Take Your Medicine, Honey by Micky D A faithful husband working abroad for six months suffers a cruel injury. On his return home, he learns that a combination of his debility and the resultant medication will prevent him from sexually satisfying his equally faithful wife for several months. His inability to perform soon fuels his long-standing fantasies about his wife not being so faithful. His frustrated wife slowly fulfills his wildest fantasies whilst gratifying her own needful cravings. On his recovery he discovers a small problem, and his wife suggests an unusual solution that may extend his fantasies further than he ever expected... *Chapter 1* I have always hated hospitals. Loathed them, in fact; the clinical aromas, the sterile feel, the gloomy atmosphere, the poker-faced staff. I would have given anything to be miles away from the damned place. As of this moment, however, I had little choice in the matter. I was ensconced in one of the consulting rooms in the labyrinthine hospital complex, lying on an examination table with my genitals exposed like a horizontal flasher. The pale blue hospital gown that I wore - those hideous goddamned things that expose your ass to all and sundry - was bunched around my waist like a hula skirt. I looked down at the semi-bald pate of the specialist bending over to examine me and I stifled a soft curse. What was his name again? Rogers. That was it. Dr. Rogers. No - Mister Rogers, I reminded myself. Specialists didn't like being referred to as Doctor. I felt my pulse quicken. Fucking quacks; I'd had enough of them in the last six days. I was not in a good mood. Mr. Rogers gently lowered my penis and nodded sagely at my crotch, as if my cock had just uttered some nugget of medical wisdom that only he was privy to. "Whoever did the operation in Vietnam did excellent work," he said. "The stitching is very good indeed. Really top-class." An irrational flush of annoyance furrowed my brow as I realised that he was addressing his remarks to my cock, and not to my face; I suddenly knew how women felt when they complained about how some men talked to their breasts. "I think the surgeon's name was Dr. Sew Mai Kok - something like that." I replied dryly. He either missed or ignored the sarcasm in my voice. "Well, it really is excellent work," he assured me again, as if I should likewise be impressed. He straightened and removed his latex gloves, and grandly gestured to a vinyl chair in front of his desk in a manner that suggested he had conjured the chair into existence. I assumed that he wanted me to sit in it. I lowered myself gingerly from the examination table, rearranged the irritating hospital gown, and grumpily seated myself in the proffered chair. Mr. Rogers was a strange looking critter; he was exceedingly tall and angular and thin as a reed, but his head was discordantly round and flat as a pie plate. Looking at his thin body and large, rotund head, I suddenly thought how apt it was that he greatly resembled the dicks that he treated. The thought made me grin waspishly, and I wondered if any of his other patients had made the same observation. He strode purposefully around to his side of the desk and sank into his leather chair like a felled giraffe. His leather chair whooshed as air rushed out of it. He peered at me over his desk as if he were surprised to see me there. He pressed his fingertips together and rested his index fingers under his chin, as only medicos seemed to do. "How on earth did it happen?" he asked. I sighed and briefly closed my eyes; everyone wanted to know how it happened. It occurred to me that if it had been a two-inch cut in my arm, or my leg, or even my face, then people wouldn't really care how it happened. But get a deep two-inch slash in your dick, and suddenly every bastard wants to know the grisly details. Fucking ghouls, all of them - like people slowing down to stare greedily at a car accident, wanting to absorb every morbid detail. I raised my eyelids and slowly focused on Mr. Roger's round face hovering over his desk like a moon looming over the horizon. Maybe he wanted to chronicle this one and submit it to the Lancet, I thought rancorously. I decided to give him the long version. I gritted my teeth and began: "Just over five months ago I was contracted to work as the chief supervisor on a construction job in Ho Chi Minh City, formerly known as Saigon, building a new multi-storey shopping center. It was a six-month contract, working six days a week. I didn't really want the job, since it would mean I'd be away from my wife and home for half a year - but the money they offered was too good to refuse. There's a boom in building there right now, and they're offering top dollar for guys with my experience in the industry. "Anyway - last Friday four of the company big shots fronted up, wanting to check out progress on the job. There wasn't anything new for them to see, but what the hell - they paid my salary, so I started showing them around. We went up to the first floor. You have to understand that since it was a commercial building and not a residential one, the first floor was a lot higher than normal - maybe twenty-five feet off the ground. "There was a section up there that was still accessible only by scaffold, and we started to cross it. Whether the scaffold rigging was faulty, or the bolts snapped, or whether the weight of five men was too much for one weak section to bear, I don't know. But as we crossed it, something broke - the scaffold gave way at one end, right under our feet. "It all happened so fast - one minute I was just walking, and the next minute I was falling. My first reaction was to grab one of the steel uprights, the round supports that held the scaffolding up - but I could only get my right hand around the tubing, since I was holding a clipboard in my other hand and I didn't think to drop it in time. Grabbing hold of the support with my right hand swung my body outwards slightly, but with the downward momentum that I already had I couldn't slow myself up with one hand - not around the smooth steel. All it did was slow my fall a little, but I still slid down the pole - fast. "It just so happened that there was a sign bolted to the scaffold bracing under me, and it overlapped the support that I was sliding down by a few inches. The sign was made from cheap tin sheeting, and as you can obviously guess, the corner of the tin hadn't been rounded off, and it was extremely thin and sharp. Under normal circumstances, this didn't matter; the sign was eight feet above the ground, and nobody was going to hit their head on it that high up - even if they were wearing a safety helmet. What they didn't think of was someone coming down the pole, like I was doing. "My crotch collided with the sharp edge of the overhanging tin. All I felt at the time was a painful sting and then a jolt that basically halted my descent and pushed me backwards, and I lost my grip on the support. I fell the last six or seven feet or so to the ground and landed on my back, knocking the wind out of me. I looked up the see two of the company guys hanging from the edge of the scaffold, yelling and scrambling to get back up. The other two guys had fallen like I had, and they had landed beside me and one of them - the one who ended up with a broken pelvis - was screaming. I raised my head to look at him - and that's when I saw the blood on my thigh. My blood." I paused my account, remembering the hot burning that had started then. I had reached down to my crotch and felt the ripped material of my trousers, and when I looked at my fingers they were slick with blood. Then the pain suddenly tore through me, and I realised that I was screaming too. The next two hours or so was now a blur of agony and shock and dread. Luckily the hospital was close by, and I remembered how the ambulance siren had wailed. I was eventually sent to the operating theatre for emergency surgery. After I awoke from the anaesthetic, the bespectacled surgeon had appeared at my bedside. In reasonable English he'd explained what had happened; as I slid down the steel pole, the sharp corner of the tin sign had effortlessly slashed through my trousers and underwear. It had grazed my scrotum, luckily pushing it backwards out of the way. My luck, however, was short-lived, and the sharp metal corner then pierced the underside of my penis, near the root and slightly to one side, half-slicing and half-ripping nearly three-quarters of the way through as I continued sliding down the steel support. The jolt that curtailed my rapid descent and threw me backwards was my steel belt buckle catching the upper edge of the tin sign. The surgeon said that I was fortunate - if I hadn't been wearing the belt, then not only would my fall have been heavier, but the sharp metal might have continued upward, cleaving my glans in two, and carrying on to tear me open from crotch to throat. What a happy thought. Just marvelous. A total of eighteen stitches had closed the two-inch slice in my cock, as well as some internal stitching. Painkillers took the edge off the agony. I had spent the next three days in hospital for observation. A somber delegation of company officials duly paid me a visit, informing me that a flight back to Australia had been arranged at my convenience. As far as I was concerned, it was convenient for me to leave immediately, and I told them to arrange a flight ASAP. I wanted to go home. I gingerly boarded a flight from Tan Son Nhut airport the next day, my crotch swathed in bandaging under my loose trousers. My frantic wife Angela had met me at Tullamarine airport in Melbourne. Mr. Rogers shook his head and tutted. "Very nasty," he intoned tonelessly. "I assume that you will seek legal recourse for this injury?" "You bet I will," I replied. I had made a preliminary phone call to a law firm yesterday, and they were already rubbing their greedy little hands together in anticipation of the settlement they could demand if I wasn't satisfied with the offer of compensation that the company was sure to offer me. Mr. Rogers nodded curtly. He became suddenly businesslike. "Now for your prognosis. Well, the urethra hasn't been severed, as you are probably aware. Missed it by a fraction, but it's perfectly intact - so that's excellent news. There also appears to be no nerve damage, and the underside of your glans was only just nicked. You will also be pleased to hear that we expect you will make a full recovery in time. It's a very nasty injury, but it will heal just fine." I let out a soft breath. Thank Christ! "Now for some new that isn't so good," he began. "Wounds of this severity are obviously serious no matter where they are on the body. But a deep incision in the penis has added complications. You are probably aware that the penis is unique in the manner in which it can change size and shape, from flaccid to erect, and vice-versa." I nodded firmly. Mr. Rogers continued: "The stitches that are holding the tissues together need time to allow healing to begin. In the worst case scenario, an erection can cause enough swelling to rip the stitches out completely, and even at best an erection can put undue strain on the stitches and interfere with the healing process by causing movement that breaks the first tenuous bonding of the tissues. Naturally you won't be able to engage in sexual activity for a considerable time anyway, but involuntary erections can occur at other times, as we all know - especially at night while you're sleeping." I nodded again, a little less enthusiastically this time. In fact, I did remember laying in the hospital bed and at one point wondering what would happen to the stitches if I happened to get a hard on. A gruesome vision of my cock slowly peeling apart and bursting like an overcooked cocktail frankfurt had made my testicles shrivel. Mr. Rogers spoke on. "So until your penis is well on the way to a full recovery, it's important that we prevent any erections that you might have - nocturnal and otherwise." "How is that possible?" I asked. Mr. Rogers reached into a drawer and retrieved a plastic-coated diagram showing a cross-section of the male reproductive organs. He placed it on the desktop and spun it around so I could clearly see it. The picture had enough detail to frighten small children. Mr. Rogers used his silver pen as a pointer. "These muscles here control a kind of valve which holds blood in the spongy tissues of the penis. This is what causes an erection. You have probably heard of Viagra, which helps to contract these muscles in men with erectile problems." "I know about Viagra," I told him. "I think everyone knows what it's for." He gave a curt nod and continued. "About ten years ago it was noted that a certain type of anti-depressant drug had an unexpected side-effect - it relaxed these muscles instead. It therefore had the opposite effect of Viagra, hindering and in many cases halting erections altogether. The anti-depressant was not popular with many men for this reason." "I can see why," I grunted. "They probably had enough to be depressed about as it was." Mr. Rogers uttered a fruity chuckle. "Indeed. Anyway, one bright American researcher decided to isolate the chemical composition that was specifically relaxing these muscles. He eventually succeeded, and the ADA approved the drug early this year. When taken regularly, it causes temporary impotency. As you may well understand, the need for its application is rare - but it cases such as yours, it can greatly improve the chances of rapid healing and a speedy recovery." "So if I start taking this medication, I can't become hard?" "Exactly. The penis will remain flaccid no matter how much stimulation is applied. And, in fact, right after your surgery last week your attending physician there introduced it in tablet form as a precautionary measure, according to the records that I was sent by the hospital there - so you're already taking it." I creased my eyebrows. When I was in hospital in Ho Chi Minh City I simply took the pills proffered by the nurses without asking what the hell they were - not that many of them could speak English in any event. I had assumed they were all antibiotics, and I was issued with a seven-day supply of three different tablets when I left the hospital, along with instructions on when to take what. Mr. Rogers had already asked me about that. It explained why I hadn't gotten an erection since the accident, I guess. "I see," I replied. "So I just keep taking the pills until everything is healed. How long will that take?" His smile faded. "Usually in a case such as yours, it will take upwards of ten to twelve weeks." "Twelve weeks?" I gasped. "Possibly even more," he replied dolefully. "Your penis has suffered extensive trauma, and it simply takes time to heal. Much will depend on everything going smoothly, and this doesn't always happen. It's not uncommon for injuries of this nature to take as long as sixteen weeks to heal properly." That sat me on my ass. Sixteen fucking weeks! Or, more accurately, sixteen weeks without fucking! I slumped in the chair. While I was working in Vietnam, many of my colleagues had regularly used the cheap and easily available whores that infested the area around our tacky hotel - but I never did. I had been faithful to Angela. I performed a quick calculation; I had already spent five and a half months celibate - and now possibly another four months on top of that. Over nine months without sex! I stifled another groan. Mr. Rogers gazed sympathetically at me, and he read my thoughts. "But after you are healed, you should be as good as new, sexually and otherwise." he informed me cheerfully. "Of course, we'll have to assume that scar tissue won't become a factor." "A factor in what?" I asked sharply. A sudden chill went through my stomach. Mr. Rogers cleared his throat. "Well, in some cases scar tissue can cause the erect penis to develop a slight curve on the side that the scar is located on. This is because some elasticity can be lost when scarring occurs. In your case, since the incision was on the underside, you may develop a slight downward curve. And you may lose a little length when you are fully erect, as well." My mouth drooped open; more great fucking news. "How much length?" I asked. "Oh, possibly no more than half an inch or so. Negligible, really." Negligible. That was easy for him to say - it wasn't his cock we were discussing. I glared stonily at him over his desk. I guess I was average size in the dick department, but I wasn't exactly John Holmes, either - like any man, I wanted all the length I could get. "But that's all in the future," he added. "And for the nonce, we'll be optimistic and hope that these factors won't affect you at all." I heaved a heavy sigh. "Very well." The remainder of the consultation involved him telling me the various medications I needed to take, and strong advice to keep my penis clean and dry and to change the dressing regularly, to refrain from intercourse (as if I needed to be told that - the berk!), to take care showering, to avoid strenuous exercise, etc. He was typing on a keyboard as he spoke, and soon an inkjet printer on the desk whined and ejected several sheets of paper like flat white tongues. "I'll get you to come back and see me next Thursday at ten o'clock," he concluded. "I'll also contact your local GP - a Dr. Douglas, I believe - and inform him of your situation. If you notice anything untoward, then go and see him immediately." He handed me the sheets of paper he had just printed. They were prescriptions. "Get these filled, and when you've finished the course of medication they issued you in Ho Chi Minh City, just switch over to the new batch and follow the instructions for dosage. Use the painkiller as needed, but don't exceed the maximum dose of eight pills per day. I'll get a nurse to redress the bandages for you, and then you can be on your way. See you next week at ten." He must have already pressed a button on his intercom, because a nurse entered the room as if summoned by magic. Mr. Rogers made his requirements known to her, and she led me back to the room where I had first changed into the hospital gown. Ten minutes later, with my bruised and sewn member re-swathed, I slowly made my way back out to the reception area. Angela arose and walked over to me. "How did it go?" she anxiously asked. "I'll tell you all about it in the car, hun" I said somberly. "Let's get out of here." As we strode under a large sign that read 'EXIT', I was suddenly reminded of the tin sign that had done me so much damage six days ago. I had seen the sign bolted to the scaffold support dozens of times in the last few months. It had been emblazoned with a caricature of a man from the neck upwards, pointing to his safety helmet, and the ironic words underneath had read: "SAFETY FIRST!" *Chapter 2* Angela drove as we made our way onto the Monash freeway. At this time of day, the traffic was relatively light. It was early spring, and the sun beamed with the promise of a hot summer. The first thing I told Angela was that I was going to be fine. The relief was clearly visible on her face. I then explained exactly what the specialist had said, including how long it might take for the wound to properly heal. I though I saw the corners of her mouth droop slightly when I mentioned it may take sixteen weeks; she had been without sex for nearly six months, as well. "But everything will be fine after that?" she asked. "So Moonface told me," I replied. She gave a quick bark of laughter at my unkind description of Mr. Roger's rotund countenance; she had seen the man when we arrived. I continued: "He said there's no nerve damage, and everything seems to be intact. It's just gonna take time to heal." "Thank Christ for that. You were lucky by the sounds of it, Michael." I also mentioned the medication that would keep me flaccid, and the reason for using it. Angela worked as a highly successful sales executive for a major pharmaceutical company, and this engaged her professional interest. "I vaguely recall reading a memo about that drug," she said when I had finished. "But I don't know who's distributing it." "You'll find out soon enough." I replied. "I have to get the prescriptions filled, so you'll see the packet. We can do that when we get back home." She nodded. I swiveled my head to look at her. I had forgotten just how gorgeous my wife was, and just how proud I was to be her husband. At thirty-two years of age, Angela was seven years younger than I was. She had wavy, shoulder-length blonde hair that framed a pretty, square-jawed face. I was always reminded of Farrah Fawcett's jawline when I looked at her - but the similarity ended there; Angela's mouth was broader, and her cheekbones were wider, and her eyes were deep green. When she smiled, her whole face lit up. She stood about five feet, nine inches tall, and diligent workouts on our home gym and regular exercise had given her a body that women ten years younger would have envied. She worked hard to maintain her body, and she was justly proud of her efforts. Her long legs were probably her best feature; they were perfectly shaped and well proportioned, with tight calf muscles and lean, slender thighs. When she wore a mini-skirt she had no shortage of appreciative male glances. She had a flat stomach and a tapered waist that flared out into broad, curvaceous hips, and an ass that was practically edible. Her firm breasts were of average size, but had that delicious cantilevered shape that could take a man's breath away. She once told me that her measurements were exactly 36-24-36 - and I could easily believe it. When she wore a tight dress, her entire body screamed Woman! I often wondered how much her success as a sales executive was helped by how good she looked in a snug skirt. This was perhaps sexist and unfair of me; she was extremely good at her job, but her feminine charms were amply evident even when dressed in her relatively tame work attire. I would have bet they would have enticed more than one pharmacist to purchase the products she proffered. They would have enticed me. It was the second marriage for us both; I had divorced my first wife five years ago, and Angela's first husband, an up-and-coming barrister, had died in a car accident at around the same time. "But our marriage was already dead," Angela once told me. "If Carl hadn't had the accident, we would've been divorced soon after anyway. I already had the papers drawn up." She explained that Carl had been fond of other women. He'd started having affairs soon after they were married, and Angela had at first been forgiving, accepting his promises to stop his dalliances. But he didn't stop. Angela's love for him slowly died, and her smoldering rage slowly grew with each lie that he told her. "So in the end I had a couple of affairs myself," she told me "I know two wrongs don't make a right, but at the time maybe I just wanted him to see how it felt. Or maybe I just needed the sex - because I sure as hell wasn't getting a lot from Carl." I had raised my eyebrows at that: Angela was, as I have stated, an extremely attractive lady. I had delicately asked why she and her husband had not made love more. Angela had laughed bitterly: "Because I wouldn't let him fuck me up the ass." Her reply had startled me. She explained further: "Carl had a major kink for anal sex, you see. He'd pestered me about it for years, ever since we got married. Back in those days, it just wasn't for me, and we had so many arguments over it. The more I resisted, the more he tried to persuade me. He became more and more obsessed with it, and he would buy magazines and videos and DVD's - all featuring anal sex. He once even deliberately tried to get me almost blind drunk by spiking my drinks so he could talk me into it. I have a good idea that if I'd passed out, he would've done it to me while I was unconscious. "The next morning I told him he needed professional help - and of course that didn't go down too well. So, since I wouldn't give him anal sex, he stopped wanting vaginal sex with me - which told me a lot about how he really felt for me and our marriage. It was incredibly hurtful, and it was probably the last nail in the coffin. Anyway, his slutty little secretary must've been more accommodating, since she was the last little trollop he was involved with. Maybe she thought that if she gave up her ass, then she'd get a promotion, or Carl would even leave me for her - she was such an airhead that she would've believed that. But I bet there were a few mornings when she couldn't sit straight on her fucking office chair." I had heard similar stories in the past; whilst I wasn't into anal sex and had never suggested it to Angela, I certainly didn't begrudge those men and women who did enjoy it. But to allow disagreements about it to corrode your relationship to the point of dissolving was insane. The final irony was that on the night a drunk driver ploughed into the side of his car and killed him, Carl was on his way back from a tryst with his secretary. He had told Angela he was working late - but the accident occurred just two blocks from his secretary's house on the other side of town. "If he hadn't always been thinking with his dick, he'd still be alive today. Probably divorced - but alive." Angela had dryly stated. I had met Angela about six months after my own divorce. Some buddies of mine had invited me to join their regular Wednesday night bowling team, and apparently some of Angela's friends had inveigled her to do the same. The first time I saw her at the bowling alley, she was wearing a red dress that hugged every curve of her body. When she sent a ball down the laneway, I'm sure that every male eye in visual range was glued to her gorgeous ass pulling the material of her dress tautly across her behind. It wasn't exactly a come-fuck-me dress - but it was certainly dropping some heavy hints. I took instant note of the hints, and by chance the next Wednesday night my team was drawn to bowl against hers. I flirted with her, and after learning that she was single I asked her out to dinner, and she accepted my invitation. To cut a long story short, we became a couple, fell deeply in love, and got married two years later. I found Angela to be a very sensual lady, and her enthusiasm and inventiveness in bed was a pleasant and very welcome surprise after my passionless first marriage. She was one of those women who exuded an almost understated sexuality, as though she kept her passions in check by exerting only sufficient restraint; you sensed that behind her veneer of propriety there lurked a fervent libido. To say that she had animal magnetism was an apt description. I could see flashes of this in her spontaneous knack for bringing out the eroticism in normally mundane situations. For example, we once went to a restaurant with two other couples. Angela had slipped her shoes off under the table, and I suddenly felt the toes of her left foot slip up under the cuff of my trousers. I turned my head towards her, and she sent me a soft, teasing smile before returning her attention back to the conversation at the table. All through the main course her toes had slid sensually up and down my instep. Angela was well aware that this turned me on. As she ate, she carried on conversing and laughing with the other guests as though nothing was happening under the table. When the main course was finished, she leaned over and whispered in my ear: "I need to use the bathroom in a few minutes. So do you. Follow me when I go." I gave her a perplexed nod. Several minutes later, she excused herself and arose from the table. I also bemusedly excused myself as she had instructed, and followed her into the dim hallway where the toilets were located. The women's toilet was unoccupied (I found out later that Angela knew it was empty, since she had been watching the hallway entrance). She took my hand and quickly drew me inside and locked the door. Without another word, she sat down on the toilet seat, unzipped me, and - despite my initial (and feeble) protests - she proceeded to give me a blowjob as I stood trembling in front of her. She is extremely good at this particular sexual act, and in less than two minutes I was struggling to remain on my feet and stifling my moans of pleasure as I exploded in her mouth. She winked up at me as she swallowed every drop of my cream. She then re-zipped me, and checked that the hallway was clear, and with a soft giggle of finality she quickly ushered me out. I dazedly crossed to the male toilet, also fortunately unoccupied, and then shakily made my way back to our table, the warm afterglow of climax making my legs wobbly. Angela returned a few minutes later, and as she began breezily chatting with our fellow diners I admired her aplomb. A waiter shortly materialised to take dessert orders. As I raised my glass to my lips, Angela looked at me with the slightest of smiles and demurely announced: "I think I'll get the vanilla pudding. I really fancy something warm and creamy after gobbling all that meat just now." I had nearly spat a mouthful of wine all over the table. To make matters worse, a woman seated to her left peered over her menu and whinnied: "Mmm, that sounds yummy! I think I'll have that, too." Angela had rolled right along: "It's delicious! Michael often gives it to me for dessert," She turned her radiant face toward me. "You serve yours with nuts, don't you, honey?" Her eyes twinkled, and I had been lucky to quell the hysterical giggled that fluttered in my stomach. On another occasion, we went shopping in the local mall one Saturday morning. Just after we had arrived, we strolled into a women's clothing store so Angela could look for a new skirt. She found one to her liking - a slinky black number - and she went into the shop change room to try it on. She modeled it for me, and after getting my approval for it, she decided to buy it and wear it immediately. Just after we left the shop, she smiled impishly and reached into her jacket, and passed me a wadded ball of black material. It took me a few seconds to realise it was her panties. "Put those in your pocket for me please, babe," she quietly told me. My eyes must have widened, because she laughed softly and leaned forward to whisper: "That's right, honey. I'm not wearing anything under my new skirt." For the next two hours we strolled around the mall, and she would make oblique references to the fact that she was naked under her new purchase. I am not sure if this type of fetish turns all men on, but it sure as hell turned me on. Angela could see the effect it was having on me, and that just made her sly remarks about it all the more blatant. As we sat drinking coffee in one of the cafes inside the mall, she whispered in my ear: "Just think - if it wasn't for all these people here, you could slide you hand up my thighs and feel just how wet I am for you, honey." She had pronounced it in a slow, sexy drawl - whettttt. My coffee cup had rattled sharply against the saucer when I put it down. The moment we arrived back home, I practically dragged her into the bedroom, and within a minute we were making passionate love. After, as we lay spent and panting in afterglow, she asked me how much it had turned me on knowing she was walking around with no panties under her skirt. I answered honestly, and I told her it made me very hot - which she already knew. She propped herself up on her elbow and rested her head on her hand. "Why does it turn you on?" she asked. I thought for a few seconds. "To know you're naked underneath just makes me hot, I guess. Especially out in public with other guys around." Her eyes twinkled in sudden comprehension. "Ahh," she said. "I guess it would remind you of that little fantasy." I smiled softly and nodded. That little fantasy, as she referred to it, was a kink I had developed in my early twenties - a voyeuristic craving to watch my partner have sex with another man. Angela, who did a lot of reading and surfed the Internet regularly, had once told me that it was commonly known as a cuckold fantasy. During my brief and dispassionate previous marriage, I had never even mentioned this fantasy to my first wife. She hadn't been the sort in whom you would confide anything that smacked of sexual deviance - otherwise it was likely to be thrown into your face during the next argument. I had learned this the hard way. Angela, however, was completely different; she had an openness that was totally refreshing. She loved to explore the steamier boundaries of sexuality, and discussing fantasies during pillowtalk was a favorite post-coital pastime of hers. I came to trust her completely, and I told her things that I had never told another living soul - my cuckold fantasy being one of them. When I first, and somewhat shyly, told her about this little kink, I was slightly fearful of her reaction; would she be shocked? Outraged? Disgusted? To my relief, she had simply raised an eyebrow, and told me that she had read that it was a very common fantasy for a lot of men, and that it didn't upset her at all. She stated that it was one fantasy that we would probably never act out for real, but she added that she would make use of the fact that it aroused me. That was another thing; it had been difficult to imagine my shrewish former wife with a lover; her frigid nature and indifferent attitude towards sex had somewhat dampened the erotic appeal of the fantasy. By contrast, Angela's sensual personality and alluring body made it all too easy for me to imagine her ardently coupling with another man. In fact, Angela's latent eroticism combined with the fact that her job brought her into contact with many different men on a daily basis had made this fantasy blossom like a weed in fertile soil; I found myself thinking about it more and more. In fact, the next Friday night after I had confessed my little kink to her, I arrived home from work first. Angela came home about twenty minutes later, and I could immediately tell that she was feeling frisky. She kissed me passionately as soon as she walked in the door. She was a great kisser, and her soft lips and warm, moist tongue soon had me hardening in my jeans. She guided my hand up her skirt, and when my fingers slid up her smooth thigh to her pussy I drew a sharp breath; once again she wasn't wearing panties. She broke our kiss. "Oh!" she drawled softly. "I must have left them in the motel room - after I was with my lover." If I had been totally hard at that moment, I swear I would have nearly creamed my jeans. Within two minutes we were naked in the bedroom. I shook as I mounted her. She gasped softly as I slid into her, and she wrapped her legs around my hips as they began pumping. Her eyes glittered as she looked up at me. "Mmm, fuck me baby," she urged softly. "Give it to me. And as you fuck me, think about where I left my panties!" I had always prided myself on being able to last for at least ten minutes or longer when we made love. But upon hearing these teasing, carnal words from her, the unthinkable happened; orgasm suddenly boiled up inside me like an overheated radiator that suddenly had its cap removed. A few seconds later I moaned loudly and exploded inside her. I had not climaxed so rapidly since I was a teenager - if even then. I dazedly collapsed onto her, shaking and panting. She sighed warmly under me and wrapped her arms around my back. "Mmm, you came so fast, baby!" she said quietly. "I haven't ever seen you cum so quick." I gasped that I hadn't seen myself cum so quick, either. She chuckled softly. "Mmm! It's a good thing that my panties are in my handbag then, hmm?" From that moment on, Angela started employing this form of tease on a regular basis. Naturally it didn't become the sole focus of our sex life, but she quickly realised that she could use this kink to instantly heighten my desire and arousal. Over the next few months she used numerous ploys to discover what new buttons she could create using this fantasy, and she had no hesitation in pushing them - hard. The intensity varied, depending upon the circumstances - from teasingly subtle to blatantly pornographic. For example, one subtle change involved her work attire; she naturally dressed as her executive position dictated - usually a plain skirt with a hemline a respectable two or three inches above the knee, pantyhose, a modest blouse and business jacket. The underwear that she usually wore was correspondingly tame and sensible. One morning she called me into the bedroom just as she began dressing for work. Instead of finding her in her usual staid undergarments and pantyhose, I was stunned to see that she had dressed in a sheer set of matching black bra and panties, and as a finishing touch she had donned a black suspender belt and stockings. She naturally saw my expression of surprise, and she smiled mischievously: "I just thought this might give you something to think about all day, honey," she told me. And think about it I did. At work my mind often played with images of Angela talking business with a male client, knowing that underneath her staid attire she was encased in skimpy lingerie and stockings. After Angela got home that evening I was naturally frisky, just as she had planned. She teased me for a while - making small-talk, but sitting with her delicious legs entwined and contriving it so that her skirt rode up, exposing the tops of her stockings. She finally deigned to notice my excited glances at her nylon-encased legs. "Like what you see, honey?" she asked. Of course, I nodded, and she demurely added: "I'm sure a few other men might have had a good, long look today, as well. So, are you just going sit there and drool at me all night - or are you going to take me into that bedroom and fuck me?" Naturally, I chose the latter option. She didn't wear lingerie under her weekday attire a lot - but just often enough to make the tactic extremely effective. On the more blatant side, she would occasionally launch into a wickedly salacious narrative as we made love. For example, she would start by telling me that one of her major clients had been indecisive about a large purchase, but that he had suggested he would sign the contract in Angela offered him an extra incentive. The 'incentive' was, of course, sex - and Angela would then tell me that he was such a hunk that she had eagerly agreed, and that the pair of them had then gone to a motel and spent the afternoon fucking. Angela would pitch her sweet, sultry voice so that her lewd story had a tone of almost apologetic but unabashed glee - like she was aware she had done something extremely 'naughty', but that she had been unable to stop herself from relishing it. She had dozens of variations on this theme, and naturally these deliciously wicked stories would drive me absolutely insane with excitement. I am sure that Angela sometimes did it just to see how fast she could make me explode, and at other times she would teasingly start and stop her lurid tale, halting me on the brink numerous times before winding me up yet again until I was a shaking, trembling wreck. With each story she told she learned something more about what turned my crank, and even I was surprised at the lascivious and carnal thoughts and desires that she was able to uncover in the murky depths of my sexual psyche. It was like riding on an erotic roller coaster, with each new crest offering a new thrill, and Angela not only rode it with me, but she kept cranking up the speed. She did, however, ensure that I was aware that her titillating stories were just figments of her imagination. After one torrid lovemaking session in which she had alluded to a phantom lover with more kinky zeal than usual, she may have felt that I needed reassurance. We were laying naked in bed during the early evening, and we had been making soft, post-coital conversation for twenty minutes or so. She was curled up next to me with her head resting on my chest, softly running her nails over my stomach. "When I tell you those things about another guy, you know I'm only teasing you, right, honey?" she had asked. "Yeah, I know that, babe," I relied. "It works, by the way." She chuckled softly. "Oh, I know it does! But I just wanted you to know that I would never sleep around behind your back. After having Carl do it to me so many times, I know how much damage it can do and how much it hurts, and I love you too much to ever risk letting that happen." I kissed the top of her head. "I know that, too. Thank you. And ditto." "So just know that when I tell you the wicked little stories that I do, it's just done to excite you. If we ever did take that fantasy to the ultimate level, we'd talk about it first - a lot. I would never just go and sleep with someone else." This was the first time I had ever heard her mention the possibility of her cuckolding me for real. A tingle of excitement rippled through me, and I felt my cock twitch. "Do you think we ever will take it to the ultimate level?" I tentatively asked her. She tilted her face up at me and smiled softly. "Not right now, honey, but in the future? You never know. It's a very, very big step to take, and once you open the box, it can't be shut again. I would need to be totally sure it's what you wanted. If I ever did decide to bring it to life for you, it would just be to drive you absolutely insane," Her smile and her tone took on a teasing edge. "And maybe for me to have a little 'fun'." Her last statement sent another erotic ripple through me. "You would enjoy doing it?" I asked. My cock began to harden. "If I knew that it was driving you out of your mind with arousal and lust? Then sure I would. If I found a guy who I really fancied, and knowing what it would do to you, then sure I'd enjoy it." She glanced down to see that my cock had arisen to almost half-mast. She turned her face upward to me again. "Is that turning you on, honey? Imagining me not only really doing it, but enjoying it as another guy fucks me?" "Yes," I answered softly. Angela smiled softly again. She slid her hand down and wrapped her fingers around my growing member. She began firmly stroking me, and I quickly became totally hard. She pressed her face close to mine, and kissed me. "Well, maybe one day if the circumstances were right, I would do it - but we would discuss it a lot first, honey. It's not on my 'to do' list right now, but let's just say that one day it might be." She released my cock and arose to her knees and swung her right leg over my stomach, straddling me. She reached down and grasped my hard shaft again, her thighs warm and soft against my hips. She guided the head of my cock between her pussy lips and grinned down at me: "There is one thing on my 'to do' list that I need to do right now, though - and that's for me to fuck you." She slowly sank down, and my cock gratefully slid into her moist heat. She carried out her pledge - and the bedroom was soon ringing to our combined grunts and moans of pleasure as we made love for the second time that night. Her disclosure about being at least open to the possibility of cuckolding me in the future had naturally increased my excitement. I knew better than to try and force the issue; Angela was not a lady to be pushed around by anyone, including me. It wasn't my style to push anyway, and Angela was well aware of that. She did, however, subsequently discuss it with me on several occasions, but only in hypothetical terms, and to further broaden her own understanding of my little kink. She once summed it up beautifully: "You know that I probably won't sleep with another man, but I haven't ruled it out completely - and it drives you wild to know that I could if I wanted to." The status quo remained this way until I went to work abroad. Angela continued to refine her methods of tease and her story-telling skills, and to be perfect honest I was quite happy with that. As she had stated - bringing this fantasy to life would be a very large step to take. But at the same time, I did continue to entertain visions of Angela truly taking this ultimate plunge, and writhing naked under some hot stud, her back arching and her long legs slithering over his back as he took her. When I had reluctantly taken the lucrative six-month contract in Vietnam, it naturally meant that my wife and I would be apart for half a year. I was obviously not looking forward to this for several reasons. One of them was a vague sense of niggling insecurity. Angela had sensed my fears right away, and she made it very clear that she would remain faithful whilst I was away working, and once again telling me that she loved me very deeply. I appreciated her reassurance, and I lightly added that our time apart could make that little fantasy a lot more intense. She had smiled softly, and said that if I still wanted to play with it whist we were apart, then she would make sure that she spun me some mind-blowing tales. Before I departed, I had purchased a laptop PC and I made sure that I got broadband access in the crummy hotel room where I was lodged. Angela had our desktop PC at home, and although we often spoke by telephone, the bulk of our communication was through email and over IRC and MSN. This was a cheap and convenient form of contact for us, and we used this electronic method to chat almost each night after I got back from the site. One of the reasons that I wasn't tempted by the local prostitutes in Ho Chi Minh City - apart from deeply loving my wife and wanting to remain faithful - was that Angela had learned that text messaging could have its own delicious erotic nuances. She quickly became adept at composing erotic emails and turning her writing skills to cybersex. In all modesty I got quite good at it as well, and many times my lascivious words were able to make Angela caress herself to climax thousands of miles away; I wanted to keep my lady as happy as I could. In turn, she also learned that a written form of my cuckold fantasy could drive me just as wild as a spoken version. Once again, this wasn't an everyday thing, but Angela would spin a different tale involving an imaginary lover maybe once a week. The combination of being so far apart and from seeing it in written form actually made her stories more plausible. Of course, her teasing was just that - teasing. But it had a scintillating affect on me no matter how many times she played with variations of this theme. In fact, on the night before my unfortunate accident she had told me a titillating story about a colleague inviting her out to dinner a few days hence, and how she was planning on serving him up a hot, creamy dessert later that night. Now - as we coasted along the freeway in brilliant sunshine - I looked at her pretty face gazing ahead through the windscreen, and I thought about the possibility of sixteen long weeks without being able to make love to her, and I sighed heavily. Fate had not been kind in recent days. I dropped my gaze to her bare left leg; I had forgotten how gorgeous her legs were. Suddenly, an unexpected thought popped into my mind - a thought so darkly lascivious and carnal that I drew a sharp breath. Angela must have heard my soft gasp, because she turned to face me for a second, and she slid her hand into mine and smiled softly. The warmth of her touch flushed the thought back into the dark recesses of my mind. But I knew that in the coming weeks, and possibly months, the thought would return. Many times. *Chapter 3* A week later I was once again confronted with the round countenance of Mr. Rogers as I sat in the consulting room. My swollen and bruised member had returned to some semblance of normalcy - if one was able to ignore the seam of sutures on the underside - and Mr. Rogers told me that he was very pleased with progress. He asked me if there were any problems - any unusual pain or difficulty urinating, and so forth. I told him that under the circumstances everything seemed to be about as good as I could expect, apart from some itchiness. "The itching is a good sign," he said. "It means that the wound is beginning to heal, and that nerve functions are normal. No problems with involuntary erections?" he asked. "No," I replied dryly. "Or even with voluntary ones." He nodded. "The medication should eliminate any problems in that area." It apparently did. I had obviously not attempted to stimulate myself to hardness, but like most men I was occasionally awakened at night by the need to urinate and the subsequent 'woody' that it caused. I had been aroused from slumber several times in the last week by a need to take a leak - but there had been no sign whatsoever of the usual accompanying hard-on. The innocuous little tablets that I was required to take twice daily seemed to doing their job. Angela had noted that the pills were, in fact, being distributed by the pharmaceutical company she worked for. The consultation with Mr. Rogers came to an end, and I was to return next week to have the stitches removed. I was encased in a lot less bandaging now - just a light layer that mainly served to keep my underwear from chaffing against the stitches. Angela had returned to work on Monday, and today I had driven myself to my appointment with Mr. Rogers. I grabbed a meal at our local takeaway shop on the way home, and as I sat munching my fish and chips I took stock of recent events. I was currently on paid leave with the company I worked for, and they had begun to make pleasing overtures about compensation for my injury. The overtures had become more pleasing still after I had idly told the squeaky-voiced company spokesman that I would discuss their offer with my legal counsel. I was further cheered after checking my bank account; the six-month stint working abroad had added a considerable sum to the balance - enough, in fact, to finalise the loan on the house. Very soon Angela and I would own the place - lock, stock and barrel. The thought made me smile. Angela and I had bought the place just after we were married. It was a two storey, four bedroom cedar-clad, located in a leafy bayside suburb. We wanted a fairly large house because we planned on starting a family in two or three years. Angela had sold the house that she and Carl had been paying off, and my ex-wife had bought out my stake in the home that we had shared. This luckily meant that between us, Angela and I had a very sizable deposit for our own home, and we'd needed only a modest home loan. A massive garage had originally taken up much of the ground floor of the house. Soon after we had bought it, Angela had suggested that we partition off the rear section of the garage so that she could have a dedicated area for her gym equipment. I thought it was a great idea, as we had no need for such a cavernous garage anyway, and it would immediately add value to the property. I had done the renovations myself, and the new partitioned section was actually so large that we ended up splitting it into two rooms - a dedicated gym for her Angela's treadmill, exercise bike, bench press, and various other instruments of self-inflicted torture, and a smaller room that we now used as a guestroom / study. The home loan was our only remaining debt, and I was looking forward to strolling into the bank and paying it out in full. With the exception of my unfortunate accident, things were falling into place very nicely. For the remainder of the day I watched some TV and did what little housework that needed doing. As evening approached I prepared dinner for Angela and myself. When she arrived home she anxiously asked about my visit to the specialist. I told her that all was as well as could be expected, and that he was happy with progress. She expressed relief, and smiled warmly and kissed me. Her kiss sent a sharp pang of desire through me. While the pills I was taking to prevent erections did their job effectively, they certainly didn't stop the underlying sexual hunger. During the first week after my accident, my ardor had naturally been dampened. But as I started mending, my libido gradually began asserting its presence. It had been two weeks now since I had last climaxed, and I found that I was eyeing Angela a little more lustfully each day. I came to think of it as a 'buzz' - a constant sexual tension, both physical and psychological, that never really ceased - it simply varied in intensity. One thing was certain; it grew a little more each day. I was startled to discover that my gaze would linger a little longer than usual if I saw a good-looking lady walking down the street, or if I happened to see an alluring woman on TV. It had been many years since I had not climaxed for such a long period, and the consequences were beginning to show. In essence, I had the same burning desire for sex - especially after being away from Angela for so long - but I now lacked the means to do so. I was starting to learn what the term 'sexual frustration' really meant. Angela, always an intuitive lady, seemed to be mindful of my growing internal battle with my own libido, and she subtly tried to avoid arousing me. She would normally sleep naked, or with just a pair of panties on. I had often told her just how much I loved being able to feel her bare breasts against my chest, and how the simple fact that she was naked beside me always turned me on. Since I had arrived home, however, she had started wearing a light pajama set consisting of a cotton tee shirt and a matching pair of shorts. When she kissed me now, her kisses were still warm and loving, but they lacked her usual passion. She knew that a long, deep, wet kiss could make me hard - and so she refrained from doing it. We retired to bed at about 11:00pm. I wore a pair of briefs over my bandaged member, and Angela was again wearing her pajamas. I slid my arm around her as we lay together, and a light waft of her perfume drifted over me. We began to kiss softly, and Angela responded hesitantly but warmly. I opened my lips, and when her warm, moist tongue slid into my mouth it was like a delicious electric shock. Normally I would have begun to harden right at that point, but there was no stirring in my loins whatsoever. The buzz, however, suddenly tingled urgently like alarm bell, and an almost tangible vibration began in the pit of my stomach. I started trembling. I needed to taste her lips, her skin, her body... I needed to taste her cunt - now! I slid my hand under her tee shirt and began to caress her breast as our kiss deepened. Her nipple instantly hardened as I rolled it softly between my forefinger and thumb. I felt her shudder softly, and she stifled a moan. I began to lift her tee shirt, and she broke our kiss. "Baby?" she whispered huskily. "What about your... your stitches. I don't want to make you hard." "It's okay," I replied. "I won't get hard, hun. The pills I'm taking won't let me." "But I can't please you," she protested softly. "That may be true," I told her in a voice that shook slightly. "But since when does that mean that I can't please you? I want to please you, Angie. I need to please you!" I had continued lifting her tee shirt during the exchange, and she suddenly raised her arms so that I could lift it completely off over her head. At last I gazed upon her magnificent breasts; they were as gorgeous as I had remembered them to be. I lowered my lips to her nipple, and she tilted her head back and sighed in pleasure as I sucked it. I began to kiss and lick every inch of her beautiful tits, slowly working my way down her body. My lips trailed down to her stomach, and I relished the taste of her soft, warm skin. I gently hooked my fingers under the waistband of her shorts and panties and began easing them down her long legs. Angela was now trembling softly, her right hand resting gently on back of my neck. I slid her shorts and panties down to her ankles, and she drew her legs up so that I could remove them completely. I moved lower on the bed, maneuvering myself between her thighs. She parted her legs, and I gazed hungrily at the sight below me; she had opened before me like an exotic hothouse flower. I lowered my head down to her pubic mound and kissed it, feeling her neatly trimmed pubic hair tickling my nose and lips. Angela's hips rose upwards as my tongue slithered further down, and she lifted and parted her legs further. "Oh, Michael," she breathed. "It's been so long... so long..." Her scent filled my nostrils, and I extended my tongue and burrowed it gently between her pussy lips. Her juices welled up from within, and for the first time in over six months I tasted her delicious nectar. I drank greedily, savoring her, sliding my tongue deeper inside to scoop out more of her warm, creamy essence. Angela uttered a long, almost painful moan. "Oh, Michael... Lick me... Please! It's been so, so long!" I lifted slightly, locating her clit and softly spiraling my tongue around it. I glanced up over her mons pubis. Her pretty face was clouded with pleasure as my tongue teased and tickled her hard button. Her hooded eyes met mine, and I winked at her and then placed my lips over her clit and sucked it. Angela's whole body jolted on the bed. "Oh, FUCK!" she gasped. "Oooh, Jesus! Do it, Baby! Please! Suck it!" Her little button seemed to throb joyfully in my mouth, and I slid my left hand up between her thighs. Her cunt was soft and warm and slick with her juices as my index and middle fingers slid inside of her. She moaned and drew her legs back even further. The contractions of her vaginal muscles gripped my fingers tightly as I suckled her clit, my tongue rapidly swirling. She was going to cum - and soon. I deliberately started to make slurping sounds, and added little moans of my own. This had always driven her wild, and it did so now. I felt her tense and her thighs started trembling. The fingers of her right hand slid down through my hair, and she gripped me firmly. I began to gently finger-fuck her. "Yes! Oh, Baby, YES!" she implored. "DON'T STOP!" I didn't stop. I sucked her clit a little harder, and flattened my tongue over it, gently rasping and sliding it against that incredible sensitive part of her. I could feel her whole body tense. I uttered another sensual moan from the back of my throat, and this pushed her over the edge. She tightened her grip on my hair, pulling my face harder onto her cunt. "Oh, Michael... Oh, MICHAEL!... NOW!... NOW!... FUCK, YES!... I'M GONNA CUM!... AHHHHHHHH!" Her cunt suddenly clenched tightly around my fingers like a vice, pulsing like a living heart. Her cream erupted from the depths of her pussy like lava as she climaxed, her legs twitching and jerking as orgasm flowed through her like a syrupy torrent. I released my suction on her clit, but kept my tongue gently swirling and dancing around it, maximising the waves of ecstasy rippling trough her body. She uttered a final moan, and her whole body slumped, trembling and twitching. I very gradually slowed my spiraling tongue and eased my finger from her molten pussy. I slid my tongue down, sinking it deep inside her, feeling it stirring a molten well of her delicious juices. I briefly lifted my mouth from her. "I want to suck you dry," I whispered huskily. "I want to drink you, to feel every drop of you sliding down my throat." She gazed down into my face with eyes half-closed. "Then do it," she panted. ***** Later, after I had eventually surfaced and slid back up to lay alongside her, she turned and wrapped her arms around me. She gave a satisfied stretch, like a cat awakening from a long nap. "Enjoy that, baby?" I softly asked. She smiled weakly. "Oh, honey, you have no idea - no idea - how good that was. It's been so long, baby. So, so, so long. And do you have any idea of how good you are at doing that?" I grinned at her. "I ate a lot of tacos while I was away, just to keep in practice." She giggled. "In that case, I think I'll start serving tacos here more often." Her face suddenly showed apprehension. "You're not hard or anything, are you?" she asked softly. "No, hun. Everything's just fine." My cock had, in fact, remained disconcertingly flaccid the whole time I had eaten her. Her smile slowly returned. "Okay, baby. I was really worried about making you hard." "Is that why you've started wearing pajamas?" A slightly guilty look clouded her face. "Yes. Well, it's one reason, anyway. I didn't want to excite you just in case those pills don't work. I know that it's very important that you don't get an erection right now." "What are the other reasons," I asked. She pondered for a few seconds. "I guess I felt it would've been insensitive and cruel of me to sleep naked beside you." "Because we can't make love, you mean?" "Yes." "Baby," I replied. "Just because I can't make love to you right now or climax myself, it doesn't mean I don't want you to. In fact, it makes me want to please you even more. I need to please you." She seemed to understand the latent message, and she nodded softly. "I guess I just didn't want to appear selfish, and I didn't know if you wanted to do anything right now. I know it must be so very difficult for you, especially after being away for so long. What happened to you is so unfair." I smiled ruefully. "Yes - it is. But until it's all fixed, you know that I've always loved eating your pussy, and the accident hasn't affected my tongue, baby." I playfully licked my lips. She sent me an impish grin. "So you don't mind eating a lot of tacos, then?" I laughed. "The more, the better. You got any hot sauce to go with them?" "You know I have," she replied cheekily. "As long as you're hungry, I'll keep serving them up, honey - with as much sauce as you can handle." "Yum," I replied, licking my lips again. Angela giggled again. "So I can ditch the pajamas?" "Oh, yeah," I quickly agreed. "Good - I hate the goddamned things!" We spent the next fifteen minutes or so curled up together, softly talking about this and that. She had remained naked, and I took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her exquisite body. The buzz in my loins had strangely subsided slightly, as if Angela's climax had somehow soothed my own ardent yearnings. She eventually rolled over and lit a cigarette from the pack on her bedside dresser. She only ever smoked in bed after we had sex, and for some weird reason I always found it incredibly sexy when she smoked naked. This probably wouldn't have pleased the anti-smoking lobby, but they had no business interfering in my sex life, anyway. Angela blew a thin stream of smoke out through her lips. She noticed my lustful gaze, and she turned to me and slowly smiled. "After I've had this smoke, I might go and cook something." I blinked in sudden confusion. "Eh? Cook? Cook what?" Her smile turned into a leer as she took another drag on her cigarette and winked at me. "Tacos." A tingle rippled through me. "Why wait 'til you're finished smoking?" I asked softly. Angela's leer broadened even more. She slowly drew her shapely legs up and parted them slightly, and her pussy winked invitingly out at me from the apex of her thighs. "Good idea, honey. Come and get it, then - you don't mind if I smoke while you eat, do you?" I sure as hell didn't, and I soon proved it to her. *Chapter 4* Another four weeks drifted by. I'd had the stitches removed from my manhood at my next consultation with Mr. Rogers, and he announced that he was pleased at how everything was going. There was still an angry red scar where the incision had been, but he told me that in time this would lessen. Always the harbinger of glad tidings, he instructed to keep taking the medication that kept me flaccid so that everything would continue to heal internally. I spent most of my time just pottering around the house, or watching TV, or playing games on the PC. Angela, of course, was working during the day and she wasn't due to take her holidays for another six weeks or so, and I found that my biggest problem was boredom - but I occupied myself as best I could whilst I was recuperating. As the weeks had rolled past, the ever-present and frustrating sexual buzz had asserted itself more and more. The feeling reminded me of when I was a 15-year-old; I'm sure that most men can remember the time when hormones first ran rampant in their teenaged bodies, quickly transforming a usually placid and normal adolescent male into a seething, panting hulk of pent-up sexual lust. This is how I was starting to feel - I was constantly frisky, but with the medication keeping my penis limp there was no real way to gratify my libido. I was horny, but without the horn with which to do anything about it. The only thing that I could do to slake the lust was to orally please Angela. This seemed to act as some kind of vicarious relief valve for me, and Angela was more than willing - and even eager - to indulge me. In fact, one day last week she had been working in a neighboring suburb and she had popped home unexpectedly for lunch. After I had made her a bite to eat, she had offered me something to snack on - and it definitely was not anything from the major food groups. Suffice to say that she had gone back to work that afternoon with a contented smile on her face. Just over a couple of weeks ago we had been laying cuddled up in bed after I had pleased her. For some reason my thoughts had turned to adult toys, and I had offhandedly asked Angela why she hadn't gotten a dildo or vibrator whilst I was working abroad. She pondered for a few seconds. "To be honest, I don't know. I never really thought about it. I haven't ever really used one, and I guess that I just didn't need it. Anytime we played on the phone or online, it was enough for me to just use my fingers, and imagine you were there." I nodded, and she continued: "Besides - now that I think about it, it would've been almost an admission of defeat, maybe. You were only going to be gone six months, for chrissake, and I'd like to think that I could wait at least that long." She turned to look at me sharply. "Why do you ask? Would you have wanted me to use one?" "Maybe," I answered. "It's kind of hot to imagine you using one." I now had Angela's full attention; this was the kind of pillowtalk she relished. "Ah, really now?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Would you like to watch me use one now?" I nodded slowly. "I think that would be mind-blowing." "Would you want to watch me using it on myself, or would you want to use it on me?" I could see what she was thinking; in my permanently flaccid state, a dildo would become a surrogate for my own cock. She was both right and wrong. "Both," I answered. "I'd love to watch you use it on yourself, but I'd also love to do it for you, as I licked you." Angela smiled softly. "Well, like I said - I've never used one, honey. But there's always a first time for everything, isn't there?" "You want to get one?" I asked in sudden surprise. "Why not?" she replied. Her face narrowed in thought for a few seconds. "We have to go to Kerry's big day this Saturday, don't we?" I nodded. Kerry was Angela's cousin, and she was getting married this weekend. The venue was nearly an hour's drive away. "Well," Angela continued. "How about we leave early, honey? If I remember correctly, there's an adult shop opposite a pharmacy that I deal with, not far away from the church where the wedding will be. We can drop in on the way up there if you like?" The irony of visiting an adult toy store on the way to a wedding wasn't lost on me. "Sounds good," I replied. "Maybe we can grab the blushing bride a wedding gift for her honeymoon while we're there?" Angela laughed. "Knowing Kerry, she'd already have two of whatever we bought her," she said cattily; Kerry was not known for either her virtuous behaviour or her chaste conduct. We did visit the adult store on the way to the wedding, and both Angela and I were stunned by some of the products on offer. We found the dildo and vibrator section - if you could call it that - and after some muted discussion between us Angela selected a largish realistic-type silicon vibrator. On the way to the wedding, we discussed some of the more kinky and bizarre adult toys that we had seen. Angela shook her head. "You know, I'm as broadminded as the next person - but Jesus Christ, who the hell wants to go to bed with a blow-up farm animal?" We had seen rubber blow-up sheep and pigs for sale in the shop. I shook my head. "Horses for courses." I grunted. "Or even horses for intercourses - there was a blow-up pony for sale, too." Angela bellowed with laughter. "Oh, my God! Well, I actually feel very innocent and staid just buying a dildo, then!" Because I was still taking medication and also to allow Angela have a few drinks, I stuck to non-alcoholic beverages during the wedding reception so that I could drive us home. Angela was still tipsy when we arrived home, and maybe friskier than usual. We both had a nightcap and shortly went to bed. Angela had already placed the dildo on her bedside dresser, and after she had undressed down to her panties she smiled softly at me as she unwrapped the box. She eased the fake cock out of its plastic cocoon; it was just over eight inches long, and I was startled at how closely it resembled the real thing. With a sudden tingle I realised that it was considerably larger than I was when erect. Even to see Angela handling it sent a lascivious shiver up my spine. Angela slid the two 'AA' batteries into the appropriate slot, and she then rotated the round switch on the base; the dildo responded with an eager whir. She turned it off and then looked at me. "You want to watch me use it, honey?" she purred. I could only nod. I realised I was panting softly as I slid to the end of the bed so I could observe her more clearly. Angela smiled, and slowly slid her panties off. She then lay back on the bed, spreading her thighs. She held the dildo in her hand, her small palm making the large fake cock look even larger than it was. She guided the broad head of the dildo down to her pussy lips and gently worked the fake glans between her labia. I realised that my heart rate had just skyrocketed. The soft, rubbery head flexed slightly, and then slowly slithered just inside her lips. Angela closed her eyes and drew it back out, smearing her pussy lips with her secretions. She then rolled the head and shaft of the dildo along her slit, moistening the silicon. Angela drew her knees further back, tilting her hips upward. The thick head of the fake cock was poised just over her juicy pussy, dipping downward slightly as if it were eager to explore what lay just below. Angela opened her eyes slightly. "Watch me, baby." she whispered. She grasped the dildo at base, and lowered the glans back to rest between her pussy lips. She then drew it gently forward, and the shaft bowed slightly as she applied more force. My heart thumped as I first watched the thick pink head disappear inside her, soon followed by the thick silicon shaft - inch by inch. Angela uttered a syrupy moan. "Mmm, it's so big, honey," she breathed. She paused when there was at least a good six inches inside of her. She slowly drew it back out, and I could see the shaft glistening with her juices. Then she slid it back in, even deeper this time. My eyes were riveted to how her pussy lips seem to almost suck at the silicon shaft, moving inwards as she inserted it into her, and clinging desperately when she slid it back out, as if her cunt was reluctant for it to depart. She slid it home again and uttered a sharp moan, and I realised that almost the whole eight inches was inside her. "Does it feel good?" I heard someone utter. I suddenly realised that it was my voice. "Mmm, yeah, baby," Angela murmured. "It's so fucking big... it's been so long since I've had anything inside me... Jesus, it's inside me so tight, honey!" She now began to slowly fuck herself with it, sliding it in and out in a steady carnal rhythm. Wet slurping sounds began to issue from her pussy as the large dildo began pistoning into her creamy cleft. I glanced up to see that her nipples were hardening. A rivulet of her juice suddenly trickled from the base of her slit, and it ran with almost teasing slowness down over her puckered rosette. I licked my lips. All of a sudden I realised that if she ever did cuckold me for real, then this is how it would look - her long, sexy legs spread wide as his large, meaty cock slithered deep into her juicy pussy, pumping inside of her over and over again. His balls would be slapping wetly against her asshole, becoming coated with her secretions. Her pussy lips would cling to his cock with just as much relish as they were clinging to the silicon imitation. I stifled a gasp at the thought. She suddenly eased her pumping motion, and she reached down with her other hand to turn the circular switch. A soft buzz emanated from the dildo, followed immediately by Angela's sudden gasp of pleasure. "Oooh, my GOD!" Angela panted. "Fuck, that feels so good!" She quickly readjusted her grip on the very end of the dildo, and she once more began rapidly sliding it in and out of her steamy cunt. The slippery sounds of its urgent passage added to the electric whir. I had never seen a woman use a vibrator on herself before - and now I realised what I had been missing. It was one of the most erotic, sensual and carnal things I had ever seen - so much so that almost of its own accord my hand drifted down to stroke myself. I actually located the head of my cock through my briefs before I felt the bandaging. I forced myself to stop. Angela was now truly fucking herself. Her back arched and she began to shake and buck. Her pretty face was clouded with ecstasy as the large cock repeatedly plunged into her, over and over. Another stream of her creamy secretions rolled sensually down into the crack of her ass. She was now panting hard, moaning and shaking. She pulled the shaft upwards so that the rubber vibrated against her clit. "Oh, Jesus FUCK!... It's so fucking BIG!... Aaaahhhh!... AAAAHHHHHH!" I could see her climax approaching. Her legs began jerking and trembling in earnest, and I could actually see her cunt firmly squeezing the thick pink silicon shaft. She arched her back, and her beautiful face tilted upwards. The buzz of the dildo echoed the buzz in my own loins. "Oh, Michael! It's gonna make me CREAM! OH JESUS!... YES!... YES!... NOWWWWWWW!" She literally screamed as climax tore through her, holding the large vibrating rubber cock deep inside her as her body jolted and shook. Her pussy was clenching the silicon shaft so tightly that the tone of the vibrator actually altered with every climactic spasm of her vaginal muscles: Whirr... Wharr... Whirr... Wharr... Whirr... Wharr... She kept moaning, over and over... I realised that I was panting almost as hard as she was. I shook, and it felt like there were a million butterflies in my stomach. Angela finally let her body go limp. Her fingers drifted to the circular switch and the hum of the vibrator abruptly ceased. She slid the massive fake cock slowly out of her pussy, and as it exited her love tunnel it made a soft shlop! My eyes were glued to how slick and shiny it was with her cream. She opened her eyes to slits, and she smiled groggily at me. "Was that okay, honey?" I was bereft of speech for several seconds. "Holy FUCK!" I finally gasped. She smiled, and held the dildo up. She took note of how slick it was with her cum, and she giggled. "Look at alllll my cream, baby!" I swallowed. Her smile curled further. "Why don't you lick it all off for me, honey. You don't want me to waste my cream, do you?" She held it out towards me. Mesmerised, I came closer. "After you lick it clean for me?" she added in a soft drawl. "Why don't you lick the rest of me clean, too. Will you do that for me, honey?" Of course I would - and of course, I did. Twice. ***** Later she wanted to know what my feelings were as I watched her using the dildo. I softly told her that it was truly one of the most erotic things I have ever seen, and just how much seeing her cum using the toy had turned me on. Angela listened intently to me. "Did you think of that little fantasy as you watched, honey?" she asked softly. "Yes," I softly admitted. "I kept imagining it was a real cock - and not mine." She nodded and smiled gently. "I knew the idea it might pop into your head as you were watching. How did it make you feel?" "Hot," I told her. "Very hot." "Do you still often think about me with another man?" "Yeah," I replied. "I guess more so now because of what happened - because I can't do it right now, maybe." "Because you can't fuck me," Angela stated candidly. "Yes," I replied softly. "I can understand that, honey, and I can understand why," she said gently. "I had an idea that it might've been on your mind a lot more, but I wasn't sure how you'd react right now - you know?" I smiled faintly. "Well, the idea of you doing it is still as exciting as ever to me." She slowly nodded, and I could see that she was mentally filing the information. "Did you enjoy feeling something inside you again?" I gently asked. "Honestly? Yes," she replied. "As you might know, honey, for a woman there's two types of orgasm - vaginal and clitoral. When I am 'filled', it's a lot easier to have a vaginal orgasm, which for me are a lot stronger." "Do you miss having intercourse?" I inquired. "Yes - yes, I do, very much," she admitted. "A lot, in fact. I can't wait until you're healed, honey, and everything's all working properly again," She glanced at me, and an impish grin appeared on her face. "You'd best prepare yourself, 'cause once you're ready to rock'n'roll, then we'll be rocking and rolling a lot!" And so for the last two weeks the dildo has played a big role in our bedroom. Angela loves me to slide it inside her, and then for me to lick her clit at the same time. This makes her have incredibly powerful orgasms, and I was in many ways glad that our house was some distance away from our neighbors - because her cries of ecstasy were long and loud. We had also begun to have a little fun outside of the bedroom; one night we were sat on the couch watching the TV. Angela turned her head to me and smiled mischievously. "You hungry, honey?" she asked. Not being on the ball, I replied: "Nah, hun. We had dinner not long ago." She sent me a mock-pout. "Oooh, okay then. I just thought you might fancy a taco." I blinked. "Right here?" I asked in delighted surprise. Angela grinned. "Right here - right now." Suffice to say that her panties were removed and tossed to the floor in very short order, and I was soon on my knees, kneeling between her legs as I licked and sucked her to climax as the TV twittered in the background. On another occasion, we were sat at our breakfast bar one Sunday morning, just finishing fried eggs and bacon. We had long ago bought four very tall stools for use at the breakfast bar, and we were perched atop two of them as we ate. Being a lazy Sunday morning, we were both still clothed in just our dressing gowns, and Angela's hair was still damp after her morning shower. I had reached for my coffee mug, and my elbow had knocked a plate of toast to the floor. "Dammit!" I grunted, arising from the stool and kneeling down to gather the plate and the scattered toast. I was kneeling almost at Angela's feet with my face almost brushing her right thigh, and she swiveled around on her high stool, and she looked down at me. Her broad, cheeky grin crept suggestively over her face. "While you're down there, honey..." I laughed. I had never heard this classically lewd solicitation for oral sex from a woman before. "Actually, these stools are just at the right height for that, aren't they?" Angela remarked. From my kneeling position, I could see that she was right - her pelvic region sat just above my eye level. "In fact," Angela continued. "They'd be a great way for you to be able to lick me - from behind." She uttered a short giggle, and then swiveled her body to face the breakfast bar again. She slid backward on the high stool so that her sexy ass protruded far over the leather seat whilst her lower thighs bore her weight. She then reached down to pull my stool closer to her, and she slid her right thigh sideways over onto it. This meant that her legs were now broadly parted with each thigh resting on different stools. She wriggled a few times to consolidate her position, and then lowered her upper body down onto the breakfast bar; her backside jutted outward and upwards even further. She looked down at me over her shoulder. "What do you think, honey?" she asked sweetly. "You think this would be a great position for you to please me?" It certainly was! The overall effect was that her whole pelvic region now practically hung in mid air, and her widely parted thighs meant that her pussy and ass were deliciously exposed and accessible from underneath. Her contortions had caused her dressing gown to ride up, and from where I was kneeling I had a perfect view of her inverted pussy peeking out from between her buttocks under the hem of the material. "It's a great position," I agreed excitedly, feeling the buzz intensify in my loins and lower stomach. She giggled again, and asked in a teasing voice: "Then what's stopping you, honey? Not hungry anymore?" I was always hungry for what she was offering. I quickly shuffled sideways on my knees until I was directly behind her and almost between the two stools that she was now perched upon. She reached back and lifted her dressing gown up over her back. "Lick me, baby," she murmured softly. I needed no further urging; I steadied myself by placing a hand on each of the stool uprights to either side of me, and I tilted my head back and pressed my upturned face into her crotch from behind. My tongue flicked forth, teasing that sensitive spot between her pussy and her asshole. "Mmm, up a little higher please, honey," she told me. "You know where..." I knew where, alright; I slid my flattened tongue up to her puckered rosette, licking and rimming her. She had always loved this kind of anal play, and her current spread-eagled posture on the stools made it extremely easy to perform this lecherous sexual act. The lasciviousness of the situation was intensified when I realised that Angela had actually resumed eating her breakfast as I was rimming her. For some crazy reason, this kinky little twist really turned me on; here I was, with my face pressed to her naked protruding backside and my tongue devotedly licking her asshole as she sprawled wantonly at the breakfast bar - and she simply carried on consuming her breakfast as if this were all perfectly normal. In fact, she said: "Mmm! Maybe we should do this every Sunday morning, honey? - me eating bacon and eggs and toast while you're dining on some fresh rump," She uttered a soft, teasing giggle. "Or maybe a tossed salad." Her wicked double-meanings simply added to my ardor. I kept enthusiastically rimming her until she had finished her repast. She then gave a soft groan, and shifted her thighs back further on the stools, and her delicious nether regions became even more accessible to my eager little tongue. "Now - lick my pussy please, baby," she softly requested. The kitchen walls were soon echoing to the soft, wet sounds of my lips and tongue hungrily slurping her pussy, and to Angela's urgent gasps of pleasure. Well, they do say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day... *Chapter 5* Mr. Roger's round face beamed at me over his desk. I was still amazed at how rotund it was. "Everything is coming along nicely," he told me. I wanted to contradict him and say that everything wasn't cuming along nicely - I wasn't cuming at all. But I bit my tongue. It was a week later, and I was again back in the consulting room. "So how's the prognosis now?" I asked him. "Very good indeed. You're healing extremely well, and now it's just a matter of time until you're back to your old self." "So I can stop taking those goddamned impotence pills, then?" I asked hopefully. He shook his head dolefully. "Not yet. I want to be sure that everything is healing internally, and that nothing interferes with that. We can't risk a premature erection undoing all our good work thus far - otherwise we would have to go through this whole process again, and we don't want that," He paused and added: "I know it must be very frustrating for you." If he'd seen Angela, then he would know how frustrating it was. I grunted. I hadn't expected any better, but it didn't hurt to ask. So - the soft-dick pills would continue. He looked at me intently. "You haven't tried to have intercourse, or masturbated have you?" I sent him a sour stare. "Of course not." He nodded. "Good. Any undue stimulation or rough handling of the shaft can be detrimental as well. But without an erection, the risks are greatly reduced." A little bell went off in my head. "Just to the shaft? My glans wasn't affected, was it?" He nodded. "Yes, just to the shaft. That, naturally, is where the major trauma was, and thus the reason why we want to keep it as stable as possible for another few weeks. Your glans received relatively little damage." "I see," I said thoughtfully. "Well, since all seems to be going according to plan, I will schedule you in for two weeks time instead. Say, two-thirty in the afternoon next Monday week?" I was glad to flee the place, and I headed home. ***** It can be strange how just one relatively minor occurrence can lead to major changes in life, and I was shortly to experience the phenomenon first-hand. For the last three days Angela had been of her 'time of the month', and this meant that I was unable to even orally please her during her period. As a result, my already rampant libido skyrocketed yet further into almost incandescence. My neglected balls had sometimes ached softly in the last four weeks, but in the last three days they had started to ache almost constantly. It was not truly painful - just irritating. So when Angela and I retired to bed that night, I wasn't surprised when they began aching yet again. I prayed that Angela's period would soon be over, and I could at least deflect some of the constant sexual tension that made my nerves snap like a loose sail in a high wind by burying my tongue deep in her creamy pussy. This didn't say a lot for my sensitivity to feminine issues - but ladies, please forgive me; as you may well know, a standing dick - or in my case a sitting one - has no conscience. I was horny as hell. I drifted off to sleep with my arm around Angela, the soft waft of her perfume leading my dreams to a place from which I would never really return. A lot of people have lucid dreams, I guess - but maybe my frustrated predicament had my subconscious working overtime. In any event, the dream I had that night changed my life forever... ***** I found myself involved in a poker game. The setting could have been lifted straight from Hollywood; the room was dark and smoky, and I was sat at a round table that was covered in green felt. A circular ceiling lamp dangled low over the table, and the face of the other player at the table was hidden in shadow. I was perplexed at my reason for being here, since I didn't gamble a hell of a lot. But I felt an overwhelming urgency, almost a need, to beat my adversary. This was apparently proving to be difficult; when my luck was bad, my opponent seemed to sense my ill fortune, and he upped the ante, and I lost. When I was dealt a good hand, he eerily seemed to know this as well, and he quickly folded. I subsequently lost far more than I gained. I could feel a strange sense of desperation inside me. I suddenly realised I was out of cash. "I don't have any more money," I said to the shadowy figure across the table. The man was silent for so long that I wondered if he had heard me. "What about your wife?" he finally asked in a strangely deep voice. It was the first time he had spoken a full sentence. "You want me to bet my wife?" I asked in surprise. His answering silence simply confirmed my question. A sudden flitter of motion to my left attracted my eye. I was startled to discover Angela sitting in a chair against the wall with her long legs crossed, serenely smoking a cigarette. I wondered if she had been here all the time. The question of how it was that she was bathed in light when the rest of the room was so dark didn't occur to me - but in dreams, things don't have to make sense. I noted that she was wearing a red dress very similar to the one she had worn when I had first seen her in the bowling alley so long ago. But this one was a come-fuck-me dress; it was so short that it revealed not only the full sweep of her smooth thigh, but also a hint of her right buttock. The plunging neckline dipped half way to her navel, and the soft swell of her breasts lay exposed almost to her nipples. I instinctively knew that she was naked underneath the dress. I looked at her face. She gazed back at me with what was a detached, almost aloof half-smile, as if she either had full confidence in my ability to win if I bet her in the game, or she simply didn't care. She unfolded her legs and crossed them to the opposite side. I noticed that she wore her red high-heels with a four-inch stiletto. "How much?" I asked the shadowy figure opposite me. He slowly pushed the pile of bills that he had in front of him to the center of the table; he wanted to wager all that he had in exchange for me wagering my wife. I licked my lips. "Okay," I said. "I'll bet my wife. Deal the cards." As he slowly dealt the cards, I glanced back at Angela; her indifferent half-smile had widened, almost as if she was amused and even pleased at the notion of becoming the prize in a poker game. I picked up my cards to discover that I had a high straight. I felt a glow of elation, and I looked at Angela and winked. Her smile became almost a leer. The shadowy man across the table was totally silent, and all I could see was his hand holding the back of his cards to me. He elected to take two, and I held. Since the bet was fixed - here I glanced at Angela butting her cigarette - there was no further betting. He laid down his cards: a single pair of aces. "Let's see what you got," he said. I laid down my hand in triumph. "You lose," the man said. "Lose?" I barked. "How the fuck can I lose? My straight beats your pair!" "Take a look at your cards," he intoned. I glanced down at my cards; the faces were blank. Plain white. Empty. I stared down in shock. As I watched, the five cards that I'd placed onto the green felt almost seemed to shrivel and wither. "You lose," the man repeated. "That can't be!" I yelled. "You lose, honey," Angela interjected softly. "You shouldn't have bet me if you didn't have anything to back it up with." Her leering smile had become a lusty smirk. She rose to her feet, and I now saw that the hemline of her dress barely covered her pubic region. I went to rise to my own feet - only to discover I couldn't move. I was paralyzed. The harder I tried to rise, the more I became immobile. Angela walked over to the victor sitting opposite me. He slid his chair back to allow her to stand in front of him with her back to me. "Are you going to take me now?" I heard her ask him. "Yes. Undress yourself." he replied. His words rocked me. Undress yourself? Angela? The ceiling lamp now started playing weird tricks; the bright cast of its light seemed to alter to keep only the face of the mysterious man in shadow. When Angela turned to face me I could clearly see her soft, drowsy smile, She slowly reached around behind her back to unzip her dress, and she slowly peeled it off; her beautiful breasts and her neatly-trimmed thatch of pubic hair leapt into view. She contemptuously tossed her dress aside, gazing back at me with a teasing smile. I sat staring in frozen disbelief as she stood naked in the harsh light of the ceiling lamp. My rivals' hands suddenly came from behind to cup her hips. He drew her backwards and pulled her down to sit on his lap. Their faces were lost in the shadows again, but I could see that Angela had swiveled her head sharply to the right because the bottom of her golden tresses swept over her upper chest. The smack of lips suddenly echoed from the far side of the table, and it was perfectly obvious that they were kissing. His hands slid around her waist, reaching up to cup her firm breasts. I opened my mouth to speak - whether in approval or in protest, I wasn't sure - but no sound came out in any event; I was dumbstruck. Again I tried to rise from my seat, but I couldn't move. It was like my arms and legs had become welded to the chair on which I sat. I realised that I was becoming hard - I could feel my cock slowly expanding inside my trousers. He took each of her nipples between a thumb and forefinger, and he rolled them firmly. They instantly hardened, and I heard a smothered moan issue from my wife's lips. He tweaked and teased her nipples expertly, and her hair dipped sharply to one side. I realised he was kissing her neck - which always turned her on. Her body began to writhe almost imperceptibly. "Do you want me to suck your cock?" I heard Angela whisper to him. "Yes," he said in that strangely deep voice. "Get on your knees." Angela climbed up off his lap, and he also rose to his feet. Angela's pretty face reappeared in the circle of harsh light as she sank to her knees. She reached over and undid his trousers, and she soon slid them down. His briefs followed next, and I was stunned as his cock sprang into view; it was already erect, and at least eight or nine inches long, and very thick. Angela, in fact, drew a startled breath as she gazed at it. "What a beautiful cock," she whispered in adoration. "Bigger than your husband's cock, isn't it?" he stated. Angela nodded. "Lots bigger. I want to suck it." "Then suck it," he told her. "Blow me." I sat paralyzed as she did just that; her pouty lips parted and her head darted forward, sliding the broad purple head of his massive tool slowly into her mouth. She eased further forward, and my eyes widened as she engulfed him totally. How she could take all of him inside her mouth I didn't know - but she did. Her pert nose was buried in his pubic hair, and his balls joyfully kissed her dimpled chin. "Mmmmmmmm..." she hummed from the back of the throat. She pulled her head back until the glistening crown of his cock withdrew to her lips, and then she repeated the process - taking him back into her mouth and out again, over and over, getting faster and faster. Her long blonde hair swayed hypnotically back and forth, and lewd sucking and slurping noises drifted over the table. The faceless man slowly reached down and gently pushed her head back so that the underside of his glans rested on her bottom lip. "Hold your mouth open and keep still," he commanded. My wife obeyed him; she opened her mouth a fraction wider and gazed adoringly up at him. He then started to fuck her mouth, swinging his hips slowly back and forth, and again I watched in disbelief as his long cock slid in to the hilt. His full balls slapped against her chin. Angela's rapt gaze never left his face. "Play with your cunt," he bluntly told her. "I want it soaking wet." I saw her right shoulder dip slightly, and although I couldn't see under the rim of the table, I knew that Angela was again complying with his request. I could imagine her nimble fingers sliding into her moist slit, making it slick with her secretions. He continued to face-fuck my wife, and she tilted her head slightly back, allowing his cock to slide even further down her throat. A glistening stream of her saliva trickled down her lips and formed a wet inverted mound under her chin. It quickly grew under its own weight and hung for several seconds before it dribbled slowly onto her tits. He pulled his hips back, and his cock slipped from her mouth, hovering over her face like a club. A sticky bridge of saliva hung between her lips and his cock for a second or two before it broke. "Is your hot little cunt wet yet?" he asked her. "Yes - my pussy is so creamy for you," my wife replied. "Are you going to fuck me now?" she asked hopefully. "Yes. Get up onto the table, on your back." Angela quickly rose to her feet and backed up to the table. She levered herself up on to it with her hands, and then slowly leaned back until her body was flat on the felt surface, with her buttocks slightly overhanging the opposite edge. She raised and parted her legs, and I could see the she was still wearing her red high-heels. Her inverted face was now no further than three feet from me. She tilted her head back and looked up at me. "He's gonna fuck me, honey!" she told me huskily, following up with what appeared to be an involuntary giggle, as though she couldn't help it. Her nipples stood proudly erect, like little flagpoles. The faceless man moved unhurriedly between her parted thighs, his countenance still clad in shadow. He firmly seized the spikes of her high-heels, one in each hand, and pushed her legs back and outwards even further. This tilted her pelvis upwards, and lifted her pussy lips into my line of sight. He then swung his hips forward, and his hard cock slithered over her cunt, almost pointing directly at me like the muzzle of a canon. He settled until his broad swollen glans was resting just under her mons pubis. He began rocking his hips slowly back and forth, seesawing the underside of his thick shaft between her labia. I realised that it was also rubbing against my wife's clitoris, teasing her. I could feel my own cock throbbing impotently. "Do you want me to fuck you?" he asked her. "Mmmmm, yes!" my wife panted. "I want you to fuck me hard." "Beg me," he told her "Please fuck me. Please!" "Why? Why do you want me to fuck you?" "Because I need it!" squealed my wife. "Because I need to be fucked!" "Doesn't your husband fuck you?" "Not anymore! He hasn't fucked me in months!" "So that steamy little cunt of yours hasn't had a hard cock up it recently?" "No!" Angela rasped. "Not for ages!" "I'll soon fix that," the man confidently chuckled, rocking his hips a little faster. The underside of his glans slithered wetly back and forth over her clit. "Good!" Angela gasped eagerly. She wriggled her hips. "Please stop teasing me! Do it!" "You put it in," he told her. "If you want my hard cock inside you so much, then you reach down and put it in." My wife hastily slid her hand down to his meaty shaft. She wrapped her fingers around it, and guided the massive head downwards. I actually saw it disappear between her upturned pussy lips. "Now fuck me!" my wife hissed to him. I watched helplessly as he slowly thrust his hips forward, and his thick cock slid wetly into her - inch after inch after inch, until at last his huge tool was completely buried in her cunt. Angela uttered a long, grateful moan and tilted her head back toward me. I stared at her upside-down face, and her green eyes bored into mine. "Mmmmm, he's inside me, Michael," she panted to me. "His hard cock is so deep inside me! Jesus, it feels so good! He's gonna fuck me hard, honey!" I heard him laugh softly. He slowly began sliding his cock in and out of her pussy, almost in slow motion. "I think Michael likes watching someone fuck you," he said. Angela grinned and looked towards his face. "I know he does. You didn't need to win me in a bet - you could've just asked him if you could fuck me. That would have made him hard!" The man guffawed. "He's already got a hard-on." I have no idea how he knew I had an erection - but he did. Angela smirked cattily. "That makes a fucking change! See? He can only get it up if someone else fucks me - and you're gonna fuck me hard, aren't you?" "I sure am. Your sweet little cunt is so tight!" Angela smiled. "It's tight because my fucking husband hasn't used it in so long!" He laughed again. "That wouldn't matter - you'd still be tight for me anyway." She giggled. "I'm sure I would be! Your cock is so big - and so hard! I love feeling it inside me!" He gave a deep chuckle. "Are you sure you want my cock? Wouldn't you rather have your husbands cock inside you instead?" "NO!" she cried sharply. "I want yours!" "You're a horny little tart, aren't you?" he stated. "Yes, I am! - now FUCK ME!" He instantly obliged her, slowly speeding his rocking hips, slamming his cock deep inside her as I sat in paralyzed silence, watching every powerful thrust, watching my wife's body jolt with each firm stroke, watching her beautiful tits describe tight, wobbly circles as the rhythm of his pumping hips flowed up through hers. He was still holding the spiked heels of her shoes, using them almost like a pair of convenient handles with which to keep my wife's legs widely parted. Angela's moans soon took on a far more urgent and ardent tone. Her body tensed as the carnal slap of their flesh became more and more intense. With her legs drawn so sharply back, I could see her pussy lips clinging to his cock as it slid in and out, slick and shiny with her juices. "I'm gonna cum any second!" he grunted. "Cum inside me," my wife implored loudly. "Shove it right in and shoot it deep inside me! Cream me!" He uttered several shuddering moans, and his hips suddenly plunged forward and drove his cock inside her to the hilt. I knew at that very moment his semen was beginning to erupt deep inside my wife's hot, creamy pussy. "Oh, yeah!" he moaned loudly. "I'm cuming!" Angela arched her back under him, and yelled: "I'm cuming too! Cuming! CUMING!" ***** "Cuming." The voice caused my eyes to snap open. There was only darkness, and I was softly gasping. I could feel myself trembling. Disorientation took me for a few seconds. I inhaled the familiar aromas of our bedroom. A dream, I realised. A goddamned dream! I felt Angela in bed beside me; I was pressed snugly against her naked back, and she was stirring from slumber. "Michael?" she murmured groggily. "Are you okay? I heard you cry out, baby." I heard her reach up and tap the touch lamp on. I squinted in the sudden brightness. "I'm okay, hun," I replied. "Just a dream." She slowly began to roll over to face me when a look of sudden confusion passed over her face. "What the hell...?" she muttered. She reached behind her back, sliding her right hand down to her panties. At the same time, I became aware of a dampness on my briefs. I darted a hand down to my groin; my briefs were drenched, and from the smooth, sticky consistency I knew that it was semen. The dream had caused me to ejaculate - a lot. Angela drew her hand from behind her back, rubbing her fingers together and staring at them intently. She, too, realised that the fluid was semen. "A wet dream?" she softly asked me. I sighed in embarrassment. "Apparently so," I replied. My groin had been pressed tightly against her backside as I dreamed, and some of the watery pre-cum and semen must have soaked through my underwear and onto her panties. I arose and went to the bathroom to clean up the mess, still stunned by what had occurred. I returned to the bedroom and slid a fresh pair of briefs on. "Is everything okay, baby?" Angela asked as I slid back into bed. I knew what she was referring to; she was worried about if I had hurt or damaged the healing incision in my penis. "Yeah, it's okay, baby," I told her sullenly. "I had a look in the bathroom. Everything's fine." "You didn't get hard at all, did you?" she asked. "No, hun," I replied. "Those fucking pills are still working. I wasn't hard at all." "What did you dream about?" she inquired. "I can't remember," I replied - a little too quickly. Even to me it sounded lame, and I inwardly cringed. "Don't lie to me, Michael," she said quietly. "Whatever you dreamed about made you so aroused that you were able to have a wet dream - even though you weren't hard. I want to know what the dream was. It's important to me." I closed my eyes. "Can I tell you tomorrow?" "No - by the morning you will have forgotten most of it. Tell me now." I doubted I would forget that dream in a hurry. I sighed again - I was cornered. I acceded to her request, and I recounted the dream in soft, halting detail, omitting nothing. Angela lay beside me and listened intently. When I had finished my account, she smiled softly and kissed me. "Thank you, honey," she said. "Okay - well, firstly, I'm not surprised that you had a wet dream; it's been six weeks since you last ejaculated, and it was bound to happen sooner or later, honey. So don't be embarrassed about it, okay?" I smiled wanly and nodded. "Secondly, I'm very aware that the notion of me screwing another man has a huge impact on you, and that it's probably your biggest turn-on. As I've always told you, I'm more than fine with that fantasy, honey, and I can certainly understand it. Jesus, I use it on you myself, so don't be shy about telling me any dreams or thoughts that you have about it, no matter how kinky or extreme they are, okay?" I nodded again. "Thirdly? I'll play amateur psychiatrist, and say that I can see that there's a lot of things in that dream that reflect the current situation - for example, I'm guessing that the cards going inexplicably blank and wilting is perhaps symbolic of how the medication is keeping you soft. The same with you not being able to move or speak as you watched me. That dream just blended your inability to have a hard-on with your cuckold fantasy - very intensely." "You're probably right," I said quietly. "I'd really like to talk about a lot of the other things that you mentioned, but not right now - it's too late and I'm in a coma and can't think straight, honey. Can we talk about it tomorrow?" "Sure, baby" I replied. She gave me an inquiring look. "Did you actually climax?" I shrugged. "I don't know. Being asleep, it was kinda hard to tell. But I think I did." In fact, I did feel a warm post-climax glow in my loins. Angela cocked her head to one side. "Really? That's interesting. Very interesting. We just might have to have a chat about that, too. But let's get some shut-eye, huh? I have an early start tomorrow, honey." I nodded, and she touched the metal base of the lamp and the room was plunged back into darkness. She kissed me again, and our faces remained pressed gently together on the pillows. "I love you, baby" she whispered. "I love you, too" I replied. There was silence for about twenty seconds, and then she quietly asked: "Did you enjoy watching him fuck me?" "Yes," I answered softly. I felt a soft grin flood her face. We drifted back off to sleep in eachother's arms.