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Soiled Panties

       A typical Friday. Too many deadlines, too many phone calls, too many emergencies. Although a few of these deadlines and emergencies were the result of my representation of Spenax Industries, I was still looking forward to lunch with Spenax's president, Peter. While Peter always attended to business, he was also a bit of a "rounder," and damn proud of it. Given my rather staid sexual relationship with my wife, Molly, I enjoyed living vicariously through Peter's exploits.

This lunch fit the normal pattern. Peter and I spent the first 45 minutes analyzing and dissecting the antitrust implications of a possible acquisition by Spenax. After beating that dead horse one last time, Peter ordered us a couple of Absolute Citron's with soda and embarked on a recounting of his latest conquests.

"Married pussy!" Peter exclaimed. "What do you mean, Peter?" The non-sequitor confused me.

"Married pussy is the easiest, hottest, wettest pussy in the world."

"Peter, as a married man, I can speak with some experience and certainty on this subject. Married pussy is anything but easy, and rarely hot or wet." My reply was authoritative, but in retrospect I led with my chin on this one.

"Neil, for such a smart lawyer whom charges $350 an hour, you're a total dumbshit."

I like Peter, but he's also a bit abrasive and arrogant. Sometimes he can really push my buttons.

Peter continued, "when I speak of married pussy, I'm talking about fucking pussies that are married to other men. More times than not, a married woman is dying for a thorough fucking from a real man, not just the weekly ten minute diddle they're used to from their husbands."

"Well, I imagine that there are some dissatisfied wives out there, but as your friend and attorney, I strongly advise against propositioning married woman. You'll end up with, at least a bruised cheek from her slap and, at worst, excruciating pain from her knee to your groin."

Peter chuckled, but quickly dismissed my cautions. "Neil, you don't even have a clue. In the past three months, I've approached eight different married woman, and I'm batting a thousand. I've concluded that there isn't a married woman out there, who given the opportunity, would turn down a sexual romp with a good- looking man."

"I don't know what world you've been living in, Peter, but I suspect that if you approached any of the married women that I know your batting average would quickly drop to the point that you'd be sent back down to the minors."

"Like who?" Peter stared at me confidently.

I was totally dumbfounded. I didn't expect to be challenged on this point. My mind went blank so I tried to avoid the question. "Look, Peter, you know damn well that there are so many frigid wives living in the suburbs that your theory can't hold water."

"Who?" Peter wasn't going to let the question slide.

My mind was slowly starting to reason again. I didn't really want to give Peter the names of any of the married women that I know. Peter's the type of guy who jumps at every challenge. I certainly didn't want him hitting on the wives of any of my friends. Common sense suggested that the safest thing to do was rely on my wife, Molly.

Molly and I have been married for twelve years, with two kids to show for the venture. Molly is not exactly frigid, but she's also rather conservative when it comes to sex. Pretty much straight intercourse, with very rare oral sex, and certainly no anal. From the perspective of frequency, we will usually have sex 3 or 4 times a month. I knew that Molly would never stray. In fact, she was a virgin when we married.

"Well, Peter, like my wife, for example..." Peter smirked. "You mean Molly?"

Peter had met Molly at a few business functions. Certainly, nothing untoward occurred. Molly is always the epitome of propriety. Not that she isn't strikingly beautiful, but she masks her 5 foot, five inch, 115 lb. frame and 35-21-36 figure in expensive and conservative attire. One of my unspoken complaints has always been that Molly's delectable ass is never displayed in a manner befitting its magnificence. Of course, her dark brown, shoulder length hair is always perfectly coifed and frames her high cheek-bones, porcelain skin and full lips.

"Neil," Peter shook his head in a condescending fashion, "do you really think for a moment that Molly hasn't fucked around on you?"

Not wanting to give any credence to Peter's outrageous suggestion, I tried to remain composed when I confidently replied, "I know she has never cheated and would never cheat. That's why your hypothesis about married pussy is fatally flawed."

"Well, Neil, if Molly hasn't taken on any other men, it's only because she's never been presented with the right opportunity."

"Sure, sure, Peter, whatever you say..." My cynical response only served to heighten Peter's competitive nature.

"Look, I'll prove it to you if you doubt me... but its got to be a fair test. You can't purposefully intervene or interfere. You just have to give me a reasonable chance to prove my point without letting Molly know that's something's up, I'll admit I'm wrong if I fail. Hell, I'll even let you handle drafting the Berringer contract at double your hourly rate."

It sounded like a deal to good to be true. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit it, but I really wanted the Berringer contract, and double my hourly rate would pay for a nice ski vacation. Yet, I recognized that Peter's a shrewd man. "What happens if you're right?" The lawyer in me always tries to weigh all the variables.

"See, you're already afraid that I'm right! A second ago, you thought I was full of shit... I'll tell you what I'll make it an easy wager. If I'm right, you agree not to interfere and let whatever happens to happen. OK?"

Less than enthusiastically, I said "Deal."

For some unexplainable reason, I looked at Molly differently that night as she emerged from the shower. I wondered how she'd react to Peter coming on to her. I wondered whether her nipples would become erect in response to his flirting, whether her pussy would involuntarily lubricate.

As I daydreamed about the possible scenarios, I suddenly imagined Molly naked, laying on her back, her legs spread wide, bucking her pelvis wildly to meet the thrusts of Peter's invading cock. Certainly, I'd never witnessed such a scene when Molly and I make love. It dawned on me -- as these illicit thoughts cluttered my mind -- that my own dick was hard beyond any normal erection.

That night I attacked Molly with a fervor. I wanted to reassure myself of my potency. But, Molly reacted as always, reservedly and in control. Even though I fucked her with what I thought was superhuman intensity, she laid there, moving slowly, waiting for me to finish. At the ordained moment, Molly reached up and began to fondle my balls and the sensitive skin between my scrotum and asshole. Molly knows that this sensation always sends me over the edge.

Even though I desperately wanted to hold off until her belly rippled with an orgasm, the sensation was too great, and at the last moment, the image in my mind returned to Peter slamming his dick into Molly's cunt. I climaxed violently and collapsed. With her normal grace, Molly slipped out from under me and rolled over to go to sleep. Yet, for me, these unsettling images continued, until I too fell into a deep sleep.

For the next week, I continued to be haunted by these perverse images of Peter and Molly in the throes of all varieties of sexual couplings. I found myself masturbating with a fervor that I hadn't known since adolescence. Of course, Molly was oblivious, remaining the picture of propriety. Perhaps fortunately, I didn't have occasion to speak with Peter during this time frame, either. the situation began to take on the hazy quality of a wicked nightmare. That is, until a local charitable cocktail party.

It was a typically staid affair, with all the frigid wives parading in their diamonds and designer duds. The husbands, with their fat wallets and brokerage accounts, sucked down fine whiskey while sharing off- color jokes about their bimbo secretaries.

Molly was in her element. She was dressed impeccably in a black, backless number bearing some French designer's moniker. Actually, it was rather unusual for Molly, for it displayed her cleavage and a healthy dose of leg. Of course, Molly had a unique way of looking classy and not the least bit sensual.

After a couple of vodka and tonics, I was startled by Peter's booming voice. It was quite a surprise since Peter normally eschewed these events. "More boring than trolling for babes at a convent," I remember Peter once saying.

"Peter, what the Hell are you doing here?"

"Neil, you cynical bastard! I'm here because I care deeply about the very same things that everyone else here cares about"

"Oh, and just what would that celebrity cause be, eh Peter?"

"Something about irradiating the Bosnian, homosexual humpback whales, I think." Peter smirked, and in a sarcastic voice said: "You know, Neil, I've changed my take on these society bashes. While I still believe that the vast majority of pussies present haven't had a good plowing in the last decade, I've concluded that this fact presents someone like me with endless possibilities."

"God, Peter, you're a complete predator!" I replied.

With that comment, Peter glanced over towards Molly, who was engaged in some banal conversation with the hostess of the party, and remarked: "So, speaking of cunts yearning to be filled, how's our little girl, Neil?"

Flushed with anger and indigence, all I could muster was: "Fuck you, asshole!"

"Now, now, Peter boy, remember our wager. Besides you're so confident about Molly's fidelity that there's nothing to worry about, right?"

With that, Peter made a beeline towards Molly. On the one hand, I felt like intervening. On the other, I truly wanted the vindication of Molly spurning Peter's base advances. In the end, I drowned my indecision in more vodka and tonics.

As the evening wore on, my stomach felt oddly queasy. This feeling was exacerbated every time I lost sight of Molly. Yet, throughout, I could not ignore the aching in my balls.

To my frustration, Peter had succeeded in cornering Molly into a long one on one conversation. This was quite surprising since Molly was notorious for her ability to work a crowd. Many times, people would come up to Molly and apparently interject themselves into the conversation.

Normally, Molly would use the interruption as an opportunity to move on. At the very least, Molly would always graciously welcome the new party into the discourse. Yet, on this evening, Molly's body language caused the interlopers to move on after only a comment or two, leaving her and Peter to themselves.

Finally, the event was coming to an end, and the caterers began to pack up. Molly remained clearly in sight, and fully clothed, albeit in conversation with Peter. At last, I felt a sense of relief and victory, as Molly left Peter and walked over to me. My elation was short-lived, however.

"Honey, I don't feel like calling it a night yet. Peter's invited us to join him for drinks and dancing at a club. What do you say, it'll be fun, especially after you've had to put up with this boring purgatory for hours."

I had no choice but to agree. I certainly couldn't beg off and tell that I'd wagered her fidelity for some good billable work. Likewise, I would be breaching the deal with Peter if I interfered.

"Sure, honey, that sounds great." While I was less than enthusiastic, I rationalized away the risk that Peter might actually succeed. After all Molly had done nothing improper, yet.

Perhaps ill advisedly, I had more vodka and tonics when we reached the club. The dim lights and smoky air of the club further clouded my self induced alcoholic haze. The loud music also rang in my ears and distorted the conversation. Peter had strategically sat next to Molly in the booth, relegating me to the other side of the table. My inability to make out or participate in the dialogue heightened my paranoia.

Peter was chatting up Molly with aplomb, and had even maneuvered his arm around her shoulder. When it came time for dancing, I was in no condition to save Molly from Peter's devious onslaught. Putting aside my agreement not to intercede, my coordination was completely shot from the drinking.

At first, it was fast dancing, leaving Peter little opportunity for bodily contact. However, late in the evening, the music slowed and Peter pressed himself close to Molly. My senses may have been dulled, or my paranoia rampant, but I could swear that I saw Molly grinding her belly into Peter's bulging groin. Maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself, but as I downed my n-teenth vodka and tonic, I began to visualize illicit pictures of Peter fucking Molly ferociously with Molly bucking back like a thousand dollar slut.

Peter and Molly had, meanwhile, danced their way to the most remote and dark corner of the dance floor. Again, my perceptions might not have been acute, but I am sure I saw Peter and Molly engaged in a never ending, French kiss while Peter slowly stroke her ass and fondled the sides of her breasts.

Blessedly, closing time finally arrived. As we staggered to the door, I surrendered to Molly the keys to the car. Peter said something about a nightcap at his place and, for an instant, my heart stopped. But, for some reason, Molly declined. I poured myself into the leather passenger seat of our BMW. Before Molly got in she said "Ooops, just a second I think I left something in the club."

I was able to watch Molly in the passenger rearview mirror as she walked back to the club. But, she didn't go in. Instead, she went up to Peter as he was unlocking the door to his Mercedes. Again, they kissed...not very long though. I could see Molly and Peter exchange brief words. With a sly smile, Peter placed his hand on Molly's right tit as she turned to walk back to the car.

Molly made a little small talk on the drive home, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Although my cock was turgid all evening long, the alcohol caused me to elect sleep over a desperately needed fuck once we got home. Yet, during the night, I slept fitfully, awakening often. At least twice, I heard Molly breathing heavily and the rhythmic sound of her hand vigorously at work between her legs.

The next day, Peter called and invited me to lunch. I hoped that he would simply take pleasure in the fact that he had groped my wife, and let the "wager" drop. But, this hope was dashed almost immediately.

"Neil boy! How are you feeling after all that booze. Probably not as good as I was "feeling" last night, if you catch my drift."

The sinking feeling in my stomach again sank in, and I could actually feel my manhood shrink.

"Look," I implored, "why don't we just call the bet a draw."

"No go, Neil. That wouldn't be very sporting. Especially after all my hard work. But, I'll tell you what: Let me try to ask Molly out alone just once. If she turns me down, I yield the point."

"Okay. It's a deal." I reluctantly agreed, believing that Molly would never risk being seen alone, in public, with Peter.

Peter was smirking like a cat with canary feathers hanging out of its mouth.

"What the hell are you smiling about!"

"Well, Neil, I forgot to share one little fact before you agreed: I already asked and Molly accepted. We're going out tonight."

I felt as if I was going to implode. That morning, Molly had asked for me to watch the kids because she was going to have a girl's night out with her best friend, Kim. We had allowed one another "night's out" since our last child was born as a method of preserving our sanity. I never dreamed that Molly might use this arrangement to fool around on me. Of course, Peter could be bullshitting me. I'll never put that above him.

"Tell you what Neil," Rick continued, "at the end of the evening I'll give you a call to let you know that Molly's on the way home. Just to make it interesting, I'll let the phone ring once if nothing happens, twice if she only allows a little petting like last night, three times if she blows me, and four rings if she is well fucked."

When I got home that evening, Molly was busily getting ready to go out. But, she didn't act or dress any differently than on other occasions. I rationalized that Peter was simply torturing me, and that Molly was going out with Kim.

On the way out the door, Molly gave my her traditional peck, and said: "Kim and I are going to catch that new French film and maybe go out for dinner and drinks afterwards. It's a three hour movie, so I'll probably be late... no need to wait up."

Initially, ignorance was bliss. I chose to disregard Peter's boastfulness and, instead, trust Molly's honesty. Yet, once I put the kids down, my mind began to wander. A combination of jealousy and uncertainty gnawed at my brain. But, at the same time, I felt bad about doubting Molly.

By 10:30 PM, my stomach became unsettled in the same fashion as the night before when Molly and Peter were on the dance floor. By 11:30 PM, my paranoia overcame reason and I thought about ways to confirm Molly's fidelity.

So, in a very sophomoric manner, I called Kim's telephone number. Embarrassed, I almost hang up after the second ring, but then a groggy voice answered "Hello." It was unmistakably Kim's voice, and it sounded as if I'd awakened her from a deep sleep. Flabbergasted, I set down the receiver without saying a word.

To my ironic dismay, I'd proven that I wasn't paranoid. Molly was out with Peter.

As midnight eased into the early morning hours, my mental imagery was torture. I would alternate between fantasies of Peter fucking Molly in all different positions, with fantasies of Molly resolutely turning down Peter's advances, saying "No, I'm a married woman!"

Tellingly, my cock was rock hard as I imagined Peter plowing into Molly's pussy. With guilty perversion, I stroked myself to an incredible orgasm, which brought on sleep.

Suddenly, I awoke to the sound of the telephone. I looked at the clock; it was 2:26 AM! It seemed like an eternity before the phone rang for a second time. I quickly rationalized that Molly had already engaged in a heavy petting session with Peter, so this second ring should not be that surprising. But, just then, the phone rang for a third time. The shock of the thought of Anne sucking on Peter's dick staggered me. I waited with dreaded anticipation, wondering if the caller had hung up.

BBBRRRRIIINNNGGG! The fourth ring pierced through the darkness of my bedroom. Instantaneously, my cock erupted in another climax without the aid of manual stimulation.

There I laid in the dark. My belly covered with my own cum. The phone hadn't rung a fifth time. Yet, I still wondered whether Peter was intentionally torturing me. After all, this was hardly evidence that Molly had succumbed to Peter's seduction. At most, it merely suggested that Peter and Molly had been together. While their being together was not particularly comforting, it certainly didn't prove infidelity.

So, I waited for Molly to get home.

She arrived about fifteen minutes after the fourth ring of the telephone. Molly slipped into the bedroom without turning on the light. Apparently, she thought I was asleep and I didn't disabuse of the notion. She seemed somewhat unsteady on her feet, perhaps the result of a little too much alcohol.

Unfortunately, it was too dark to make out anything more than her silhouette as Molly discarded her clothing into the hamper. Nude, she made her way to the bathroom and closed the door. I was a bit surprised to hear the shower since Molly normally showered in the morning. But, it did afford me an opportunity to inspect her dirty clothes.

At first, I noticed nothing abnormal other than the smell of smoke that garments always collect in restaurants and nightclubs. Of course, I didn't want to turn on the light so my inspection was hampered. When I retrieved Molly's panties from the hamper, I felt an obvious wetness. In fact, the crotch was thoroughly sopping.

Instinctively, I brought the soiled panties to my nose. The aroma was striking. While I immediately recognized the feminine smell of Molly's sexual lubricants, there was some other smell even more evident. It was a familiar, pungent aroma... it was the same fragrance that I smelled twenty minutes earlier when my balls spewed my second load of the night.

Oddly, these mixed remnants were not in the least bit offensive. I slipped the panties into one of my drawers for further examination in the daylight hours.

When Molly exited the bathroom, she had already turned out the light so again my vision was impaired. But, she did walk as if she had just finished a 15k road race. Molly slipped a white nightgown over her head and climbed into to bed.

There was no effort by Molly to make physical contact with me. Instead, she rolled over on her stomach with her face away from me towards the wall. Within seconds, I could hear the sound of her deep breathing as if she was already in REM sleep.

I didn't want to wake her, but my curiosity persisted. After about thirty minutes, I extracted my pen light from my bed stand and flicked it on under the covers. Molly's nightgown had ridden up, fully exposing her legs and ass. Just then, she moved her right leg giving me a clear view of her pussy from behind. I was amazed by what I saw.

Molly's labia were swollen and pink. In the place of her normal little slit was a gaping opening where I thought I could see all the way up her vagina to the cervix. There were no apparent fluids; she must have cleaned and dried herself in the shower. I marveled at the sight. It was something I'd never even seen, not even on our wedding night. I could only imagine the size of the organ that must have done this damage to Molly's womanhood. I certainly wouldn't be enjoying the pleasures of Molly's tight cunt for some time. if ever again.

Approach avoidance. In the morning, while Molly slept, my feelings alternated between abject depression and wanton lust. Fortunately, when I began to slip in the abyss of bemoaning the fact that Molly had been unfaithful, I pulled out Molly's panties. The negative thoughts dissipated as my erection grew. The fluids had dried into an obvious yellowish stain, but the odor remained unmistakable. I found the aroma intoxicating.

I found myself masturbating frantically in the bathroom as I held Molly's soiled panties pressed to my nose. As I came, I knew that this intense sexual experience was addictive, and not one easily dismissed.

Yet, as I drove to work the depression began to set in. My self-esteem was suffering from being cuckold.

A little after 11 AM, my secretary buzzed in to let me know that Peter was on the line. I knew that this call would come, but my heart began to race nonetheless. Surprisingly, Peter said nothing about the night before, instead concentrating his comments on my draft of the Berringer contract. He then suggested that we get together for lunch to discuss some of the deal points.

I felt strangely uncomfortable around Peter at lunch. Every time he looked at me, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he remembering how he'd fucked Molly last night? Was he wondering what kind of a wimp I was to allow my wife to be screwed by another guy? Had Molly said anything about my sexual prowess?

After we'd finished talking about the Berringer deal, there was a very pregnant pause. Peter just sat there and stared, a smirk beginning to form on his face. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. I felt as if I was out of control, in a free fall.

Finally, Peter ended my misery. "So, I guess I proved my point. And, gee, Neil, I'm really sorry about the condition of Molly's pussy. I never dreamt that she could be so tight after years of marriage."

Peter had done it again: pushed my button. I really should have just admitted it and walked away with my tail (or dick) between my legs. But, I don't know if it was masochism or simply sheer stupidity, I took an indefensible and idiotic position.

"Peter, you've proved nothing. Molly was out last with her friend Kim. I know it for a fact. You have no evidence that you nailed MOlly, other than the fact that you sat at home and called my phone number late last night. The fact that you know how to dial my phone number proves nothing."

Peter was honestly taken aback by my vigorous defense. After a moment, he just shook his head incredulously and laughed. "Okay, if proof is what you want, proof is what you'll get."

As we parted, Peter was still smiling and shaking his head. On the other hand, I was kicking myself. What had I done?! I'd just invited Peter to go after Molly again! As I continued to marvel at my incredible gaff, I began to suspect that my subconscious may have played a very significant role in my actions. Indeed, I could feel my cock swell as I considered the prospect of a return engagement between Peter and Molly.

The next week, Molly asked for another "girls' night out." Of course, I had to agree. This time she dressed in a more provocative manner: a black silk slip dress, no bra (something I'd never seen Molly do before) and I think she was wearing black thong panties (to my knowledge Molly didn't own any underwear of this type). Molly concocted no alibi this time, rather she simply kissed me on the cheek and said not to wait up.

After the kids were asleep, I drank three beers and retired to my bed sans clothes. With absolutely no sense of personal dignity, I fondled and sniffed Molly's cum soaked panties while imagining the salacious things that she and Peter must be doing at that very moment. I stroked myself to at least two good climaxes before falling asleep.

Even in my dreams, I saw Molly's slender legs wrapped around Peter's torso, bucking frantically as he battered her crotch repeatedly with his thick, erect penis. Just as I heard Molly moaning in orgasm in my dream, and visualized Peter's balls tightening and shooting their load into Molly's convulsing cunt, a piercing sound returned me to consciousness. It was the phone.

In an almost Pavlovian manner, I sat up in bed on the first ring. With the second ring, I regained my orientation. The third ring brought a tingling sensation to my testicles and nipples. The fourth ring triggered another eruption from my dick. Then there was only silence as my semen pooled on my belly and I looked over to see the clock radiate 2:49 AM.

When I heard Molly come in about 15 minutes later, I wondered what Peter's idea of proof might be. Molly staggered into the bedroom. She pulled her slip dress over her head. While the only light source was the LED on our alarm clock, I could tell that she had no panties on.

"Damn," I thought. No chance for a fresh source of masturbatory smells.

Then, to my surprise, Molly just climbed into bed naked, without taking a shower or putting on a nightgown. I could smell alcohol on her breath and, I think, Peter's cologne in her hair. She rolled over towards me, and kissed me, deeply thrusting her in my mouth. Her lips were loose and her saliva flowed freely all over my cheeks and chin. Molly had never kissed me in such a wanton and messy fashion before. The taste of alcohol was unmistakable, but mixed in were flavors with which I was unfamiliar. I don't know if it was the alcohol, but when Molly finally withdrew her lips, my face was coated with a sticky and slimy residue.

Before I could fully assess the situation, Molly grabbed the back of my hair with both hands and forcefully guided my head underneath the sheets. My cheek brushed her left nipple which was erect and harder than I'd ever experienced. Molly kept pushing my head until I was between her legs. This was quite out of the norm; Molly had never demanded oral sex before. If I went down on her, it was always at my instigation.

There I was in the darkness, under the covers. For all intents and purposes, I was blind. Yet, my other senses were heightened. The aroma emanating from Molly's crotch was pungent. It was the same odor I remembered from her soiled panties, only intensified. There were squishing sounds coming from her pussy, and every so often, a little "fart" of air would escape.

Impatiently, Molly ground my face into her groin. I could feel a hot, slimy, sticky pool of fluids soaking her pubic hair and cradled by the folds of her spread labia. Instinctively, I opened my mouth and extended my tongue into the void between her thighs.

The opening to Molly's vagina was enormous. It seemed wide enough to consume my nose, mouth and chin. My tongue caught a huge glob of the flow which oozed from her cunt. The strong taste was foreign to me: tart and salty with a tinge of the musky flavor of Molly's vaginal juices.

Now there was no denying it. I was swallowing the semen Peter's cock had deposited deep in my wife's pussy. Common sense, Judeo-Christian morality and years of heterosexuality dictated that I should be revolted. But, my rigid dick and throbbing prostate said otherwise.

With a fervor, I began tonguing Molly's swollen and distended labia lips seeking to savor the remnants that had already escaped from her cunt. I sucked what seemed like a endless stream of semen from the depths of her vagina. All the while Molly moaned and rocked her pelvis against my jaw. I heard myself whimpering with satisfaction as if I were a suckling infant taking nourishment from a mother's tit.

Time and time again, I tried to extend my tongue and swab Molly's cervix, but I couldn't. Peter's dick must have been not only thick as a redwood but long as one. He must have pounded Molly's cervix well up into her belly.

After Molly had convulsed in orgasm, a thicker flow of cum poured forth. I lapped it up and became to wonder if Peter's sperm had made its way into Molly's womb. Even though I knew Molly was on the pill, the thought of Peter's virile seed swimming in search of one of Molly's eggs, sent me over the edge. Without even touching myself, I came again, my semen pooling on the mattress as I continued to coax every drop of Peter's semen from my wife's folds.

After what must have been ninety minutes of furious efforts, Molly had climaxed three times and was clean as a whistle. I, too, was hard again, but Molly was asleep and there was nary a dollop of sperm left in her vagina. With some hesitancy, I decided to fuck Molly myself. I positioned my penis at her gaping hole. Literally no pressure was necessary as my dick disappeared.

It was a loose, warm sensation as I moved my erection around this vast expanse that had once been a tight little pussy known only to me. There was ample room for more and Molly's vagina almost engulfed my balls as well. Apparently, the absence of friction allowed Molly to sleep through the five minutes of my squirming inside of her. I tried to hold off as long as possible, but the thought slipping around in my wife's used pussy was too much. I added my light load to the scene of the crime and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning (which seemed to come to soon), I awoke with a crusty residue coating my face. Peter and Molly's combined juices had dried like a tight mask. I showered and left for work, leaving Anne asleep. Her face seemed contented.

Predictably, Peter called mid-morning to schedule a lunch. I was resigned to the continued humiliation of picking up the check for the man who made me a cuckold.

Peter was beaming with his sense of achievement when I met him at the cafe'. As we sat down at our table, Peter crowed "So, how's my boy? I hope your mommy taught you to be a good loser."

Perhaps I lacked the depth of conviction from my earlier denials, but I surprised myself by conjuring up enough strength to say: "Peter, I'm really tiring of this entire charade. You haven't accomplished anything, and you certainly have no proof."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk.." Peter replied as he shook his head condescendingly. As he did, Peter reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a pair of black silk thong panties which he deposited on my plate.

I immediately recognized the panties as the pair that I'd seen on Molly for the first time, the night before. After regaining some composure, I picked the panties up with my finger and, while dangling them in front of Peter, said "Peter, I'm surprised, I never knew this side of you. After all, a man of your station in life shouldn't wear women's underwear!"

Peter was not amused. "Look, pencil-dick ... this is your proof. Those are Molly's panties that I kept as a souvenir from last night."

"Oh, that explains the phone call in the middle of the night." I smirked. "It was you up to your old games. Damn near woke both me and Molly up. Oh, by the way, Molly doesn't wear or own any thong panties."

As I surreptitiously slid the panties in my jacket pocket (for later examination and sniffing), Peter's face got red and angry. Then, he relaxed and suddenly began to laugh loudly.

"Okay, okay, I get it. I think I know what's going on." Peter gasped after stifling his guffaw. "Kinda strange, but whatever floats your boat! If you want undeniable proof, you shall have it."

The rest of the lunch proceeded without mention of Molly or the wager. But, I did catch myself noticing Peter's cologne, the same smell that Molly brought home. I also began to imagine what Peter looked like in the nude with particular time spent visualizing his erect cock and heavy testicles. Indeed, kinda strange for a married, hetero guy.

For the next few days, I wondered what kind of proof Peter had in mind. To my disappointment, Molly did not ask for any "girls' nights out." I was doubly disappointed to discover that the "prize" thong panties did not have any dried semen. There was the discernible aroma of Molly's juices, but missing was the pungent odor of a man's ejaculate.

The next Wednesday, Peter called and invited me to lunch, again. I was surprised. Molly hadn't gone out at all the preceding evenings. My curiosity was piqued as I hurried to keep the lunch date. I was anxious and it didn't help that Peter was running late. I was so nervous that I ordered a drink, something that I never do at lunch.

After about ten minutes of fidgeting, The waiter came over and handed me an envelope with my name on it. I opened it and found a novelty greeting card with the picture of a shapely young woman bending over to reveal an ass comparable to Molly's with lace panties. On the inside, it read "The End is in Sight!" Underneath was handwritten: "Your absolute proof awaits you in the master bath of your house... Peter."

I threw a $20 down on the table and left the cafe' like a bat out of Hell. Fortunately, there were no speed traps between the restaurant and my house. When I arrived, I noticed that Molly's car was still in the garage, but she was nowhere to be found. Nevertheless, I headed straight to the master bath. But, to my frustration, there was nothing!

Absolutely, nothing was amiss or out of the ordinary! Like a fumbling treasure hunter, I looked in every drawer and cupboard, under ever towel, even in the toilet tank. Zippo! I was ready to go track down Peter and knock the shit out of him, when I heard the front door open. Molly's laughter was immediately recognizable. But, she was talking to someone else and moving towards the bedroom.

My instincts motivated my to hide or run. In retrospect, it was absurd. Here I was in my own home, feeling like a burglar.

Since I knew that the French doors to our bedroom were locked, I was trapped in the master bath. I switched off the light, and hoped that MOlly didn't need to use the facilities.

Initially, I sat quietly on the commode. Molly's voice grew louder as I heard her enter the bedroom. When I could make out what she was saying, I was shocked.

"God! I'm dripping wet! My panties are soaking." Molly exclaimed breathlessly.

Whether by serendipity or by plan, I realized that I could see most of the bedroom including our bed in the reflection of the vanity mirror. There, I saw a reversed image of Molly unzipping a stylish red skirt and letting it fall to the floor where she kicked it away from her feet. She was still wearing matching red pumps and thigh-high stockings. The tail of her white, silk blouse covered her panties.

Although I was somewhat disoriented by the mirror image, I realized that she was looking towards the door to the living room as she began to slowly unbutton her blouse. As she did, she licked her lips in a seductive manner I had never seen before. With a glistening pout, she finished with the last button.

Molly opened the blouse that slipped from her shoulders to the floor. To my surprise, Molly was not wearing a bra. Her 34B breasts were fully exposed with her nipples erect. With her blouse gone, I could finally see Molly's panties. They were skimpy, high-cut and, she was right. There was a very noticeable dark wet spot seeping through the crotch.

Molly's gaze was still directed towards the bedroom door. "Do you still like what you see?" Molly asked in a deep voice.

I heard a male voice reply "umm-hmmm."

"Prove it. Show me that you like it." Molly commanded.

From my angle, I couldn't see her male guest, but I knew it had to be Peter. I heard the sound of rustling clothes and, then, an unzipping zipper. With that sound, Molly's eyes grew very large as she looked down. Her breathing grew faster, and she started manipulating her hard nipples.

"God. It looks even larger in the day light." Molly licked her lips again while working her nipples.

Suddenly, Molly squatted down gracefully keeping her balance in her high heels. With her legs spread, emphasizing the growing wet spot that now almost saturated the entirety of her underwear, Molly beckoned with her index finger. "Please... bring it here. I need to taste it, feel it..."

In anticipation, both Anne and I waited. The on the edge of the mirror, I saw a bulbous cock-head, pre-cum fluid dribbling from the hole. It was a little difficult to estimate its size given the absence of a reference object. But, it seemed abnormally large. Slowly, the shaft came into view. It too seemed thick and had bulging veins. I expected to immediately see Peter's body, but more and more shaft followed until it culminated in dark brown pubic hair with commensurate testicles swaying heavily between Peter's muscular legs.

When Peter reached Molly, I could finally appreciate the massive size of Peter's genitals. His cock-head touched the bottom of her chin while brushing Molly's nostrils. Its length and girth were far greater than my slim 6 inches. I mentally guessed 9-10 inches in length and, as Molly grasped his dick, her hand could not quite encircle it.

In a worshipping manner, Molly's tongue dabbed up Peter's pre-cum. She then closed her eyes and kissed the tip of the mammoth rod. Just as Molly's lips parted wide, in a optimistic effort to give passage to Peter's erection, Peter motioned to the bed stand and said: "Shouldn't you cover up Neil's picture?"

With a wicked smile, Molly got up and retrieved our wedding photo that she kept next to the bed. She strategically placed it on the bed, inches away from Peter's cock. Then Molly lifted Peter's cock to the photo and, in a flaunting manner, slurped the head into her mouth.

The humiliation excited me. Molly's lips were stretched taut and her jaw wide open as she did her best to fellate Peter. In the background was our wedding picture. Despite her efforts, Molly's petite mouth could not accommodate more than 4 inches of Peter's dick.

After about five minutes of valiant efforts, Molly stopped sucking and stood up. She slipped her sopping panties off and laid back on the bed. Her legs were splayed wide and I could clearly see her engorged labia glistening with her lubricants.

"Peter, I need you to fuck me good! It's about time that I get really well fucked in this bed!"

That hurt, but my own erection throbbed. Molly positioned our wedding portrait at the end of the bed between her legs. Peter climbed between her thighs and began to run the tip of his cock up and down Molly's slit. It seemed to dwarf Molly's crotch. Molly's eyes shut and she began to moan softly as Peter prepped her for entry. As he did, there was a squishing sound as Molly's juices flowed.

"I think your pussy is starting to get use to me, its opening wide," Peter remarked.

"Ummm-hmmm. It misses your thick, long cock. It wishes that you were fucking it raw 24 hours a day."

I was amazed. The impossible seemed to begin to happen. Molly's petite pussy was expanding beyond anything I'd ever witnessed. Peter's cock-head disappeared and Molly sighed, breathed in deeply and tilted her pelvis to aid the invader. The lips to her vagina were stretched around Peter's girth as he slowly plunged deeper. After about three minutes of maneuvering, I could no longer see Peter's cock; his grapefruit-sized balls rested in the crack of Molly's ass. It was an awesome sight.

Peter began to pump the full length of his cock in and out of Molly's distended cunt. Molly became very vocal as Peter's tempo increased, moaning and whimpering in obvious ecstasy. The slurping noises coming from her pussy as Peter pounded away were nasty. With each thrust, Molly's body would recoil and her breasts wiggle as Peter's penis rammed her cervix further back into her abdomen.

To my amazement, Molly's stomach began to undulate with an orgasm after about five minutes of frantic fucking. Peter wouldn't let up and allow the spasms to subside. Instead, he worked Molly's pussy like a finely tuned instrument, bringing her again and again to climax until I lost count.

By know my own dick was throbbing as if ready to explode. Suddenly, in the reflection of the mirror, I saw Peter's pace reach a crescendo, his sperm-laden balls tightened and with an enormous grunt he launch his cum into the deepest regions of Molly's over- stretched vagina, at the door to her womb. Peter's load was so voluminous that there was inadequate space in Molly's vagina to accommodate both Peter's semen and his convulsing cock. Thick, white cum oozed out around Peter's embedded shaft.

Then, I realized that my own cum was saturating my pants and running down my leg.

After a momentary respite in which Peter and Molly (and I) caught their breath, Peter withdrew his still erect member with a "plop" from Molly's gaping opening. Molly proceeded to suck Peter for all she was worth. Molly's cultured restraint and manners were all but gone; she slurped and lapped with utter abandon. After about fifteen minutes of ministrations, Peter rolled Molly over on to all fours and plunged back in doggy-style.

Peter spent the next 90 minutes fucking Molly in every imaginable position. Twice more he spewed his semen into her pussy, each time his load seemed, incredibly, to be as large as the first. Peter's cum matted Molly's dark pubic hair and flowed freely from her cunt after Peter withdrew for the last time. Molly had had innumerable orgasms and collapsed, naked but for the sweat glistening all over her body. Peter dressed walked over and kissed Molly fully on the lips. Exhausted, she mumbled, "Thank you for cumming ...please cum again."

Before Peter left the bedroom, he turned to the darkness in the master bathroom and looked directly into the vanity mirror. It immediately dawned on me that reflections work both directions. Staring with a satisfied smirk, Peter zipped up his fly with an arrogant flair. Without saying a word, he turned and left.

I waited for another fifteen minutes to see if Molly would also leave, but she was sound asleep. As I emerged from the bathroom, the smell of sex permeated the room. I looked at my satiated wife splayed nude on our marital bed with another man's sperm running out of her well-worn pussy.

The picture was too much for me to take. I climbed into bed between her legs and proceeded to lick the remnants of the illicit coupling from her folds. Molly moaned quietly, as my tongue darted in and out of her swollen labia, but her eyes never opened. My own frenzy increased as I slobbered, face down in her crotch. After sucking every available drop out, I noticed that I'd come again. Then, exhaustion overtook me as well, and I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, it was 9:30 PM, Molly was out in the den watching TV with the kids who'd since come home from school. Embarrassed, I didn't say anything to Molly. She, too, was silent although there was a contented smile on her face.

In the nine months which have passed since Peter gave me "absolute proof," Anne will go out once or twice a week and return home in the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes Peter will still call before she comes home and let the phone ring four times. When Molly comes in, there is no doubt that she has been well-fucked. Without mentioning anything, she strips out of her clothes, climbs on top of me, straddles my head and lowers her sopping, oozing pussy onto my mouth for cleaning.

This past week, after sucking down the last dollop of Peter's semen from her now-permanently enlarged pussy, Molly surprised me by mentioning that she was thinking about having another child. Instantaneously, I shot my load... You see, I hadn't cum inside her vagina for almost five months. I wonder how she plans on getting pregnant?!

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