It had been several months since Dave had made that hypnotic suggestion to me, and then later, to my husband. Life had changed for all of us. I found myself craving Dave's cock and hard body.
My husband? He craved his right hand. For someone who had never had much interest in sex, he was giving himself quite a work out. It seemed like every time he was alone, he was jerking off. I couldn't bring home any friends because I never knew when I would hear him moaning loudly. And now he didn't just use the bathroom. Sometimes I would walk into the kitchen, and there he would be, drinking a cup of coffee, porn magazine on the counter, pants around his ankles, and right hand feverishly pumping his little dick.
Whenever I caught him, he would look up like it was no big deal, and would I run away? No. I'd watch him, licking my lips, thinking of Dave's cock as he moaned, stroking himself, looking at his magazine. Then when he was close, and I knew he was about to shoot his pitiful little load of cum, I would close my eyes and picture Dave pumping his huge rod into my pussy. My husband's loud noises would lead me back to reality, and I would watch as his tiny member would dribble out a little semen.
That's when I would turn around and walks away, to my bedroom, to think about Dave and how much I needed to feel his cock. It seemed like the more my husband masturbated, the more I wanted Dave. I could feel how wet my pussy was, swollen, waiting to be filled.
I would open my drawer of toys, and then remember with a big sigh, they wouldn't help. He wouldn't allow me to cum from my own hand. It would just frustrate me more. That's when I would sit at my computer, log onto my email, and send Dave a message. "I need you." I would sit and wait for a reply. Sometimes no answer would come. I lived for those few times that it did. And I would grab my things and tell my husband I was going out.
I wouldn't even remember the drive, but soon enough, I would be standing at Dave's front door, knocking softly, almost hoping he didn't hear it. If there was no answer I could leave, right? But he always heard.
The door would open, and I would stand there, mesmerized by his eyes, staring into my soul. He would reach out a hand and pull me into his arms, kissing me, almost devouring me, in full sight of the neighbors or anyone else who drove by. Then he would stop and look me up and down, I was never sure what he was looking for.
Today, he smiled. "I like how you've changed your look baby. You are finally showing off those tits. And no bra. I like it!" He had a huge, leering grin. "And love those red lips, you look like a proper whore."
I suddenly realized, I had bought a new wardrobe recently. Last week I had gone through my closet and thrown out almost every stitch of clothing I owned and bought lots of short skirts, tight pants, and low cut blouses. I had bought make-up, I never wore make-up!
He put his hands to my face and kissed me deeply, his tongue driving into my mouth like I knew his cock would be driving into my cunt soon. I was moaning into his mouth as he moved me through the house, pushing me over the couch, my ass in the air. His hands were on my ass, under the skirt. He pulled off my thong, throwing it to the other side of the room. I tried to force myself up but he held me down with one arm as I kicked. This was wrong. There was still a part of my brain fighting his control. I was kicking and screaming for him to get off me.
