Alyssa's Needs Trilogy

Chapter One-5

Brad swallowed uncomfortably. It was bad enough that she would want to cheat on him like that, but the thought of making him stand by and watch as she gave her gleaming, bare young body to the leering eyes, the slavering mouths, the grasping hands, the throbbing p*****s of her welcome ravishers...Why, the notion was hideously embarrassing, somehow almost as shaming to him as the terrible acts themselves.

“I’d let ’em f**k me until my p***y was so wet and open and sloppy and brimming over with c*m that it wouldn’t even bring off the next c**k in line. But if I still wanted more, honey,” she told him pointedly, “then more c**k is what I would have. In fact, Brad,” she continued with a sly determination, “maybe that’s when I’d really take charge, and show all you stiff-c****d male posers who the boss truly is. Yeah, to get me clean enough for the next guy, I’d just have to order some groveling slave to get down there between my legs and lick me aaallllll up!” Her eyes gleamed into his with a nasty relish, and she fixed him with a particularly wicked smile. “Mm, simple enough, right, baby…?”

Brad blanched, aghast. Oh, he was no stranger to wallowing in that beautifully f****d cunt—in fact, more than once he had grown so desperately inflamed during their lovemaking that at her indulgent nod he had taken his orgasm first and then, a little shamefaced but still impossibly aroused, he had simply slid down there and felt compelled to pleasure her not with his fingers or even with her favorite dildo but with his worshipful tongue!

Yes, after a hasty, inadequate scooping out with his trembling digits, he had simply dropped his red face into her with a plop and slavered at her savory pink flesh until she whimpered and shuddered and squirmed beneath his fierce c*********s. Oh, how sweet it had been—grappling deliriously with her supple white hips, whimpering in his reciprocal delight as his mouth drowned happily in her flesh and hair and fluids! God, the taste of it, and the very thought of it! And though his poor satisfied p***s had shrunk with its exertion, sticky and drizzling, at this sweet perversion it had plumped up again, fat and ready and urgent, so that he climbed atop her once more, and as he Frenched her desperately with his stinking mouth, he had gruntingly filled her to the core yet again…

But this—why, the terrible parody of his love that she threw so sneeringly in his face was awful beyond belief. These things were unspeakable, revolting, unnatural! And yet, oh, the look on her face...He gazed hypnotized into her flushed and beautiful visage. Her narrowing dark orbs locked with his wide, wondering eyes as he unwillingly pictured the depravities she so eagerly described—the exhibitionistic flauntings, the sweet spermy betrayals, her apparent subservience to other men’s mindless phalluses that in truth more likely would be enslaved by her own unquenchable desires.

“Mm,” she prodded him purposefully, “can you imagine it…?”

Her cheeks glowed with her arousal, and her eyes shone bright with the thought of the things she had said—getting ogled and groped and fondled, being penetrated and just f****d absolutely full, even…even having the beautiful, hairy pink nest of her fishy cunt licked worshipfully out, all so she could satisfy her wicked desires still further, and wallow in her awful debaucheries. Her n*****s, Brad could not help but notice even through the fabric of her blouse, stood up thick and rigid and excited upon her firm young bosom.

What she described was dirty, it was disgusting, it was impossible…and yet somehow, deep within, he could not quite suppress a guilty twinge of his own unwelcome excitation as well. He tried to tell himself that he did not want any of those dirty things she craved, could not possibly wish to share his beloved wife with anyone else, did not even understand why she would ask for such things. And yet how beautiful she was in her restless arousal, how wildly desirable…

Still, however, shame and revulsion burned bleakly within his aching heart. Such acts simply could not be borne, he told himself. He was a man, and she was his wife, and she belonged to him—to him! He would not stand for this, could not stand for it. Not now, not ever, no matter what she said. It was impossible. He swallowed, trying to rally his pride, his dignity.

“But, baby,” he said at last, slowly, “you’re my wife! I mean— Well, I can’t let you do all those dirty things! I can’t!”

Looking slightly mournful, she released his hand regretfully. “That,” replied Alyssa in grave tones, “is something you will need to think about.”