Blue Ridge

By Francis Marx

WARNING: ADULT EROTIC CONTENT - Revised - An erotic novel about a pious high school senior who's tempted into sex by a charismatic jock, gets pregnant, runs to the Blue Ridge Parkway to solve her problem with a bullet, and prays her savior will step in at the last moment to save her. The mature hero who stumbles upon her isn't who she expected, but is who she truly needed. While sequestered with him away from everyone in the world she discovers a love far more meaningful than she ever imagined, realizes a mature man is far more capable of consideration than a foolish jock, and learns more about herself and her past with him than she ever believed possible. The truths they stumble upon along the way paint a picture of lust, perversion, deceit, lies, a dark past, and secrets nobody was supposed to know about. Approx 420 pages & 280,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781304979476

Book preview

Blue Ridge

Blue Ridge

by Francis Marx

Copyright © 2014

An erotic novel of a high school senior

torn between her strong religious

convictions, an unmarried pregnancy,

a desperate act of attempted suicide

on a verdant mountain glade,

and the hero she'd always

dreamed she'd find ...

... sort of.

* * * * * * * * * * * * WARNING * * * * * * * * * * * *

This novel contains strong language and explicit descriptions of sex.

Blue Ridge

Second Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Francis Marx

All Rights Reserved

ISBN  978-1-304-97947-6

Dedication

It would be inappropriate to disregard how much latitude I've been granted to create something that has taken me years to complete, and a work of adult erotic fiction that treads so heavily upon such widely diverse topics as religion and sex.

Religious beliefs and carnal desire rarely fit together in printed form, and I offer no apologies regarding a very liberal use of literary license by meandering so crudely into areas well outside of my life's experiences.  Where else can someone journey so freely and without restraint than upon tender notions of affection and dogma while crashing headlong through lust and debauchery?

It is with no small measure of humility I give praise to the one person who's allowed me ample time to burn up my keyboard with wicked notions of fantasied lives best left within pages of fiction rather than attempted in real life. 

You've been my silent encouragement, steadfast supporter, and dedicated audience for many years, and I bow and give you thanks for allowing me an opportunity to attempt my first novel.

Thank you, Bobbi.

The Tribulations of Love

Alyssa looked like a pretzel with a pillow nearly engulfing her head, her chin pressed to her sternum, one limb out to the side to keep her balance, and her other hand gripping one of her husband's upper arms.  Her spine was curved into half a circle with her butt up off the bed, the back of her thighs supported along the front of his body, and her feet flailed in the air out of sync to each of his lunges.  The typically conservative and restrained wife might have been uncomfortable, but her pitiful and spasmodic vocalizations confirmed she was exactly where she wanted to be, and she greedily accepted her husband's treatment of her.

Oh … Mark!  Harder … Honey!  Damn, this … feels so … fucking … good!

Mark loved for his normally reluctant wife of nearly twenty years to beg to be fucked like a whore, not because his ego needed stroking, but because he wasn't able to enjoy what Alyssa had offered so wantonly on their wedding night and withheld with increasing gusto after their honeymoon ended.  Once in the mood, however, she was more demanding and adventuresome than every previous sexual rendezvous.

When her calves constricted his throat hard enough to nearly break his neck the man knew his spouse was enjoying a protracted orgasm, and that was his cue to reposition his wife before her brain caught up with her hormones.  The one position that felt the best to him, and the one she hated the most … when she could think clearly … was for Mark to mount her like a dog from behind and shove her face hard into the pillow normally under her head.  With one forearm around her hip, and some of his digits taking command of her clitoris, he thrust his cock between her clamped thighs and as far into her vagina as he could while she grunted, pushed back, and wordlessly begged for more. 

Alyssa may have hated the notion of being fucked like an animal, but she never resisted anything her loving husband did to her once her pussy overruled her mental abilities or pride.  It might have taken longer each time for her to beg for it, but once her panties came down and her brain didn't get in the way she was the most demanding sex maniac the proud husband could have wanted.  Too bad she wasn't like that every day.

----------------------

Ryan couldn't keep his massive hands from venturing under Ashley's skirt at least once a day, and even though she'd stop him each time he'd be able to work his digits under the conservative hem of her outfit a little further.  As long as he maintained a constant attack he believed he might be able to feel the silky smooth texture of the gusset in her panties before the school year ended.

Don't, Ryan!  Someone might see!

Nobody can see, Ash, cuz we're parked really far from the school entrance.  Besides, I told the other guys on the football team to keep everyone away from my car.  Come on, Honey … open your legs and let me see how soft your thighs are, please?

No!  Not yet, Ryan.  I'll let you do anything you want after we get married, but until then I'm supposed to keep my body and soul pure for my husband on our wedding night.

Then … can we at least kiss for a little while?

Well … I guess … but keep your hands where I can see them.

After the huge footballer leaned over and began to munch on Ashley's lips her brain stopped working as well as it normally did, and at least one of his talented fingers was able to strum an aching nipple through her soft sweater until it poked forward far enough to cast a shadow.  Only after she became aware of the tingles pouring through her body would Ashley swat his hand away and frown at him.  She might frown for a while, but she let him kiss her quickly enough.

A Husband In Torment

Perhaps it was because I'd spent the better part of that summer weekend with an eighteen year old named Baby, my cherry red 1982 Camaro Z28 with a highly modified Corvette L98 5.7 liter V-8, rather than the thirty-something woman inside my nice house who could have used a little bodywork and an extensive tune-up of her own. 

Maybe it was the brochures of top of the line Class-A RV's laying open on my workbench I kept fantasizing about rather than helping my frustrated spouse pick out a new living room suite from the catalog she got from a fine furniture gallery. 

Whatever the reason my wife was grumpy ... again.

With everything put away after hours of fluid changes, a full tune up, a few engine computer upgrades, and a loving wash out on my sunny driveway, all I could do was stand back and lust for Baby as she glistened.  Years of hard work had culminated in what many guys told me was the most beautiful and best driving Z28 since my ride rolled off the factory floor, and more than one of my buddies leered at me when they heard how smooth the engine idled as if they could feel the power under the hood.  I even took the time to wipe the seats and interior panels down with some new car aroma liquid I found at a specialty car shop.

The moment I fired her up, felt the sexy rumble of her highly modified street-legal racing engine as I sat in the recently upholstered driver seat, and heard the throaty rumble coming from her tuned pipes and glass-packs, a tingle went up and down my back.  After half a minute of a slow, smooth, and steady idle I knew just adoring Baby in the driveway wouldn't do, so I shut her down and ran inside.  After a quick shower, and wearing my favorite pair of jeans, running shoes, and a comfy t-shirt, I turned the key again, put it in reverse, and was ready to tool around town so others could admire my ride even more than I did.

When I turned around I saw my wife, Alyssa, standing in the middle of the driveway halfway to the street with her hands on her hips, her hair covered with some sort of protective net, and a scowl on her face that could have peeled three layers of paint off an old battleship.  But she wasn't satisfied just burning me up with her eyes, because what she nearly screamed loud enough for the neighbors to hear two blocks over stole whatever joy I'd had moments before.

MARK!!!  I told you we were gonna see Barbara and Steve tonight!

So much for enjoying a weekend of hard work. 

Oh, we went to Barbara and Steve's alright, but Steve and I were miserable until we grew brave enough to get up, walk out of the living room where our wives were yammering away, settle into chairs on his patio with a beer in hand, and share a long conversation about the work I'd done on my engine during a major rebuild.  The women were so incensed they stormed their way outside and interrupted what to us was much more productive than just sitting still, but since the girls hadn't engaged us in more than a casual aspect of their chat neither Steve nor I knew why they needed us to sit quietly like two obedient watchdogs.

For the next week I paid for not maintaining my spot next to my wife like a good puppy at Barbara and Steve's house, Alyssa sure to glare at me every chance she got, or bark at me when I tried to engage her in a civil and polite talk related to some mundane domestic activity.

Once I realized nothing would make her happy, short of a house full of new furniture, I stopped trying to be nice.  If she wanted to yell at me I could spend time working in the yard instead, on Baby, or even surf for some porn.  If she'd caught me masturbating in the bathroom whispering some other woman's name and dreaming of nasty sluts my lovely bride of less than twenty years would most likely cut me in half, but I never gave her reason to treat me like a pervert.  If she'd quit living an extravagant lifestyle I couldn't afford, participated in some passionate sex once in a while, and admitted she loved to be treated like a whore in private, we'd both be very happy.

But no.  She needed to prove her point … whatever it was, and leave me wondering.

One evening a month later Alyssa was acting very amorous and beyond her typically reserved and protective manner.  She walked around the house right after dinner intentionally teasing me with obvious displays of lurid behavior and did her best to show me she wasn't wearing a bra inside her loose fitting and low-cut top.  Her ample breasts jut forward inside her blouse like million candlepower high beams tempting me to ogle and sample from her natural beauty with lusty abandon.  If I was lucky enough I might be able to, but I had to be patient. 

I knew what she was up to, and each of her movements were an attempt to amplify the heft of her tits and the ease with which they jiggled and bounced when she moved.  I tried like hell to ignore her after we settled into our typical routine of evening TV, but she had a plan, and I found out what it was when she dropped the remote control over the side of the couch in my direction and leaned all the way toward me to pick it up.  My eyes reveled in the magnificence of her plump breasts, their fullness taunting me beyond the low neckline of her intentionally provocative top.  Alyssa knew I was staring at her mature beauty and erect crimson nipples, and just like all the other times she was torturing me … and enjoying it.

From then on it was a game to see who was going to give in first, each of her offers to show me more eagerly accepted but then skillfully stifled just as quickly.  My resistance was an open challenge to Alyssa whose strong need was to manipulate and tempt me until she determined I'd had enough or I tried to approach her for what I'd been promised on our wedding day.  She would then deny me what she was flaunting with the skill of a demonic temptress as if I was some immature eighteen year old school boy.  My suspicion was she'd continue until I succumbed and told her she could buy whatever she'd been dreaming about … but I had a plan too.

By the time we went to bed Alyssa proved she was feeling very sure of herself when she bent over away from me and presented me with a full-on view of her bum.  She stayed like that far longer than she really needed to, most likely hoping my hormones would have a greater effect on me than my financial intelligence.  All I did was stare at her, ogle a growing spot of wetness along the gusset of her tiny panties, breathe in the heady aroma of her arousal, and try to imagine what was no more than a scant layer of thread away from rapture.

After that ploy failed she lie back down and waited for me to pounce on her, a recently purchased book in my hands by an adult erotic fiction author recommended by a guy at work.  My eyes were glued to the story of a female character being pushed into situations she wasn't prepared for but eagerly sought out once her pleasure was achieved, and I wished my wife would read my book so she'd be generous and compliant too.  It wouldn't take much for her to keep me happy, because a little physical affection is good for a man's body once in a while … or every night.

Alyssa's next tactic was to lean over me from her side of our bed to get a book on the nightstand to my right, her movements brash but not clumsy.  Her intent was clear in a second, and I loved the way the supple heft of her ample bosom, like two warm and full silken pillows, forced my hands and book under their weight to my chest so I couldn't move. 

In spite of her earlier refusal I knew she was horny, so I withdrew my left hand from under her pliable fullness, reached around her right hip with glacial determination, and slipped a single fingertip between her thighs as if I was a teen boy trying to meander unnoticed under his first girlfriend's skirt.  It didn't take long before I located and began to explore my wife's slick labia majora as if my fingertip and her nether lips were dancing a slow tango, and the way Alyssa's thighs came apart we both knew she needed more than a little relief.  For minutes I gently stroked up and down the length of her plump and fabric-hidden vulva, an unrealistic belief I might score building in earnest with each journey along her natural cleft.

Instead of arguing Alyssa pretended not to notice, her position along my left hip, her breasts over my other hand and book, her left hand pressed to the bed along my right side, and her right hand fumbling with something on my nightstand a sure sign her hormones rather than her head were dictating her actions.  She never did find what she'd been looking for, because she closed her eyes and sucked her lips between her teeth, the attention being afforded her nether regions most likely sending waves of electric heat up and down her insides. 

My darling bride even splay her thighs more than was necessary and appeared eager to grant me a bit more room so she could feel good.  For untold minutes she let me strum her slickened labia in a cascade of caresses, and after she'd suffered enough allowed a moan to escape her mouth and pushed back into my hand the moment I took command of her sexual pleasure system.  Her clitoris was the one place I knew how to caress to make my horny bride capitulate.

If I'd been satisfied to go at her sedate pace and play with her for the next hour I might have been granted lots of uninhibited sex, but I was hoping she'd lose control first, rip the covers back, and jump on top of me so she could be satisfied while I lie there and enjoyed my victory.

It seemed unusual she'd let me get away with touching her aching nubbin for so long, her thighs twitching when I hit that one special place that took every bit of her strength away from her.  With almost no pressure at all I caressed and massaged the highly sensitive bundle of nerves and reveled in the rubbery feel, her pleasure button sending constant messages to her brain her pussy was in need of full satisfaction, and her loyal and sexually frustrated husband eager to take care of her needs if she'd just let go and let her passions control her actions. 

Without realizing it I must have pushed my bride's buttons just right when I worked my middle finger more earnestly onto the one place she had no control over, because she grunted, pushed back into my touch, and seemed to be at the cusp of recklessness.  If I'd ever been permitted to play with her clitoris for more than a few seconds she couldn't refuse me any request, including some she genuinely hated me for the next morning.

Turning my hand around and shifting my thumb into place my deft middle finger was urged under the snug grip of her skimpy panties, between her plump labia majora, and as far into her vagina as I could reach.  The other hidden pleasure spot she hated me to know about deep within her steaming elegance was tickled with only enough pressure to distort her plush insides a few times, and her body reacted predictably, a rhythmic undulation of her vaginal muscles the clue she was close to surrender.  When she let out a definite moan, arched her back, tensed up for a few seconds, and her body stuttered to an almost imperceptible series of mild undulations I thought I was home free and began to kiss a bare portion along the side of her breast. 

That was it!  She was going to give me what I'd hoped was mine by virtue of saying I do! 

QUIT!

Fractions of a second after I thought she was beyond any resistance she slapped my left hand away from her body and scowled at me as if I had pulled her panties down in front of her boss and the entire department where she worked.

Come on, Alyssa!  You know you wanna feel good.  I promise to keep you satisfied for at least an hour if you'll just let me enjoy myself a little bit and coax you over my hips.

NO!  I wanna read my book.

My diligent efforts must have afforded her a small orgasm, something she may have been satisfied with, but I was still horny.  She returned to her side of the bed in a huff and settled down with a book from her nightstand, the one to my right still where she left it.  My dick was throbbing and did its best to rip through the fabric of my underwear, its firmness within the constrained dimensions of my shorts causing a bit more pain than I cared for, and the small tent in the sheet over my hips visual confirmation the male portion of our household was still unsatisfied.

I let her stew in her juices for a while, read the next chapter of my steamy book, and was very aroused by the many ways the female leading character sought out all sorts of sexual pleasure once a male lover was able to overcome her reluctance.  If only Alyssa could be like that.

The combination of my book, Alyssa's after dinner teases, the weight of her mature bosom along the back of my hands, and the brief sample of slick softness I got while she was kneeling over me was just too much.  I had to have some of what was promised to me at the wedding, so my left hand snaked under the covers of the bed toward her right breast. 

She knew what I was doing but her posture remained unchanged.  Once I was able to feel the rigid softness of her nipple, had begun to roll it around, and then gave it a gentle squeeze I saw her close her eyes, suck her bottom lip between her teeth, and heard her whimper.  The expression of lust on her face fooled me into believing I might be able to change her mind, but a second later she slapped my hand away once again.

Can it, Mark!  I'm not in the mood, and nothing you do or say is gonna change that!

I threw myself backward into my pillow in disgust, crossed my arms, and barked at her.

Why is it when you want sex I'm supposed to lie there and let you to use me like a brainless cock, but when I want it you've got a headache?

Well, you're just gonna have to lie there like a brainless cock and think about that, huh? 

A moment later she added something she must have learned from a feminist religious zealot while she was growing up, or perhaps from another woman at work who'd gotten the furniture and clothing she'd always wanted.

Why can't you be like all the other normal and decent husbands who go to church, treat their wives with respect, and … make their homes look really nice?

Yeah … she really wanted that new living room suite after all.

Once she'd lofted that oft-used guilt card Alyssa turned to the opposite side of the bed, threw her unread book onto the nightstand, smacked the light switch hard enough to nearly knock the lamp to the floor, and pulled as much of the covers over her as she could.  Once she'd made her mind up I didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell at changing it.  Like so many nights before I had a perfectly usable hard-on and nothing to do with it except go to the bathroom by myself and make it go down on my own with my right hand.  Being married sucked.

After a very unsatisfying masturbation session I grabbed my pillow and went to the couch.  If I couldn't get what I'd been promised at the altar I could at least watch some late night TV I wasn't supposed to with Alyssa in the room.  After that I'd have to be content falling asleep alone, something I'd done with increasing regularity, and more often the last few years than I cared for.

Two hours after the TV was turned off, and in the quiet stillness of a darkened house, a meek voice called me from the hallway as if the owner was too frightened or believed a monster was close enough to hear her.

Mark?  I'm cold.  Come back to bed, okay?

That was the only thing I was good to Alyssa for anymore ... body heat.  She seemed to crave my warmth, even during the summer, and that night was no exception.  As I lie there I considered the consequences of not moving, since she hadn't put me on the couch in the first place.

Mark?  Come on!

At the very least the heat of her full naked tits against my back, the unique feel of two firm nipples pressed into my shoulder blades, and the softness of her shaved pubic crown as she rolled her hips into my butt was a minor accomplishment of being married for so many years.  It wasn't much, but it was all I was going to get.

With my little head having more influence on my feet than the big one on my shoulders I made my way back to a bed more often devoid of sex than filled with it.  I hadn't been lying on my side of the bed facing away from Alyssa for more than two minutes when she wiggled her left hand between my left elbow and ribs from behind.  She then pulled me backward and forced me deeper into the bed, the sensation of her bare body along the length of my back, butt, and legs stirring a broad grin.

For about a minute she remained still and rested her left hand over my tummy.  I could almost feel her muscles aching as she lie there, mad at herself because I'd wanted sex and was turned down yet again, and her body craving something she wished she could do without.  Using the slightest movement her fingertips caressed my belly, her slender digits stroking my skin as if she didn't want me to know what she was doing.  She rhythmically strummed my skin for a while before slipping her hand further down my belly and under the elastic of my underwear.  Even though I'd celebrated in a sample of solitary sex earlier my cock recognized what she was up to and was hard and ready for action instantly.

As she'd done many times before Alyssa fought her own need for satisfaction while her fingers gently encircled the firmness of the only part of me that couldn't fight back or resist her grumpy attitude.  She then stroked me very slowly, carefully manipulated my hardness, and seemed to get madder at herself at the same time.  She really hated admitting she wanted sex from me, especially if I'd asked her for it first.  But she wasn't about to ask for it ... she would take it whether I was still in the mood or not.

DAMN IT!

There was a brief flurry of movement as she forced me to roll onto my back after the sheet was thrown off my body, and in less time than I'd have taken Alyssa ripped my shorts down my thighs and mounted me in a sitting position, no foreplay, no tender words, no soft kissing, no nothing.  All she wanted at that moment was being sexed, and I was the closest thing to satisfying that requirement as could be acquired without her donning an extremely short skirt and wiggling her ass downtown.

At first she was mad at both of us for her predicament, the movement of her hips and ass over my body somewhat uncomfortable, but I knew her routine all too well, so I waited until I heard her moan before I reached up to her breasts and began to manipulate them as I'd tried before.

Since our second year of marriage she'd been able to read my body like an open book and knew when to slow down so I wouldn't pop and become completely worthless to her, but until she celebrated in a glorious cum her antics seemed reckless.  That night must have been a little tougher on her than many previous ones, because sooner than ever before she surrendered to the fullness of her first vaginal orgasm for the evening.  She'd love to have a quick cum and then slow down for the next few so they'd last for hours, and if I lie still and let her use me long enough I'd be able to afford her plenty of rapture. 

All I had to do was lie there long enough and she'd lose any of her reluctance to fight the tingling sensations as they rumbled around between her thighs and stole whatever animosity within her head.  My only saving grace was being able to get it up quickly and keep it up long enough to satisfy her needs.  Often that might take a lot longer than she'd prefer, which is why she hated having to go along with any desire I had for sex.  For me to outlast her made Alyssa even madder.

If my wife wasn't in control she hated all forms of sex.  The longer we were married the less she wanted to admit she needed it more than on our wedding night, her guard down far too quickly for her tastes when she accepted a submissive role after her brain was turned off.  That's what made our bedtime adventures so difficult for her the last few years, because she knew I could control her once she was too far gone to say no, and she rarely wanted to say yes.

Once she moaned I tweaked her nipples quite firmly, a deep breath sucked between her clenched teeth indication she was already past the point of no return.  From then on, and for as long as I could keep my cock hard and her horny, she was no longer in control of her brain nor her hormones, the man in her bed assuming a much more dominant role in her activities until I grew too tired or ran out of ways to enjoy my normally reluctant and grumpy wife.

She was like a drunken whore almost immediately after her defenses fell, any lusty request I had honored without hesitation.  She had a number of orgasms that first hour, each mind-bending set of convulsions ripping away the fabric of her carefully woven web of control until she was whimpering at me and obeying each and every nasty desire I had.  That's when she was mine.  Alyssa knew it and she hated it.

It was so satisfying to pound her from behind with her face in the pillows, her moans and cries muffled into the thick soft material normally under the back of her head.  That one humiliating position was the most hideous she'd ever assumed, nothing more than a soft whisper required from me for her to willingly and eagerly surrender to each new request once there.

By the time she was on her back, the back of her thighs against my belly, her calves over my shoulders, her butt shaking and jiggling to each of my lunges into her vagina, her clitoris rolled around with a few talented fingers, and an attitude of submissiveness, she was little more than a mindless puppet.  If I asked something of her in a whisper she'd readily comply with a timid voice, a subdued whimper, and an uncontrollable need to be pushed around in our bed, whether she'd normally permit it when she was sexually sober or not. 

From then on she was my play-toy, my slut, and my nasty little whore.  It irked her to be so eager to be used, but something deep inside her needed me to control and lovingly abuse her.  Even as I was crudely fucking and manhandling her I never once hurt or truly harmed her, sex a wild and fun game she was a willing participant in as long as bruises and permanent injuries were left out.  My lovely wife's body craved our sexual exploits, but her brain frequently got in the way of enjoying what her pussy seemed so willing to surrender to.

It may have been cruel for me to keep her going for hours and coax her to perform like a twenty dollar crack whore in need of a fix, but Alyssa was never truly wounded, never forced to do anything really perverted, nor made to agree to anything that would shame either of us in the bright light of day.  I might have treated her like a sex-starved tramp, but I never hurt her.

And yet while her body was repeatedly thrust back and forth she softly implored me to treat her like a prostitute and call her lots of nasty names.  In deference to her normal demeanor, and far from the way she acted before she turned the lights off, she was the most loving, devoted, and compliant wife any man could want.  That's why I loved my young bride, because she was sexy, had the appetite of a New Orleans madame, and once started was like a cascading avalanche.

Alyssa whispered lots of loving words to me after I'd ripped away the facade from her carefully crafted disguise, promises offered to repeat every wicked position and grant me access to my own nasty slut more often if I asked.  There were even a few daring phrases slipped into my ears about her being an exhibitionist, her need to expose what she'd normally kept tucked safely inside her expensive clothes and sexy lingerie to random men in public.

Something about her wanting to be shown off to perfect strangers stirred another wicked desire in me, and with no prompting I got Alyssa out of bed, propped her ass onto the dresser under the bedroom window, drew the curtains back, and fucked her right there.  She knew where she was, how much of her naked body might be seen by someone peeking in, and yet all she did was hug me tight and whisper crude and delicious words into my chest while I pumped her like a dog. 

In the middle of yet another beautiful orgasm she hinted she needed to be seen servicing me with her mouth, so with no hesitation I withdrew and grabbed her right hand.  She was willingly led to a window in the living room facing the street, I shoved the curtains back, turned a light on, and then lightly pushed against her shoulders.  She looked up into my gaze in utter submissiveness for a moment with a smile, down to my cock, fisted me a few times, and then took every inch of my throbbing hardness within her mouth. 

All I had to do was stand there and let her do as she'd asked, my sexy wife humming and moaning the entire time she worked my tool back and forth past her lips until I gripped her ears and tried to hold her head still when the fullness of pleasure overtook me.  Even then she kept up an almost torturous movement over the extents of my penis with her lips and tongue until I complimented her on the best blow job of my life.  She seemed proud of herself, withdrew my cock, and used my penis like a living paintbrush until her face was covered and shimmering from chin to forehead with my semen and her saliva. 

When I saw her grin I knew she had yet more lewd plans to show off in our open window.  She stood up, turned toward the window, positioned me behind her, lifted her right foot, placed it onto the edge of the chair between her nakedness and our neighbors, arched her back, thrust her butt toward me, and used her right hand to direct the end of my cock into her pussy from behind.  There was a real possibility someone might drive by and see my wife standing naked in our living room window being fucked from behind by her loving and perverted husband, but all Alyssa wanted at that moment was to push against my hips and pull me into her with nobody around to witness our lewd antics.

Two could play that nasty game, so my right hand shifted around her hip, down her tummy, between her full thighs, and onto an aching bundle of nerves that seemed to have a mind of its own.  My darling and very conservative wife grunted and moaned when I was able to work up a steady series of circles, letters, and geometric shapes over her clitoris while thrusting into her from behind, and she nearly screamed when I rolled her pleasure button around enough to give her yet another beautiful orgasm and plunged as far into her silken warmth as I could fit.  Even after her body had succumbed to my loving abuse I didn't stop pushing and caressing until she begged and pleaded with her handsome, sexually virile, and loving husband to take her to bed before she fainted.

After her treatment as a sex toy and love goddess in at least two windows of our house we snuggled together in bed with my cock stuffed inside her vagina and a constant slow undulation into her body to keep her happy, her grip around my body that night a lot tighter than it had been in a long time.  With so many long hours of painful anticipation behind me I'd finally achieved a measure of success, my wife loving, demure, happy, sexually satisfied, and slowly rolling her naked hips into me so I'd keep stroking her until we had to get up and take a shower.

That next morning she got ready for work in a huff and stormed out of the house without a word to me, my formerly compliant and sexy bride perfectly aware her body had yet again betrayed her brain, her sex drive normally suppressed to the point of madness.  I knew the moment she slammed the front door hard I would have to endure a few days of the silent treatment, freezer dinners, and the cold shoulder until she realized it wasn't me who had the issues, but her.

What I thought would be a few days turned out to be much longer.  A month after showing off for our neighbors I was served papers at my office informing me I was supposed to move my things out of my own house.  Alyssa wanted a divorce, and she was determined to get it. 

Clutching the crumpled legal form in one hand I pleaded with Alyssa the moment I got home.

What the Hell is this?  Why on Earth do you want a divorce, Alyssa?

Because I'm sick and tired of you treating me like some whore you can use whenever your dick is throbbing in your shorts.

What???  I don't treat you like that!

Like Hell you don't!  What about forcing me to have sex on my dresser in the bedroom, or raping me in our living room with the light on and the shades wide open?  You couldn't wait to show me off to every person in our neighborhood like some tramp you dragged home after getting drunk.

I didn't force you and I certainly didn't rape you, Alyssa!  You were a consenting adult that night, and you repeatedly used lots of crude language to amplify your orgasms.  You need to get the facts straight, because you pleaded with me over and over to treat you like a slut.

Her expression proved she didn't want to recall the erotic events, and her tactic changed.

Why can't you act like a decent and God fearing husband and spend some time on your knees?

Just the thought of me on my knees behind my wife in bed made me smile, and Alyssa realized what she'd insinuated only after she saw my lewd grin.

I meant in church, you moron!  Everything to you is sex.  Why can't you pray for guidance, think of my needs, and provide for my happiness like other … like you're supposed to?

Her needs weren't as sanctimonious as she was pretending, and I recognized her desire for a new house of furniture rather than an austere lifestyle.  For a Christian Alyssa was a real hypocrite.

Rather than focus on her need to get me back into her church after the wedding ceremony I reconsidered how she'd so quickly turned the conversation from sex to religion.

Look, Alyssa … you and I both know you crave sex more than you're willing to admit, but you let your religious beliefs stifle that need to the point of near insanity.  I really don't need you to be my public whore, but when we're in bed, and you're in need of some loving affection, why can't you quit being afraid of what you crave and enjoy what you and your husband take great delight in?  You know it feels wonderful when I find those special places you've tried so hard to keep hidden, and I love it when your body is filled with a passion that makes you glow like the little angel I fell in love with so many years ago.  You're still sexy, I love to give you a dozen orgasms a night, and it tears me up inside when I know you need intimacy as much as I do.

She looked at her fingers as they fumbled with a button on her blouse, and I could tell she knew I was right and didn't want to admit it, but she could at least be honest with herself. 

I stepped around her, encircled her body with both arms from behind, rested my mouth against her right ear, and whispered as if I was trying to coax her to go out with me like I did the first time we met.

You're such a beautiful and passionate woman, Alyssa, and I can't help but adore such a vibrant and spirited minx.  If you crave what's stirring your insides into utter revolt why don't you let yourself go and enjoy the pleasure I offer?  I'll be gentle, and go slow, and won't make you do anything you're too afraid to try.

She shivered, and I suspected I knew why.  When Alyssa was horny she wanted to try anything.

In order to calm her down more and prove I had a sensitive side I amended my last statement.

If you want me to treat you like a frightened and timid young woman who needs a gentle and loving partner to teach her what she needs to know, then I'll go much slower, okay?

By the time we were in bed that night Alyssa was much more submissive and timid, and she allowed me to give her at least two orgasms before she pushed my mouth away from her vulva.  But when I rose over her and tried to coax her into a sexual position she shook her head and whimpered at me.  All she wanted was to be held, so I had to relent.  It took a while, but she eventually revealed what was in her head.

Mark?

Uh huh?

If you really love me … I mean, with your heart … you won't ask me for sex for the next three months.  I know you want me to act like a tramp, but … I need to think about stuff for a while.

Three months?  What am I supposed to do for three months … get on my knees and pray?

Praying never hurt anyone, Mark.  If you spent more time with God in your heart and less time with your dick in your hands you might turn into a better person.

So if I deny myself … if I don't insist we have sex for three months you'll forget about trying to divorce me?

She didn't say anything for a while, but when she did I felt a lot better.

Sure.  If you'll promise to keep your hands off me for that long, then I'll drop it.

Three months of marital celibacy turned to six, and then twelve.  Once I was under her control Alyssa was much better about our relationship and lost any desire to file for divorce.  It hurt like Hell to go without the sexy body of my own wife lying no more than a foot away from me every night, but if I wanted to keep my house and some semblance of a marriage I'd have to assume a much less dominant role in bed for quite a while, if not for the remainder of my life.  Either she was being sexed somewhere else and by someone more skilled than me, or her sexual antics had been completely satisfied during our last all-night adventure.  I might never know.

A year later she took off on a business trip with a few of her fellow female workers, none of whom I knew.  It was the only time I could walk around my own house not feeling as if I was about to step on a live hand grenade or a tank-buster land mine.  It also gave me time to be with Baby, and while driving my dream car and favorite hobby project I was offered more than one sexy body by a willing young woman simply because I was a good looking guy in a nice ride.  I didn't want to, but I politely refused each time … knowing full well I could have enjoyed some really good sex without anyone finding out.  Being loyal sucked.

A day after she got back I was again served official divorce papers at my office.  I was also handed a restraining order to stay away from Alyssa, my distance to remain at least one thousand feet from her at any time unless deemed necessary by the courts, and no telephone contact unless her attorney was also on the line.  Through lawyers I pleaded with her not to do it, but she would have nothing from me.  When she did speak to me I knew I was defeated.

I'm done with you, Mark, and if you're smart you won't contest my terms, or my Daddy will make sure you don't have a dime left to your name when his lawyers are finished.  You know my Daddy has connections, and all I have to do is ask and he'll do whatever I want.  Got it?

But I can't afford to pay off the mortgage yet, Alyssa!  We still have over eighteen years before it's due.

That's not my problem.  I want the house, and I deserve to live in something nice.

But, you'll bankrupt me!

Then … sell that stupid hot rod you're always working on.  You've spent more money on that dumb car than you ever did on me.  It's worth plenty.

Sure!  Now that I've restored it to showroom condition and can make the tires squeal in the first three gears.  It was a piece of junk when I bought it.

Whatever.  Either sign the house over, or I'll take it and everything else you've got, including that stupid car.

A few days later her father made a point to stop by my office and threaten me as I was leaving work, every one of my fellow workers getting an earful of my personal life.  It made many people laugh, others cringe, and me feel like crap.  I slumped into a long depression because I knew Alyssa was bound and determined to get what she wanted.

When the final decree was handed to me by an officer of the courts I was a defeated man.  Alyssa had taken the house and bank accounts, and I had to use my retirement policy funds to pay off the mortgage which left me responsible for paying the penalties for withdrawing those assets well before I was old enough to retire.  I was left with little more than the clothes on my back and my sexy ride, Baby.

My only solace was work, eating, and a chance to go for a ride in my pride and joy, a 1982 Chevy hot rod with a rocket under the hood of cherry body work and a beautiful interior.  Driving might have been a necessity to most folks who owned boring and wimpy vehicles, but I was itching for every chance to fill the tank and spend some time on the road with my dream ride under my butt and my hands controlling which way I drove.

Even gasoline had become a luxury after Alyssa wiped out my funds, so what had been frequent trips up and down I-77, I-85, and the Blue Ridge Parkway with the windows open and the cool air whipping by was now just short trips back and forth from my puny apartment and where I worked.  I didn't get to drive Baby much, but when I did it was a chance for me to escape my pitiful existence.

Eventually even eating lost its appeal, my meager funds not allowing for steak more than once a year, and I much preferred to save up any extra cash I had for fuel so I could forget my troubles with Baby hugging my body and filling my soul with joy. 

Of course, a few lovely smiling faces staring back at me as I tooled around in my nice ride didn't hurt my ego, so cruising alone served multiple purposes.

Eighteen Year Old Temptations

Come on, Ash!  School will be out soon.  My folks want me to get ready for my first college summer semester before football season starts, and I won't see you for a long time after we graduate.  The night of the dance might be the last time we'll be together, just you and me, and I can't miss out on what could be the only chance to be with my girl.

I don't know, Ryan.  It just seems so wrong to lie to my parents.

The six foot two inch football hero literally towered over the petite seventeen year old senior as if she was an elementary school girl while they huddled against her locker between classes.

You don't have to lie, Ash.  Just tell them you're gonna be at the dance, and afterward you're gonna spend the night at your friend's house.  They'll let you do that, won't they?

I guess.  Are you gonna pick me up at Olivette's before the dance?

No, I can't.  I have to work the late afternoon shift at the Burger Hut, and I won't get off until half way through the dance.  I won't have time to go home and get cleaned up in time to meet you before the last song.

I wish you could be at the dance with me, because all my friends' boyfriends will be with them.

She couldn't help but fumble nervously with the buttons along the neckline on her thin sweater as she stood in the shadow of someone who looked more like a mountain on two feet than a high school senior.  A feeling of tremendous belonging rumbled around inside her as he hovered over her like some predator on the hunt for fresh and tender meat.

I know, Ash.  Come on, next period is about to start, and I wanna walk you to your English class.  We can talk about this more if you wanna, but I need to know what you're gonna wear so I can look forward to undoing some of those carefully installed buttons.

But Ryan, I'm not ready to get undressed in front of you yet.  Can't we wait until after we get married?  You can touch me, and play with me, and do all that other neat sex stuff you always talk about after I'm you're wife, I promise.

That might take more than four or five years, Ash.  By the time I graduate from college and get a football contract you'll probably find some hunk and I'll lose you forever.  I'd die if I lost you, Ash.

Oh, Ryan ... you're making this so hard on me.  I'm scared!

Ashley desperately wanted to explore the sensations welling up inside her developing body, even if she looked more like a little girl than a soon-to-be young adult.  But the fears her parents had successfully implanted in her mind were tearing at her like hyenas at a wounded animal, the loss of her babyhood almost certain as each day passed and every time Ryan spoke soft and loving words into her ears.  Using his skill as a talented manipulator he drew his mouth closer to her small ear and whispered what must have been too much for the seventeen year old virgin.

Don't be scared, Honey.  I'll help you through this and will make it really nice for you, okay?  As long as you promise to be mine after I leave for college I'll do everything I can to come home every month or two so we can have a day or two together, just you and me.

The sound of a claxon informed both of them to get moving toward their next class.

Come on!  Let's get you to class so you won't get into trouble.  I don't want your teachers or friends to think you're one of those other nasty tramps.

Her English studies were nothing more than a minor distraction for the confused young woman, her desire to accede to Ryan's wishes tempting, but her need to remain pure a much stronger force Ashley couldn't ignore.  Even after class started she couldn't take her mind off her most frightening dilemma to date, her purity versus her boyfriend's love. 

Class was over all too soon, Ashley wrestling with her desire to remain a virgin until her wedding night, but her need to have the love, affection, and wedding ring of the first guy who ever treated her so sweetly tearing at her insides.  The fact he'd gotten a college football scholarship and had a promising future professional career made her intense desire to keep her current beau that much more painful.  But by letting him have the only thing that made her a little girl and a chaste God-fearing Christian she would be giving up far more than just one evening of pain and pleasure.  That nagging feeling of losing a potentially successful husband kept dragging her back to the other side of that dangerous decision, the price to keep Ryan high, but potentially worthwhile. 

It tore at her for the rest of the day, nobody able to stir her mind from the one thing that seemed to torture her constantly.  For years her parents pounded into her head the need to remain clean and pure, God's gift to the young woman during her creation, and then her husband on their wedding night, her virginity.  Before she was aware of it school was out for the day, Ryan able to walk Ashley to his car like a rooster strutting so he could take her home.  A stranger might have believed he was a much older brother to a junior high school girl on their way home as they walked hand-in-hand.

Ashley was a real catch.  All of the guys in school dreamed of one night in bed with her, a fair-skinned seventeen year old with long straight dark hair, incredibly lovely, demure, petite, and just as pure as fresh fallen snow.  The fact she was the daughter of two religious fanatics, and had kept her mind toward more puritan pursuits rather than modern social influences, was something most girls hated her for, but Ashley quietly lauded with pride.  In spite of her strongly held beliefs regarding God she never once gave anyone cause to take a harsh position against her religious convictions.  She was a true and pure child ... clean, polite, but troubled.

Nobody had done anything with the high school senior other than hold her hand briefly, maybe get an accidental and brief shot of her panties when she rose from a seated position, or maybe a brief tongueless kiss if she graced a guy with an incredibly infrequent display of affection during a sentimental moment.  Yes, Ashley was quite emotional too, far too easily stirred to impassioned tears if the situation and venue called for it and her heart was wrought with tension.

The confident voice of her huge and very first real boyfriend broke her concentration moments after they were both sitting in his car, the idea she would have to choose between purity and love thrust all too soon into her mind.

Did you think about what I said, Ash?  Are you gonna ask Olivette if you can spend the night?

Yeah.  I already did.

What did she say?

She said it was okay, but I'm still scared, Ryan.

Don't be like that, Honey.  The dance is the same night as your birthday, and I wanna give you a very special birthday present, okay?

She immediately turned toward her suitor brandishing a blush and a bright smile.

You got something for me, Ryan?

The overconfident young man grinned as he attempted a wayward caress of her bare left thigh under the hem of her skirt, both of her hands immediately blocking his access to any portion of her body meant to be covered by her conservative clothes.  He knew she wouldn't allow it, but he had to keep trying or he might miss a chance.  Even as she crossed her left leg over her right, shifted her position further toward the passenger door, pushed his huge hand away, and held it to the smooth surface of the car seat, his fingers were wiggling toward her silken limb in a continuous attempt at sexual curiosity. 

Like so many of his other young and naive conquests Ashley was reluctant to permit anything in public.  But if he was ever able to work his magic on a girl in the privacy of his bedroom ...

Don't bother about that right now, Ash.  Just ask your parents if you can go to the dance and then spend the night at your friend's house.  Once they say yes, then call me.

After a few minutes of driving Ashley was out of his car, Ryan frustrated because he hadn't gotten to enjoy any portion of her soft and untainted alabaster flesh.  He could almost imagine what she looked like naked, her petite body most likely similar to many of his youngest accomplishments.  She'd eventually capitulate ... every one of his virgin conquests always did.

Right after dinner Ashley asked her parents if she could go to the Spring Dance and then spend the night at her friend Olivette's house afterward.  When they both said yes without any hesitation Ashley was elated.  As soon as she'd washed all the dishes and helped her little sister Stacy dry and put them away her kitchen chores were complete.  Her little feet were a blur as she ran upstairs to call her boyfriend to tell him the good news.

Hello?

Ryan, it's me!

Hi, Honey.  What did they say?

They said it was okay!

GREAT!

The footballer was immediately filled with tremendous pride, his victory just over the horizon.

Are you sure you can't come pick me up for the dance, Ryan?

No, Baby.  I've got to work, remember?  I'll meet you between nine and nine fifteen out in front of the school in the entry circle around the flagpole, okay?

Okay, but …

But what, Ash?

I'm still a little scared, Ryan.  What if my folks find out I left the dance before it was over?

Just tell Olivette you wanna spend some time with me and she'll cover for you.

I hope nobody finds out.

They won't.  Just do all the stuff you normally do, have your friend get a ride from another friend so her mom won't notice you're not with her, and nobody will suspect a thing.

A voice from downstairs broke through the telephone receiver and Ashley knew she had to go.

ASHLEY?

Darn!  My dad's calling.  I gotta go.  Bye!

Bye, Honey.

Still tingling from her phone call Ashley did her best to pay attention to her father, some minor aspect of her daily routine modified as a result of her being allowed to go to the dance.

The remainder of her evening was filled with a combination of trepidation and excitement, only two weeks more to her eighteenth birthday ... and her first private and very secret date with Ryan at his parents' home.

Ashley couldn't sleep at all that night, her body tingling with excitement, her soul filled with fear, her mind attempting to reconcile her decision making process, and her heart making all of it so hard to understand.  While immersed in her silent