Terry’s IR Session  4.1/5 (13)

For many women, such as my wife Terry, there is a very fine line between a man’s adoration for them, and being treated like a sweet piece of prime meat. Which is perhaps often the reason for women’s pretentious behavior towards men in general.

That’s not to say that women don’t enjoy getting dressed up even to the point of looking slutty just for us, but I’m sure that it’s an ingrained exhibitionist trait handed down from the stone age when only the best of the best could expect to be chosen by the chieftains as a mate. Not that I’m a chieftain in any sense of the word, but being a husband does give one delusions of grandeur, or at least in my marriage bed it did. I mean being married to a blond goddess like Terry would give any husband those delusions.

Delusion number one being that as we had exchanged marriage vows seven years ago, I just took it for granted that I was the only man having any sexual contact with Terry. Delusion number two, I thought that Terry was well satisfied in our marriage bed. And worst of all, delusion number three, was that my cock was the best thing in her life since puberty.

All three of which were sand bagged the day I came home unexpectedly for lunch, and found Terry on our bed down on all fours dressed in her smuttiest garter belt, sheer black nylons, and matching nitey as the biggest blackest cock in the world shoveled in and out of Terry’s enviously stressed bung hole.

The postal uniform puddled on the floor next to my bed quickly identified the stranger, and I wanted to scream in outrage immediately, but my dick suddenly talked me out of it. The tent poking out of the front of my trousers speaking volumes about what I really thought of this raunchy display as I backed up leaving the bedroom door ajar enough to facilitate my new voyeuristic taste. In all of our time together, even before getting married, Terry had shown her complete adversity to being taken anally.

“I’m not letting you put something in, where shit comes out, that you also happen to put in my pussy, or mouth!” The ice in her tone then leaving no doubt in my mind that she had been serious in every syllable.

So was it any wonder that my cock was as hard as tinseled steel seeing that little pooper stretched out around that beer can thick 10-inch long pile driving black prick of a common US Postal worker? That Terry was cheating on me now only seemed secondary after having my best personal fantasy granted to me, albeit unknowingly so.

I held off coming until the man pulled his black cock out of Terry, leaving her asshole gapping wide open with his jism welling out to drip down along her slit before falling to the bedspread below. I hurried quietly out of the house, and drove back to work.

It’s funny how when something that momentous happens that your brain locks up, and in effect takes the perfect video pictures of the event. Not that you appreciate it at the moment, but later, when you have time to think about it, you remember things like how she cooed like a pigeon with each inward thrust, and exhaled like a deflating balloon each time that cock pulled out of her.

How the nap of her neck was slick with a fine sheen of perspiration as the honey blond tresses where bunched up out of the way in the black man’s left fist as she cried out; “Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck my ass with your big black nigger dick!”

The rest of my day was spent trying to keep my mind on business as those brain videos ran through it. And I vowed to have a little talk about fantasies with Terry later that night in bed. But as the day grew on, and my workload lightened, a plan formed in my head that would make everything work out fine.

Back when I was courting Terry, nothing I tried could get her out of her panties until one day at a mutual friends cocktail party, after two sloe gin fizzes, Terry became a flaming she tigress in total heat. Nearly raping me on the way back to my place before I could respond. In fact she made me eat her soaking wet pussy twice in the front seat of my Dodge before letting me take her on the couch in my pad.

After that she spread her legs any time I wanted to tear off a piece. Beautiful she may have been but a drinker, never. Which was probably why she seldom ever lifted even a glass of wine to her lips. But once she’d given up her pussy to a man, she’d never turn him down again, even when sober, or at least that’s how it happened for me. And if it could happen for me that way, why not for some other man that I chose?

Just the thought of pimping for my own wife gave me an instant hard on. Making it impossible for me to get up from my desk at work for a good hour, or more. Thankfully it helped make my workload dwindle to where I was actually able to leave earlier than normal. And I had just the dude in mind to talk to about adding more men to my wife’s bed.

“Johnny!” My brother Mark shouted as I entered the Golden Nipple, his favorite after work pub. “Sit down and have a couple with us.”

I had no idea who the US was as there was only him and me, other than the bartender, in the whole damn place. But since he looked half shit faced I figured he must have included the bartender.

“How long have you been in here?” I asked as the bartender put a draft in front of me. “No thanks, just coffee for me,” and I slid the draft towards Mark, and put a twenty down on the bar top to pay for my brother’s tab.

I waited until the bartender had to take care of the next man to enter the bar before broaching the subject with Mark in private. Of course he didn’t believe me at first, even though he seemed to sober up a great deal once he caught on to what I was suggesting. But three beers later he made me promise to take him home so that we could discuss it over coffee at his apartment.

The hard part was going to be how to get Terry to drink a couple of beers with Mark, and me. And then Mark had an epiphany.

“Hey! You’ve still got that classy old fashioned pool table, right?”

“Sure,” I replied.

“Then here’s what we do…”


“A billiards tournament?” Terry replied over dinner to my question of if she would mind acting as our hostess. “And just how many of your friends are coming over for this billiards tournament?”

“Not many. Just Mark, and a couple of guys who have challenged us to a match game. You know, a couple of buddies from the old neighborhood. They don’t believe I have my own billiard parlor class pool table.”

“Okay, but conditionally,” Terry agreed then, “I mean it’s not like this is going to be a once a week thing, right?”

“It could become that,” I replied reluctantly, “but I wouldn’t expect you to be the hostess every week if it does become a regular thing.”

“I guess I’ll do it then,” she committed after a moments thought, “I don’t have anything scheduled for this Saturday anyway. What supplies should I purchase?”

“Nothing fancy, just chips and dips,” I replied, “oh, and plenty of imported beer.”

“I think I can manage that,” she chuckled. “Anything else?”

“Dress sexy,” I said, “it’ll keep the oppositions mind off of their game. Nothing elaborate mind you, and casual enough not to be suspicious.”

“Casual slutty,” she giggled, “that I can do.”

“Casual tease,” I corrected her, but she hardly heard it over her giggling.


There was a sexual undercurrent of electrical tension permeating the air around my wife by the time Saturday arrived. And I was amazed at how she was taking my every suggestion to heart as I stopped in our bedroom after she had just showered, and took note of what she had lying on our bed to wear as the billiards tournament hostess.

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