Alyssa's Needs Trilogy

Chapter One Unsatisfied Needs Brad and Alyssa had been married for about a year and a half when she told him, one evening after a quiet candlelit dinner at home, that she had needs which he could not satisfy. “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” he asked, shocked. Alyssa licked her lips consideringly. “I’ve come to realize,” she said, quietly but with deliberation, “that by yourself you can’t give me what I need, sexually.” He could only stare back at her in disbelief, his jaw hanging open. He tried to speak, but no words came. Almost of its own accord, his head began to shake back and forth in the negative, scarcely noticed. “It’s taken me a long time to realize this, Brad,” she continued without rancor, “and—who knows?—maybe my needs have changed as I’ve gotten a little older and really come to know myself.” She gave a slight shrug with her expressive dark eyebrows. “But it’s clear to me now that regardless of how you try to satisfy me sexually, I’m going to need more than you can give.” “B-b-but, honey!” he sputtered. “I-I-I—” Brad swallowed, then started again. “Baby, if you want more, then of course I’ll do anything you want, any time you want! Gosh,” he added incredulously, “I could make love to you two, maybe three times a day if you’d let me, Alyssa!” “Not good enough,” she said flatly. Her voice was like a granite block sliding immovably shut on the last passageway into some mysterious pyramid, and the utter finality of it made him blanch. “Look, if you need more than that,” he attempted, “well…” He bit his lip. “Why, baby, you know I’d do anything—anything! I’d eat you, rub you, dildo you—or whatever!—anytime you like.” Alyssa blinked silently back at him, heartbreakingly lovely. He almost thought he saw one corner of those beautiful, suddenly cruel lips twitch in the ghost of a smirk—and then it was gone. “In fact,” Brad whispered softly, trying to bring her back to him, “it’d just turn me on so much, to—to know you needed it that bad, and to know I could do it to you, everything, anything I ever wanted…” Suddenly his poor c**k stood thick and rigid within his trousers beneath the table as he imagined being required—allowed!—to pleasure his sweet black-haired queen two, three, perhaps four times a day. Oh, how reciprocally satisfying that would be for him, too—the feel of her firm, supple flesh beneath his worshipful hands and his joggling red organ and his happily groaning mouth, the intimate musk of her ready excitation, the tangy taste of the over-lubricated nest of hairy pink between her splayed thighs. The girl was so responsive, so easily excitable. Sometimes it thrilled him to reach right into her moistening vulva and finger her relentlessly to orgasm, until finally the drowsy, grateful girl begged for the simple comfort of her wild-eyed husband’s penetration of a receptive female body that still glowed with pleasure. Sometimes, however, it pleased him instead just to open her up with his thumbs without a moment’s notice and nuzzle the blunt head of his c**k at the very outside of her v****a, and though she might be excruciatingly tight at first, by the time he had pushed himself balls-deep he would find her shamelessly juiced up, all wet and ready for him. How reaffirming it always was to his male pride! And yet later, even after he had f****d her to his satisfaction and his poor flesh was tired with overexertion, still the smirking thing loved to accept his caresses. Naughtily flattered by his restless attentions, she would revel in his unquenchable desire as he whispered into her blood-warmed ear, kissed and nibbled along her pale neck and her delicately freckled shoulder and her back-arched throat, scratched teasingly at dark crinkled n*****s that would not yet go flat. How pleasant it was just to play with that kittenish young body—the sinuous, delightfully feminine curve from narrow waist to long sleek hip, her fluttering belly and the fishy wet hairs beneath, the cool ripe apples of her exquisitely upstanding little bosoms. Yes, for no matter how thoroughly and patiently he had taken care of her womanly needs, the amorous dallying could not help but make her need him still more. Indeed, many were the times that, while the shrunken little organ jiggling beneath his belly ached with fatigue, he had reached smilingly into the bedside drawer to pull out an absolutely enormous dildo, thick and swelling and nubby. Then, as Alyssa’s dark eyes lit up gratefully in her silent expectation, he would slither down between those sweaty thighs and open her up again, hairy and pink and spongy, slippery and salty-sweet. He might gaze down longingly for a timeless moment into that paradise of used flesh, his nostrils filled with the heavenly, intimate aroma of the very essence of her womanhood. Finally, smiling serenely in his selfless adoration, he would plunge the great rubbery intruder splashingly deep into the gasping girl to take her breath away, and to master her bubbling, sperm-filled depths once more… Yes, he would do it all, gladly—any way that she liked, any time that she liked, just as much as she liked. How he would thrill to the sight of her dear face contorting with orgasm after orgasm as she wallowed in the blissful ecstasies which he so willingly granted her...“It would excite me so much to be able to please you like that, Alyssa,” he repeated softly. “So much…” This time Alyssa did smile—a slow-growing curl of her lips that seemed to reveal a glimpse into strange, dark depths within her such as he had never even imagined before. “Oh, I’ll bet it would,” she said at last, crookedly. “And yet the point is not exciting your little appetites but fulfilling mine…” Brad blinked back at her in confusion. “Alyssa, baby,” he attempted, “I worship you—” “Well, that’s a start,” she said with a trace of slightly ironic satisfaction. “I-I-I—” He gulped. “I would do anything for you!” This time her fathomless dark eyes stared so intently into him that he suddenly quailed before her unreadable mood. “Aaaanything…?” she wondered softly, arching one smoky eyebrow. Brad swallowed, suddenly uncertain. Her tone was so enigmatic, like nothing he had ever heard from her before, and her eyes gleamed liquid and somehow secretly expectant. “W-w-well,” he stuttered, “I mean…” “Because if you’re truly going to promise anything,” she interrupted him calmly, “you should think very carefully about exactly what that means.” Her dark gaze held him transfixed and somehow vulnerable. “Very carefully.” Brad licked his lips. Just an hour ago he would have promised anything without a second thought, and yet now—now her tone made him hesitate, despite his most loving, most selfless intentions. “W-well…” “And you should understand,” Alyssa amplified levelly, “that the desires I now have will take more than just one man to satisfy.” For a moment Brad was not sure he had heard correctly. He blinked. And then suddenly he realized that she truly had said it...All the blood drained from Brad’s face. He felt stricken, and his sudden, pounding, hopeful erection deflated with a humiliating rapidity. “You—you want a divorce?” he choked out. This time she was the one to shake her head, with great calm. “No, sweetie,” she assured him solemnly. She reached across the table to take his trembling hand in both of her long, smooth, cool ones. For a moment her face seemed to soften slightly. “I love you, Brad, I really do. I just need…well, more.” “Wh-wh-what do you mean?” he husked out. His heart stuttered within his cold chest. “I want to feel…wild and uninhibited,” she replied with a calm, unshakable purpose, “and to be completely in charge of my own sexuality. Completely! I want—” Her eyes flashed suddenly in the candlelight. “I don’t know, I want everything.” “Don’t I give you everything you want?” he asked in a small voice, his poor little d**k shriveled pathetically. “Don’t I—” “You’ve always given everything you can,” Alyssa interrupted almost regretfully, “and I do appreciate it. I’ve come to realize, though, that I want more than any one man can give me.” She took a deep breath. “I want to feel like a w***e sometimes, Brad, to really turn heads and make men who don’t even know me feel crazy with desire. I just—I just want it all!” Brad stared back at her, wide-eyed. All at once it was as if pieces of a puzzle clicked together in his mind, revealing a pattern that he had only cloyingly sensed. He should have seen this coming, he told himself silently. Why, perhaps even from the very beginning he should have known she was capable of—of this. Sexually, after all, Alyssa had always been delightfully full of surprises. The slinky brunette was inventive and uninhibited, seductively alluring—always wildly satisfying. Though never vain or insecure, she obviously had long been quite aware of exactly how pretty she was, and even way back when they had first been dating she had learned the extent to which a little pursing of the lips, a half-lidded expression, or a flirty pose could make Brad respond. She had never before taken advantage of him in any pernicious way—at least that he was aware of, he amended grimly now—and yet he knew all too well how flattered and aroused she herself grew whenever she saw his eyes light up at one of her little games. Yes, she had always enjoyed making him shiver and beg. The sable-tressed girl was tall and pale and slender, with beautifully shaped hands and feet, elegant calves and thighs. Even her forearms were attractive, Brad had told her—the very shape of them, and the downy black hairs which graced her creamy soft skin. And, of course, well…to someone of Brad’s temperament, those fine dark strands could not help but evoke in his imaginative mind the luxuriant curls brooding odorous and moist and warm in the secret garden between the tops of her sleek thighs. Mm, yes—even watching the scissoring slide of her trim ankles as she walked or the play of her shapely arm and supple, somehow expressively feminine wrist was enough to set him rigid with desire. And those seemingly innocent hands? Why, how beautiful it was to imagine one of those cool white fists wrapped playful and shameless and snug upon the engorged red pillar of the helpless erection she inspired… And her hips, though not by any means wide, still were long and curvy, very feminine. When she knew Brad was watching, it pleased her sometimes to accentuate them by posing as if by happenstance with one trim calf ahead of the other. And more than once, of course, had she chanced to drop some object so that, bending at her supple waist, the squeezable round cheeks of her shapely bottom stuck out inviting and plump before him. Oh, how the supple temptation called to his eyes, his hands, his body! Alyssa’s bust, moreover, was exquisite, cool upstanding handfuls—literal handfuls!—tipped with beautiful dark nodules so flatteringly responsive. Those girlishly petite pale breasts stood so firm and jauntily apart upon her delicately freckled chest, delicate little apples ripe for the plucking. They were small enough that she could get away without wearing a bra when she wanted, but they were by no means too small. Some other guys might have liked a set of great big plump jugs, heavy and squeezable and maternal, but these dainty hemispheres of living cream fit the adoring husband’s cupping palms as if made expressly for his pleasure. To him, they were simply the ultimate of desirability. What a joy it was for him to leer at the beautiful things, to fondle and grope them with a casual, purposefully swaggering sort of possessiveness, to suck at their rigid dark tips like a fiend, sometimes even to lube them up and, pushing them ecstatically together, make wild, almost fetishistic love to her silken cleavage! Yes, she often liked to show off those jiggling mounds for Brad, whether in some top scooped to reveal the creamy rounded upper slopes of her breasts or merely with a short, clingy tee-shirt that covered them and yet displayed every smooth curve of her solid swells. The knowledge of her husband’s reverent gaze always made her easily excitable n*****s stand up crinkled and thick and dark, achingly obvious beneath the thin cotton. And if she happened to take a deep breath or to stretch, pulling her shoulders back to push those suckable nubbins out even more boldly—especially when the couple was out somewhere in public and the poor boy couldn’t just begin molesting the naughty things as he so craved—she smiled secretly to see the sweat begin to bead upon his brow, and his fingers grow twitchy and restless. Even Alyssa’s hair was striking—heavy and dark, lustrous sable waves that swung and bounced about a cool ivory neck that he so loved to kiss and nuzzle. She liked to let her tresses blow in the wind, or to allow a long raven swath to fall crookedly over her eye now and then. She knew exactly how to incline her chin just so and half-turn her head to look back sideways at Brad over her pale shoulder in a way that always made his pulse pound heavily within him. Her eyes were dark and sultry, long-lashed and accentuated by sly, expressive eyebrows. Her red lips, he had learned, could be the most wickedly smirking things imaginable.