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Fallen
By Sandia.
Write me at sandia@texas.net
This story is intended to defile the youth, corrupt the innocent, and bring a
plague of rats down upon your houses. If you don't want to read this kind of
story, stop reading now.
It has some hanky, some panky, and a bit of spanky too, but mostly it's about a
man whose wife is cheating on him, and the strange way her outside relationship
works itself into in her marriage. There's also some naughty words.
YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.
If you're still here, thank you. If you like this story, please write me. I
love to hear from folks.
Sandia.
sandia@texas.net
Fallen Part I
"Michael," she said, "We didn't have sex." Her gaze shifted to somewhere over
my right shoulder. "Not really."
"Not really?" I stared at her. I was standing in my own living room, a
crumpled note clenched in my hand, asking my wife a question I couldn't believe
I had to ask.
She stared back at me, and I watched a debate go on behind her eyes.
"You have to understand," she said. "I did it for us..." Her voice trailed off,
and then she found it again. "For the baby."
I glanced at my wife's belly. She was pregnant, though not showing yet. "For
the baby?" I realized my voice was rising.
"Michael, please," she said. "Don't be like that."
I started to turn away from her, not knowing where to go. "It's not the same,"
she insisted from behind me. She continued. "It's not the same as - with you -
with us."
That's what got to me. "With me," I thought, "It's not the same with me." I
stood there, trying to get a grip on things. I felt like I was floating out in
the room somewhere, looking down on me.
"Michael." She was standing next to me. I could feel her blouse brush against
my arm, her small breasts beneath the fabric. She touched my wrist. I could
hear her breathing.
"Michael, please," she said. "Look at me." Her eyes were bloodshot, wet. She
looked at me pleadingly.
"I don't enjoy this," she said. "I didn't enjoy - it."
"Don't enjoy it?" I was mocking her now, my voice two octaves above its usual
tone.
"Michael!" She inhaled, and then repeated herself. "I did it - for us." She
paused, looking. Then, in a different tone of voice: "Michael, there was no
promotion."
I looked at her. "You blew him, didn't you?"
She was staring at me, her lips slightly parted. Her face began to flush. She
started to say something, to reproach me maybe, when suddenly I pushed her,
hard away from me. She stumbled, tripped and fell, tearing her skirt in the
process.
I was standing over her, fists clenched. I'd started toward her without
thinking, not knowing what I was about to do. She lay on the carpet, head
bowed. I couldn't see her face, but I could tell she was crying for real,
now. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm so, so sorry."
I stood over her, clenching and unclenching my fists, wondering what to do.
"Michael, I never wanted you to know. I never wanted it."
I was struggling with myself, feeling like a stranger, an alien living in
someone else's body. "You said," she said. I could barely make out her
words. "You said... we couldn't make it work." She looked up at me. "You said."
I shook my head. She rose awkwardly to her hands and knees.
"I never wanted to hurt you," she said. "You know... how much I love you." She
clasped my knees, pressing her face against me. "Please don't go." She held
me like that while I tried to convince myself to turn away, to leave. My body
was betraying me.
"Michael," she said. She held me for a moment, wiping her tears against my
jeans. "I can... I can make it up to you."
She wasn't wearing much make-up, but what she had had run all down her face.
Her hair was a tangled mess. Her eyes were bright.
Misreading my face, she brought her hands up to my waist. "I can," she said.
I could see her tongue touch her lower lip as she fingered the clasp of my
jeans. She'd stopped crying now.
"I don't know why," she said, "I wouldn't before." She glanced up at me. "I
guess I was embarrassed. And after..." She unhooked the clasp and pulled. "I
guess I was afraid you'd wonder."
My cock was swaying lewdly in front of her face, but she didn't shy away from
it. She turned her face to it. I touched her cheeks, her eyelids. "I know,"
she said, "this is something you've always wanted me to do." She glanced up,
and then she started kissing me. She kissed her way from the bottom to the
top, and then swallowed my head, and started sucking gently.
I'd never been in her mouth before. I have to say it was wonderful: soft,
moist, warm. Standing there like that, with the afternoon sun streaming in
through the living room windows, watching my wife go down on me, I had that
sensation again, like I was standing in another man's place.
"Wait. I don't want you to finish here." She held me firmly by my cock, and
wiped away a viscous, glistening strand from her face. She looked out the
window, where the sun was setting. "Let's go into the bedroom."
Once she was sure I wasn't going to cum, she released me. She shed her torn
skirt and blouse on the way to the bedroom, and then paused at the doorway,
smiling over her shoulder.
"C'mon," she said. I followed.
She had me lie down on my back, and then she climbed on top of me. She kissed
my ear, and neck, and throat. "Michael," she whispered, "Do you want to cum in
my mouth, or in my pussy?" I groaned. I wanted to cum in her mouth. She
knelt between my legs and started on me again. Every once in a while she would
stop, and grip me with her hand again, like she had before, to prevent me from
coming.
Soon I couldn't stand it anymore. I was begging her to let me cum. "Please
don't stop!"
She gripped me fiercely, and put her finger to her lips. "Shh." She was
wearing a powder blue bra I'd given her for her birthday. She watched me,
breathing.
Finally she let go, climbed on top of me, and sank herself on me in one long
fluid motion. She flung her head back, and was going down again when I started
to cum. It seemed to go on and on, but through the whole time I watched her.
Her mouth open, her eyes closed, she twisted her hips on me, forcing me up into
her as far as I would go.
Afterwards, I was exhausted. I didn't want to think anymore. I lied beside
her, with her cheek pressed against my arm. After a little while, I reached
for her, but she turned away.
"Michael," she said, "Do you believe me?" I turned my head.
Finally, she asked again. "Michael?"
I shut my eyes.
She got up, heading for the bathroom.
"Maria!" I said. "How long?"
She paused. "Not long," she said. She shut the door.
"Maria!"
I went to the door, and knocked. She wouldn't answer.
I banged on the door. It was locked. "Maria!" I heard water running.
"I'm brushing my teeth," she said. "Wait for me."
I leaned against the door.
I heard the toilet lid. "Do you think I like this? I don't like this,
Michael!" It sounded like she was crying.
"Maria, we need to talk." After a moment, I heard the toilet flush.
"I'm taking a shower, Michael. I'll be out in a minute."
I went and sat down on the bed.
She came of the bathroom maybe fifteen minutes later. She had on two towels,
one wrapped around her middle, the other around her hair. She smiled
tremulously. "Michael, this isn't easy for me," she said. I made a face at
her. She knelt down, putting her hand on mine. She bent her head. "I know
it's not easy for you either." Water was dripping onto my lap. She was not
quite dry. She looked up. All the makeup was gone. Her face was clean. "Can
you forgive me?" What I said next was the absolute truth.
"Maria, I love you more than anything." She smiled, and hugged me. I was
feeling bad already. She held me, nuzzling my face.
"Michael," she said, whispering, "You know I didn't finish before."
"Maria..."
"I know, I know," she said. "We will later, I promise. But." She loosened
her towel. She licked her lips. "I'm really, really ready." I was surprised
at myself. I was hard again already.
There were things I was going to say, demands I was going to make.
She put her hand on my chest, and gently pushed me back. She climbed on top of
me, her hair dripping around my face. She kissed me.
There was no sign she'd been crying.
She kissed me again.
"I was thinking about you in the shower," she said. She let the towel fall
open. Water was dripping down onto my belly. She continued to kiss me. She
reached downward, stroking me. "I can see you're ready too." I could taste
the peppermint from the toothpaste she'd used inside my mouth. She kissed me
hard and longingly.
She fucked me from on top again, like she had before. I watched her, bouncing
up and down on me. Before I could cum, though, she stopped, and leaned down on
me. "Michael," she asked, "could you - could you do something for me?" She
brushed her cheek against mine. "Could you eat me?" She'd never asked that
before, though I would have. I would have been happy to.
She climbed off, and straddled my head, gripping the bedpost.
She was wet, from the shower, and from herself. She smelled like scented soap,
and like sex. Her curls were glistening wet. Little beads of water were
forming there. It took us a little while to find our rhythm. She gave
directions. "No," she said, and, "Yes, like that." She moved around on top of
me, and I found the place she liked.
When she came, she cried out. "Oh yes! Oh yes, Michael, oh, God, yes!"
Afterwards I asked her if she'd liked it. She stroked my chest. "Yes,
Michael, more than you could know. Thank you." I smiled.
That night I had a dream. In my dream I was standing in the hallway leading to
John's office. I was standing there alone, but I knew that they were in
there. I was by the door. It was a heavy wooden door, I knew that from when I
worked there, and I stood there, listening. I couldn't hear anything. The
handle on the door was steel. I was expecting, I think, an electric shock when
I touched it. Instead, I had the sensation like I was falling. I touched it,
and it began to turn. I watched it turning, and then the door slid silently
open, slowly. First she was on her knees in front of him. He was leaning
against his desk, his trousers around his ankles. She was licking him, and in
my dream, his cock was huge. She didn't look at me. Then she was lying on the
desk. She was wearing a whore's outfit; black stockings, a black corset that
stopped below her breasts. I could see her pussy clearly. Then he was pushing
inside her, his cock disappearing into her cunt. She turned her face to me,
her lips smeared with his cum. "Oh, yes!" she moaned, "Oh God, yes!"
Around three am, I woke up, and looked over at my wife. She was sleeping on
her back, her face turned to one side, breathing lightly. She was wearing a
light satin nightie. I could see her nipples pushing up against the dress. I
pulled away the covers, examining her body. The hem of her dress just followed
the declivity between her legs. Her lips moved. I wondered if she was talking
in her sleep. There was a breeze coming through the windows.
When I touched her there, she sighed, and turned her head. When I lifted her
hem, I saw her lips move. When I examined her, I marveled at how beautiful she
was. She said something, indistinguishable, in her sleep, and I lifted her
legs apart, positioning myself between them. Still she did not wake. Only
when I entered her did she cry out. I entered her fully and completely,
stopping only when I touched the very bottom. On the third stroke, I stopped,
and holding her face in my hands. "You didn't fuck him, did you?"
Her eyes glittered. I think I may have been hurting her.
"No, Michael," she said. "Only you."
On the fourth stroke, she wrapped her legs around me, and began to moan.
In the morning, in the kitchen, she wore a light summer housedress. I watched
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