Message-ID: <50815asstr$1111907402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Mail-Format-Warning: No previous line for continuation: Wed Aug 14 16:30:23 2002Return-Path: <VickieTern@aol.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: VickieTern@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: <19e.301aa6eb.2f77a461@aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2005 00:53:37 EST Subject: {ASSM} Corespondent by Vickie Tern 1/3 TG femdom F.m wife Lines: 477 Date: Sun, 27 Mar 2005 02:10:02 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2005/50815> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: akalexis, hoisingr No fair reading this if you lack an 18 year old's ability to read about sex and yet remain virtuous. Or lack whatever age the law requires. Corespondent by Vickie Tern It worked out beautifully. Better than we'd hoped, better than we'd planned, way better than we'd imagined. Jeffrey was easy, just as Janice said he'd be. And the rest was easier still! I mean, I do love Ron, very dearly, he's my husband and my whole life I hope forever. I want everything he wants, and I know he feels the same about me. And he's fully accepted the fact that no matter how much we love each other and no matter how satisfying our lovemaking -- and it is, don't mistake me -- he can't ever fully meet my needs. I'll always need more. He knows that's a fact, the poor dear. I've tried to provide him with all sorts of compensations, because I do care, deeply. But that's how we are. We both accept what can't be changed. He wanted an utterly undemanding marriage, one he can collapse into, and that's what he's got. At work he's hard-driving, a tough, decisive administrator with a huge staff and enormous responsibilities, a strong man who gets things done and solves impossible problems. So of course when he gets home he's exhausted, he needs to unwind utterly from the day's tensions. So he decided very early that when he arrives home he wants to walk into another world. One where everything is decided for him, where he can completely surrender his mind and will and heart and soul and feel altogether cared for. A world where he's never consulted and has no voice, where he's informed of little and chooses nothing. He told me he wanted to leave all those decisions to me, so he promised to agree with every one of them and do everything I tell him to do. "Everything?" I asked him when he first proposed this arrangement. When he pleaded for it in fact. "Whatever I decide for either of us, you'll accept it? No questions, even?" And he'd nodded solemnly. "Yes, Pam, I need exactly that," he added. And for Ron, a nod is an unbreakable contract. That was that. This was an incredible gift! I couldn't hold back my tears! Because from the moment he first hinted at a need to submit himself altogether to my desires, I'd had more sex in mind as the thing I most desired. Not from Ron, that couldn't happen. You see, Ron is an extraordinary lover, but even during our honeymoon, when his prick was striving heroically to satisfy me, pushing in and out day after day, I was feeling certain stirrings and yearnings in my loins that told me I needed more. That more would be better still. More sex than Ron even at his horniest could provide. That's how I am. I stared at Ron disbelieving, so he added, "You do whatever you want. Whatever makes you happy. Whatever pleases you. I'll accept it. I don't even have to know what it is." I put it to him bluntly. Looking him straight in the eye, I asked, "If I want to spend time with other men now and then, you won't mind?" He looked away for a moment, then back. and he swallowed hard. His voice quavered. But his words were clear. "Pam, whether I mind or not doesn't matter. At work I decide everything, and what I decide is what happens. Here I want you to decide everything, and that'll be what happens. I'll accept whatever you decide as for the best." I wanted to be absolutely clear about this. "Even if I use those men sexually?" He swallowed again. "If you do, then that's something I'll just have to live with, won't I?" "Yes, you will. Because that's what I'll do," I told him, still studying him closely. "I love you, amd I don't want to betray you. So I want you to know that I intend to have sex with other men now and then." "I don't need to know it," was all he replied. "You do what you do, and I'll try to be glad of it and happy for you." He looked solemnly into the middle distance, absorbed, reconciling some uncertainty in his own head. Then his face cleared and he shook himself and looked about for the evening newspaper. He's that decisive! So I did do what I did, and that very night. I inaugurated this new phase of my marriage with a phone call to Kevin, the most heavily hung of all my old boy friends. He was glad to hear from me. And when I came home from Kevin's apartment at three a.m., my hair all tumbled and mussed, spraddle-legged, still leaking, Ron was still waiting up for me. He asked only if I'd had a good time. I told him teasingly that he didn't need to know. He bowed his head and said nothing more. Yet despite my stretched, gaping pussy, that night I gave him more loving than you can believe anyone has in them, in sheer gratitude for the tremendous gift he'd given me. I hugged him tight with every part of me except my pussy -- Kevin had stretched its opening and walls too loose for that. But whether he felt himself in me or not, whether or not all he felt on his cock was warm humidity and the slickness of Kevin's cum, he understood I was grateful to him, and that part of him felt pleased, and the rest went along. So here's what happens nowadays. I love dancing, so we'll go out to different clubs with different couples where the other man may not feel committed to his wife or girlfriend, they're swingers maybe, and he'll ask me out onto the floor, and then things happen. Or I'll accept invitations from unknown men who come by our table to try their luck, and I'll kiss Ron goodbye when I leave the club with them. Sometimes I'll just go out alone dressed like a single woman in need of a night's fuck. Whichever, sooner or later I'll see an attractive man who moves just so, I don't know exactly how so, but I'll feel a marvelous tension build in me as I watch his shoulders turn, or the angle of his head shift. Maybe he'll only be sitting, or listening to someone, or lifting a glass. I can tell. I'll invite him out onto the floor so I can feel his moves as well as look at them. I'll press myself against him just so. He'll usually get all excited, what with a gorgeous woman like me dancing so close, and he'll get an erection. It never fails. Then when I feel that engorged prick pressing against my belly, if I'm impressed I'll lose all pretense of respectability. I've got to feel its soft head press against my cleft and then breach me, penetrate me, I've got to feel his cock slide long and luxurious in and out of me, pound me. I've got to see which of us can wear the other out first. That's how I am. Not that Ron's not marvelous in bed. He's still the best, a stallion, well-hung, with lots of stamina, that's a main reason why I married him. He's utterly devoted to satisfying me. But even a beefy hunk like Ron can't perform all the time, not the way I like it. If he does somehow manage, he's never any good the next day, maybe even not the next night. So that's when I'll begin thinking again about trying my luck somewhere else. It's wicked of me, I know, but sometimes I begin making plans for later on even while he's still plowing me. Why not? I love it! So we've worked it all out, and to his enormous credit he accepts it all. I go roaming whenever the spirit moves me, as it often does. Even if it happens that he's ready and eager but I can't stay, I've already made other arrangements, he has to accept that too. We are married and devoted to each other, and Ron knows that he's permanently number one in my affections, make no mistake about that. But if he gets horny and I have a prior engagement Ron knows that he simply has to be patient and wait his turn. The poor man said he didn't want to know, so he never does know exactly when I've got a date. He'll be sitting there after dinner, maybe watching television or reading his sports pages, maybe doing household accounts, still feeling washed out from work but partially restored by the great dinner I've cooked for him. And I'll come downstairs looking provocative, maybe wearing a satin draped blouse, braless, nipples poking out, heavy on the eye make-up, you know. Dressed to go out. I love teasing him, getting him really hot, so times like that I'll bend over and give him an affectionate kiss and promise not to be too late, maybe even tell him to wait up for me. Or tell him I'll be really late, not to bother waiting up. Either way it starts his imagination running wild and then I know he can't possibly get to sleep. I'll disappear out the door while he looks after me wistfully, his cock straining in his pants, trying to rise up and follow me. Even if it's only been an hour or two since his cock finally fell out of me exhausted, unable to move. Even if it's still exhausted and stays soft, it yearns after me as I go out the door, he's told me so, my sweet hubby. And my heart's goes out to him every time -- it's so sad. But it can't be helped. I know Ron envies whoever I'm off to meet if only because he knows the other man can get it up and at the moment he can't, or because the other man is a rare treat I mean to enjoy and Ron isn't, and that's why the other man can have me and Ron can't. It's so sad, but it's delicious too! I love knowing that while I'm writhing my cunt over or under that other man Ron's whole body is writhing at home in a jealous agony roused just by the fact that he knows what I'm doing and there's nothing he can do about it. When I tell Ron that, he looks at me wistfully but only smiles. Does he get off on it? Oh, if only! I never know. Though when I return he's never neglected. I have to make it up to him, my poor Ron. I want him to be a part of everything I've been doing. So it's now a routine, I require it and he expects it. For a few hours I'll heat up and gobble down another man's meat and potatoes, and then when I get home Ron gets to gobble the gravy. He burrows his head between my legs and wriggles his tongue across my clit and between my labia, and he sucks all that juice out of me. And it feels so marvelous, knowing he's there for me too! So utterly satisfying! Why does he do it? He has to is why. Not that I need to order him to do it, not any more. These days he's always eager to clean that other guy out of me, because only then does he get to fuck me himself. It happened like this. He broke the rules once. He objected once when I came home with another man's cum dripping down my thighs. My cum mixed in of course -- sometimes I soak my panties even before I've left the house just thinking about what's coming. Well, I crooked my finger for him to follow me to the bedroom and screw me again, to re-plant his flag in me as always, to make me his all over again. But he just sat there. I raised one eyebrow as if to say, 'Is there a problem?' And he burst out with it. "You say you need other men sometimes. Well, OK! I don't like it, but I love you, so ... well, OK! But Pamela, it's humiliating, having to take sloppy seconds from my own wife!" That's what Ron actually said, can you imagine? 'Sloppy seconds,' that's what he called my allowing him to slide his cock into the passion juice other men have squirted into me when I've made them as ecstatic as they've made me, letting my stay-at-home hubby mix in and be part of it. And using my whole first name, so formal, not just "Pam"? Talk about lack of respect? Then he went even further. "Sometimes when you come home you're so gloppy, you're soaked in so much slop I can't even feel I'm inside you!" That's what he actually said! Can you imagine? Oh ho, big mistake! To call that sweet syrup in my pussy 'glop'? And 'slop'? I've gotten myself nicely lubricated for him, and he complains? He should be grateful to those other men for preparing me! He should be grateful I've come back at all -- maybe I've been with better men -- there aren't many but I do attract my share! He should be grateful that better men have warmed me up for him. He should be grateful that .... well, never mind, I was mad, so I decided really to rub his nose in the 'glop' whenever I got home, coat his face and fill his belly with the 'slop' so he'd count his blessings and learn to love it. So afterward he'd sleep next to me feeling well-nursed, a comforted, contented baby with that other man's warm cum snug in his tummy. So I told him then and there that if he wants me to feel pristine when we make love after I've been with another man, well, he'll just have to kiss away all that cum himself, make me as clean as if I'd never left home. That I expect him to do just that from now on. That I insist on it. That from now on his loving mouth will have to re-sanctify my lower parts before I'll be willing to renew our marital fidelity. That when it's only my own juices and his saliva in me, and the other men have been sluiced out of me altogether by his tongue, only then will he get his turn. Well, of course Ron balked, at first. For a few nights he couldn't do it, so my legs stayed clamped tight shut when he tried to poke into me. I really felt bad about it, but it was important -- one of us has to maintain discipline. There he was, walking around mournful and hard-up the next few days, his cock erect or at half-mast and obviously starved for attention, and I admit I was tempted to relieve him a few times, the poor dear. For a while I thought he was going to violate our prime directive and actually masturbate himself, jerk off when I wasn't looking, but his respect for my orders did hold. I'd forbidden him to touch himself ever, and that was enough, he never did. Ron is so wonderful! Sometimes I feel I can't do enough for him, though I do my very best. Finally he gave in and tried to give me the oral sex I demanded. I came home early from a date and just looked at him, and he came upstairs with me and pushed his face into my disheveled and tacky groin. He wasn't bad at it, I've been eaten out a lot worse, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. He just didn't want to slather his face in other men's cum. Some men are like that I suppose. But eventually he did get used to it, and after a while he was licking and sucking me with such gusto, savoring my different lovers with such pleasure, such a refined palate, that he could always tell who I'd been with, sometimes even whether that person preferred garlic or onions on his salads. While he did it, I always made sure I was making loud moans I told him were only for him. So the end result now is, Ron still gets sloppy seconds, only it's with his mouth not his cock. If 'seconds' is the right word -- sometimes they're thirds or fourths or fifths. I never tell him how many men may have left themselves in me on any particular night, or how many times. I have my fun. He swallows his pride like a man and then swallows every other man's. Then he gets his fun, and his cock gives my pussy even more pleasure. My beautiful Ron! I owe him the world! And he's grateful! He knows it could be a lot worse, because it once was. Maybe a year or so after he'd first agreed to let me fill my time and pussy with little extras, I came down wearing one of my slut-in-a-sleazy-bar outfits and he actually asked me where I was going and with whom. With an accusing edge in his voice, as if he were somehow the injured party! Trying to make me feel guilty! Maybe that particular night he suspected that the guy I was seeing was a monster down below, way better endowed than he was, and his jealousy carried him over the edge? Big as Ron is, some men are bigger, you know, and it happens that this one was, I confess it. Maybe I'd given Ron that impression without realizing it? All afternoon I'd been looking forward to that huge prick stretching my vagina open wide enough to accommodate a baby's head almost -- it would be like giving birth in reverse I was thinking. Maybe that made Ron feel inadequate? Or envious? I don't know. But I didn't much care. His tone of voice made me so resentful that the monster prick I then galloped on for hours gave me only a few orgasms. If you want to know, when push comes to shove it was hardly worth working it into me! So when I got back I put Ron through hell. For two months! Here's how. I'd double-date with Bernice sometimes, and we'd talk about jealous husbands and how to deal with them and things. She had her ways. So I stopped at her place and borrowed a chastity device I knew she wasn't using on her husband any more. Then as soon as I got home I clamped it on Ron and then just left it there. For two whole months. Just a simple plastic tube locked to his cock. I could see it dangling and bobbling whenever he walked naked from the shower and whenever he undressed for bed. Pink, with teeny yellow flowers painted on it along with a slogan in delicate script reading "Remember, mine, not yours!" and my initials in magic marker. He couldn't help but read more and more meaning into that mantra every time he glanced down, every time he tried to urinate by straddling the toilet instead of sitting to pee like a woman the way the tube required. He got the message. Worse, he couldn't get hard at all while it was on him. No erections. Worse still, what really stressed him out was he had no idea how long I meant to keep it there! Maybe forever? What I intended of course was for it to stay there until he finally accepted that the way things were was the way they'd be. He had my undying love, he knew that, but he'd agreed, he'd even proposed it nearly. He had no special claim on my body, only the ready access guaranteed by our marriage certificate, so he had no business resenting anything else I did with it no matter who I did it with. When I'd first told him that I meant to use other men sexually I'd felt a little sorry for him, he'd looked so helpless. So very early on I'd told him he could jerk off while imagining me fucking those other men, especially when he was waiting for me to come home and was pretty sure that's what I was doing that very minute. I know he abused himself a lot that way, because sometimes when I came home there was nothing I could do to get him going, his cock just dangled there limp and apologetic. I'd be thinking, poor man, I've got to do something for him so he can enjoy himself more, and me too, but I couldn't ever think of what. Sad. Then again there were other times when the idea of me with other men would so hyper-excite him that he'd hold off, he'd be stiff from the moment I got back home to the moment he pulled out of me several hours and countless climaxes later, both of us exhausted. But during those two months in his chastity device he couldn't masturbate at all, even when he knew for certain that I was with other men. That really drove him crazy. He couldn't even get hard much less cum inside that plastic tube, not by his own hand and not by my mouth or cunt! At most, dribble, the way I do sometimes. And that wound him up tight as a clock! He took to doing crazy things with me! Sucking cum out of me was nothing compared to other ways he tried to eat me when he couldn't get into me! Men can be such perverts! I'd let him, of course. He was learning his lesson. One time he was so desperate to cut that plastic tube off and liberate his cock that I had to tell him if he ever succeeded I'd cut his cock off too, right at the root, and then I'd divorce him. Even though I'd never harm him, not down there anyhow, and the fact remains that I do love him and I would never leave him, not for any reason. I knew that. But he didn't know it, the poor dear! He told me when I finally relented and eased it off him that he'd wanted to leave me many times but he just couldn't. That he'd found he loves me despite everything. I melted into a puddle when he said that! And also, he said, get this, even if he did leave me he said, he couldn't stand the thought of walking into some hospital emergency room to have the plastic tube removed by professionals. It would be too humiliating. Isn't that funny? My tough, hard-driving but much-cuckolded businessman husband defeated by a plastic tube? There's a lesson there. Take charge of a man's cock and you've taken charge of the whole man, everything he thinks is his manliness. It's all vested in his cock. Take charge of his cock and he's yours for life! When the two months were up, when for a few weeks there'd been no complaints at all, not even regretful glances, when I finally unlocked him, he burst out crying. His relief and his gratitude that I'd forgiven him were that strong! That was so sweet! I gave his penis a tug or two of forgiveness and told him that if he wanted he could go right now and pull himself off into the toilet, then flush it away, but to hurry back because I'd just returned from a Men's Club Social and was dripping and sore and I wanted him to comfort me. That night he didn't hesitate. He was so grateful he sucked all that juice out of me like a bilge pump! Bernice was right about how chastity belts force husbands to think they're being noble, spiritually pure, like all the great ascetics. There was not a word of complaint! The next night when I let him fuck me, he was so incredibly grateful he was tireless! Other men may have other distinctions, but I've got to say it, for all-round everything Ron is the very best! The very best! Make no mistake! So I took more of Bernice's advice and trained him carefully, very gradually conditioning him to limit his expectations, by letting him fuck me only after I've been with other men. Never before and never when he just happens to want to. It was hard on him, on both of us, but necessary, and he now knows that's how it is. That's why now he doesn't mind my going out at all. The reverse. Now, some days he's eager for me to go get laid, so he can get his afterward. He even tried not long ago to set me up with a work associate of his, and I would have done it too, even let Ron watch, except that months earlier I'd been with that guy already, and I knew I'd pretty much used him up. Ron got to know the routine. Whenever I'd come home from a date he'd eagerly clean out my cunt and only then climb into me, no more sloppy seconds but instead refreshed firsts, or whatever he thinks they are. He tried not to masturbate much any more while waiting for my return and thinking about the cocks that were slipping in and out of me at that very moment. Maybe he'd jerk off other times, but not when he was waiting for me to come home from a date. He didn't want to ruin his big moment! So you can understand, he had no complaints. But I've always been sure that he gets lonely, sitting at home by himself. I've often felt sorry for him when I've been out partying. A lot of the time. I've wished I could do something about it, take him with me maybe. But none of the men I go with ever want to know there's a husband hanging around nearby looking mournful. And no way would I ever want to let him get near another woman, let him pass the time with her while I'm with my date. No way! Are you kidding? So he'd watch me trip out the door without saying a word, and he'd welcome me back eagerly when I returned, no matter when or in what condition. And he knew what he'd then get to do, how he'd be rewarded for his patience. That was the best I could do. The poor dear. He really is so very dear! Sometimes I'd feel just heartbroken for him. Though all in all he seemed satisfied. Well, this particular night he wasn't at all surprised when I came down wearing heavy makeup as usual, in heels, but wearing only tight jeans and a white silk shirt loose at the neck and knotted just above my navel, no bra, nipples rampant, geared for heavy-duty seduction. "Don't wait up this time," I said. "There's no need, no worry, I'm only going next door. I told Janice I'd look in on Jeffrey while she's away. I figure I'll spend the night with him, and I may not be back before you leave for work." He stared at me, but he only nodded. He said absolutely nothing. I knew what he was thinking. Next door lives Mr. Dork, that's how he usually referred to Jeffrey. What does she want with him? He always called Jeffrey a "pussywhipped wimp," though that always sounded odd to me because Ron was certainly a world champion pussywhipped wimp where I'm concerned, maybe tough and relentless with everyone else but always happily submissive to my least whim. He knew that Jeffrey was nobody, a man who couldn't possibly be anyone I really wanted. It had to be a favor for a friend, something Janice had asked me to do, who knows why. So he felt baffled, but he only nodded. He didn't dare even to raise his eyebrows. He's perfect, I thought, watching his carefully composed impassivity. I do so love him! To reward him I gave him a grateful little wriggle of my rear end as I left, something he could remember when I was gone and his fist felt free to delve into his crotch. No use saving it if I'd be out all night. Then I was out the door, and crossing our lawn and driveway, and then standing next to Janice's door. end 1/3 <1st attachment begin> <HTML removed pursuant to http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/erotica/assm/faq.html#policy> <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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