Five Words

FIVE WORDS

 

 

 

Part Four: October

 

 

 

It wasn’t promiscuity that drove Kelly in search of new men.

 

Of course, we all lie to ourselves. Sometimes we don’t even know we’re doing it. We imagine we’re being entirely truthful in what we tell ourselves about something but hey, deep down, well …

Like, how much do you drink a day ? Just one glass of wine ? A single chilled beer ? One vodka and tonic. ? Yeah, sure. Or how many hours of TV do you watch a week ? Or how many cigarettes do you smoke ? How often do you jerk off ? Really ? The honest truth ? Have you counted ?

Or take a more subtle question. You ever play that game, I think it was called ‘Scruples’ ? Like, if you found a fifty buck note on the sidewalk, would you (a) try to find the owner, or (b) just quietly pocket it ? You know how many people say they’d look for the person who’d dropped it ? About 95%.

And you know the real percentage, right ?

Much, much lower.

 

I’m telling you this so that you know the truth about Kelly. Those of you interested in her thought processes mustn’t expect perfection. She’s spent two decades thinking like a responsible wife and mom. Suddenly her life has turned upside down. She’s no fool and she isn’t consciously going to try to fool herself – or you – but, as I said, we all lie to ourselves. She’s no better, no worse, than you or any one of us.

 

She had hugely enjoyed her first three months of exciting new cock. In raw sex terms, she was having the best time of her life. In one sense, Alain was as good as it gets; his dick in her puss and Matt’s tongue in her ass was a combination that she could imagine herself enjoying for a long, long time.

But in another way, her Frenchman had opened her eyes – and thighs – to the thrill of what this modern world of ours offers a hot wife.

And yet, it wasn’t promiscuity, or even sex, that made her … how shall we put it … ‘available’, at all. It was love. Her relationship with Alain had soon reached the point where it either had to wither. Or deepen. And whilst the fantasy of him moving in permanently with her, relegating Mart to a life in the basement was sexually arousing, it wasn’t what she wanted most of the time. She still loved her husband.

And that was the truth.

 

Kelly had never found black men attractive. It wasn’t that she considered them unattractive either, but with the exception of a few music and movie stars, the ones she’d seen or met in her life weren’t her type.

Until James.

He was educated, middle class, 35, single, and damned gorgeous. Just as it had with Alain, it started out as an illicit affair. She met him one afternoon at the local tennis club where she had started playing in a ladies doubles twice a week to pass some of her free time.

After she succumbed to his charms, she began taking on two cocks virtually one after the other, several times a week; Alain in the afternoons, and James in the evenings, or vice versa.

She had three weeks of the most incredible sex and orgasms of her life. But it started to become too much of a good thing ! And it wasn’t only her sore pussy that gave her concern. It was the deceit.

Neither Alain, nor Mart, had a clue what was going on.

 

Sexually, Mart was very much relegated to third place. As the Autumn leaves changed colour and the nights closed in, her husband’s life was dominated by his relentless drudgery at home and at work. He seemed gradually to be coming to terms with the build up of testosterone in his frustrated bloodstream. He at last appeared to accept that analingus and massage were simply duties in themselves and not some means to try to persuade her that he merited release. Anyway, for the moment, she almost never used him – even orally - for her own sexual relief. James and Alain were too hot, horny and hung for her to bother with her husband’s cunnilingus, however keen. The fact that she virtually denied Mart any type of access to her vagina had become an implicit fact of their lifestyle.

 

One evening, she came clean – so to speak.

Actually, come to think of it, she was not clean, but rather dirty. Mart arrived home a little before midnight. She had just retired to her bedroom and was brushing her teeth when she heard him trudging up the stairs to the guest room.

“Mart !” she called out.

There was a knock on her door.

“Enter.”

He looked tired, with dark rings under his eyes. She’d finally let him move back into the house for the winter. He hadn’t been sleeping well in the shed. He was also seventeen pounds lighter than he had been in July.

“Have a good evening ?” she enquired.

He shrugged. “Busy. The restaurant was full.”

She smiled. “Tell me. Do you enjoy your new career ?”

His green eyes widened. “Er … the truth ?”

“Yes. The truth.”

“I hate it. I know it’s your choice and I accept that better now. I’ll do whatever work I’m told. But … I do hate it.”

What a delicious thought.

“Then we must choose your next job very carefully.”

He stared at her.

She walked through to her ensuite bathroom and he followed.

“Yes. I have decided that you need a new challenge.” She continued. “Nearer to home.”

His expression brightened and she smiled inwardly.

“You like that ?”

“Yes. That sounds great.”

There was a pause while she opened her robe and sat down on the toilet.

“How long since you came, Mart ?”

“Twenty seven days.”

“Oh … is that all ?”

He looked at the bathroom floor. “Yes.”

She suddenly chuckled. Actually she remembered it well. It had been another ‘ruined orgasm’, where she had masturbated him to the point of ejaculation and then let go. She’d timed it perfectly. She had pulled her hand away a couple of seconds earlier than the previous time and watched his cock bob in the air, as nothing spurted out. He whimpered as very slowly his semen had drooled from the tip. Gradually his erection softened while he stood still and she mixed herself a cocktail, returning to see a puddle on the floor between his feet. She loved the sense of control but, above all, she loved the game. It amused her greatly to pit her wits against him.

“Come here.” Her tone was soft, beckoning. “Kneel.”

He knelt between her open knees, looking up at her.

She sighed and swept her robe fully apart, so the two parts hung down each side of the toilet. She too had lost weight; a couple of pounds. Though not from dieting but from a surfeit of exercise ! She hadn’t bathed in twenty four hours and a pungent fishy odour wafted up as she parted her legs wider.

“You may kiss me.”

Mart’s nostrils twitched and his lips opened, revealing his pink tongue.

She shut her eyes and settled back.

 

She had always been funny about the lavatory. Not peeing. That was fine. But pooing had embarrassed her as long as she remembered. She detested public restrooms. Those lines of stalls with ladies only a thin partition away from each other. So undignified ! The sounds of defecation. Not just occasional hisses and farts, but grunts and groans. Kelly had been through periods of irregular constipation in her life and she often had to sit on the toilet for ages, squeezing as silently as possible. In private, she was invariably noisy ! And the splashes. Oh how she disliked making, and listening to, the plops of falling logs. Worst of all for her had been the office restroom at the company she and Mart had owned and run for 15 years. She would have installed an executive toilet ! But oh no, Mart said that would be a waste of company money and set a bad example to the staff. So she used the same damn ladies room with four stalls as all the other female employees. She hated emerging from a cubicle having defecated next to somebody, finding that colleague still washing her hands or touching up her makeup in the mirror, knowing that a person who worked for her was now aware what Kelly sounded like on the john. Of course, living with Mart, it had been a little different. Spend twenty years sharing a bathroom with somebody and you can’t be too pernickety. But strange that, now she had the ensuite all too herself, she was more prepared than ever to let him witness her ablutions …

 

She drifted back into the present as Mart’s tongue curled over her clit.

“No …” she murmured, pushing on his head. She wanted him lower.

She knew what was coming seconds before he did !

 

Mart felt Kelly’s hand on his head, pushing him lower.

He could tell she wanted him off her clit and kissing the over-ripe hanging fruit of her vagina instead.

Damn, she was musky, sopping wet with a rancid tang. Alain had obviously really given her a good seeing to that evening. Mart could feel his own dick straining against the 3 ½ inches length of its cage. 27 days and counting. Kelly got to enjoy everything, while he got nothing.

Just what each of them deserved.

But, damn it was hard !

He dabbed his tongue in the bottom of her pussy and licked upwards in a slow, teasing wipe, then lowered his face again to repeat the motion.

Suddenly, he heard a long, hushed hiss of a fart.

Kelly giggled above him and her hand pushed down.

“Lower still, darling.”

Her butt scooted an inch forwards on the pan and her hips lifted.

He put his tongue to the cleft of her buttocks and licked. He heard her exhale a long sigh and then another fart cracked into his face. It was shorter, louder, a more typical ‘pop’. With a strong aroma.

She giggled again; a naughty, schoolgirlish sound.

“Kiss me, Mart. Give me some tongue.”

He stabbed right in, until his lips were kissing her damp rim, and did his best to ignore the strong stench.

He heard her grunt, straining, and sensed her muscles tightening.

“Unngh …” she groaned impatiently, “lick Mart. Help me, damn you.”

He ran his tongue to and fro along her crack as far as his head could fit, moistening her cleft with his saliva. Suddenly there was a long, loud expulsion of gas.

“Yes !” Kelly hissed through gritted teeth.

And then her dry stool emerged bang in front of his chin. He automatically withdrew his head a fraction, baulking at the reality of what he was doing.

Her fingers pulled his hair back until he was looking up into her face. She slapped him across the cheek.

“Don’t you dare pull back your head, Mart !”

He stared at her a split second then silently lowered his gaze in apology.

“Get your face down in the pan.”

She opened her thighs and he rose higher on his knees so he could get between her and stare right down into the dark toilet. The thick, glistening stool was still hanging, emerging ever so slowly, before it finally split off and tumbled into the water.

Her fingers played with his hair, more softly, as they both rested like a strange classical statue; she sat stroking his head while he knelt abjectly before her, his head lower than her waist.

She sighed and without warning a second, much smaller stool splashed into the pan, wetting his forehead with spray.

Still he waited, as she showed no sign of finishing. He heard a rustle and realised she had actually started reading a magazine, resting it on his head.

After an uncomfortable few minutes, he felt her shift on the seat again.

“Okay.” She said, in a dreamy voice. “Now my clit. Make me cum.”

 

Kelly dropped the mag and started cupping her own breasts, pinching her nipples. She looked down, watching Mart’s well-practised tongue and lips worshipping her gaping maw. It would have been the ultimate indignity for her to defecate in front of any other person. But with him it was different now; in oh so many ways.

Eventually she climaxed. Nothing special, a little whimper and a nice sleeping tablet of an orgasm. She’d already enjoyed three, or was it four, whoppers throughout the day.

But the fun wasn’t over yet.

She let Mart wipe her bottom. Just one sheet of tissue.

She stared at it with him, admiring the lush tyre mark on the white background.

“And remind me, Mart. How long did you say since you came ?”

“Twenty seven days.”

“Mmm … I guess you wouldn’t want to earn an orgasm by licking my bum now, would you ?”

His green eyes widened and his mouth fell open, making her laugh.

“Haha. I guess not, hah ? Oh well, there’s no rush. None at all.”

“No. Please. I would love … to lick your bottom.”

Oh to be so utterly adored !

“Would you, darling. Alright then, get to it.”

She stood, bent over with her hands on the toilet cover.

Let’s be truthful here. Scatological games did little for her sexually. She had a sensitive bottom and she liked a wet tongue or finger there, but that was about it in pure sex terms. No, what she was doing was about power, pure and simple. Throughout their marriage, Mart had always held the power. She never realised how much she’d resented it until recently. Being the sweet, docile wife and junior partner in their marriage and business ! Well now she was the one in charge and what better symbol of the new arrangement than having him attend to her on the toilet ?

His nose nuzzled in between her buttocks. She felt his wet tongue.

“No dear. Reach up and gently open my ass with your thumbs first.”

She smiled, imagining the view. Then closed her eyes in bliss as his tongue started slaving away at the scene of the crime. There was surely still a bit of evidence for him to gather.

Five minutes later, she closed the guest room door. It was gone twelve thirty. Phew, that little scene had taken over half an hour. Still, it wasn’t as if she had anything particularly arduous planned for the next day !

Mart was tied safely behind the door to the big brass bed. Teeth well brushed, mouth rinsed with antiseptic wash, face scrubbed.

His cock and balls still unrelieved.

She had a challenge for him in the morning !

 

The next morning came a miracle. A minor one, but a miracle none the less.

She slept soundly. Couldn’t remember her head touching the pillow and already sunlight was streaming through a gap in the curtains. 10.04.

Time to wake Mart so he could serve her breakfast.

He brought her a tray of coffee, juice and sliced fruit, which she ate while he tidied her bedroom and hung up her clothes. Afterwards she took a piss.

She was in a heck of a state. By now, the body odour she exuded was heady and stale.  In the past twenty fours hours, she’d stolen a quickie with Alain, done yoga, played two sets of tennis, fucked James twice before dinner at the tennis club, made countless visits to the toilet, not had a proper wash since the previous morning and now, to cap it all, she’d begun her period !

So, what harm would it do ?

She returned to the bed and motioned to Mart to fetch her necklace with his key from the dressing table. Then she smiled, unlocking his padlock, splaying her body out on the bed.

“A treat.”

He stared at her. Obviously expecting to be jerked off at best.

She smiled, reading his mind.

After only fourteen weeks, they had already reached the extraordinary point where her husband was thrilled simply to be given third turn in her fetid puss, after a month’s long wait ! Not that he even knew he was third. He didn’t know about James … yet.

“I meant it when I said we would mainly make love, Mart. I think your dicklet has already known quite enough masturbation in its life.”

She reached down, fingering herself open.

“Kiss me there.”

He dived below to lick her fishy folds briefly, ungluing her.

“Now … put your … thing in me.” She moaned, strangely excited.

They kissed, at first on the cheeks, then locking tongues. For once, Mart didn’t plunge in. He managed to take his weight on his muscled arms and nuzzle his cockhead just inside her, stirring her soupy mixture.

She looked at him in surprise, then shut her eyes as he kept making contact with her most sensitive bits. A minor miracle.

Well maybe all those times watching her and Alain weren’t just about humiliation ? Maybe the frustrating press ups on Martina hadn’t all been a waste of time ?

She climaxed ! Quickly. Not gloriously. It wasn’t the best she’d ever had. It wasn’t even the best in the past twenty four hours ! But it was a proper orgasm … with just her husband’s cock. No lips like last night, no vibrator, no fingers as it had been for so many years.

He was looking down into her eyes in amazement.

She reached behind his neck and pulled his ear down to her mouth.

There was only one way for this to finish !

“Pull out of me, darling.” She whispered.

His face fell but he immediately obeyed, sitting back on his haunches. She looked at his glistening, blood-streaked erection, waving hopefully.

“You are getting better. If you do it like that, we can make love more often. But you have to learn not to come; how to satisfy me but then tuck yourself away without making a nasty mess. Would you like that ?”

“Y … yes.” He stammered, blushing.

She could tell he was confused between the thrill of pleasing her, the renewal that having sex still gave to their marriage, the disappointment and frustration of being denied an orgasm and, deep down, the masochistic buzz that her casual treatment of him engendered.

“Let’s go shower.” she said. “I’ll have a hot one and then you can get in and I’ll turn the water down to freezing so that stiffy of yours goes away”.

Later that day, on the bus, Mart opened the note she had given him.

It was brief; another five words.

‘I have a new boyfriend’.

 

One week later, both Alain and the restaurant job were history. There were no bad feelings on either side but Kelly had decided that her relationship with her French stud had run its course.

To be honest, Mart was relieved. He’d never liked the frog. On the other hand, precisely because he didn’t like him, or his damned job, it had been the most amazingly intense experience. His first cuckolding had been every bit as humiliating, awful and exciting as he had hoped and feared.

Alain had enjoyed his role in their ‘triangle’ and been a good stud. But James was in a different league altogether. Where Alain enjoyed, James ‘relished’, where Alain was good, James was ‘immense’. Alain was a talented chef and entrepreneur with his own restaurant aged 28.

But, aged just 35, James was already one of the most successful sports agents in the UK. He was a qualified lawyer and he employed 60 people, representing, managing and promoting some of Europe’s top soccer, golf, tennis and athletics stars. He had personally handled some of the largest transfer deals in Premiership soccer history. He had three homes, a powerboat, four cars, and his everyday runabout was a Ferrari.

And his penis was in proportion to his success.

 

“I’m taking Kelly to Rome.” He said, his white teeth bright against his chocolate skin in a handsome smile.

Mart nodded, waiting. He was now doing 8 hours a day of secretarial work for James, who had set himself up an office in the small room that used to be Mart’s study. The room where he once used to work … and masturbate.

Kelly came into the room, freshly showered, a towel round her hair, holding up a set of sexy lingerie in each hand.

“These … or these ?” she asked.

James thought a moment. “Those.”

Mart looked back down at the pile of paperwork he was sorting.

“You’ll be coming with us.” James announced, matter-of-factly.

 

Mart squeezed into seat 37E between an overweight Italian momma and a teenage kid with studs through his eyebrows, nostrils and lips.

An air steward began the departure procedures. Up front, Mart knew that James and Kelly in seats 1A and 1B would already be sipping drinks and reading magazines. Only a few months ago, he had travelled Business Class with Kelly all the way to the Caribbean.

Now he was grateful even to be tagging along at the back of the plane. The security controls had been tense because he was worried they’d discover his plastic CB but, fortunately, he’d come through unscathed.

‘Bag carrier’ is often used as a term for a junior colleague who goes on a business trip to assist the senior person, say, making a sales pitch.

But in Mart’s case the term was more specific and accurate. Throughout the journey he struggled under the weight of Kelly’s suitcase, separate cosmetics box, James’s holdall, their duty free purchases, and his own overnight bag.

Kelly waltzed along carrying just her new Prada handbag and James kept grip of his own leather briefcase.

At Rome’s Fiumicino airport, they split up. James and Kelly set off in a taxi straight to dinner at the restaurant he had booked. Mart waited for the airport bus that shuttled tourists to the hotels in the downtown area.

The hotel was Rome’s finest; floodlit exterior, red carpet, huge marble entrance hall, you know the kind of thing.

He handed over the note James had given him.

The Receptionist smiled appraisingly. “Aha, si. You are Senor James’s assistant ! Welcome. You may go straight up. Room 666.” He handed over a room key but made no offer of help with the luggage.

Mart lugged the bags up to the sixth floor and opened the door of the suite.

Then he sat and waited.

 

Kelly had drunk a bit too much but she was sober enough to enjoy it. Although she had plenty of money of her own now, this was glamour and excitement on a different scale !

The Italian was, without doubt, the sexiest footballer she had ever seen. Most players she’d seen on TV looked like medieval thugs but Alessandro had the classic features and sculpted body of a renaissance statue.

And he knew how to use his beautiful cock while she sucked on James’s.

They were on the hotel bed, a massive four-poster, and she was loving the first threesome of her life. One young man pounded her pussy from behind and another gently held her head while she showed off her oral skills. She’d just finished her period and this was always the time that she was at her horniest. Even during her ‘old life’.

She could see Mart in the background, blurred and out of focus against the Roman night sky, as he stood meekly in front of the open curtains. He had been allowed to guide the Italian stallion’s cock between her legs.

This was sex as it was meant to be. Pure lust, without all the emotional paraphernalia of love, relationships and marriage. To think she might have reached old age without once trying a threesome ! Mind you, Mart would never know what two women at once would be like. Shucks ! Of course, this would be a one-off. She wasn’t a slut. But James had said he wanted to show her ways to make up for twenty years of boredom.

She knew that she was probably being used to help lubricate some transfer deal that James was trying to set up but, frankly, she found that exciting too. Playing a whore. After all, she was using them too, for her own fun.

Everybody was using everybody.

Even Mart was, in his own forlorn way.

James’s big, black cock throbbed hotly against her cheeks and she cradled the crown with her tongue. She had become so much better at giving head these past three months. Through the corner of her eye she could just make out Mart’s expression as her mouth made a particularly obscene glugging sound.

Well, suck on that husband, ‘coz that’s the nearest you’ll get to a BJ.

Alessandro was clearly as skilled at putting his dick in a chick as he was at putting a ball into the net. From behind, he caught her in just the right spot.

aangng … mmm …. yessssss …. mmmmmmmm

She watched as sparks seemed to fly in the starlit sky as she moaned in release. Thirty seconds later, he was grasping her boobs tighter, and she felt him jerk, uttering some delicious Italian phrase or other.

He was using a condom and it felt strange as his wetness was contained inside it. Strange but sensible. This was just a one night stand.

James murmured a warning that she appreciated. He knew she was not a swallower. But she decided to anyway, partly as a reward for the warning and partly because Mart was watching and she wanted to taunt him.

A huge load of bitter-sweet sap hit the back of her throat and slid down it before she had time to worry. She tasted further spurts on her palate and tongue and mixed them with her own saliva before gulping it all down. There was a discernible aftertaste of pineapple she was grateful for.

‘La dolce vita’.

Sweet life.

 

The three days they spent in Rome marked a new stage in Mart’s downward spiral. Ironically, Kelly had finished with Alain to protect her marriage. But with James, she had lost control. It had become more than sex. The future would simply have to take its course.

James happily took over the keys to her heart and the lock to Mart’s cage.

“I’ve got nothing against you, man. But this is my house now, and Kelly’s my lady. You got that ?” he juggled the key in his palm nonchalantly, before calmly pocketing it.

“Yes, Sir.”

“We’ll have a half dozen bottles of the 1996.” James said, early that evening, so that ‘the butler’ would know what to fetch from the cellar for dinner. Mart was dressed in a tailcoat, waistcoat, pinstriped pants, collar and tie; the traditional butler’s uniform. The table was laid for twelve people.

“Yes, Sir.”

The doorbell rang at eight fifteen. Mart opened it and cringed.

Nick and Naomi had been their friends for years. Naomi and Kelly had both been at school together. It was obvious they’d been forewarned.

“Hi !”

Both of them stared at him and Naomi put her hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Mart heard Kelly’s voice over his shoulder. “Hi Nao’. Hi Nick.”

“Kelly ! You look terrific.” Naomi exclaimed, walking past Mart.

Over the next fifteen minutes, the hall was a constant buzz of arrivals, greetings, kisses, laughter, coats for him to hang, drinks for him to serve.

Four more couples arrived; the other three members of Kelly’s tennis foursome with their male partners and then, last to arrive, was Dylan, Mart’s oldest friend and best man at his wedding to Kelly, along with Dylan’s latest hot date.

Mart wanted the ground to swallow him up.

 

Kelly was surprised how well it was going. Surprised, and delighted.

The blurred candlelit faces round her dinner table were all smiling, relaxed and accepting. This dinner party had been James’s idea, not hers.

‘Her cumming out party’ he called it !

With Alain, she’d sacrificed her social life for the sake of her affair. And of course, the shame of … well, what she was doing with Mart.

But James made her realise that was nothing to be ashamed of. Not for her to be ashamed of anyway. This was her life. They were her friends. All being well they’d like the new arrangement.

Even Dylan.

Especially Dylan !

She watched Mart carefully topping up Ingrid’s wine glass. She was usually Kelly’s tennis partner in their ladies doubles. Kelly watched Ingrid’s blue eyes and white teeth sparking in the candlelight as she smirked at Mart. Again, the butler’s uniform had been James’s inspiration. The first half hour or so had been a bit awkward but once the alcohol had begun to flow, everybody was treating Mart as a servant. No more, no less.

Suddenly, she heard the ching of a spoon tapping on glass, and a hush descended on the dining room.

James was smiling at her down the length of the table. He raised his glass.

“Ladies and gentlemen. If I may ?”

All eyes looked at him, especially Kelly’s.

“Don’t worry.” He laughed. “No speeches. In fact, I can say all I have to say in just five words.”

 

                                          End of Part Four                    

To be continued in Part Five (“November”)