Seduced Into A Sex Cult Ch 2

Jack Gregg was tense to the point of exploding as he reached his modest suburban home. To his great relief there was no sign of his wife, Molly, who had left a note to say that she was attending a meeting. Since the girls were in college he would have the house to himself. He knew that he couldn't have faced Molly straight away. She would surely cross-examine him for being late…Hell, she might even guess what had happened. Jack ate half heartedly as he mused over the unexpected developments of the evening. He could clearly visualize Donna Parker's lovely face and body spread out before him as he had mounted her. Sure he was scared and guilty…but nothing could take away from that awesome moment. Her face, her tits…they way she spread her lovely legs. Wow!

That lingering horniness was difficult to shake off. He wandered upstairs to Molly's bedroom. They hadn't slept together in that room since their second kid had come along many years before. Molly had suggested the separate rooms for his benefit so that he could get a night's sleep (to keep him fresh for work)…and somehow the temporary little arrangement had become permanent. They did have sex now and then…mainly when Molly wanted it …and always the WAY she wanted…usually in the dark…with Molly pushing Jack to orgasm as quickly as possible. He knew that she only had sex with him to satisfy her delusion that their marriage was a reasonable success.

Molly's infatuation with Feminism (her new religion- Jack called it) was more theoretical

than practical. She used the new stuff that she had read to bitch about inequalities and so forth…but (Jack felt) when "push came to shove" she would always be an Irish Catholic girl…eager to measure herself by the standards of her parents: was she a good mother and wife (in that order)? She was at home full time, although now that the last of the girls had graduated from High School she was talking of getting educated herself.

Molly was about 5'8"…with a good figure for a 42 year old with three kids grown up. She was slender, but with generous hips and breasts. A head of straight shoulder length brown hair framed her soft facial features. No one could ever believe that she was the mother of three grown up kids. He often felt that she looked like Mrs. Walton, the kindly mother of the TV family of their youth. She was clean, and proper. She would hate the thought of a stain on any garment and was known to shower immediately after sex. She could not abide "smut" and never used bad language. Her earthier husband figured that she would have been an ideal nun.

Jack realised that because he had very little sex with Molly, and didn't share a room with her, there was strangeness about her, an otherness that still attracted him. So when he would occasionally catch her undressing it gave him a secret thrill to glimpse her curvy nudity. He had seen her only recently standing at the end of her bed bending over to pull on pantyhose. Her 36D breasts swung and wobbled as she worked and he had found himself quite sexually stimulated. His penis stiffened in his pants as he thought of that moment. Then, on impulse, he went to her top drawer where she kept her personal stuff. Jack was amazed to feel his heart pounding as he carefully slid open the drawer to reveal a treasure trove of bras, panties, nighties, even garter belts (relics from her younger days when she wore stockings that stopped at the tops of her legs) and the like, as well as sanitary towels and other little signs of feminine life. As he removed some items and laid them on the bed, he remembered some years earlier when there had been decorators at work in the house. Molly had got huffed and angry because she said that one of the men had definitely rummaged in her personal drawer and two silky pairs of panties had been taken. At the time Jack had paid no heed to the affair, but now he could feel the kinky buzz the decorator had experienced in handling Molly's underwear. These items represented her. There was a huge sense of invading her privacy…like seeing her naked. He sniffed the gusset of the panties and began to lust after his wife.

Jack felt different. It was as if he was a little more in touch with the animal within. He imagined Molly in a nightie…pushed up over her tits, so that it would be like a fluffy collar round her neck. He pictured her on her back with her legs wide …himself penetrating her, and fucking her. Then it dawned on him…"She's my wife: why shouldn't I actually do these things instead of just fantasising about them?" He could feel a thudding in his chest. "I will fuck her tonight!"

The question was How? Slowly he began to assemble a plan of action…and as he did he knew that he was like a hunter stalking its prey. The very hunt itself was as stimulating as its objective. The normal half awake watching of mindless TV programs was abandoned, as he paced about in preparation.

Molly liked to drink a single Hot Whiskey, but she knew herself that alcohol went straight to her clitoris as well as her head and therefore she was extremely careful not to have more than one measure. Even then Jack aware that on a night when she had partaken of a little liquor she was more likely to command perfuntory sex…though he knew that, for her, it was merely a sticky prelude to solitary masturbation. Then he remembered the Rohypnol. She had had difficulty sleeping after her mother's death and the doctor had prescribed this stuff. She was terrified of getting hooked, and had therefore used only three quarters of the packet in very sparing doses. Each quarter pill had knocked her out within minutes… The unused tablets were carefully stashed in the Medicine cabinet. Jack had read an article about the drug, and the fact that certain nasty characters had used it to spike women's drinks with extraordinary effects. "What the hell, I'll try it!"

When Molly's auto turned in to the driveway at about 11pm Jack switched on the kettle. Molly's favorite cup was on the kitchen table with just the small measures of whiskey and sugar she tolerated. The Rohypnol had already been added carefully…having been crushed. There was a triple dose mixed in the liquor.

Molly came in looking about her house for signs for evidence of neglect by Jack, who was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper.

"I'm home…did you switch on the dishwasher. I left you a note. "

"Hmm, " mumbled Jack who did not wish to appear any less disinterested than usual.

The kettle came to the boil. Jack got up and made a cup of instant coffee.

"You having a hot whiskey?" he stood with his back to her hoping she wouldn't see the nervous tension in his face.

"I'll make it myself"She moved about rearranging things in the kitchen.

"Okay. " Jack wondered if she would throw out his prepared mixture and start again.

"I put in one spoon of sugar for you" he added. Molly came over to the kettle, checked that the measure of whiskey was as modest as she would tolerate, and then added the boiling water to make up the hot drink. She had caught Jack trying to put in two much whiskey on previous occasions, and figured that he was trying to get her into bed. She certainly had no intention of being used.

Molly was wearing a cream knee length skirt, with matching jacket which she now carefully hung on the back of the kitchen door. She wore a white blouse underneath. It was the kind where you could easily make out her bra restaining her generous breasts. The buttons of her blouse were carefully closed almost to her neck. Molly sat at the table with her drink and sipped reflectively. Jack was hyper-conscious of her but remained buried in his newspaper so as to avoid any revealing gestures.

"You missed your train"

"Yeah…worked late. There's an audit Friday"

"I thought there was an audit in December?"

"This is an internal case audit"

Molly accepted the answer. Jack decided to show some minor interest in his wife's affairs.

"You went to a meeting?"

This was the cue for Molly to launch into a lenghty discourse on the "Women's Insight" class she had attended. As Jack pretended to read the newspaper Molly reviewed world history from the feminist perspective. Men from the earliest times had enslaved women. They were bought and sold like cattle. Men used their bodies as they wished. They were essentially servants. So-called social evolution was merely a continuation of women's enslavement. Momogamous marriage was but a refinement of earlier forms of domination. Women were defined by men as Madonnas or as whores. Men did the defining. Yap, Yap, Yap!

As she spoke animatedly Molly gradually changed. At the outset she had been her usual self. Crystal clear, headache-inducingly detailed…but as she sipped her Hot Whiskey she began to slow up and slur, slightly at first, and then more dramatically. Jack quietly laid down his paper on the kitchen table. Molly was now talking like someone seriously drunk. Carefully Jack began to test her:

"Molly we're animals with a brain…so surely its normal that we treat our females the same way as almost every other species on the planet? That's the way Evolution wants us to be!" Molly looked as though she had been hit on the head with a mallet. She appeared to perceive time in some abnormally slowed down way:

"A girl…a girl…grows up…to be a woman" she mumbled drunkenly.

"Sure, and she's got a cunt Right? And men have got dicks and somehow the men have to stick their dicks in the cunts …otherwise we got one big Zero, Right?" Jack rather enjoyed the inequality in their mental states. She couldn't really formulate a response.

"A woman…a woman. " she continued, bewildered, befuddled.

Jack stood up and stood near Molly. She hardly noticed him. He went to the cabinet and took out the whiskey bottle and emptied the contents, except for a little. He placed the bottle near his wife's glass on the table. Then he switched on the family camcorder pointing at Molly and the table…He went over to his buxom wife and sotto voce sang (for the benefit of the camera):

"Come on Darling…you've had so much to drink…You'll be sick!"

Molly looked into the middle of nowhere.

"Cunt?" she mumbled.

"Let's get this blouse off!"

Jack undid the buttons as fast as he could. His fingers were trembling in anticipation and his hands were sweaty. Molly looked positively magnificent sitting stupidly on the chair, arms draped by her side, her bursting bra looking enticing. He went behind her savoring every moment. He gripped her hair in his right hand for the sheer hell of it…pulling her head in different directions.

"Time to get your tits out!" He was exultant. The hook at the back stubbornly refused to yield for a moment and then it happened. The great white mounds of breasts fell into view, tipped like special bullets with large dark nipples. Still standing behind Molly, Jack kneaded and squeezed her tits to his heart's content.

He was sweating: so he loosened his tie. He knew how incongrous it would look on the tape. She: so clean, so young looking. He: sweaty, fat, bald and lecherous. He leant down and put his tongue into her mouth. Then, whispering:

"You're gonna be a good girl, Babe. Yeah?"

He pulled her to her feet. She staggered slightly, until he bent her onto the table, leaving her with her big bottom exposed dominating the scene, and her fat tits pressing against the wood. Now, he thought he might faint from excitement. He yanked up her cream skirt. She was wearing pantyhose over panties. Delicately, he pulled the pantyhose to her knees…then the panties. He left them that way…giving her a dishevelled, bedraggled appearance. She would hate that!

"Men really treat women very badly!" he laughed.

He crouched before the crevice of her bottom and smelled her smells. The lion roared within…How would he take her? He dropped his trousers and kicked them away. Likewise with his underpants. Then he gobbed on his hands and greased up her rear. As a form of foreplay he smacked Molly's bottom, very hard. She moaned faintly as he went. Smack! Smack! Smack! Spit dries up very quickly. He would need a more effective lubricant. Ah yes! Of course. He skipped across to the refridgerator and took out some butter. This a little cold and hard, but he simply squeezed it through his fingers and the warmth of his hands softened it. Carefully, like a sculptor, he applied the butter to his wife's anus. He prodded her, allowing bits of the butter to slip into her. She was moaning again, although it was by no means clear that the moans were indicative of discomfort. He stuck a second finger into her, and began to frig her rythmically

Jack enjoyed the fact that there was no hurry. The girls were certainly not coming home. He had spoken to them all and confirmed their whereabouts. None of the neighbours or friends would come without phoning…and he had removed the phone from its socket. So he proceeded at a leisurely pace. It occurred to him that the melted butter could be smeared on Molly's tits to good effect…so he got to work on that too.

Molly remained confused, but she seemed to be in an obedient frame of mind. Jack got behind her; carefully spreading her legs as much as he could (her panties constrained too much leg parting). Then he positioned himself so that his dick was pressing against her asshole. He arched his back so as to make his dick hover above the target. He slipped his hands under her slippery tits. Ready, aim, fire. He shoved forward with all his force, entering her asshole to the hilt in the one perfect movement. Molly mumbled incoherently. He pushed and pulled. The feeling caused by the movement was incredible. There was this remarkable feeling of…suction. He glanced down to see his brownstained dick slide in and out, in and out. For a half second he felt himself teeter on the point of no return "…NO NO…I'm NOT coming yet" He gritted his teeth and stopped all movement for a moment…the volcano rumbled…but began to subside. Until Molly began to move her butt and once again he felt himself to be in danger of spurting his come into his wife's asshole. But thankfully she rested in her adjusted position and the crisis passed. Jack was thankful that his night of nights would not end abruptly.

His next move was to get Molly on her back astride the kitchen table. He loved seeing the swinging of her tits as he turned her over. Her skirt was crumpled and dirty, with bits of butter and other material staining it. He yanked the pantyhose and panties off and climbed up on the table and stared into his wife's face. She was awake but uncomprehending. Jack remembered how Molly, having starved him of exciting sex for a long time after their marriage, had suddenly demanded sex three times a day when SHE decided that it was time for Number 2. That had really pissed him off. It was like she and she alone was the arbiter of all matters sexual…the when, the how, the how often…Well no more. Jack pushed Molly's legs up so that her knees were almost thumping her tits. This was really good. She had vehemently objected to this whenever he had suggested it or tried it. ("Jack, you're such a pervert!") He entered her cunt and began to fuck her. Her eyes looked vacantly at him, as he pounded her flesh over and over again. He went really deep because of the position. In fact he felt the tip of his dick colliding with her womb.

"Whoa Boy, " he called out as he felt the sap rise to "boiling over" point once again.

"Come on Moll…lets go to bed. " He led the dumb brunette from the room in her messed up state. The camcorder came too. When he got to the bedroom he opened her personal drawer and extracted a handful of nighties and the like. He amused himself for 20 minutes ordering her to dress and undress in these garments. At last he lay on the bed and told Molly to suck his dick. She had never done this for him but now she seemed willing to follow precise demands and she hauled herself into position and took his dick in her soft mouth and began to suck. Her hair was mussed up. He liked that. He looked at her…

"Molly…Molly"

"Mmm" came a faint response…

At this stage the build up of come was unbearable…he couldn't hold it in…

"Suck me Moll…"

The spurting began…and came in huge spasms, waves. He knew that it was shooting hot and wet into Molly's mouth…She dribbled come onto her tits.