Marriage Guidance - With a Difference

Like the 60's song lyrics, I suppose it's true, 'I'm not the world's most passionate guy.' Probably a strict chapel upbringing and very straight laced, stiff upper lipped parents had more influence on me than I care to admit. I love my wife Sarah dearly. I think she knows that, without me waxing lyrical and showering her with flowers, gifts and poetry. We met at university; in the college refectory to be exact. One busy lunchtime, the seat next to me was about the only available one in the building so I was really pleased when a pretty girl with dark curly hair asked me if it were reserved. She was very chatty and we seemed to gel well until we both left hurriedly, late for our lectures. Thereafter we both looked out for each other at lunchtimes. Several weeks after our first chance meeting she invited me to a party 'she couldn't get out of.' I have a punctuality phobia so I arrived early. Sarah was five minutes late; when I saw her I barely recognised her. No dowdy baggy jumper and jeans, instead a tiny tight black figure-hugging dress that barely covered her panties but did emphasise her long slender legs, curvy bust and cavernous cleavage; she was visually magnetic. She wore expertly applied make up which gave her a really enchanting air. Up to that point I had hardly noticed, let alone appreciated her lovely curvy figure or her sweet alluring smile, not to mention her deep blue eyes and cute snub nose. Looking flustered she blurted: 'Hi ya. Sorry I'm late. I nearly didn't come at all. I went shopping with my friend Jayne and bought this dress, but now I hate it; it makes me look so slutty.' I looked her up and down again, thinking I couldn't disagree with you more, but I didn't like to say so. There was no mistaking the venue, from streets away the thud thud thump of beat could be heard pounded away. Sarah shook her head and rolled her eyes as we turned the corner and saw a gaggle of obviously drunken teens tottering and mouthing off to each other. That just about sums Sarah up, she's so not a party animal but then neither am I. Throughout the party we stood at the bottom of the staircase unable to communicate other than with facial expressions due to the sheer volume of the music. Clutching our drinks, we watched with interest various guys leading stoned girls upstairs and then later staggering down looking dishevelled and flustered. By 11:00 O'clock Sarah decided we'd fulfilled our obligation and we left. On the way home conversation flowed freely again so we decided we should go out again together but instead to a place of our choosing. The following Saturday I called at Sarah's flat; she was ready and answered the door dressed smartly but more soberly than the previous week's 'display,' much to my disappointment. We had a really pleasant evening at the local ten-pin bowling alley. Sarah won all of the three games we had. We agreed to meet up the following Saturday and met at the university student union bar and chatted until the early hours. I walked Sarah home and on her doorstep we kissed for the first time. That was the first time I'd ever kissed a girl, at least with tongues. I walked the short walk back to my flat as though I were floating on air; I was deeply in love, even besotted. It was another four months before we decided to 'do it.' It was at my flat, we undressed in a rather clinical way, climbed in between the sheets, kissed, fumbled and then I rather inelegantly managed to pull the condom over my erection and place it at her entrance before pushing it inside. Clearly Sarah was in some discomfort because she was a virgin to but she bravely endured the three or four minutes before I climaxed and collapsed on top of her. Sarah went on the pill and we both managed to improve our technique. However sex still only took place once a month or so, sometimes even less frequently and generally lasted a few minutes. I recall one time holding Sarah in my arms, after making love saying: 'I don't see what most guys see in sex. Don't get me wrong I enjoy it but it's not the be all and end all that most guys see it as, is it?' Sarah readily agreed with me: 'It's brought us close together, but I like just laying together, cuddling as much as I like actually doing it.' A year after graduating we married and moved into a flat together. Money was tight, Sarah worked in a bank and I managed to get a job working in IT. I loved the job but hated the company I worked for. The bosses and most of my colleagues were lazy and blamed me for their non-performance. After one particularly bad day when I'd received a written warning about it, Sarah gave me a comforting hug and said: 'Aw I really feel for you. They don't appreciate you and you don't deserve this. Why don't you look for a better job somewhere else?' She was right so immediately I went online and started searching. My first interview, with Streatham Telecoms was nerve racking but as Sarah said, it's lots more responsibility because it's a smaller company and I would in effect be the IT Department rather than a small member of a large team, and the pay was slightly better. To my utter astonishment Mr. Streatham offered me the job at the interview. 'When can you start?' 'Next week.' I blurted out incredulously. Sarah was delighted and let out an uncharacteristic whoop and hugged me when I told her. That first morning, sat in reception I had misgivings when I heard a booming voice coming down the corridor. The receptionist informed me: 'Mr. Streatham's in a meeting but he should be out shortly.' Still the hardly muffled bellowing continued: 'If next month's figures aren't substantially better, you lot will be needing career advice! Now get out my sight before I do something reckless! She smiled at me awkwardly and commented with obvious understatement: 'Ooh dear; it's a sales meeting, and I don't think it's going too well.' A gaggle of half a dozen red faced men in suits scurried out and in through the door marked 'PRIVATE.' Five minutes later Mr. Streatham stepped outside his office. 'David: good to see you!' He declared with a thunderous voice. Heart in mouth, I carried my briefcase down towards the tall, silver haired man holding his hand out to me. He took my hand firmly and shook it. 'Welcome aboard, I'll show you to your office.' I followed this self-assured chief tentatively. Streatham declared: 'We're one big happy family here, all part of a closely knit team,' I mused to myself, I bet those poor sales guys didn't feel happy or part of a closely knit team. I was shown into the IT room. 'I've given you a task list to work through, so get started. If you need anything or you have any problems my door's always open.' I looked round at my little domain with some satisfaction. I think I'm going to be very happy here. A week later Mr Streatham popped his head round the door: 'How are you getting on?' I replied: 'OK, I think you're right. The operating system hasn't been correctly installed.' 'Told you, best thing I ever did was sack that Gary. And don't think I haven't noticed you've been doing a lot of work after hours to minimise downtime.' He sat on my desk, picked up my photo of Sarah and smiled. 'This must be your wife?' I nodded. 'She's lovely and I can see what she sees in you, you're very gifted.' I almost blushed with the praise being heaped on me. Two weeks later I had another visit from the MD. 'The network is running like a dream and the speed is unbelievable, beamed an obviously delighted Mr. Streatham. 'I'm damned sure we won't be getting any more of those annoying crashes that drove me totally mental!' He pulled himself up, sat on my desk and picked up the photo again of Sarah. And as I said last time, I've noticed that a lot of your work has been after hours to reduce downtime. I'd like to say a big thank you to you by inviting you and your wife round to my house for dinner.' Now that took me totally by surprise. 'When? I enquired. 'Tonight, yes, tonight. I'll ask my secretary to organise a taxi to collect you at 7:00 O'clock. Sarah was absolutely delighted: 'Ah Love, that's fantastic. It's great that you're being appreciated. When's the invitation for?' 'Tonight,' I said warily. 'Tonight!' Exclaimed Sarah with a look of sheer panic; 'But I haven't got anything to wear. You should have rung me so I could dash out and buy something.' Mentally I flicked through her wardrobe and it was true. She spent very little on clothes because we struggle to even cover the bills. 'What about that little black dress you wore to that dreadful party?' 'Oh no! Not that! Out of the question.' 'But that's the only one you've got that's anything like. We need to hurry; the taxi will be here in under an hour.' On a cold Thursday night, we stood outside of the large white imposing door with two white stone pillars on either side, watching the taxi pull away. 'It's a bit posh isn't it?' Ignoring the question she answered: 'I hate this dress; it's so slutty.' The door opened and an imposing Mr. Streatham dressed in a shiny tuxedo but with an open collar, the dickey-bow missing, stood beaming at us: 'David, glad you came.' He stared down at Sarah, eyes fixed on her cleavage. Either she didn't notice or didn't mind, but I couldn't help but notice the focus of his attention. 'And you must be David's rather gorgeous wife? You look absolutely delicious, even better than the photo on David's desk! Now come in both of you, dinner's waiting.' My boss's smarmy flattery towards Sarah and her beaming appreciation left me feeling slightly uncomfortable, perhaps because I hardly ever compliment her, in case it sounds patronising. Sarah and Streatham tucked into the Mussels au Gratin but I'm afraid seafood makes me queasy. Rather thoughtfully, he made me a cheese and pickle sandwich which I ate as slowly as possible to pace myself to finish at the same time. Mr. Streatham, or James as he preferred to be called by his 'special friends' was a perfect host recalling lots of amusing stories and anecdotes from his army days and during the early days of establishing Streatham Telecoms. Sarah particularly was enjoying herself, laughing and giggling, no doubt assisted by the copious glasses of white wine she consumed. 'That was delicious, better than a restaurant,' she commented, placing her knife and fork together onto an empty plate. James smiled appreciatively: 'Cooking is a hobby, I find it really relaxing and I've always loved food. 'It's important to keep your mind active but also to know how and when to relax.' Sarah nodded in agreement. Looking at me he asked; 'How do you keep active David, and how do you relax?' My mind went blank so I just shrugged my shoulders and mumbled; 'This and that.' 'Well talk of relaxing, Id like to show you a little extravagance I treated myself to, not long ago.' James stood up and led the way to a small door under the staircase. He switched the light on to show a narrow steep stairway and started climbing downwards. He warned us: 'Be careful and watch how you go.' After shedding her high heeled shoes at the door entrance Sarah followed down in her bare feet: I followed Sarah. The air was humid, almost oppressively warm. We passed a large white three-seater sofa, a washing machine and laundry baskets and beyond all that, a large round wooden framed pool with steps leading up. James asked excitedly; 'Well what do you think?' He pushed a large white button on the wall at the side of the pool, with a gurgle and glug, seconds later the surface erupted with a mass of bubbles. 'It's so relaxing; you can spend hours in there doing absolutely nothing.' 'Ooh yes it's lovely,' confirmed Sarah. James opened a mini fridge at the side of the pool, pulled out and opened another bottle of wine and started pouring it into glasses. He slid his jacket off, placed it onto the side shelf and started unbuttoning his shirt. Sarah looked at him mouth agape in astonishment. 'Right, let's get in and chill out.' Sarah looked at me, looking to me for an excuse or a means of escape but I was equally dumbfounded. 'But we haven't brought our swimming costumes,' she blurted. James then quite brazenly dropped his trousers and boxer shorts in front of us both, totally exposed, and then pulled off his socks and climbed up the steps and lowered himself into the Jacuzzi. 'No need, it's quite private, and there's only us here. Come on, the water's lovely.' Sarah looked at me again; I just shrugged my shoulders to signify to her, whatever you want to do is OK with me. She looked at James and then again at me, swallowed hard, and pushed the straps on her dress over her shoulders and slipped it down to drop onto the floor. I followed suit and undid my shirt buttons. In just her bra and panties she started up the steps. 'Oi!' Boomed James; 'Take 'em off. You're with friends here and anyway, you can't go home with wet underwear; you'll freeze.' Sarah blushed deep red and looked to me. I was too scared to rebel against my boss and risk starting an almighty war in front of Sarah so I looked sheepishly down at the floor. I was down to my boxer shorts so I gingerly dropped them to the floor, stood out of them and climbed up into the pool, leaving poor Sarah alone. I sat down and looked at her, wondering what she was going to do. She closed her eyes, gulped again and reached behind to release her bra. Her round white breasts stood out bold like two large milky mangos emphasising her dark nipples. They dangled like ripe fruits as she stooped to slide her panties down her sleek legs to reveal her large triangular black forest. She then stood bolt upright as if to say, there, you've got what you want - so what! She quickly climbed the steps and hurriedly slid into the water, under the cover of the bubbles. James leaned out of the Jacuzzi, picked up the wine glasses and handed them around. He started talking about the company network, telling Sarah about its transformation, praising my work. He stood, lifted his glass proudly and proposed a toast: 'To Streatham Telecoms, may the company go from strength to strength ably supported by the best IT guy in the county!' His adulations then turned to Sarah. He told me: 'You are a very lucky guy to have a wife like Sarah. She has to be the most beautiful girl I've set eyes on in an awful long time.' Sarah shook her head modestly but James was having none of it. He declared: 'It's true. Look at her; if she were only a foot taller she'd be a top model.' Sarah blushed. He put his fingers up to her face and rubbed her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair. 'You've got lovely cheekbones, gorgeous curly hair, your sweet brown eyes are exquisite and your figure would make a monk horny!' Sarah beamed then giggled; his flattery was obviously striking a chord. 'And as for your boobs? they are close to ?. no, they're perfect; almost too good. I mean they look almost false?' Sarah shook her head vigorously. James smiled reassuringly: 'No, I didn't think they were; you can actually tell. Falsies look slightly different but the real difference is in the feel.' He reached his hands out towards her boobs and asked her: 'Do you mind?' Without waiting for an answer, his hands cupped and started kneading my wife's breasts. She looked at me startled; I shook my head in disbelief at the arrogance and liberty Mr. Streatham was taking. Still clasping Sarah's breasts in each hand, he pushed his way behind her and continued massaging them. 'Oooh yes, lovely,' he declared: 'These are definitely the real thing.' Sarah's expression was anxious; I was getting very fretful about what was happening. My apprehension did not subside as she started to relax and her expression turned to contentment as she closed her eyes. Then suddenly her eyes popped wide open; mouth agape, she exclaimed with a deep whispered hiss: 'He.. he.. he's trying to put it in me!' I looked up at James; he stared intently ahead. I looked at Sarah; she gasped. She was trying to tense her pelvic muscles to resist, her face grimaced. I held onto her arm and garbled: 'Are you alright?' I knew immediately what a stupid question that was. A man she had met only two hours ago had reluctantly convinced her to go naked into the pool and was now trying to force himself into her. I gripped her other arm to steady her, she gasped audibly and her eyes bulged: 'Oh my goodness; it's a big one!' My pulse raced; I began to panic. The only way she would know his size would be if he'd actually penetrated her. I looked down in horror, trying to see what was happening down there but the view was obscured by the swirling surface and effervescent bubbles. I looked at James, he just smiled at me. The only clue as to what was going on was the constant lapping of the water around the sides of the pool, with each rocking motion. Sarah looked stoic, she was enduring her ordeal with the bravery of a frontline soldier. I kept a firm grip on her arms to stop her falling forward. For a good five minutes she was forced to endure this when it stopped as suddenly as it began. James moved away and enquired quite nonchalantly: 'Who wants another glass of wine?' Neither of us answered; undeterred by the lack of response he lifted himself out of the pool, leaving thousands of tiny droplets falling from his torso. He wrapped a towel around his lower half and started pouring wine topping up the three glasses. Sarah made her way towards the edge of the pool. 'Are you alright?'I asked her again. She blanked me, ignored and pushed past. The evening was turning into a catastrophe. James held a large fluffy white towel out which she took and quickly wrapped it around her. He then led the way, away from the pool and we both followed. Just as we reached the sofa, James turned and entreated Sarah to sit. She sat down and he sat next to her. With no more room on the sofa I sat opposite on a white plastic patio seat. He took her glass and placed it on the small coffee table at the side, and then he kissed her forehead, her nose and then tugged her towel which dropped, revealing again her naked form. I expected Sarah to grab the towel to re-cover her and scream at James but she just sat motionless. He bent down and sucked on her breast. Then his hand squeezed her knee and started making its way up her leg. I wanted to tell him to stop it but I was like a rabbit caught in headlights, rooted to the ground. The sight of this spectacle opening up in front of me was making me feel queasy, my chest constricted and felt as though it were made of stone. Sarah sat completely poker-faced, not betraying any expression; it was as though this was not happening to her and that was her way of dealing with the situation. His hand made its way up her thighs, her legs opened and his hand cupped her dark bristly sex, massaging it. The invasion provoked a gasp and a startled expression though she did nothing to interrupt it. He continued sucking on her nipple: I watched anxiously as his finger protruded into her, her head fell backwards, and a series of gasps escaped her lips as he stirred her innermost area. Those gasps turned to loud moans when he rubbed her pink fleshy petals. Within minutes her whole torso spasmed into a seizure; she shook for nearly a minute. That was the first time I'd ever seen my wife orgasm. Up to then I'd presumed that Sarah was one of those girls that just didn't orgasm. She then grasped hold of his cock and began rubbing along its length, which quickly increased with each stroke. This marked a new milestone; hitherto she had impassively complied with his advances but this was active participation. She was telling the truth before when she said his cock is a 'big one.' It is massive, about half as big again as mine, both in length and girth. My heartbeat thudded, I was waiting for the right moment to intervene when I could get their attention. Minutes later Sarah was again in spasm, shaking like a blancmange but grasping his cock defiantly. After the orgasm subsided, she pulled her breast away from James's mouth, twisted her torso round, stooped down, opened her mouth and took the whole of his purple cock-head into it and began sucking on it so hard her cheeks indented. We had never even discussed oral sex, much less practiced it but here was my wife sucking on my boss's cock like a pro. From his expression, he was clearly taking lots pleasure from this. What disgusted me was that even I had erotic feelings evidenced by the swelling of my own cock as I watched her suck hungrily on his large fleshy stump as though it had life-giving properties. It was clear then that the time for intervention had passed and that there was now nothing I could do could to put a stop to this. After a while of sucking, Sarah needed to catch her breath so she lifted her head for a couple of minutes but continued frantically rubbing her delicate fingers along the whole length of his cock as hard and as fast as she could. James took the opportunity to push his head between her legs and started slurping on her hot cunt juices; within minutes yet another orgasm racked her torso. I knew what this was building up into and I had a deep sense of foreboding about what was coming. Watching the mass of twisted writhing flesh in front of me I felt quite nauseous and wanted desperately to leave and run up that flight of steps but something glue-like kept me stuck to that chair, unable to move. When Mr. Streatham lifted his head, he moved himself around to position himself in front of my wife's open legs. This was the moment I'd dreaded, he was positioning himself to mount her; she looked up at him with sheer anticipation. He placed his cock at the front of her glistening pussy. That stone in my chest dropped to the pit of my stomach as I watched his dick disappear from view until his silver bush merged with her black furry tangle. She lifted herself up, threw her arms around James, pulled him towards her and kissed him passionately. Another grim milestone reached; this was not just lustful sex, but an act of love and passion. I tried in vain to make eye contact with her; I just wanted her to see the hurt she was causing me but even when she did glance towards me she just looked straight through me, as though I weren't even there. Her eyes bulged, she gasped loudly and started to grunt and pant as he began to slide his fleshy baton in and out of her hot moist love passage. His tempo increased steadily, until soon he was pumping her like a machine. Within minutes of him reaching his optimum pace Sarah screamed, her head of curly hair shook followed by the rest of her body convulsing. James continued his rhythmic thrusts unremittingly for what seemed like hours. His stamina was unstinting. He then increased the depth of each thrust by lifting her legs up over his shoulders. Judging by the pained expression on Sarah's face, when her legs were first lifted up James's cock went down at the edge of her pussy's limit, though she soon grew accustomed to his lunging thrusts. Once again Sarah was climaxing loudly again. Immediately after her cum James pulled his glistening cock out of her pussy, grabbed her by her hips and flipped her over 180 degrees and lifted her so she was kneeling in front of him 'doggy style.' Within seconds he was again driving his long shining staff up into her wanton love tunnel and his hips slapped against her buttocks in a continuous beat. For the first time she looked up at me, red faced with sweat beads pouring down and demanded almost venomously: 'Why can't you fuck me like this?' I was stunned. She couldn't have hurt me more if she'd have used a knife or a gun. It was not long before James started to groan. It was clear what was coming and that stone dropped again in my stomach. His thrusts slowed to a measured heave. I just sat and watched helplessly as Mr. Streatham injected his white seed deep into my wife's womb. His accomplishment close to conclusion, with a final loud, long grunt, he completed my wife's fucking. The taxi journey home was in total silence. I was completely numb; well how do you start a conversation in a situation like that? Immediately we got home, Sarah stated she was tired and was going straight to bed. She slept soundly almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. But I lay awake all that night with my mind darting around like a pin ball. How she could do that to me? This was actually even worse than finding out about a secret affair and even seedier. I had to sit there, witness and watch the whole sordid scene. I wished with all my heart that I'd had the guts to intervene when he asked us to strip. If only I hadn't so spinelessly gone along with it. I kicked myself: how come I didn't have the balls to say stop when my boss was trying to mount my wife in the pool, right in front of me? But then how could Sarah so brazenly have full on sex with another man on that sofa, there in front of me? How could she be so hurtful when she said; why can't you fuck me like this? Those words echoed around my head. I really didn't recognise this girl. Sarah wasn't the pure, innocent, beautiful girl I'd fallen in love with. She's changed into a brazen lustful slut! Was this the end of our marriage? I looked across the pillows at my sleeping wife knowing he had cum inside her, she hadn't had a shower before coming to bed and so her cunt was still stuffed full of his semen. I felt sick. That night lasted what seemed like for ever and a day. For a change I welcomed the alarm's shrill ring. Sarah slid out of bed and into the bathroom. I soon heard the muffled gushing of the shower through the bathroom door so I rose and returned a few minutes later with two hot cups of tea. Neither of us spoke until Sarah was about to leave for work when I blurted out: 'We've got to talk.' 'Not now,' came her reply. 'Tonight, when I get home.' I made sure I left the office bang on time so that I could cook dinner, giving us maximum time together to talk over the previous evening's events and where it leaves us. My heart's palpitations were thunderous. I loved Sarah dearly and didn't want to lose her; I just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. I rushed making dinner. I even clumsily burnt my thumb on the side of a hot saucepan trying to juggle pans and plates without the state of mind to concentrate on what I was doing. Within a minute of laying the table I heard the rattle of the key in the door lock. I froze and my stomach knotted, waiting for the dining room door handle to turn. Sarah looked pale, pasty faced. She looked at me and started to mouth words that at first didn't make it past her lips. She frowned, scrunched her eyes, bust into tears and wailed. She tried to get a grip but still tears cascaded down her cheeks. Eventually she was able to push 'sorry' out. I melted immediately, rushed to her and threw my arms around her. I tried to reassure her: 'It's OK, don't worry.' 'I've been thinking all day about last night. I'm really sorry and I just wished I could go back and undo everything so that it never happened. How are you ever going to forgive me?' Neither of us ate much and conversation was muted. Neither of us wanted to recall the previous night's episode yet nothing else seemed pertinent or worth discussing. Just as I cleared the dishes, the door bell chimed merrily. We looked at each other, surprised. We weren't expecting visitors. My jaw dropped when I opened the door and saw Mr. Streatham stood there looking back at me. 'Hi David, aren't you going to invite me in?' Dumbfounded with astonishment I stammered: 'Er?. er ?.. er ?.. yes.' I stepped to one side to allow him to pass. I wondered: why had he come round to my flat? Maybe he's come to apologise for what he did last night. Two apologies in a night: who would have thought? I showed him into the lounge. Sarah audibly gasped when she looked up at our visitor, her face whitened. I enquired: 'Would you like coffee?' He accepted so I went into the kitchen to prepare three coffees. Wanting to impress, I ignored the jar of instant coffee and set up the café tier. Ten minutes later I placed the steaming jug and china cups onto a large tray and struggled through the kitchen door into the lounge. I was greeted by the sight of Sarah sat on the sofa and Mr. Streatham stood over her. Her arms pointing upwards, he lifted her jumper over her head exposing her upper body and bra covered chest. Instantly I dropped the tray which came crashing down onto the floor; the hot coffee scalded the side of my leg. I screamed! 'No!' Oblivious to the pain in my ankle or the mess on the floor, I scurried across to Sarah's side. 'Please don't: please don't do this.' I pleaded and begged but Sarah seemed oblivious. Mr. Streatham interrupted tersely: 'David, sit down and shut up!' I sat on the arm chair opposite and looked beseechingly at Sarah. 'I love you Darling. Please don't this to me.' She totally ignored my pleading, other than to reach behind to unclasp her bra to release to her breasts which flopped out in a tantalizing manner. I wept: 'Oh dear, love, please don't do this!' Streatham barked at me: 'David! Shut up and stop gibbering! This is for your own good. Now sit down and listen!' Taken aback, I sat bolt upright. He continued: 'David; there's a lot wrong with your marriage. Poor Sarah is deeply unhappy and either you don't realise or you don't care. I don't know which.' I looked at Sarah, stunned. She was sat with a sad, despondent expression, staring at the floor. 'She's as pretty as an orchid in full bloom and sweet as a bowl of strawberries. She needs and deserves lots of love, romance, passion and buckets of fun but you've just imprisoned and shackled her to a miserable life of work, domesticity and drudgery. Your wife is a little peach and you've just taken advantage of her sweet nature and walked all over her.' He started unbuttoning his shirt and continued. 'Well it stops right here.' Tears welled up in my eyes and dribbled down my cheeks. 'Darling I'm sorry: I'm so so sorry.' Sarah sat topless, looking at me completely expressionless for a full minute. I waited on her response with bated breath; then she broke her gaze to undo the zip at the side of her skirt. Mr. Streatham slid his shirt off to expose his large muscular chest covered with a white fluffy fuzz. Whilst systematically peeling off his clothes he continued: 'I'm here to save your marriage and show you how to treat a girl like Sarah and make her happy and thrilled with her life, not miserable and gloomy just existing and surviving.' Sarah slid her skirt down, folded it and placed it on the floor next to the sofa arm. 'Are you prepared to do whatever it takes to save your marriage?' I nodded. She lifted herself up and pulled down her tights and panties, she was naked. 'Good. You can start by showing her some respect. From now on you'll wait until you're spoken to and you'll call her 'Ma'am,' and you call me 'sir.' Is that clear? I nodded again. Sarah got up off the sofa, knelt in front of Mr. Streatham and took over removing the rest of his clothes whilst he continued his speech: 'Your role is to keep this house clean and tidy, cook, shop and the washing. Sarah's not your mom; don't treat her like it. It's your job to look after her and pander to her needs.' She pulled his trousers and boxer shorts down, slid them off and started work on his large manhood. Judging by the way she gazed at it longingly, she is completely in awe of his cock. In contrast she would only ever feel mine until erection and then just turn over for me to climb on top and enter her. Streatham remarked in a voice faltering with Sarah's ministrations: 'You need to start looking after yourself. Look at you; you need a haircut and you're 40 pounds overweight: how is she supposed to find that attractive? You look eight months pregnant man!' I looked down at the balloon bulging over my belt. He had a point. I do very little exercise and I just eat what I want, which is too often and admittedly too much. 'From now, no carbohydrates and you'll run two miles a night. You're not going near Sarah until you've lost most of that lard.' Sarah bent down and took Mr. Streatham's bulging cock in her mouth and started sucking on it. In a faltering voice punctuated with gasps and sharp intakes of breath he continued: 'And don't even think about asking her for sex. Sarah is the sort of girl that needs and deserves expert handling, and you are hardly even a novice! You know she's not some sort of machine for you to practice on. No I'm going to have to tutor you on how to give an accomplished performance, and until you can, you keep away from her. You understand?' I nodded meekly. He hissed menacingly: 'Do you understand?' 'Yes sir;' I replied timidly. Once again I sat there helplessly and watched my wife play, endlessly tease and mess about with my boss's large cock and him returning the favour, preparing her for another marathon fucking in several positions. For the second night running I helplessly witnessed my wife achieve numerous orgasms, concluding with him discharging his load of warm white seed deep into her eager cunt. The exhibition was every bit as sickening as the previous night's and left me feeling quite nauseous. After wiping slimy excesses oozing from her snatch with a tissue Sarah looked at me for the first time and barked: 'David, go in the fridge and get us a beer.' I returned seconds later and handed each of the naked performers a can of beer. Sarah frowned menacingly, gave me a 'daggers' stare and hissed: 'Where's the fucking glasses?' I'd hardly ever heard her use the 'F' word before. 'OK OK' I retorted. Mr. Streatham interjected: 'David, have you forgotten already? A little respect is required. OK Ma-am. I don't want to have to remind you again.' I murmured meekly, 'Sorry sir,' and again to Sarah: 'Sorry Ma-am.' Sarah sniggered spitefully at my humiliation. I returned to the kitchen. After drinking up their beers, Sarah declared: 'Right we're going off to bed now. David, you'll sleep on the sofa.' 'Yes Ma-am,' I responded. For over an hour I listened to more grunts, gasps and squeals followed by the rhythmic thud of the bed headboard hitting the bedroom wall. Then at last, silence. However the silence didn't mean I could drop off to sleep. For a second night running I lay wide awake, dreading what the morning would bring. Again I mused over all that had happened and was going on. I didn't think I was so bad a husband that I deserved to be treated so shabbily and with such contempt by Sarah. Why was she being like this to me? Sarah was totally in awe of Mr. Streatham. She virtually worshipped his cock; the way she sucked on it with adoration was sickening. In contrast she now regarded me with disdain and contempt. We may think we are civilised but in truth, it's still the dominant male that gets to mate with the female, and clearly Mr. Streatham was that male. I thought about what he said, 'I'm here to save your marriage.' What did he mean by that? A week earlier I was certain my marriage was rock solid, now it needs saving. How can he claim to save our marriage by stopping us from making love and then helping himself to my wife, right there, in front of me? How was he going to save our marriage? I knew for certain our marriage would never be the same again; in fact I couldn't see how it could even survive. I knew I had no cards to play or shots to call in this ghastly game. I loved Sarah but I couldn't imagine life without her and they both knew that and so they could treat me and do with me what they wanted and I had no alternative but to conform. Another endless night eventually passed without me dropping off even for a second. Fortunately it was Friday so there was no work to get through the following day. Eight O'clock and it was obvious they were awake again. Sarah's unmistakable groans and grunts, the thumping of the headboard against the bedroom wall announced another dreadful day had started. Over an hour later and a welcome silence fell. Ten minutes later any quiet was shattered by a piercing scream: 'Daaaa-vid! Quick, get here!!!' Instantly I scurried out of the lounge and burst through the door. Mr. Streatham and Sarah were both sat up under the duvet, her brown hair looked a frizzy bird's nest and her soft white breasts fell over the edge of covers. She looked shocked: 'What is it?' I enquired. She drew a deep breath and shrieked: 'Get out! Get out! Fucking knock before you barge in here! You don't know what we might have been doing.' Quickly exiting, I closed the door behind me, knocked timidly and waited for a response. Mr. Streatham called out for me to come in. 'Sorry Ma-am, I thought something?.' 'Forget it!' Sarah interrupted, 'Make sure you knock next time. I looked up at my scowling wife, sat up next to my boss, both obviously completely naked under the covers. When she and I used to be in bed together she always wore a large warm cotton nightie. With him she slept naked. I couldn't help but think how her cunt was jammed full of his cum. She snapped at me: 'Now we want you to get breakfast. We both want a boiled egg each, with a slice of buttered brown bread, cut into soldiers. We'll have two coffees but not instant crap. We'll also have two slices of brown bread toast with marmalade, but make sure you don't burn it.' Having cooked and served breakfast in bed, to my wife and her new 'lover' without so much as even a thank you; after clearing the plates, Sarah shouted out to me: 'David, get me a soapy flannel, soon as.' There was a pause. 'Oh and there's some baby oil in the bathroom cupboard: get that to.' I heard her ask Mr. Streatham: 'Why do you want baby oil?' I didn't hear the answer because by then I was in the bathroom running a flannel under the hot tap. I returned with the face cloth and handed it to her. Instead of taking it from me she threw back the duvet totally exposing them both. 'Right, I want you to give James's dick a really good thorough wash. I was taken aback; I looked at her, totally non-plussed. 'Now!' She rapped . I looked down at Streatham's mid-riff, his dark wrinkly cock stemming from a nest of silver pubic hair, draped over his lean muscular stomach. Even limp it's a good 6 to 7 inches long with a large purple head that was covered in a white scaly coating. I looked again at it; it looked repugnant and vile. I looked again at Sarah, she nodded her head. I knelt on the bed at the side of Mr. Streatham and tentatively took hold of his long cock, wrapping it in the flannel carefully so as to avoid contact with my hand, then squeezed and rubbed it clean. Then I removed the flannel to reveal a cleaned manhood with the scaly white coating gone. I looked to Mr. Streatham and then to Sarah for approval. She smiled cynically at me and very matter of factly instructed: 'Right, I need you to get it hard.' I looked wanting clarification; I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. She snapped sharply: 'Go on! You know what to do.' I looked down at it again. How could she try and make do that? She knows I'm not gay; I've never even touched a man's penis before, except my own. I reached out even more tentatively this time and very hesitantly with my first finger and thumb, I took hold of it and slowly ran up and down its length. Mr. Streatham frowned and shook his head disapprovingly. 'Harder! Harder!' Shouted my wife. Stretching my arm so as to keep a distance, using all fingers I started stroking it more vigorously but still it defiantly flopped about. She shrieked: 'David, is there anything about sex that you're any good at?' Still stroking, I looked at her: 'I'm sorry Ma-am.' I said sheepishly. 'You're gonna have to suck it; now get down.' She grabbed the back of my head and started shoving it down to the waiting wrinkled digit. 'No.' I protested; 'Please don't make me do this.' She shoved harder. 'I'm gonna be sick.' Still she pushed my head ever closer to that repulsive object. There was no escape; she wasn't going to withdraw. 'Please.' I pleaded hopelessly. Reluctantly I opened my mouth; Sarah gawkily stuffed his cock inside my mouth and screeched: 'Suck it: hard!' I was surprised it didn't have a taste or smell but still this warm mass of flesh filling my mouth made me heave. Thankfully I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours otherwise I'm sure I would have vomited. It took me some time to overcome my nausea and start sucking on his warm fleshy implement. After what seemed like an age, I could feel it grow and harden in my mouth until it was fully erect. 'That's it,' confirmed Mr. Streatham; I didn't need telling twice, I lifted my head up immediately, relieved that I was finished before he ejaculated in my mouth. Then he lifted himself up, prised open Sarah's legs, ready to mount her again. I wasn't sure whether to stay or leave. Before entering her, Mr. Streatham leaned across to the cabinet, took the bottle of baby oil and coated his cock and then the area between Sarah's legs. He pushed her knees back and then pointed his throbbing dick towards and down onto his target. It was then that I noticed he was actually pointing it at the entrance of her little brown svincter. Oh no! He's going into her anus. Judging by the way Sarah pulled her knees back so pushing her behind upwards, she actually knew his intentions. 'Hold her hand,' instructed Mr. Streatham: 'This could be a little uncomfortable.' I grabbed Sarah's hand; she squeezed it tightly, and I watched that large purple head start to slowlt prize her entrance open. Sarah's grip tightened, her eyes srunched up, she gasped: 'Oh shit!' Still he pushed. A tear slipped out the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek. 'Ow! It's hurting.' The head was fully inside; Mr. Streatham smiled benignly down at Sarah. Still he pushed further into her: 'Good girl;' he said reassuringly. 'Good girl; you're being really brave.' His tone was patronising, like a doctor reassuring a child during an injection, but this was no medical procedure. It was of no benefit to Sarah; it was purely for his gratification. Her face reddened, tears started streaming down her face, she cried. 'Stop!' I shouted, 'You're hurting her.' Sarah yanked her hand away from me and wafted me away. She was actually consenting to this torment and rejected my intervention. It was clearly obvious my wife would do anything for him, even suffer excruciating pain just to pleasure him. She was totally under his spell. I took hold of her hand again, she looked at me and smiled and then frowned again with the pain she was enduring. Mr. Streatham started moving his long dick in and out of her tight little anus, seemingly oblivious to the agony she was enduring which was clear by her howls of agony, tears and the look of anguish on her face. He maintained his stroke, not slowing or breaking until at last he grunted as he ejected his next lot of white cum deep into her rectum. I was preparing lunch when Sarah popped her head around the kitchen door. 'We're off to James's place. We're OK for lunch and dinner; not sure if I'm back tonight.' 'Aw, but I've just done you some lunch Ma-am.' 'Well you have that for dinner. See you later.' With that she turned and seconds later the front door slammed and total silence followed. Ten O'clock that night, I was just finishing the ironing and I heard a key in the door. Sarah breezed in and demanded a glass of wine. She kicked her shoes off and flopped on the sofa and declared: 'I've had a fabulous weekend.' 'Glad one of us has,' I retorted. 'You mean; Glad one of us has, Ma-am!' Scalded Sarah: I protested: 'For pity's sake I thought that was just for Mr. Streatham's benefit.' 'Oh, you thought that you'd treat me with respect in front of James and then treat me like shit again as soon as his back's turned!' 'No.' I replied: 'I'm sorry I just thought we could ?..' 'You treat me with respect, or you'll be sorry. Is that clear?' 'Yes Ma-am.' I answered awkwardly. 'Well I was trying to tell you what a great time I've had. We went back to James's place and he invited two of his friends round. They're called Earl and Cynthia and they are from Jamaica and dey talk like dat marn; you know what I mean?' She said in a deep voice mimicking a Jamaican accent. I nodded. 'Well we ended up back in the Jacuzzi and we were chatting away when I noticed James had a funny expression. Cynthia only had her hand around James's dick, under the bubbles! Can you believe that?' 'Oh,' I replied: 'What did you do, Ma-am?' 'I got hold of Earl's cock of course. I wasn't going to be left out. Well we had a bit of fun in the Jacuzzi and then we moved upstairs to James's bedroom.' 'Excuse me Ma-am, but why are you telling me all this?' I enquired. 'James said I have to. We must be honest with each other; no secrets, otherwise there's no point in being married is there?' I nodded: 'No, Ma-am. OK,' I agreed. 'Well we went upstairs to bed and James lay on the bed and Earl lay next to him and then Cynthia started playing with Earl's dick and so I did James's.' With gleeful excitement she continued her recount. 'Earl's is huge; absolutely humungous!' She said with a giggle. 'It's half as big again as James's. Your tiny thing pales into insignificance. Ha!' She sneered slyly. 'Well anyway, we both sucked on their cocks and then they wanted to lick us; we were both having orgasms, it was like we were taking turns!' She giggled gleefully. 'When it came to fucking us; you'll never guess what? They swapped over! It was Earl that fucked me!' I frowned and shook my head, wondering why is she telling me all this? She continued, gloating as though it were an acceptance speech at an awards ceremony: 'I managed to take it all, it was huge. It hurt at first and it left me sore, so now I'm sore back and front! Anyway James cum first, so then he and Cynthia started on me. I sucked his cock and Cynthia rubbed my clit whilst Earl finished fucking me. You should have seen it; we were just one mass of sucking, fucking and playing! I've never cum so much or so hard in my life!' She looked antagonistically: 'I never managed to cum at all with you.' 'I'm sorry,' I mumbled meekly. 'I'm sorry, Ma-am!' Shouted Sarah. Then she enquired in a sarcastic tone: 'So how are you doing with your running?' 'I haven't started yet,' I admitted. 'James and I are trying to get you up to standard so that you can make love to me but you have to play your part, otherwise I'm going to be dependent upon him to satisfy me. Is that what you want?' 'No Ma-am,' I answered sheepishly. 'Well you need to lose fifty pounds before you're coming anywhere near me. I'm not going back to having some lazy fat slob laying on me trying to get his tiny little dick to spew into my pussy. I think I deserve better than that; don't you?' I nodded. 'Well better do something about it then. Now get out of my sight and don't come back until you've done two miles at least!' Thirty minutes later and a hundred yards down the road, leaning against a lamppost, wheezing and unable to move another step forward until I had recovered my breath. I desperately wanted to fuck my wife again but running miles and losing nearly a third of my body weight seemed like light years away but the picture in my mind of Streatham diligently fucking my Sarah right there in front of me was sufficient incentive to push on. The thought of him giving her to others, especially a big black guy, to fuck helped me overcome that pain threshold and soldier on. I just hoped at the end of it there was a prize and that I wouldn't be made to be disappointed. 38631 1.50/512345