OFFICE PARTY by Throne
I had been working at my new job for three months when the top executive, Mr. Shaver, announced, because we had been generating good figures, he was throwing us a party. It was to be at the office, with everyone invited to bring their significant others. In my case, that was my wife Marge. She's tall, with a sexily full figure that she likes to show off. I know that, before we met, she was a bit of a wild girl. In fact, she has admitted that one of the reasons she dated me and then accepted my proposal of marriage, was that she wanted to settle down. What can I say? I was the perfect guy for that. I'm short and chubby, plain looking and kind of introverted. Once we were wed, she began to assert herself more and more. I was thrilled just to be with such a gorgeous female, so I let it happen. Before long, she was running my life at every level.
Her authoritarian attitude extended into the bedroom. At first we had enjoyed frequent intercourse. Or at least, I enjoyed it. After a few weeks she told me that my dick was too small to give her orgasms, so I had better learn to eat her pussy. I tried to explain that doing that didn't appeal to me, but she was adamant. Once she got me started on it, her sex drive increased and she wanted more all the time. Simultaneously, her willingness to let me have penetrative sex dwindled. As a substitute she used her plump soft hand on me. Marge began to make jokes about it, at my expense. One night she made me hump her thick thigh until I finished on her smooth skin. She thought that was hilariously funny, and decided I would be allowed to do it whenever I was 'a good boy'.
I whined about not being permitted inside her. She came up with a compromise. I could enter her vagina, but only with the head of my small penis. While I had it in that warm wet location, it was easy for her to reach out and toy with my nipples. It turned out that I was super-sensitive there, which made it easy for her to rush me into finishing, much to my shame. But that wasn't the end of it. She applied a sort of twisted logic to what came next.
"So," she said after my premature ejaculation, "you've had your fun, Harvey, but what about me? Hmmm? Don't you think you owe me? Shouldn't you get down there and use your mouth to get me off?"
"Well..." I hesitated. "I mean, there's a mess in your... you know."
"In my pussy," she stated bluntly.
"Right. So how could I use my tongue down there?" When she didn't relent, I suggested, "Maybe I could get a washrag and wet it with warm water. If I got you cleaned up enough..."
Marge cut me off. "Harvey, don't you know that would spoil my mood? Right now, I'm still heated up, though heaven knows it's not from having you swish your puny pecker around in my puss. Unless you want to ruin my entire evening, I'd suggest you rethink what you're saying. Or would you rather we just cut out sex altogether?"
The idea of not being able to touch her big breasts, or even to hold her wide hips while I went down on her, was unthinkbale. As much as it revulsed me, I agreed to lap up the mess I'd left while giving her the satisfaction she craved. It was awful, having to lick and swallow my own semen. UGH. But what else could I do? Become celibate? Go back to masturbating, which had been my entire sex life before I met Marge? So I did it. She kept me down there not only until she had her usual intense climax, but also long enough that I triggered two more.
"My, my," she said breathily, after she descended from the heights of ecstasy. "That was a lot better than what I'm used to with you. And I could tell by how enthusiastically you used your mouth, that you enjoyed it too."
That was absolutely not true, but at the moment I was still fearful of losing what bedroom privliges I had. So I lied and told her it was fine, figuring I could establish a new understanding later, one that didn't involve me being allowed only limited entry and then having to slurp up my own creamy deposits. Unfortunately, it didn't work out how I hoped. She always had some rationale for keeping it her way.
"Whoa, Harvey," she might say. "You finished even quicker that you've been doing. Obviously, you liked me wetting my fingers before I played with your nipples. And the way you keep trying to tell me you don't want it to be this way, with you on clean-up duty, I've figured that out. It's part of a naughty fantasy, isn't it? You want us to act like I'm forcing you to do this. Who knew you were so kinky? But I'm very understanding, so I'll go along with it. In fact, I'll even go a bit further. Plainly, you like being given orders. And you get a kick out of having your squirts rushed, and even being made to eat your own spunk. EWWW. I'll see what else I can come up with, to fill out your dirty fantasy."
What? No! I didn't like our current arrangement, and certainly didn't desire more of the same. But every time I tried to object, she simply credited it to me pretending I didn't want her to go further. For Marge, in those circumstances, no meant yes. She added to what she called my 'submissive scenario', by having me massage her feet and legs. Soon I was sucking her toes. Marge cut back on how often I was permitted to finish. Instead, she went back to using her hand on my little dick, but rarely took me over the finish line. I was horny all the time so that, when she did grant me an ejaculation, it came even faster than before. After I spurted all over my belly, she would scoop up my cum on her pudgey finger and slowly feed it to me, all the while telling me, "I know you like this, you dirty pervert."
That was the state of my love life, if you can even call it that, when the party was announced. She decided that it would be a treat for me if she used lots of make-up and dressed to show off her outstanding curves. Maybe she would even do some innocent flirting with my coworkers. I didn't like that at all, but again she turned my objections around, identifying them as part of my 'reluctant' fantasy.
"I've been researching guys like you online," she explained. "I found out that your type is also into something called cuckolding. It's hard for me to believe that you could get turned on by the possibility of me cheating on you." She shrugged, making her big bust ride up and down. "But if it's a kick for you, I'll go along with it. You know I'm willing to, because it's what you want."
That left me in a quandry. The last thing I wanted was to gain a reputation at work, as the guy whose wife flaunted herself at other men. Still, it was only one evening. I decided to get through it the best I could, and then put it behind me.
Marge bought a new outfit for the occasion. It was a clinging sleeveless top, with a plunging neckline. She showed of plenty of cleavage and side-boob. Then there were slacks that were so tight they appeared to have been painted onto her big round ass and full shapely legs. The outfit was completed by high-heeled sandals and a few pieces of flashy jewelry. True to her words, she overdid her make-up, giving herself a look that was borderline whorish. Her hair went up in a bun at the back of her head, leaving her ears uncovered, so everyone could see the oversized hoop earrings she had selected.
For me, she picked out a shirt with button-down collars, baggy slacks, and a dorky sweater vest. Marge used some product to make my thinning hair stick close to my scalp, completing the unappealing appearance she had settled on for me.
"There you go," she summarized. "Every guy will be eyeing me, and no girl will take a second look at you, unless it's for a laugh. Perfect for your dream scene of a dopey husband whose wife could commit infidelity at any moment."
She had established everything so well and backed it up with so many explanations, that even though none of it was true, all I could say was, "Yes, dear."
When we got to the party, she made a grand entrance. I trailed along behind her, feeling humiliated but unable to stop staring at her broad protruding bottom, and how the slacks vanished between its rolling hemispheres. My mind went to our return home, and the hope that she would judge me to be due for one of her quickie handjobs. Lots of guys ogled her, and she gave them all flashes of seductive eye contact. But the strongest and most obvious connection was between my wife and Mr. Shaver, who ran the office. He was taller than her, broad-shouldered, handsome, confident, and Black. There was an immediate and obvious rapport between them. As she stood there, gazing into his dark eyes, he spoke to me but looked only at her.
"Looks like you've been keeping a secret, Harvey. Not that I can blame you. Any man with such a lovely wife wouldn't want other men getting ideas about her."
"You know," she told him, "it's funny but Harvey's not like that. He doesn't want to put restrictions on me. Whatever I want do for my pleasure..." She drew out that last word. "... is fine with him." She fixed me with her eyes, "Isn't it, dearest?"
"Why... um... yes," I said inadequately. Without meaning to, I was sending out the signal that I was too meek to stand up to her. It was true, but I certainly dildn't want to convey that to Mr. Shaver.
When I tried to formally introduce them, he told Marge, "Please call me Damon."
"I will." She ran a fingertip down the lapel of his tailored blazer. "If you'll call me Marge."
It was as if, for them, the rest of the room had receeded into the distance. Mr. Shaver said to me, "Harvey, why don't you scoot over to the bar and fetch your stunning wife a drink." He told her, "The punch is sweet and has a nice kick to it."
"That sounds good," she agreed, still focused on him.
He waved me away. I got into line to get her a drink, but kept looking back at how intimately they were conversing. When I finally returned with a cup for her, my boss wanted to know why I hadn't gotten one for him. I had to start all over, and there were already several people ahead of me. By the time I tried to deliver his punch, he had other thoughts.
Mr. Shaver told me, "I've changed my mind. You can drink that. I have something much better in my office."
Marge handed me her cup as well. "I only took one sip. You can have mine, too. Come on, Harvey. Bottoms up."
I'm not much of a drinker but I obeyed, draining her almost full cup. Then Mr. Shaver motioned for me to start on his, so I took a swallow of that as well. Very soon I could feel the alcohol going to my head.
"You can circulate around the room," he advised me. "Since the two of you have such an open relationship, maybe you'll pick up one of our sweet young secretaries." Obviously, with the way my wife had made me look, and my natural shyness, that wasn't going to happen.
Marge said, "We'll be in Damon's office for a while... chatting." She gave me a broad conspiratorial wink. "And won't want to be interrupted. Right?"
All I could do was nod and then pour more liquor down my throat. I watched them vanish into his corner office, with the frosted glass panel on the door that prevented anyone from seeing what went on inside. I wandered around, numbly exchaning greetings with fellow employees. A few of them made references to Marge slipping away with Mr. Shaver. I tried to laugh it off, giving everyone wishy-washy smiles.
One of the guys, his words slurred from overindulging, said, "Hey, Harvey. Maybe she's in there getting you a raise. Even if it doesn't work, she'll get a rise from Max. Believe me, I've seen his Johnson when we were in the men's room, at the urinals." He rolled his eyes and whistled. "Talk about the right tool for the job."
That made me feel even worse. Surely it wouldn't go that far. Even so, as the minutes added up and reached the half hour mark, my hopes that their encoutner would remain innocent faded. I stared at his door, and kept reading his name, spelled out in gold letters, over and over.
When Marge emerged, she appeared a bit dazed. I told myself that it was simply from whatever drinks he had fed her, but worried that there was more involved. He took her around to meet some of the staff and their companions, but I was left out of the informal meet-and-greet. By the end of the evening I felt completely isolated, and unsettled by the way some of the others were glancing at me and smirking.
We finally left, as the gathering was breaking up. Marge and Max exchanged final smoldering looks. He said he looked forward to seeing her again soon. Marge drove us home, with me trying not to voice my fears. Once we got there, she dragged me to the bedroom and told me to strip. My interpretation of that was that she had gotten aroused but nothing more had happened, and so wanted my oral attentions to release her built-up heat. Maybe she would even let me go all the way, to full penetration, or at least as full as my undersized dick could make it, because she was a bit buzzed. After I was naked, she had me undress her. OMG, her body was magnificent. She lay back and spread her legs.
The invitation, when it came, wasn't what I had hoped for. She told me, "Get your stupid face down there and give me some tongue action, Harvey darling." Marge chuckled. "Max bent me over his desk and gave me the screwing of my life. What a freaking cocksman. I didn't clean up, because I know how good you are at taking care of that, and how much you love doing it. Besides, my twat can use some TLC, after the pounding your boss gave me. I wish you could have seen him going at it. Whew."
Disgusted with what I had to do, and with myself for being such a weakling, and for letting her manipulate me so much in the predceeding months, I nevertheless got into position. The outside of her pussy was covered with Mr. Shaver's cream, her rippled pink lips gummed together by it. I gagged as I took the first of what I knew would be many licks.
She told me, "Don't sound that way, Harvey. You should be used to the taste, from cleaning up after yourself. Although I guess his could have more flavor, him being more of a man." Her laughed was evil. "Do a good job, lover. He left quite a heavy deposit. After all, he has a kingsize cock and balls to match. Not like that pink shrimp and those dove eggs between your soft thighs. Ahhh, that's the way. Let's see if you can give me a bonus orgasm, on top of the three that Max pushed me into."
My worst nightmare was made real. I kept my head between her thick thighs for a long time, before the job was done. Near the end, she did have that extra climax she wanted. By the time she let me stop, I was sniffling and close to tears. At least, I told myself, I wouldn't break down and cry where she could hear it.
As Marge's eyelids fluttered, she told me sleepily, "You can cuddle up next to me, Harvey. I'll even let you feel up my boobs for a minute or two. But don't play with yourself. I want you to stay good and horny from now on. It makes you do so much better when you eat me." She yawned. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Max will be coming over for dinner, two nights from now. He and I have a lot to discuss, which we'll be doing here in the bedroom." She rolled away from me, onto her side, and pressed her big bottom against my crotch. I got so stiff that it hurt.
Max was coming to our house? And she intended to take him to our bedroom. That's when I fell apart, emotionally, and began to openly weep. Marge chortled, letting me know that she heard me. And then she drifted into peaceful sated sleep. I, on the other hand, lay there, awake and desperately in need of an ejaculation that wasn't going to be permitted for a long time.
*********
I had been working at my new job for three months when the top executive, Mr. Shaver, announced, because we had been generating good figures, he was throwing us a party. It was to be at the office, with everyone invited to bring their significant others. In my case, that was my wife Marge. She's tall, with a sexily full figure that she likes to show off. I know that, before we met, she was a bit of a wild girl. In fact, she has admitted that one of the reasons she dated me and then accepted my proposal of marriage, was that she wanted to settle down. What can I say? I was the perfect guy for that. I'm short and chubby, plain looking and kind of introverted. Once we were wed, she began to assert herself more and more. I was thrilled just to be with such a gorgeous female, so I let it happen. Before long, she was running my life at every level.
Her authoritarian attitude extended into the bedroom. At first we had enjoyed frequent intercourse. Or at least, I enjoyed it. After a few weeks she told me that my dick was too small to give her orgasms, so I had better learn to eat her pussy. I tried to explain that doing that didn't appeal to me, but she was adamant. Once she got me started on it, her sex drive increased and she wanted more all the time. Simultaneously, her willingness to let me have penetrative sex dwindled. As a substitute she used her plump soft hand on me. Marge began to make jokes about it, at my expense. One night she made me hump her thick thigh until I finished on her smooth skin. She thought that was hilariously funny, and decided I would be allowed to do it whenever I was 'a good boy'.
I whined about not being permitted inside her. She came up with a compromise. I could enter her vagina, but only with the head of my small penis. While I had it in that warm wet location, it was easy for her to reach out and toy with my nipples. It turned out that I was super-sensitive there, which made it easy for her to rush me into finishing, much to my shame. But that wasn't the end of it. She applied a sort of twisted logic to what came next.
"So," she said after my premature ejaculation, "you've had your fun, Harvey, but what about me? Hmmm? Don't you think you owe me? Shouldn't you get down there and use your mouth to get me off?"
"Well..." I hesitated. "I mean, there's a mess in your... you know."
"In my pussy," she stated bluntly.
"Right. So how could I use my tongue down there?" When she didn't relent, I suggested, "Maybe I could get a washrag and wet it with warm water. If I got you cleaned up enough..."
Marge cut me off. "Harvey, don't you know that would spoil my mood? Right now, I'm still heated up, though heaven knows it's not from having you swish your puny pecker around in my puss. Unless you want to ruin my entire evening, I'd suggest you rethink what you're saying. Or would you rather we just cut out sex altogether?"
The idea of not being able to touch her big breasts, or even to hold her wide hips while I went down on her, was unthinkbale. As much as it revulsed me, I agreed to lap up the mess I'd left while giving her the satisfaction she craved. It was awful, having to lick and swallow my own semen. UGH. But what else could I do? Become celibate? Go back to masturbating, which had been my entire sex life before I met Marge? So I did it. She kept me down there not only until she had her usual intense climax, but also long enough that I triggered two more.
"My, my," she said breathily, after she descended from the heights of ecstasy. "That was a lot better than what I'm used to with you. And I could tell by how enthusiastically you used your mouth, that you enjoyed it too."
That was absolutely not true, but at the moment I was still fearful of losing what bedroom privliges I had. So I lied and told her it was fine, figuring I could establish a new understanding later, one that didn't involve me being allowed only limited entry and then having to slurp up my own creamy deposits. Unfortunately, it didn't work out how I hoped. She always had some rationale for keeping it her way.
"Whoa, Harvey," she might say. "You finished even quicker that you've been doing. Obviously, you liked me wetting my fingers before I played with your nipples. And the way you keep trying to tell me you don't want it to be this way, with you on clean-up duty, I've figured that out. It's part of a naughty fantasy, isn't it? You want us to act like I'm forcing you to do this. Who knew you were so kinky? But I'm very understanding, so I'll go along with it. In fact, I'll even go a bit further. Plainly, you like being given orders. And you get a kick out of having your squirts rushed, and even being made to eat your own spunk. EWWW. I'll see what else I can come up with, to fill out your dirty fantasy."
What? No! I didn't like our current arrangement, and certainly didn't desire more of the same. But every time I tried to object, she simply credited it to me pretending I didn't want her to go further. For Marge, in those circumstances, no meant yes. She added to what she called my 'submissive scenario', by having me massage her feet and legs. Soon I was sucking her toes. Marge cut back on how often I was permitted to finish. Instead, she went back to using her hand on my little dick, but rarely took me over the finish line. I was horny all the time so that, when she did grant me an ejaculation, it came even faster than before. After I spurted all over my belly, she would scoop up my cum on her pudgey finger and slowly feed it to me, all the while telling me, "I know you like this, you dirty pervert."
That was the state of my love life, if you can even call it that, when the party was announced. She decided that it would be a treat for me if she used lots of make-up and dressed to show off her outstanding curves. Maybe she would even do some innocent flirting with my coworkers. I didn't like that at all, but again she turned my objections around, identifying them as part of my 'reluctant' fantasy.
"I've been researching guys like you online," she explained. "I found out that your type is also into something called cuckolding. It's hard for me to believe that you could get turned on by the possibility of me cheating on you." She shrugged, making her big bust ride up and down. "But if it's a kick for you, I'll go along with it. You know I'm willing to, because it's what you want."
That left me in a quandry. The last thing I wanted was to gain a reputation at work, as the guy whose wife flaunted herself at other men. Still, it was only one evening. I decided to get through it the best I could, and then put it behind me.
Marge bought a new outfit for the occasion. It was a clinging sleeveless top, with a plunging neckline. She showed of plenty of cleavage and side-boob. Then there were slacks that were so tight they appeared to have been painted onto her big round ass and full shapely legs. The outfit was completed by high-heeled sandals and a few pieces of flashy jewelry. True to her words, she overdid her make-up, giving herself a look that was borderline whorish. Her hair went up in a bun at the back of her head, leaving her ears uncovered, so everyone could see the oversized hoop earrings she had selected.
For me, she picked out a shirt with button-down collars, baggy slacks, and a dorky sweater vest. Marge used some product to make my thinning hair stick close to my scalp, completing the unappealing appearance she had settled on for me.
"There you go," she summarized. "Every guy will be eyeing me, and no girl will take a second look at you, unless it's for a laugh. Perfect for your dream scene of a dopey husband whose wife could commit infidelity at any moment."
She had established everything so well and backed it up with so many explanations, that even though none of it was true, all I could say was, "Yes, dear."
When we got to the party, she made a grand entrance. I trailed along behind her, feeling humiliated but unable to stop staring at her broad protruding bottom, and how the slacks vanished between its rolling hemispheres. My mind went to our return home, and the hope that she would judge me to be due for one of her quickie handjobs. Lots of guys ogled her, and she gave them all flashes of seductive eye contact. But the strongest and most obvious connection was between my wife and Mr. Shaver, who ran the office. He was taller than her, broad-shouldered, handsome, confident, and Black. There was an immediate and obvious rapport between them. As she stood there, gazing into his dark eyes, he spoke to me but looked only at her.
"Looks like you've been keeping a secret, Harvey. Not that I can blame you. Any man with such a lovely wife wouldn't want other men getting ideas about her."
"You know," she told him, "it's funny but Harvey's not like that. He doesn't want to put restrictions on me. Whatever I want do for my pleasure..." She drew out that last word. "... is fine with him." She fixed me with her eyes, "Isn't it, dearest?"
"Why... um... yes," I said inadequately. Without meaning to, I was sending out the signal that I was too meek to stand up to her. It was true, but I certainly dildn't want to convey that to Mr. Shaver.
When I tried to formally introduce them, he told Marge, "Please call me Damon."
"I will." She ran a fingertip down the lapel of his tailored blazer. "If you'll call me Marge."
It was as if, for them, the rest of the room had receeded into the distance. Mr. Shaver said to me, "Harvey, why don't you scoot over to the bar and fetch your stunning wife a drink." He told her, "The punch is sweet and has a nice kick to it."
"That sounds good," she agreed, still focused on him.
He waved me away. I got into line to get her a drink, but kept looking back at how intimately they were conversing. When I finally returned with a cup for her, my boss wanted to know why I hadn't gotten one for him. I had to start all over, and there were already several people ahead of me. By the time I tried to deliver his punch, he had other thoughts.
Mr. Shaver told me, "I've changed my mind. You can drink that. I have something much better in my office."
Marge handed me her cup as well. "I only took one sip. You can have mine, too. Come on, Harvey. Bottoms up."
I'm not much of a drinker but I obeyed, draining her almost full cup. Then Mr. Shaver motioned for me to start on his, so I took a swallow of that as well. Very soon I could feel the alcohol going to my head.
"You can circulate around the room," he advised me. "Since the two of you have such an open relationship, maybe you'll pick up one of our sweet young secretaries." Obviously, with the way my wife had made me look, and my natural shyness, that wasn't going to happen.
Marge said, "We'll be in Damon's office for a while... chatting." She gave me a broad conspiratorial wink. "And won't want to be interrupted. Right?"
All I could do was nod and then pour more liquor down my throat. I watched them vanish into his corner office, with the frosted glass panel on the door that prevented anyone from seeing what went on inside. I wandered around, numbly exchaning greetings with fellow employees. A few of them made references to Marge slipping away with Mr. Shaver. I tried to laugh it off, giving everyone wishy-washy smiles.
One of the guys, his words slurred from overindulging, said, "Hey, Harvey. Maybe she's in there getting you a raise. Even if it doesn't work, she'll get a rise from Max. Believe me, I've seen his Johnson when we were in the men's room, at the urinals." He rolled his eyes and whistled. "Talk about the right tool for the job."
That made me feel even worse. Surely it wouldn't go that far. Even so, as the minutes added up and reached the half hour mark, my hopes that their encoutner would remain innocent faded. I stared at his door, and kept reading his name, spelled out in gold letters, over and over.
When Marge emerged, she appeared a bit dazed. I told myself that it was simply from whatever drinks he had fed her, but worried that there was more involved. He took her around to meet some of the staff and their companions, but I was left out of the informal meet-and-greet. By the end of the evening I felt completely isolated, and unsettled by the way some of the others were glancing at me and smirking.
We finally left, as the gathering was breaking up. Marge and Max exchanged final smoldering looks. He said he looked forward to seeing her again soon. Marge drove us home, with me trying not to voice my fears. Once we got there, she dragged me to the bedroom and told me to strip. My interpretation of that was that she had gotten aroused but nothing more had happened, and so wanted my oral attentions to release her built-up heat. Maybe she would even let me go all the way, to full penetration, or at least as full as my undersized dick could make it, because she was a bit buzzed. After I was naked, she had me undress her. OMG, her body was magnificent. She lay back and spread her legs.
The invitation, when it came, wasn't what I had hoped for. She told me, "Get your stupid face down there and give me some tongue action, Harvey darling." Marge chuckled. "Max bent me over his desk and gave me the screwing of my life. What a freaking cocksman. I didn't clean up, because I know how good you are at taking care of that, and how much you love doing it. Besides, my twat can use some TLC, after the pounding your boss gave me. I wish you could have seen him going at it. Whew."
Disgusted with what I had to do, and with myself for being such a weakling, and for letting her manipulate me so much in the predceeding months, I nevertheless got into position. The outside of her pussy was covered with Mr. Shaver's cream, her rippled pink lips gummed together by it. I gagged as I took the first of what I knew would be many licks.
She told me, "Don't sound that way, Harvey. You should be used to the taste, from cleaning up after yourself. Although I guess his could have more flavor, him being more of a man." Her laughed was evil. "Do a good job, lover. He left quite a heavy deposit. After all, he has a kingsize cock and balls to match. Not like that pink shrimp and those dove eggs between your soft thighs. Ahhh, that's the way. Let's see if you can give me a bonus orgasm, on top of the three that Max pushed me into."
My worst nightmare was made real. I kept my head between her thick thighs for a long time, before the job was done. Near the end, she did have that extra climax she wanted. By the time she let me stop, I was sniffling and close to tears. At least, I told myself, I wouldn't break down and cry where she could hear it.
As Marge's eyelids fluttered, she told me sleepily, "You can cuddle up next to me, Harvey. I'll even let you feel up my boobs for a minute or two. But don't play with yourself. I want you to stay good and horny from now on. It makes you do so much better when you eat me." She yawned. "Oh, and I almost forgot. Max will be coming over for dinner, two nights from now. He and I have a lot to discuss, which we'll be doing here in the bedroom." She rolled away from me, onto her side, and pressed her big bottom against my crotch. I got so stiff that it hurt.
Max was coming to our house? And she intended to take him to our bedroom. That's when I fell apart, emotionally, and began to openly weep. Marge chortled, letting me know that she heard me. And then she drifted into peaceful sated sleep. I, on the other hand, lay there, awake and desperately in need of an ejaculation that wasn't going to be permitted for a long time.
*********
