Joans Year Of Changes Ch 04

A good bit of time passed since that first email. During that time Joan wore dress slacks only twice. She was followed her owner's instructions precisely. Joan never looked outright slutty. But she did wear skirts that were just short enough to make anyone with a penis take notice. Her blouses were always the button up type, I assumed for easy access.

Before Kevin, it took a special occasion for Joan to put on make-up. If she had eyeliner and lipstick on it usually meant we were going to the company Christmas party or one of our extended family had died and we were on our way to the funeral. Now, Joan wore eye liner, make-up and lipstick every day. At least she put it on in the morning. It was always gone by the time I saw her after work. She took extra time to get ready for work; always taking a shower and filling the bathroom with the scent of sexy perfume.

One night, about a week after I had read her first email; Joan came home looking like she had just run a marathon in her skirt and heels. Her blouse was not neatly tucked into her skirt as it had been that morning. Her pony tail was off center and only partly held by an old hair band. She had no lip stick or make-up on and her face was flush.

"Are you ok?" I asked as she came through the door.

"I'm fine." she replied dismissively

"You look like hell" I said genuinely concerned.

"The state achievement tests are next week so I stayed around to help organize the testing environment. We moved tables, not a good idea in heels but, yeah know I'm on the testing committee and no one else was around. They all left early; I should have thought of that too."

Joan apologized for being late and said she was going to change and be right down to start dinner.

Her reason for her appearance and tardiness was completely realistic. The testing started in a couple of days. Joan is on the committee overseeing the testing environment. Everyone else on that committee is nearly twice her age.

But I knew this was my wife talking. The woman who cared for and loved only her husband, had two college aged daughters and was a Sunday school teacher. This woman, this Joan, would never tell me that she was late because she was fucking Kevin. This Joan, with her briefcase in hand and scuffed high heels would be shattered if I pointed out that her blouse wasn't buttoned up right. She must have put it on as hastily as she had made her ponytail.

I didn't ask about her blouse. I let the incident pass. I knew that some time, soon I would be reading all about her day and it wouldn't have anything to do with testing preparation. Just because I didn't ask the obvious question didn't mean I wasn't curious. After a few seconds I followed Joan to our bedroom. Our youngest daughter, the twin that was born first, had called with a surprise. I figured I could fall back on that if Joan got suspicious.

The ploy wasn't needed.

Joan left the bedroom door ajar. It was open just an inch or two but that was enough to to see Joan standing in front of the mirror. She was staring at the mirror but not at her image. Her mind was somewhere else; probably at school reliving her rugged intercourse with her black student. She lifted her right arm. Her large right breast lifted slightly. Her nipples were stiff. Joan took her left hand and gently lifted her right breast. She stoically stared at the purple mark that was suddenly revealed. She ran her fingers lightly over it. She switched arms and lifted her left breast with her right hand. There were several purple marks under this breast. Her lips formed a silent gasp as she pressed on the discolored flesh. She licked her lips and I knew from her expression that these were badges of pleasure.

They were Kevin's love bites. He had done this before. After her first email, while we were fucking I lifted her hair. On the back of her neck, just below her scalp line was a massive dark purple hickey. These were smaller versions of that same branding.

Joan's revelry faded. She left the mirror for her dresser. I stepped away from the door, adjusted my growing hard-on and walked into the room. Joan was still naked. She managed to angle herself away from me as I came in. She looked absolutely calm as she put on a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt.

She asked me what I wanted for dinner and we decided on stir fry, because she could throw it together in a couple of minutes. Then we talked about the mundane chores of work and she told me that she had some paperwork to get through tonight. She was fixing her ponytail when I left. I remembered the message and stuck my head back in the room just in time to see Joan put the flash drive in the bowl on her dresser.

"Cora called. She said she has a surprise for us and wants to coordinate a time for a visit." I said trying not to look too long at Joan's dresser.

Joan instantly responded with "What do we need to coordinate for? She can come home anytime.

I just shrugged my honest reply and went downstairs.

While Joan cooked dinner I took the flash drive into my office and copied it onto my computer. Turns out, that was a good decision.

Joan hardly said a word through dinner. She kept her eyes on her plate or stared blankly out the window into the backyard.

When I asked about her day; she turned her head and stared at me, so I asked again. Then she blinked a couple of times, shook her head slightly and said, "Oh, my day was pretty good." Then she dropped her head back down and stared into her food.

That was her longest sentence all evening.

After dinner I helped with the dishes, walked the dog and fixed the broken floodlight in the backyard. By the time I mounted a new light, dusk was gone. Joan wasn't in the living room or kitchen and the bedrooms and offices were empty.

I found her on my way to the laundry. She was working on the treadmill. When I came out of the laundry room I asked her what she was doing.

"I just figured it was time to get back into shape." Joan said dismissively. Whatever was on her mind she didn't want to share it with me; so I grabbed a beer from behind the bar and headed upstairs.

I figured that if she was going to act like that, then the hell with waiting, until bedtime to look through the flash drive. I opened the beer and sat in front of my computer. Once again the folders weren't encrypted. They were logically titled with days of the week. So I opened the Monday folder.

In the first picture Joan was standing next to her blackboard. She was wearing a nice taupe button up blouse, black, mid-thigh length skirt and heels. She wore an unmistakable mischievous grin. Kevin must have snapped the shot just before she broke into a broad smile. She looked great.

The next picture revealed the reason for the smile.

Joan was in the same spot as the previous picture. She was wearing the same clothes but this time she was lifting the hem of her skirt. She wasn't wearing any panties.

In the next picture Joan's bare ass was pressed against Kevin's black groin. Her face was turned back toward him. She wore a mask of pleasure; her eyes were half closed and her mouth hung slack. She was wearing the same top as before but it was unbuttoned so I could easily see the side of her breast and nipple.

She wasn't wearing a bra.

The last pictures were of Joan on her knees with Kevin's huge black cock in her mouth.

The folders had no witty prose or text, just pictures of my wife pleasuring her dominant black student.

I closed the Monday folder and just stared at the remaining folders. That was just Monday, there were four more folders. Four more folders with probably the same number of pictures in each that meant that most likely there were twenty pictures of my wife's exploits, twenty pieces of irrefutable evidence of her whoredom.

I opened the other folders in order, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday all laid out the same set of evidence. The first was always of her in her classroom standing in front of the blackboard fully clothed. And just as assuredly the second picture showed her flaunting her lack of panties. The last picture was always of a wrecked teacher, mother of two who had just enjoyed the ministrations of her owner.

Joan was fucking Kevin every day and she was teaching class in only a short skirt and blouse with nothing underneath. Kevin made Joan teach her classes, half naked and leaking his cum. I guess there really wasn't much 'force' involved. Her smile was evidence enough that she enjoyed every second of what she was doing. She loved her daily fucking.

The last folder was current, it was for today, Friday, and it was different from the others.

The first picture was the same as the first one in the other four folders. She was wearing the same outfit that she came home wearing. She wore the same mischievous smile. She looked great, early morning sex suited her well.

Instead of one or two pictures of her fucking Kevin, there were six. The first was her receiving her morning fuck. Once again the shot was of her getting his black cock doggy style. It was obvious Kevin was fucking my wife hard. Her face was flush and there were red marks on her ass that looked like hand prints. The last two pictures showed semen dripping from Joan's used, gaping cunt.

Then there was another of her bent over a desk with both hands holding her cheeks apart. Kevin's lean dark body was in the foreground. He was standing up fucking her from behind as she bent over the desk. She wasn't looking back at him but the muscles in her arms were flexed and her ass had the same telltale red marks of a good hard slapping.

It could have been just another picture of the same assignation; until I realized that she wasn't leaning across her desk. Looking closer I noticed other differences. The room had darker floor tiles.

I opened the next picture. It seemed to be in the same room. Joan was bent at the waist and was laying over the desk. her legs were spread wide. Her small skirt was bunched up around her waist. Her eyes were glassy and were focused on something impossibly far away. Except for the light that was directly over Joan, the room was dark. The desk was the old metal type with a laminate top. It was painted the indistinctive gray that was common for teacher's desks when I was a child. The next picture revealed more of the room.

Kevin was fucking her in the boiler room.

Joan was kneeling on a stained concrete floor kissing the tip of Kevin's black cock. Her skirt was around her waist. Her eyes were watery and her cheeks were almost as red as her ass had been in the previous pictures.

The next picture showed Joan going up a set of four cement stairs. With her outstretched right hand, she was holding onto the metal railing. Her skirt was riding high, and at that exact moment the camera caught the faint glisten of a stream of semen rolling down her inner thigh. I quickly searched through the rest of the pictures for any in the boiler room, but there weren't any. Instead, I found pictures of her in our car.

Actually, the first picture didn't have anyone in it. It was a wide angle shot of our car sitting in the public library's parking lot. The next picture showed Joan in the driver's seat. The picture was taken from outside, in front of the car. The third picture was taken from the front passenger side seat. In this picture Joan had her face buried in Kevin's crotch. The last picture of Joan taken in our car and the last picture in the folder showed my wife facing the camera, on her back with a wet, dripping pussy.

Joan was smiling. It was the same mischievous smile she had while standing in front of her chalkboard.

In one day Joan had just fucked Kevin three times. Three times she took his sperm inside her and the last one was outside and away from the school. Obviously, Kevin's power couldn't be contained. His influence was growing outside the confines of Joan's workplace. He was determined to have her whenever he wanted and wherever suited him. Fucking her three times in one day was something I hadn't done in years. It showed that he was on his way to achieving that goal.

I have to admit that I was disappointed. The pictures were hot. I loved the idea that my wife was another man's whore, especially if that man was a young, confident black man. But these were only pictures. I had been spoiled by the narrative that Joan always wrote in her emails.

I checked the email account. It was empty. The reality of this fantasy and the logistics necessary for it finally hit home. All of this must have just happened. Joan didn't have time to write her narrative.

I left my office, walked down the hall and into the living room. There was Kevin's whore, lounging on the sofa. My wife had showered and changed while I was in the office. She looked tired and needed to rest.

I don't think Joan even saw me until I was standing in front of the television.

"What do you need, honey?" Joan asked. There was frustration in her voice as her gaze tiredly came up to my mine.

In one quick motion I unhooked my belt pulled down my fly and dropped my pants. Joan began to say something, I think it was my proper name, but she never finished it. I put my hand on the back of her head and jammed my cock into her mouth. Immediately, her hands went to my hips. She pushed me backward. A moment later her hands fell from my hips and rested on the sides of my thighs.

After pumping my cock into her mouth a couple of times, I moved my hand from the back of her head to her shoulder. I didn't need to force her. It wasn't necessary to show her where I wanted her lips or her tongue. She licked my shaft as I withdrew it from her mouth and when I shoved forward, she sealed her lips around my meat like a virgin pussy. Joan swirled her tongue and tilted her head in such a way that my cock felt nothing but warmth and wetness. No matter how hard I jammed it into her or how long I left it ensconced in her throat she stayed unperturbed. As my pace increased and I neared my eventual climax, Joan's right hand disappeared into the front of her sweat pants. She was more aroused than I had ever seen her during any of our past love making. My wife was becoming an accomplished whore. She liked being treated this way. With that realization coming to mind, I blasted my first load of cum into her mouth. I spewed several times into Joan. The sensation of her throat contracting with each following swallow made me want to dump gallons into her.

For the first time in a long time I saw her as an object of sexual desire. Church, family, work and our place in society had never let me have such a raw vision. When she and I first dated, we fucked every chance we got. She loved doing it outside where there was always the possibility of being caught. After I proposed to her, we drove to her parents house to celebrate the engagement. Each night, Joan insisted we fuck in places where, if they woke up and came out of their room, her parents could find us. The last night in their house, at one in the morning I found myself on my back in the hallway just outside her parent's bedroom. Joan was bouncing up and down on my cock. She just barely muffled her moans and when I came she had to smoother my mouth with hers to stifle my scream. The sex stayed plentiful after the wedding and we fucked often even after the twins were born. Our sex life took the norml dip that happens to any couple with a set of new born twins at home. But it rebounded somewhat when the girls started school. Unfortunately, By that time, something had definitely changed. It had become an act of obligation. The heat was gone. It felt like I was being served a cold dinner with no seasoning. Faced with that entrée, I lost my appetite. Since I was the only one pursuing sex, it virtually came to a stop between us; that is, until Kevin came along.

When I was finished filling Joan's belly, I shook my head and let out a low guttural growl. When the ecstasy faded, I looked down. I expected to see my wife disengaging from my still hard cock and wiping her mouth with her sleeve. I was ready to tell her that I wasn't done and that she better turn around and shove that ass high up in the air. I intended to fuck the hell out her and I my raging hard on wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

But I was surprised by what I saw. Joan was slowly backing her head up releasing my wet cock to the cool air. When it was out completely, she unlocked our gaze and turned her attention to licking my rigid phallus. When it was clean she dipped her mouth down below the shaft and sucked in my balls. In turn, she was delicate and loving with each of them. When she pulled away from them they were as clean as if I had just stepped out the shower.

Without a word Joan leaned back, and in one motion turned, pulled the waist of her sweat pants down to her knees. She dropped her head and shoulders to the cushion next to the one she had been sitting. Her bare ass was sticking up only a couple of inches from my hard cock.

It took an eighteen year old black student to bring this out of her; I didn't have to say a word because Kevin had trained her well. I leaned forward and, rubbed the head of my cock against the wet lips of her cunt. A slight push forward and my cock was inside her. I could have just as easily inserted my fist. I leaned forward so I could feel the softness of her ass against my groin.

For long moments I pumped her hard. Somewhere in the midst of my savagery I reached around to lift her big breasts. I squeezed them and instead of the usual complaint, her cunt flooded my crotch with her juices. She moaned loudly and shoved her sodden cunt back into me. I responded by grabbing a handful of her hair and shoving myself forward. My cock was embedded into her gaping sex to my balls. I jerked backward so only the head was still in her loose wet folds. She was so wet and loose. It was obvious that she had been fucking someone with a much bigger cock than mine. I pulled her hair and shoved myself back into her. Seeing her eyes roll up and feeling her go limp I pounded her again.

I lost myself in the fury of my selfish fucking. Though, through it all I never thought of her pleasure, never worried about her orgasm, never considered her comfort; she became a soft, sopping mess. Her juices ran down my scrotum and dripped onto my thigh.

"Oh that's it baby. Take it. Yes. Oh God, yes!" Joan moaned.

My cock was careening around in her loosened hole, but it must have been enough for her. She whimpered, and then the whimper turned into an episodic grunt and finally she began to shake. She was climaxing, and as the ecstasy peaked inside her, her hole tightened around my cock; even then, it was a pathetic attempt. With that loose pussy, she couldn't have squeezed my fist.

I growled out my challenge and shoved my cock into her and hammered ruthlessly into her sex. Joan crumbled; her arms and legs were a tangle beneath her. I got on my knees and pulled her hips to the side of the couch and continued to fuck her. I fucked her because my cock was hard and her slut pussy was wet. I fucked her because I hadn't come yet and wasn't going to be left out.

She wasn't fucking me. It was my cock in her sloppy pussy. It was my groin mashing against her ass driving my cock like a piston in a worn out cylinder. My hands were holding her thighs, keeping her ass in place. My eyes watched her climax.

And I knew she wasn't fucking me because she called me 'Kevin'.

I was approaching my own release but my position was too low, so I smacked her ass and commanded her to sit up.

Joan yipped like a dog. She then turned around with her knees on the cushion and her chest pressed against the back of the sofa. I grabbed her cheeks exposing her gaping sex. It was slick and glistened wantonly in the lamplight. Using my open palms, one on each lip, I pulled her open and immediately shoved my hard cock into her stretched hole. It sunk to the base in one hard thrust.