how rattled I was at the moment. There must be some way to wriggle out of this?
But while I was thinking, Jack was stripping, and once I saw his enormous nine-inch hardon I wasn't so sure I wanted to wriggle. Jack was at least an inch longer than Tom, and just as wide. He pushed down on my shoulders and I went to my knees with only a little resistance. The cocky son of a bitch even swung his cock back and forth to slap my cheeks a few times, and I soon lunged for his meat like I was starving.
The bad news is that something the size of Jack's erection won't fit in my mouth; unlike the women in porn stories, I can't take more than three or four inches of cock in my mouth without choking. The good news is that, after I told Jack to lie down on his back, I impaled myself on that fantastic dick of his and rode myself to the loudest, screamingest cum I'd ever had. Not even Tom had ever given me pleasure like Jack did that afternoon. He never got soft after his first ejaculation, and only needed 10 or 15 minutes to recover after his second. I just started coming over and over again non-stop, and by the time Jack ran out of cum we'd been down on that floor in one position after another for an hour and a half. Jack got off on calling me dirty names, and after the tenth time he told me I was a slut, or a whore, I started to enjoy the verbal abuse a little bit. Truth be told, I did feel like a slut, and I kind of liked it.
Oh, and yes, Jack was an arrogant jerk when he left, shaking the last few drops of cum off of the end of his cock while standing over me, and walking out of my house without so much as a "thank you".
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The next time the gang was at our house, Jack took me aside and told me that he was going to fuck me again that very day, right after Tom. Jack's exact words were: "I'll let Tom warm you up, but then I'm gonna tap your pussy hard."
And that's pretty much what happened: when Tom slipped back downstairs, Jack whispered "I know you're fucking her. I'll keep quiet, but now it's MY turn for that pussy. You keep Sandy busy while I'm upstairs or I'll rat you out to Sandy."
