Tart

By Grace Vilmont

Cassie has a problem. She feels guilty over having too many affairs—both with and without her husband’s knowledge. There’s only one way for her to even the score and alleviate her guilt. She needs to procure a woman for her husband to fuck. Who knew that finding sexually available and adventurous women would be so difficult?

This is a 17,000 word novelette intended for adult audiences.

Content warning: This story features graphic sex, group sex, lesbian sex, cheating spouses, deviant behavior, and other depictions of adult sexuality. Strong language and adult only content.

Excerpt:
Kissing a girl, while the basic mechanics are the same, is completely different from kissing a boy. Madeline was softness and curves, no hard angles or firm muscles beneath her smooth skin. Since we were both well-endowed and approximately the same height, our tits mashed together which formed a sort of odd barrier to keep us apart. That didn’t stop her of course, she just pulled me all the tighter.

After the initial surprise, I managed to kiss her back, forcing her tongue from my mouth and slipping my own between her lips. She lightly bit down on it as a means of keeping me steady while he hands slipped down from my back to my waist where she pulled my shirt from my pants. I didn’t resist as she pulled away and removed my shirt, exposing my skin and bra to her.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered to me, glancing again at John. He was breathing heavily, his hand still on his crotch, absently rubbing his cock through his pants. “You want to join us?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “Not yet. Soon.”

Maddy smiled, maybe it was a smirk, I don’t know. I was keyed up and ready to fuck. “Get on the bed,” she told me. I did so, laying on my side, to watch her disrobe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Grace Vilmont
• Release date: Jul 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476027319

Grace Vilmont

Grace Vilmont likes the more bizarre aspects of human—and nonhuman—sexuality. Much to her own surprise she is married and living in suburbia pretending to live a normal life while the best parts of her life only exists in her mind.

Book preview

Tart

By Grace Vilmont

Copyright 2012 Green Bush Publishing

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Contains adult material that might not be suitable for all audiences.

Also by Grace Vilmont

Alien Eggs

Feymina

Chapter One

After seven years of marriage I’ve only had three affairs and I think that’s a pretty good record. I suppose that’s kind of embarrassing to reveal when you know that my husband hasn’t had the opportunity, even once, to fuck another woman. We agreed when we married to have an open marriage and that’s worked out well enough for me, but my poor husband is a little socially awkward—it comes from being a geek, I suppose—and hadn’t ever managed to bed another woman. Oh, he had others before me, but the whole dynamic of being married and in an open relationship made things more difficult for him. Woman, of course, can bed a man easier than a man can bed a woman; it’s the nature of the sexual beast in all men. While handsome in my eyes, he did have an odd look about him, plus his focus in life on computers and comic books didn’t exactly grease the wheels of social interaction.

So why did I marry this socially inept, slightly goofy looking geek? Simple: one, he’s a lovable and sweet guy; two, being a computer geek landed him a job that earned him a big salary, not exactly a turnoff; three, like just about every geek I dated and fucked he loved to eat pussy and was adept at the task. Before we married, once night I was riding his cock, fucking until my pussy was sore, and I forced him to reveal—actually I asked him outright—what his fantasy for me was. He blurted out that he wanted to watch me fuck another man. This was a big enough revelation to make me stop bouncing on his cock.

Are you serious? I asked him though the look on his face told me the truth.

Yes! he cried out and flooded my pussy with his semen. And so we were on the road to an open marriage. Each time I would have an affair with another man John would get me in bed and coax every detail of my illicit coupling. It was very erotic, telling my husband every detail of my sex life, getting him horny and then fucking again. It might not be the lifestyle for everyone, but I enjoyed it very much.

Perhaps I was enjoying it too much because I started feeling guilty. Not about the other men who fucked me, but about how my poor husband was suffering because my pussy was the only one he got to fuck. This guilt manifested itself in a strange way: I started keeping secrets from John. The first secret was easy. John was away on a business trip one weekend so I went out to a bar and picked up a man, took him home and had sex with him. Not exactly a crime given my history, but the hurtful part was that I didn’t tell John about it. The man I had picked up wasn’t a very good lay and nothing became of it.

After John returned we fell back into our normal routine, but it was unnerving. I was given freedom to fuck anyone I wanted, but I was keeping it a secret from the man who had given me that freedom. I started to worry that I would start keeping other things from him as well, and because he got as much of a sexual charge out of my affairs as I did, it was risking our whole relationship. I had to do something about this ridiculous situation. I decided to find a woman for my husband to fuck.

Now, I couldn’t just find any woman for John to have. She had to be beautiful, discreet, intelligent and sexy. This was a tall order, so I decided to start my search next door.

Holly was a divorcee with two children and a never-ending stream of men in and out of her home, and presumably bedroom, who happened to be our next door neighbor. This stream of men had ended two years ago when she married one of her many suitors. She was certainly beautiful and sexy; I had seen her in everything from evening dresses to tight shorts and t-shirts. She had long black hair that hung straight down her back and a pair of enormous tits, not artificially huge, but impressive if only for their size relative to her frame. I knew her to be discreet because she had never directly discussed any of her past boyfriends in her conversations with me, conversations that bordered on the erotic.

The approach was always the most difficult part. Holly had a set routine so it was easy to