[Author's notes: Warning! This is an extramarital sex story. There are strong cuckold themes in this story. This story has substantial male/male sexual contact. If these themes don't please you, move on and don't comment about it, it will just be deleted. This hopefully will be hot enough to be a whack off story for the people who like these themes, as it does have a lot of sex in it. For those who don't like these themes please move along. Civil and constructive comments about writing are appreciated, hate speech will be deleted.]
[All characters are eighteen or older at the time any sexual contact in this story takes place.]
Hi, I'm Matt, and no, this isn't an A.A. meeting. It's actually Matthew Truco. Yes, I'm Hispanic and I live in the Southwest. Third generation Mexican American, from European Spaniards, not Mestizo Indian cross breeds. Some people tell me I look like a young Antonio Banderas, and many women in my early college years did throw themselves at me. I still insist they were drunk at the time. This story is about love and loss, about how the love of my life was taken from me twice, and how the love of your life will be taken from you.
This is a true story. It happened several years ago, after the pandemic. I know the world is different now. Because of the drugs in the water supply you won't remember, at least if you are not the home to a Y chromosome. It started with
Burwell v. Hobby Lobby
, where it was held the business you work for can determine your access to contraception. But after the pandemic, that reasoning went further.
It was called section 432. A rider attached in the dead of night to a bill that could not be allowed not to pass. That rider never would have seen the light of day under regular order, and they had to take a special voice vote to waive the rules requiring 72 hours notice, because the bill had to pass. It passed on a voice vote in both the House and Senate, because no one wanted their name on it. It was followed later that year, before the Supreme Court could hear the resulting cases (especially
Wiley v. Roadrunner Industries LLC
, 101 F.4d 297, 5
th
Circuit). They held that contraception is the same as conception, and in fact all conception was also at the discretion of the employer, with a set of Constitutional amendments, the "second bill of rights" according to men's rights activists. States piled on and the two thirds of the State's requirement was satisfied in weeks.
It is heresy now to even describe the world back then. AI has scrubbed the record, and rewritten history. The old physical archives have been quarantined ('due to the pandemic'), locked away so that people cannot know the truth. More than half of humanity is enslaved, and I am partially responsible. Despite giving me a position of high honor, I would end up with a bullet in my brain after my arrest before I made it to the police station if the AI ever got a copy of this story. Luckily, my word processor isn't connected to the Internet. How it ended up in your hands I don't know.
* * * * *
She was my wife, she was my everything.
We met in college. High end biomedical research tends to produce people more focused on work than they are on other people. I don't know if you can understand how hot a woman has to be to make a lab coat look hot, but she could and did. Searingly hot intellect, very fact based, very intolerant of bureaucratic obstacles and bullshit.
Even as a grad student in Dr. Miner's lab, she outshined the postdocs both in the work she produced, and her ability to explain it so the entire public could understand it. I became her lab partner, I must have a lucky horseshoe up my ass or something. She lavished praise on my work, lavished her attention on me. We started eating dinner together, then having a drink after our late nights, then sleeping at each other's place, then having only a single place. It was right around this time I realized she was in love with me.
I had been in love with her since the first day she covered a lecture for Dr. Miner. Striding to the podium in high heels, very elegant dark hose, a black lace dress with a plunging bodice, all covered up from sight by that lab coat. I watched her pretty French Canadian face for an hour, yet the only thing I learned was her name, Anna Marie Chabert. I would later reread the online notes from that lecture for a week to get it all into my head. I wanted to know deeply everything she knew, and I wanted to know her even more deeply. Call me sapiosexual, her mind turned me on something fierce.
I passed her one morning while running. The mornings are almost always cool enough to run. I didn't recognize who she was, but the woman I just passed had the most incredibly sculpted body. Sturdy but elegant legs, very well muscled and toned. Ass that could crack walnuts with a single clap of her cheeks, barely wider than my outstretched hand that I used to measure it. If I did not pass her, all of my blood would have flowed to my penis. So I mentally took several pictures for my spank bank and flowed past her. I used to run track in high school, so my 'passing gear' works pretty well.
Well it worked for a few seconds. She passed me, put the ass in gear that must have been God's gift to mankind, right back in front of my face. That ass told me He really did love me. So I put my ass back in passing gear.
That exchange happened six times. The only reason it didn't happen seven was we arrived at the lab. As we paused to get our breath back and did our stretching exercises, her hoodie fell down. It is like a Star Trek phaser stun blast, the perfect ass belongs to the perfect face of the perfect woman. Luckily I didn't need to say anything. Our heavy breathing led me to conclude she is really turned on, from her scent alone. Impossible to mistake the scent of hot wet pussy.
In another few seconds I would have been rendered speechless anyhow. She took off the hoodie, revealing a thin white t-shirt without a bra. She has pointed C-cup breasts, and they are stiff from rubbing against her shirt fabric while running. Nipple disks the size of fifty cent pieces, nipples the size of the tip of my pinky finger.
"I do this every day. I'd love to do it every day with you." Anna says in that flirty movement high school girls do where they twist their torso back and forth to show they have boobs. When you have C+ cups like hers, that's an entire milkshake.
"I'd love to do it with you every day. I'm Matt." I offer my hand.
"Anna. Take that hand away right now, or I'm going to demand you do things with it that are quite inappropriate at this stage of our relationship." Anna says very firmly.
