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Subject: {ASSM} RP: One Bride for Seven "Brothers" (slut wife, voy, inter, FM, masturbation) (1/2)
Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2000 01:10:10 -0400
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Standard Disclaimer: This story is a fantasy. It takes place in a world
with no HIV, HPV, or other STD's, a place where all birth control is 100%
effective. That is not the world we live in and engaging in the activities
described herein can seriously screw up your life or even kill you. Also,
if you are under age 21 or don't like dirty stories, then go away. 'Nuff
said.
Comments welcome to above email address (remove ".spamenot").
One Bride for Seven "Brothers" (slut wife, voy, inter, FM, masturbation)
Part I of II
Anyone who attended my wedding probably didn't notice anything out of
the ordinary. The bride was late, about half an hour, coming down the
aisle, but she looked beautiful and radiant in her Vera Wang dress. When
she reached the front of the church she leaned over and whispered into my
ear.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," I whispered back. If anyone overheard they probably
thought she was thanking me for the extravagant nuptials. She wasn't.
The ceremony went off without a problem. During the kiss, I noticed she
tasted like semen. I didn't have to wonder why.
The large reception in the ballroom of a four star hotel was the social
event of the year. My new bride and I danced, cut the cake and fed it to
each other, and did all the things required. Finally, it was time to
leave. We said our good-byes and, showered by rice, entered the elevator
for the short ride to the hotel's best suite.
We walked into the luxurious living room area and found the hotel had
left complimentary champagne and flowers. But resting on the cocktail
table was a digital videotape. My wife picked it up and handed it to me
with a sly grin.
"Do you want to watch it now?" she asked coyly.
All I could do was nod mutely. I wasn't sure if I really did or not.
I had instructed the hotel to make a player available. I walked over,
turned on the high definition television, and slid the digital tape into
its player. When I turned around my wife had pulled up her long, white
dress and removed her white pantyhose and panties. She handed the latter
to me and sat on the leather couch. I held the panties to my nose and
could smell her musk and something else. Cum. Another man's cum. The
panties were soaked as were, I noticed, the pantyhose (good thing her dress
was long, wouldn't do to let the guests see the bride with cum leaking down
her thighs). I sat down next to her on the couch, pointed the remote at
the player, and pressed "Play."
Maybe I should explain.
I'm a "dotcom" billionaire. In college I had an idea this internet
thing (which then was mostly the domain of computer geeks and scientists)
might have commercial possibilities. So I started developing software to
facilitate marketing on the internet. It took seven years and destroyed my
first marriage. When I married my first wife, just after graduating from
college, I had romantic notions about growing old together and raising kids
and I chose my wife on that basis. She was pleasant to look at, had a good
disposition, and wanted kids. She enjoyed sex but didn't want to put any
effort into it to make it more enjoyable and varied. Plus I'm not the most
handsome guy in the world and I didn't think I could do better.
But my start-up company required me to work 80 - 100 hours a week. I
remember one Christmas I took it easy and only went to work for 8 hours.
After the fifth year, my wife served me with divorce papers. She and her
lawyer were convinced the company was worthless so I got the company; she
got everything else. I left the marriage with my clothes, CD's, my
computer, about $20 in my pocket, and a piece of paper signed by my wife
that she willing gave me 100% of the company and I didn't have to pay her
alimony, ever.
A long, lean year later VC's came in with some cash, I could hire some
people to help, we got our product out just in time for the internet boom,
the IPO made me a millionaire (on paper at least), and when another huge
internet company bought mine, I was suddenly worth billions. I sold out
and retired (sort of; I still tinker and serve on the board of the company
that bought mine). Even at a modest 10% return on my principal that's more
money than I could ever spend and my wealth should continue to expand
forever. My ex-wife tried to come back and say she was cheated out of her
share of the company and her alimony. I could afford the best lawyers in
the country and by the time they were done with her and her contingency fee
hacks she almost ended up owing me money. The bitch.
Anyway, so I decided it was time to get another wife, one befitting my
wealth and stature. I had three basic requirements: 1) she be drop-dead
gorgeous with a killer bod, great legs and a tight ass, 2) she be a blast
in bed: adventurous, imaginative, and talented, and 3) she laugh at my dumb
jokes. In the meantime, I would have lots of fun "test driving" the
various models.
With my money attracting beautiful women was easy (requirement #1) but
it took almost two years (and a lot of "test drives" which I utterly
enjoyed) to find a woman that met all three requirements. Her name was
Carly. She was tall, about 5'10" and worked out just enough to tone. Her
legs were thin, long, but not too skinny. She had long red hair and blue
eyes and just a couple of cute freckles on her nose (At first she covered
them up but after seeing her in the morning without make up I asked her to
stop). Her breasts were full with nice nipples and her ass could launch a
thousand wet dreams. On our first date she wore a red mini dress that
seemed to stop just south of being illegal. When she laughed at my joke
about the parrot in the 'fridge she was two for two. Later that night she
got the hat trick. In bed she was a hoot. There wasn't an orifice on her
body we didn't explore. For the first time in a long time (since I was
much younger) I came three times in one ! ! night. She asked (asked!)
for
We had a lot of fun together. We traveled and fucked, when to auctions
and fucked, drove my new Viper down the coast and fucked. She did have
some quirks. She insisted that I never come over to her apartment without
calling first and show up only when I say so, never early and rarely late.
But I could live with that. So she wanted her privacy and was anal about
punctuality. Neither one mattered as I was shoving my cock up her ass at
her insistence. Six months later I gave her diamond about the size of a
doorknob and asked her to marry me. She kissed me deeply and said "yes."
Then she smiled slyly. "You know what this means, don't you?"
"What?" I asked, not knowing what she was going to say.
"No more sex."
I was shocked. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"No more sex until the honeymoon," she said. "It'll make it that much
sweeter."
"You're kidding?" I asked (I hoped).
She shook her head. "No."
Well, what the hell, I thought. We'll just move the wedding up. I
wondered briefly if that was her plan.
Two months before the wedding (which was going to cost me about $100K) I
picked her up at her apartment in my new M5 and we went to my personal
lawyer's office. He handed her a prenuptial agreement to sign. She looked
at it, read it, and then looked at me. It was the first time she'd ever
looked unhappy with me.
"Will you excuse us?" she said to the lawyer.
"Anything you say here will be held in complete -"
"No," she interrupted, "we need to be alone."
My lawyer shrugged the shoulders of his $1000 suit and walked out
closing the door behind him.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "It's a standard thing for someone in my
position." And, I thought, very generous. If we divorce (actually, "when,"
was more likely since at some point I'd probably want to "upgrade" to a
newer model) she got $5 million up front and $100,000 a year until she
remarried or one of us died.
"This is not even one half of one percent of your wealth, James." She
could look in Forbes and see how much I was worth.
I couldn't argue with that. "What do you want?"
"I'll sign this on one condition."
"And that is?" I asked.
"Do you love me?"
"Yes, of course." Maybe. "Is that the condition?"
"No."
She dropped the paper on the lawyer's desk and stood up. She was
wearing a green silk suit that complimented her hair perfectly. It had a
short skirt (of course), which she pulled up. I wondered what the hell she
was doing. She pulled down her expensive pantyhose to her knees and then
her $100 black silk boutique panties. She reached her long, perfectly
manicured index finger into her pussy and pulled it out. It was wet. She
ran it across my upper lip. There was the now familiar smell of her juices
and something else. She stuck her finger in her cunt again, this time
penetrating it, and pulled out a glob of white goo. This, too, she rubbed
under my nose. I recognized that smell immediately. It was cum. And
since we hadn't had sex in weeks, I knew it wasn't mine.
"What the hell?" I asked.
"Do you love me?" was all she said.
I just stared at her.
"Do you want to marry me?"
"Yes," I had to admit.
She pulled up her underwear and pantyhose and sat down again. She took
my hands in hers, including the one with the Rock of Gibraltar on it.
"James," she said. "I am not and can never be a 'one-man woman.' I love
you dearly and you're a great lover. But sometimes, well, often, I just
need a good fuck."
"You're fucking around on me?" I demanded angry, jealous, and yes, a
little titillated.
"Always. And I always will. That's my condition. I will sign this,"
she pointed at the paper, "be your loving trophy wife -" I started to
protest but she cut me off "-I know but I don't care. I'll fuck your
brains out as often as you like but you have to let me do this."
"'Do this'? You mean fuck around?"
She nodded. "Yes."
I didn't know what to say. "When did you last have sex?" I don't know
why I asked that. Morbid curiosity?
"Just before coming here."
"With whom?" I was gonna be really pissed if it was with someone I knew.
"A man," was all she said.
"Well, I hoped it wasn't a donkey."
She laughed. "No, I haven't tried that, yet. It was a man I met in a
bar. A black man. His name was Paul, I think."
I just stared at her. "You think? You're a fucking slut!"
She nodded but wasn't ashamed. "Yes, I am. And I can be your slut if
you let me."
That stopped me short. "My slut." I rolled the phrase around my brain.
It was an arousing concept. I felt my cock stiffen at the thought. Even
with my ex-wife there were times I fantasized about her being "my slut."
And here was this stunning creature before me, willing to be "my slut." If
she were discrete, no one would have to know. I would know but the
question was: could I live with that?
"What did you do with this man, Paul or what ever his name was?" I
asked.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"What did you do?"
"I fucked him."
"No, I mean how. How did you meet him, where did you go, what did you
do?"
"You want details?"
"Yes," I said emphatically. If she were to be "my slut" she'd better
start acting like one. At least in private.
She let go of my hands and sat back in her chair. Her eyes were pointed
at the far wall but I could tell she looking farther away than that.
"I know of some bars," she started, "where working men hang out after
the night shift. I drove my car to a hospital because there are always
taxis there. I took a taxi to one of those bars right after it opened and
told the driver to wait outside for me. I went inside hoping to find
someone to fuck. And I found Paul sitting at the bar with a beer."
"What were you wearing?" I asked.
"What does it matter?"
"I want to know." I couldn't believe how much I wanted to know.
"I'd put on a leather miniskirt, black seamed stockings with a black,
vinyl garter belt, a black crop top tee shirt to show off my flat stomach,
and finally these black silk panties" (she dropped her hand in her lap to
indicate which black silk panties). "I did my hair all big with mousse and
put on my slut make-up except, just for you, I didn't cover up my
freckles."
For me? I wondered. That was weird but in a way I liked it. "What
happened when you went into the bar?"
"There were only a couple men in there and the bartender and an old
woman. They were all black. They stared at me as I walked in. Paul was
the youngest but even then he was probably in his 50's. I sat down on the
bar stool next to him. I knew my skirt had ridden up but I didn't adjust
it. Paul looked down and I knew he could see the flesh of my thighs above
my stockings."
She went on with her story. By now I was rubbing my cock through my
pants and she was running her hands over her breasts and her crotch through
her skirt.
"'Buy me drink?' I asked. He bought me a cheap beer; it tasted awful."
My fianc e's tastes run toward expensive wines. "He didn't know what to
think of me. He asked me my name and I said 'Stella.' He asked it I was a
working girl and I said no. Then I asked if there was someplace he'd like
to take me. He said he had a car. I told him I had a better idea. I slid
off the barstool, allowing my skirt to ride up so everyone in the place
could see my garters and panties. I pulled down my skirt slowly and said,
'Follow me.'"
She had her hand up her silk skirt and has fingering herself through her
pantyhose as she talked. I unzipped my fly and took out my member and
started stroking it. We were looking intensely into each other's eyes.
"I took him into the woman's bathroom," she continued. "I dropped to my
knees and undid his pants. I pulled out his cock. For an old man he had a
nice cock. He was uncut and I ran my tongue under the foreskin and tasted
his musk. He got hard so I sucked him into my mouth. He groaned as I
deep-throated him and soon my nose was in his pubic hair and his black
balls were on my chin. I sucked him off for about five minutes. He was
running his hands through my hair and saying things like 'Take it, bitch,
take it all.' That just made me more lustful. I took his cock out of my
mouth and stood up. I turned my back toward him, bent over and put my
hands on the sink. Then I reached around, pulled up my skirt and pulled
down my panties.
"'Fuck me,' I told him. He said 'Okay, bitch" and shoved his cock up my
cunt. He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me toward him. Then he fucked
me, calling me a 'nasty bitch' and a whore. I started coming and soon he
told me he was going to cum, too. I screamed 'Come inside me!' and he did
with a roar. He must not get a lot because he came for forever and filled
me with his cum. I orgasmed again and almost fell to the floor as my knees
gave out but he held me up."
I started coming as she talked about the strange black man pumping his
seed into her. I contained most of it in my hand but there was too much
and some got on my pants. Carly had her hand inside her pantyhose and
panties and was beating herself off.
"After a few moments I had the strength to move again. I turned around
and gave him a kiss on the cheek and told him he was a wonderful fuck. He
grinned at that and watched me pull my panties up and my skirt down. I
walked out of the bar knowing that everyone in there knew what we had just
done. I had the taxi driver take me back to where my car was parked. The
whole way he was looking at me in the mirror. He too, knew, and that
turned me on even more. By the time I got home I was so hot I had to
masturbate myself to orgasm again." As she'd talked about masturbating she
came on her hand. It took her a few moments to regain her composure.
"Then I changed clothes, except for my panties to remember my adventure
by, and waited for you to come pick me up."
I looked into her deeply blue eyes. She was my slut. And I loved her.
Yes, I was sure of that now, I loved my slut.
"Okay," I said softly.
"What?" she asked (she'd put herself back together and looked innocent
and pure as a rose.
"Okay," I said more forcefully. "I want you to be my slut. You can
fuck around on two conditions."
"What?"
"If I want to hear all the details you tell me all the details."
"I'd love too," she said with a wide grin.
"And, as 'my slut,' you can not refuse to do anything I say when it
comes to sex."
She hesitated for a moment then nodded her assent.
"You'll sign the pre-nup?"
She picked it up off the desk and said, "Hand me a pen."
"It has to be witnessed and notarized," I said. "We have to get the
lawyer back in here."
I pulled some tissues out of a box on my lawyer's desk and cleaned up as
best I could but there was still a dark spot on my pants near my fly.
Trying to dry it with the tissue only spread it so I gave up. I zipped up
my pants and stood up to go open the door.
"James," Carly said.
"Huh?"
She pointed to her upper lip. It took me a second to figure out what
she meant. Then I remembered and took another tissue and cleaned her
juices and Paul's cum off my face. I threw all the tissues in a
wastebasket and asked the attorney to come in.
I could tell by the look on his face (and the smell of sex in the room
and the glance at the wet spot on my pants) that he thought he knew what
happened: she'd fucked me and convinced me not to make her sign the
pre-nup. He thought I was pussy-whipped.
He sat in his massive leather chair behind the desk and leaned forward.
"Have you come to an agreement?" he asked getting ready to try to argue
me out of not letting her sign it.
"Yes we have," I said.
"Now, James, I'm your lawyer and your friend" (Bullshit, I thought) "and
I can't let you make this mistake."
"What are you talking about?" I asked, trying to sound innocent. "She's
ready to sign."
"Give me a pen," Carly said, "Where do I sign?"
The lawyer's jaw just about landed in his lap. But he handed her a pen
and pointed out the signature block. We both signed, I thanked him
(noticing a new respect in his eyes apparently thinking my sexual prowess
had convinced her to sign) and we left.
Once in the car I had to look at her. She was, of course, luminously
beautiful. "My slut" I thought. Well, if it didn't work out I could wait
a decent amount of time after the wedding, say a year, and divorce her.
I'd be out some principal but what the hell?
Continued in Part II of One Bride for Seven "Brothers."
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