davesmistress
03-19-2018, 08:53 PM
Come Springtime
Ah Spring!
The vernal equinox.
The day the sun returns to the northern hemisphere. It brings out the birds and the bees. The flowers and the trees. The warmer weather after a long winter.
It also brings the anniversary of our wedding, my wife and me. Married on the first day of Spring, 30 glorious and loving years ago today. I love her as much today as I did then, if not even moreso.
She's the perfect little wife and mother, my girl. The mother of three wonderful children, all grown and out on their own now. She still teaches first grade, as she has since our youngest was out of diapers. She still cooks wonderful meals and keeps a spotlessly clean house. She still sings in the choir at church every Sunday. And even nearing her 50th birthday later this year, she keeps a fit but curvy 120 pounds on her petite 5-foot 2-inch body.
The coming of Spring also triggers my craving.
The appetite that has been growing all winter.
The appetite that has led to the ritual; the way we celebrate our anniversary every year.
Three times a year I make breakfast in bed for my lovely bride: Mother's Day, her birthday, and the day AFTER our anniversary. No, it is not part of the ritual itself, more of a thank you FOR the ritual.
In the old days, the ritual could not begin until I had found a place for the kids to spend the night, usually at the grandparents. Nowadays, of course, that is unnecessary.
The ritual begins with an early supper at home. She prepares something light so as not to interfere with the evening's festivities. After supper, I go to the bathroom and draw her a hot bath, scented with lovely oils. She comes in and I undress her. I put her in the tub. I bathe her, lovingly, sensually. I shave her legs, her underarms, even between her legs. I wash her hair. She does nothing: I do it all.
I get her out of the tub. I dry her. I roll curlers into her hair. I paint her fingernails and her toenails, a special deep shade of red that she only wears on this night. I do her makeup, heavy and pronounced as opposed to the light and natural look she flawlessly achieves every other day of the year. I choose long false lashes, heavy mascara and dark eye shadow, and a deep red lipstick to match her nails. I make her look like a whore, my angelic darling.
Then I pick her an outfit for the evening. From her drawer of special things, this time I choose a lacy black bodysuit. I kneel before her to slip it onto her feet, then up, stretching the tight gossamer fabric to hug her body like a second skin, save where it has cutouts, exposing her crotch and each white breast. I plant a soft kiss on each bare breast on my way back down, and one on her smooth exposed mons. I kiss her feet before slipping them into black patent leather stiletto heels. I choose dangling earrings of shimmering silver, and a black silk choker around her delicate throat. I take the curlers from her hair and comb it out into a voluminous mane of deep brown, noting that there are a few sprinkles of silver beginning to show.
Finally, I stand back to inspect my work. She is transformed, my wife, the loving maternal church-going school teacher middle-aged mother of three, now a slut with wild hair and painted face, in lingerie with her breasts and genitals exposed, looking back at me passively, no expression.
I retrieve her overcoat from the closet and slip it onto her, then lead her to the garage, stopping by the kitchen to fill a thermos with hot coffee. I place her in the car then climb behind the wheel. We ride in total silence, some 45 minutes from our home, through suburbs and city and country to a certain state park. I bypass the main entrance. A couple of miles more and I turn onto an unmarked dirt road which meanders through the woods. Still the only sound is the overgrowth occasionly brushing the sides of the car. Five minutes later we reach a little clearing. The sun has just gone down. My timing is perfect.
I park the car but leave the engine running, pop the trunk and exit the vehicle. The air is chilly on this first night of Spring. From the trunk I remove an old blanket, which I take around front and spread out on a nice flat spot. Back to the car, I open my wife's door and help her out. I hold her hand, helping her over the uneven ground in her spiked heels to the blanket. I slip the coat off her shoulders, then turn and walk back to the car. I open the driver's side door, throw the coat through to the other side, then take my seat and close the door.
My wife stands, illuminated by the car's headlights. Her white skin glows through the black lace of the body suit. I smile, congratulating myself on a fine choice. Her pendulous breasts look magnificent, naked against the dark material. I see that her ruddy nipples are stiff: the chill of the air or anticipation? She silently looks back at me, her dark brown eyes huge in the twilight. It's amazing how different she can look on this special night. A whore in the middle of the woods.
I turn the heat on low against the cool evening then pour myself a cup from the thermos. I sit, sipping my coffee, staring out at my wife as I listen to the car's idling engine. It doesn't take long before I notice a shadow of movement. A man, coming out of the woods. He hesitates. I see the light reflecting off his glasses as he looks from my wife to the car. I know he can't see me beyond the glare of the headlights. Slowly he comes forward.
He seems to be a bit older than me, overweight with mostly gray hair, dressed in khaki's and a light jacket. I can see him speak. My wife does not respond. He looks my way again, then reaches out to touch her arm. Again she doesn't react, although I fancy that I can see a slight tremble. The man pulls her hand to the front of his trousers. He moves it up and down. When he releases her wrist, she continues to stroke the growing bulge. He cups her exposed breast, squeezing. Another glance toward the car and he drops his hand between her legs. This time I definitely see a shudder go through her body.
The man gropes my wife's pussy for perhaps a minute, then reaches for his fly. He unzips, fumbling to pull out his erect cock. He grabs my wife by the shoulders and pushes her to her knees. The cock is short and fat. He has to thrust his hips forward and push her head under his round gut to get it into her mouth. He looks toward the car, the light once again reflecting in the lenses of his black framed glasses, his teeth gritted in a hiss of physical stimulation as my wife sucks his dick.
A movement catches my eye; another man, materializing out of the darkness. Tall and thin, he seems a bit younger, although his head is nearly bald with just a fringe of dark hair around his ears. The fat man nods a greeting and the tall mans steps onto the blanket, already unzipping. He pulls a long skinny cock out of his pants and begins stroking, stepping nearer.
I set my coffee aside as my excitement grows. As the newcomer guides my wife's hand onto his growing penis, my mind harkens back to the first time...
Thirty years ago, this very night.
Our wedding night...
I carried my young slip of a bride into the bridal chamber. She was radiant in her white dress, nervous but eager. Although not technically a virgin, she seemed much younger than me, inexperienced, naive even. We had not had sex with each other, deciding by unspoken agreement to wait for marriage.
I unzipped her dress, helped her step out of it. Her pert young breasts were bare, needing no brassiere under her strapless gown. She wore only her veil, white garter belt and stockings with white high-heeled shoes, and sexy white lace panties. She stood before me, shy under my scrutiny.
I embraced her, kissing her tenderly. She trembled slightly in my arms. I looked into her deep brown eyes. Innocent eyes. Trusting eyes.
My heart thudded in my chest. I loved her deeply, achingly. If I lost her now I would surely die. But my compulsion was too strong. I moved to the door. One look back, curiousity on her lovely face. I opened the door, motioned them in: my best man and all four groomsmen.
She gasped and snatched up her dress, holding it to her front to cover herself. I moved back to her and gently but firmly took the dress away. Her eyes were huge, looking at me with confusion as I slowly backed away. I backed up to the wall. She stood frozen, hands covering her breasts, eyes darting nervously to the other men, then back to me. There was a question in her look. I gave one tiny nod.
She stared at me as I held my breath. This was the moment of truth. Either I was going to lose her forever, or she truly was my perfect girl. My pulse thundered in my ears, the anticipation unbearable. Her eyes were unreadable, boring into mine. Slowly, her hands dropped to her sides, revealing her bare breasts to the hungry gaze of the intruders.
I nearly came in my pants.
The Best Man, who was of course my best friend, stepped forward. She looked up at him, expressionless. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. She did not resist, pliant in his arms as he groped her chest and ass. He crouched down, kissing/sucking his way to her breasts. As he attacked her stiff pink nipples, she looked down, watching but otherwise not reacting. He pulled her panties down and she stepped out of them, then he pushed her onto the bed, bent her knees and spread her legs, then buried his face in her dark bush. Other than her face flushing and her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow, she still showed no emotions.
Lying on her back, she watched the other four virtual strangers begin to undress, all watching her get her pussy eaten. I watched from my spot. She never looked back to me, and didn't for the rest of the evening. My god but she was magnificent! When I saw a silent shudder wrack her body, I realized that she was cumming.
After giving her an orgasm, my Best Man backed away. As he began taking his clothes off, the first groomsman to get naked came forward, his cock already erect in anticipation. He pulled my compliant darling off the bed and onto her knees before him. He wasted no time in shoving his dick into her mouth. Even as she sucked him, another came forward, pulling her hand onto his half-hard cock, then another.
Soon she was surrounded by dick, stroking with both hands as she sucked whatever was shoved into her mouth. They took turns, getting sucked for about a half a minute before passing her on to the next guy. If they weren't in her mouth or in her hands, they rubbed their hard cocks on her shoulders or her face, or they bent to feel her tits or her ass until their turn came again. She gasped between cocks, slobber beginning to coat her chin. Then the first one that she had sucked urgently pulled her off another cock to shove his into her mouth, groaning loudly as he came. She gagged, pulling off to let his spunk run down her chin as he jacked himself feverishly, shooting the rest across her face and hair.
Before she had even recovered, the Best Man lifted her bodily and threw her onto the bed again. He crawled on top of her as a couple of guys pulled her legs apart. She looked up at him, breathing hard. He reached down, guiding his cock into her pussy. I could tell by his passionate groan that it was tight and wet. He immediately began fucking her, not brutally, but not slow and soft, either. He was too turned on to hold back. I was sure I saw her cum again almost immediately.
The others stood by, stroking themselves, waiting, or holding her legs spread. It took about five good minutes of steady fucking before my Best Man came, shooting his load into my bride's inexperienced pussy. Even as he crawled wearily off the bed, another couple of guys climbed eagerly on. Working in unison, they flipped her over doggy-style, one guy going behind her as the other went back into her mouth. The guy behind her fucked her frenziedly, holding on to her hips as his pelvis smacked her ass machine gun fast. He came in less than two minutes. Another took his place.
This guy fucked her in long, steady strokes, not in nearly as much a hurry as the last one. After the cock she was sucking erupted in her mouth, she collapsed wearily onto the bed. The one fucking her never missed a stroke, following her down. He fucked her limp body from behind for for a good long while before he was ready to cum. He didn't cum inside her, however, pulling out to turn her over and push his messy cock into her mouth. Another cock immediately replaced his in her pussy as he pumped her mouth until he pulled out and shot his load across her open mouth and face.
Two more times she was fucked, taking loads in her ravaged pussy, lying passively on her back, although I was certain I detected orgasms wracking her body at least a couple of times. She lay motionless as the satiated men gathered their clothes and filed out of the room.
I locked the door behind them, then removed my clothes. Naked, I climbed onto the bed, standing on the matress between my young bride's splayed legs. My cock was hard as steel, had been from the beginning. I noted by the bedside clock that over two hours had passed while my friends had defiled my bride, all the while my cock straining my zipper, untouched. I touched it now, though. Looking down at my lovely girl, befouled, stinking of sex and semen and sweat.
She looked up at me, eyes heavy with exhaustion, watching me masturbate over her. I jacked off furiously, looking at the cum still leaking from her poor despoiled cunt, her matted pussy hair, the dried cum on her face and in her hair. She did not react as I came mightily, shooting my own cum over her.
My delayed gratification finally satisfied, I picked up my listless bride and took her to the bathroom where I stripped off her garter and stockings, then disentangled the veil from her disheveled dark hair. I sat her on the toilet to relieve herself, then into the shower with both of us. She remained as passive as she had been during her unexpected gang-bang, allowing me to wash her, dry her, and then take her to bed where she curled up and fell asleep straight away with me spooning her protectively from behind.
The next morning we consummated our marriage, with me waking her up to make tender love. Afterward, we had breakfast in bed, then made love some more. In fact, I couldn't get enough of her, having sex again and again, despite how sore I knew she was. We spent the next several days, through the weekend in that room, the only honeymoon we could afford at the time, only stopping long enough to eat room service, soak in the oversized tub, or sleep until we were at it again.
Indeed, we made love every day that first year of marriage, the memory of our wedding night fueling my desire for her, even though we never spoke a word about it. In fact, the subject only came up one time, as our first anniversary approached, I suggested reserving the same room, recreating our 'honeymoon'. She stared at me impassively a good long time before giving a single, barely perceptible nod. The only time in thirty years it was ever spoken.
And thus a tradition was born, which evolved into a ritual, which brought us to this remote park on this first day of Spring.
Our sixteenth year at this particular spot, where I had learned a couple could go to participate in this sort of activity. It solved a dilemma which had arisen after those first few years, as my friends slowly dropped out with families of their own and I'd had to recruit strangers. Strangers, it turned out, worked even better to fulfill my own specific need: to see my lovely wife defiled, degraded.
Over the next several hours, I see man after man come out of the woods, some stroking themselves, some just waiting their turn to fuck or be sucked or be stroked off by the woman I love. Some years we see a lady or even two come out of the dark to join in. Seeing my normally straight wife suck a stranger's cum out of a sloppy cunt or swap a mouthful of spunk with another slut is always a fresh thrill, but tonight there are only men, in singles or small groups, having their depraved way, with her passively accepting it all.
At one point, I see her step off the blanket, squatting in the weeds to relieve herself before a gaggle of onlookers. From my vantage, I have a perfect view of the hot piss, steaming in the cool air, with clumpy gobs of cum dripping out of her exposed cunt. Then she is back in the middle of them, taking cock after cock, in her mouth, in her hands, in her pussy.
I sit in my car, watching it all, denying my straining cock the slightest touch.
I lose count of how many strangers have had her, leaving their disgusting loads of spunk on her or in her. Some two dozen, give or take. By the time the last one finishes fucking her, she is completely spent, lying on the ground watching him disappear into the darkness. It is after midnight. She has been fucking and sucking for nearly four hours.
Finally I emerge from my vehicle. I pull the corners of the blanket over her, wrapping her up, then carry her to the car. We drive home in silence. I park in the garage, extract her from the blanket and carry her to our bathroom. I deposit her on the toilet. She slumps down, exhausted, her legs spread haphazardly, exposing her overworked pussy, staring impassively as I undress before her.
I finally touch my aching cock, looking at the state of her under the harsh lighting. My sweet little homemaker, teacher of small children, mother of my kids is nowhere to be seen. Before me is the hard used slut, the whore of the woods. Her makeup is ruined, lipstick blown out to a pinkish halo around lips that are puffy from sucking so many dicks, her mascara smeared giving her dark, hollow eyes. Her hair is disheveled, with bits of dead grass in it and stuck-together clumps of dried cum.
In fact, there is dried cum seemingly everywhere, on her chin and neck, the front and back of her black bodysuit, on her tits and between her legs where it has run down her inner thighs onto the black lace. Her knees are dirty and there are rips in the fabric. Her splayed pussy lips look swollen and bruised.
She is perfect.
I beat my meat furiously, walking slowly up on her. She watches listlessly through heavy-lidded eyes, until I am inches away from her. Suddenly my cock erupts and she leans her head back, eyes closed, sighing with relief as my cum coats her face.
Afterwards I undress her, throw away her ruined body suit, take her into the shower then off to bed. I hold her close as she falls into the sleep of exhaustion. Not a word has been spoken between us since dinner. Tomorrow my angel will return. I will make sweet passionate love to her, throughout the seasons, for tonight my whore has fulfilled my perverse appetite.
Until the Spring comes again.
Ah Spring!
The vernal equinox.
The day the sun returns to the northern hemisphere. It brings out the birds and the bees. The flowers and the trees. The warmer weather after a long winter.
It also brings the anniversary of our wedding, my wife and me. Married on the first day of Spring, 30 glorious and loving years ago today. I love her as much today as I did then, if not even moreso.
She's the perfect little wife and mother, my girl. The mother of three wonderful children, all grown and out on their own now. She still teaches first grade, as she has since our youngest was out of diapers. She still cooks wonderful meals and keeps a spotlessly clean house. She still sings in the choir at church every Sunday. And even nearing her 50th birthday later this year, she keeps a fit but curvy 120 pounds on her petite 5-foot 2-inch body.
The coming of Spring also triggers my craving.
The appetite that has been growing all winter.
The appetite that has led to the ritual; the way we celebrate our anniversary every year.
Three times a year I make breakfast in bed for my lovely bride: Mother's Day, her birthday, and the day AFTER our anniversary. No, it is not part of the ritual itself, more of a thank you FOR the ritual.
In the old days, the ritual could not begin until I had found a place for the kids to spend the night, usually at the grandparents. Nowadays, of course, that is unnecessary.
The ritual begins with an early supper at home. She prepares something light so as not to interfere with the evening's festivities. After supper, I go to the bathroom and draw her a hot bath, scented with lovely oils. She comes in and I undress her. I put her in the tub. I bathe her, lovingly, sensually. I shave her legs, her underarms, even between her legs. I wash her hair. She does nothing: I do it all.
I get her out of the tub. I dry her. I roll curlers into her hair. I paint her fingernails and her toenails, a special deep shade of red that she only wears on this night. I do her makeup, heavy and pronounced as opposed to the light and natural look she flawlessly achieves every other day of the year. I choose long false lashes, heavy mascara and dark eye shadow, and a deep red lipstick to match her nails. I make her look like a whore, my angelic darling.
Then I pick her an outfit for the evening. From her drawer of special things, this time I choose a lacy black bodysuit. I kneel before her to slip it onto her feet, then up, stretching the tight gossamer fabric to hug her body like a second skin, save where it has cutouts, exposing her crotch and each white breast. I plant a soft kiss on each bare breast on my way back down, and one on her smooth exposed mons. I kiss her feet before slipping them into black patent leather stiletto heels. I choose dangling earrings of shimmering silver, and a black silk choker around her delicate throat. I take the curlers from her hair and comb it out into a voluminous mane of deep brown, noting that there are a few sprinkles of silver beginning to show.
Finally, I stand back to inspect my work. She is transformed, my wife, the loving maternal church-going school teacher middle-aged mother of three, now a slut with wild hair and painted face, in lingerie with her breasts and genitals exposed, looking back at me passively, no expression.
I retrieve her overcoat from the closet and slip it onto her, then lead her to the garage, stopping by the kitchen to fill a thermos with hot coffee. I place her in the car then climb behind the wheel. We ride in total silence, some 45 minutes from our home, through suburbs and city and country to a certain state park. I bypass the main entrance. A couple of miles more and I turn onto an unmarked dirt road which meanders through the woods. Still the only sound is the overgrowth occasionly brushing the sides of the car. Five minutes later we reach a little clearing. The sun has just gone down. My timing is perfect.
I park the car but leave the engine running, pop the trunk and exit the vehicle. The air is chilly on this first night of Spring. From the trunk I remove an old blanket, which I take around front and spread out on a nice flat spot. Back to the car, I open my wife's door and help her out. I hold her hand, helping her over the uneven ground in her spiked heels to the blanket. I slip the coat off her shoulders, then turn and walk back to the car. I open the driver's side door, throw the coat through to the other side, then take my seat and close the door.
My wife stands, illuminated by the car's headlights. Her white skin glows through the black lace of the body suit. I smile, congratulating myself on a fine choice. Her pendulous breasts look magnificent, naked against the dark material. I see that her ruddy nipples are stiff: the chill of the air or anticipation? She silently looks back at me, her dark brown eyes huge in the twilight. It's amazing how different she can look on this special night. A whore in the middle of the woods.
I turn the heat on low against the cool evening then pour myself a cup from the thermos. I sit, sipping my coffee, staring out at my wife as I listen to the car's idling engine. It doesn't take long before I notice a shadow of movement. A man, coming out of the woods. He hesitates. I see the light reflecting off his glasses as he looks from my wife to the car. I know he can't see me beyond the glare of the headlights. Slowly he comes forward.
He seems to be a bit older than me, overweight with mostly gray hair, dressed in khaki's and a light jacket. I can see him speak. My wife does not respond. He looks my way again, then reaches out to touch her arm. Again she doesn't react, although I fancy that I can see a slight tremble. The man pulls her hand to the front of his trousers. He moves it up and down. When he releases her wrist, she continues to stroke the growing bulge. He cups her exposed breast, squeezing. Another glance toward the car and he drops his hand between her legs. This time I definitely see a shudder go through her body.
The man gropes my wife's pussy for perhaps a minute, then reaches for his fly. He unzips, fumbling to pull out his erect cock. He grabs my wife by the shoulders and pushes her to her knees. The cock is short and fat. He has to thrust his hips forward and push her head under his round gut to get it into her mouth. He looks toward the car, the light once again reflecting in the lenses of his black framed glasses, his teeth gritted in a hiss of physical stimulation as my wife sucks his dick.
A movement catches my eye; another man, materializing out of the darkness. Tall and thin, he seems a bit younger, although his head is nearly bald with just a fringe of dark hair around his ears. The fat man nods a greeting and the tall mans steps onto the blanket, already unzipping. He pulls a long skinny cock out of his pants and begins stroking, stepping nearer.
I set my coffee aside as my excitement grows. As the newcomer guides my wife's hand onto his growing penis, my mind harkens back to the first time...
Thirty years ago, this very night.
Our wedding night...
I carried my young slip of a bride into the bridal chamber. She was radiant in her white dress, nervous but eager. Although not technically a virgin, she seemed much younger than me, inexperienced, naive even. We had not had sex with each other, deciding by unspoken agreement to wait for marriage.
I unzipped her dress, helped her step out of it. Her pert young breasts were bare, needing no brassiere under her strapless gown. She wore only her veil, white garter belt and stockings with white high-heeled shoes, and sexy white lace panties. She stood before me, shy under my scrutiny.
I embraced her, kissing her tenderly. She trembled slightly in my arms. I looked into her deep brown eyes. Innocent eyes. Trusting eyes.
My heart thudded in my chest. I loved her deeply, achingly. If I lost her now I would surely die. But my compulsion was too strong. I moved to the door. One look back, curiousity on her lovely face. I opened the door, motioned them in: my best man and all four groomsmen.
She gasped and snatched up her dress, holding it to her front to cover herself. I moved back to her and gently but firmly took the dress away. Her eyes were huge, looking at me with confusion as I slowly backed away. I backed up to the wall. She stood frozen, hands covering her breasts, eyes darting nervously to the other men, then back to me. There was a question in her look. I gave one tiny nod.
She stared at me as I held my breath. This was the moment of truth. Either I was going to lose her forever, or she truly was my perfect girl. My pulse thundered in my ears, the anticipation unbearable. Her eyes were unreadable, boring into mine. Slowly, her hands dropped to her sides, revealing her bare breasts to the hungry gaze of the intruders.
I nearly came in my pants.
The Best Man, who was of course my best friend, stepped forward. She looked up at him, expressionless. He pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. She did not resist, pliant in his arms as he groped her chest and ass. He crouched down, kissing/sucking his way to her breasts. As he attacked her stiff pink nipples, she looked down, watching but otherwise not reacting. He pulled her panties down and she stepped out of them, then he pushed her onto the bed, bent her knees and spread her legs, then buried his face in her dark bush. Other than her face flushing and her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow, she still showed no emotions.
Lying on her back, she watched the other four virtual strangers begin to undress, all watching her get her pussy eaten. I watched from my spot. She never looked back to me, and didn't for the rest of the evening. My god but she was magnificent! When I saw a silent shudder wrack her body, I realized that she was cumming.
After giving her an orgasm, my Best Man backed away. As he began taking his clothes off, the first groomsman to get naked came forward, his cock already erect in anticipation. He pulled my compliant darling off the bed and onto her knees before him. He wasted no time in shoving his dick into her mouth. Even as she sucked him, another came forward, pulling her hand onto his half-hard cock, then another.
Soon she was surrounded by dick, stroking with both hands as she sucked whatever was shoved into her mouth. They took turns, getting sucked for about a half a minute before passing her on to the next guy. If they weren't in her mouth or in her hands, they rubbed their hard cocks on her shoulders or her face, or they bent to feel her tits or her ass until their turn came again. She gasped between cocks, slobber beginning to coat her chin. Then the first one that she had sucked urgently pulled her off another cock to shove his into her mouth, groaning loudly as he came. She gagged, pulling off to let his spunk run down her chin as he jacked himself feverishly, shooting the rest across her face and hair.
Before she had even recovered, the Best Man lifted her bodily and threw her onto the bed again. He crawled on top of her as a couple of guys pulled her legs apart. She looked up at him, breathing hard. He reached down, guiding his cock into her pussy. I could tell by his passionate groan that it was tight and wet. He immediately began fucking her, not brutally, but not slow and soft, either. He was too turned on to hold back. I was sure I saw her cum again almost immediately.
The others stood by, stroking themselves, waiting, or holding her legs spread. It took about five good minutes of steady fucking before my Best Man came, shooting his load into my bride's inexperienced pussy. Even as he crawled wearily off the bed, another couple of guys climbed eagerly on. Working in unison, they flipped her over doggy-style, one guy going behind her as the other went back into her mouth. The guy behind her fucked her frenziedly, holding on to her hips as his pelvis smacked her ass machine gun fast. He came in less than two minutes. Another took his place.
This guy fucked her in long, steady strokes, not in nearly as much a hurry as the last one. After the cock she was sucking erupted in her mouth, she collapsed wearily onto the bed. The one fucking her never missed a stroke, following her down. He fucked her limp body from behind for for a good long while before he was ready to cum. He didn't cum inside her, however, pulling out to turn her over and push his messy cock into her mouth. Another cock immediately replaced his in her pussy as he pumped her mouth until he pulled out and shot his load across her open mouth and face.
Two more times she was fucked, taking loads in her ravaged pussy, lying passively on her back, although I was certain I detected orgasms wracking her body at least a couple of times. She lay motionless as the satiated men gathered their clothes and filed out of the room.
I locked the door behind them, then removed my clothes. Naked, I climbed onto the bed, standing on the matress between my young bride's splayed legs. My cock was hard as steel, had been from the beginning. I noted by the bedside clock that over two hours had passed while my friends had defiled my bride, all the while my cock straining my zipper, untouched. I touched it now, though. Looking down at my lovely girl, befouled, stinking of sex and semen and sweat.
She looked up at me, eyes heavy with exhaustion, watching me masturbate over her. I jacked off furiously, looking at the cum still leaking from her poor despoiled cunt, her matted pussy hair, the dried cum on her face and in her hair. She did not react as I came mightily, shooting my own cum over her.
My delayed gratification finally satisfied, I picked up my listless bride and took her to the bathroom where I stripped off her garter and stockings, then disentangled the veil from her disheveled dark hair. I sat her on the toilet to relieve herself, then into the shower with both of us. She remained as passive as she had been during her unexpected gang-bang, allowing me to wash her, dry her, and then take her to bed where she curled up and fell asleep straight away with me spooning her protectively from behind.
The next morning we consummated our marriage, with me waking her up to make tender love. Afterward, we had breakfast in bed, then made love some more. In fact, I couldn't get enough of her, having sex again and again, despite how sore I knew she was. We spent the next several days, through the weekend in that room, the only honeymoon we could afford at the time, only stopping long enough to eat room service, soak in the oversized tub, or sleep until we were at it again.
Indeed, we made love every day that first year of marriage, the memory of our wedding night fueling my desire for her, even though we never spoke a word about it. In fact, the subject only came up one time, as our first anniversary approached, I suggested reserving the same room, recreating our 'honeymoon'. She stared at me impassively a good long time before giving a single, barely perceptible nod. The only time in thirty years it was ever spoken.
And thus a tradition was born, which evolved into a ritual, which brought us to this remote park on this first day of Spring.
Our sixteenth year at this particular spot, where I had learned a couple could go to participate in this sort of activity. It solved a dilemma which had arisen after those first few years, as my friends slowly dropped out with families of their own and I'd had to recruit strangers. Strangers, it turned out, worked even better to fulfill my own specific need: to see my lovely wife defiled, degraded.
Over the next several hours, I see man after man come out of the woods, some stroking themselves, some just waiting their turn to fuck or be sucked or be stroked off by the woman I love. Some years we see a lady or even two come out of the dark to join in. Seeing my normally straight wife suck a stranger's cum out of a sloppy cunt or swap a mouthful of spunk with another slut is always a fresh thrill, but tonight there are only men, in singles or small groups, having their depraved way, with her passively accepting it all.
At one point, I see her step off the blanket, squatting in the weeds to relieve herself before a gaggle of onlookers. From my vantage, I have a perfect view of the hot piss, steaming in the cool air, with clumpy gobs of cum dripping out of her exposed cunt. Then she is back in the middle of them, taking cock after cock, in her mouth, in her hands, in her pussy.
I sit in my car, watching it all, denying my straining cock the slightest touch.
I lose count of how many strangers have had her, leaving their disgusting loads of spunk on her or in her. Some two dozen, give or take. By the time the last one finishes fucking her, she is completely spent, lying on the ground watching him disappear into the darkness. It is after midnight. She has been fucking and sucking for nearly four hours.
Finally I emerge from my vehicle. I pull the corners of the blanket over her, wrapping her up, then carry her to the car. We drive home in silence. I park in the garage, extract her from the blanket and carry her to our bathroom. I deposit her on the toilet. She slumps down, exhausted, her legs spread haphazardly, exposing her overworked pussy, staring impassively as I undress before her.
I finally touch my aching cock, looking at the state of her under the harsh lighting. My sweet little homemaker, teacher of small children, mother of my kids is nowhere to be seen. Before me is the hard used slut, the whore of the woods. Her makeup is ruined, lipstick blown out to a pinkish halo around lips that are puffy from sucking so many dicks, her mascara smeared giving her dark, hollow eyes. Her hair is disheveled, with bits of dead grass in it and stuck-together clumps of dried cum.
In fact, there is dried cum seemingly everywhere, on her chin and neck, the front and back of her black bodysuit, on her tits and between her legs where it has run down her inner thighs onto the black lace. Her knees are dirty and there are rips in the fabric. Her splayed pussy lips look swollen and bruised.
She is perfect.
I beat my meat furiously, walking slowly up on her. She watches listlessly through heavy-lidded eyes, until I am inches away from her. Suddenly my cock erupts and she leans her head back, eyes closed, sighing with relief as my cum coats her face.
Afterwards I undress her, throw away her ruined body suit, take her into the shower then off to bed. I hold her close as she falls into the sleep of exhaustion. Not a word has been spoken between us since dinner. Tomorrow my angel will return. I will make sweet passionate love to her, throughout the seasons, for tonight my whore has fulfilled my perverse appetite.
Until the Spring comes again.