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               K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2004.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
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Pit Pass
by Lyndon Brown (indysheets@hotmail.com)

***

A man is hurt in a racing accident and his wife makes 
him quit. Then he discovers a secret about her, and 
gets to do whatever he wants. (MFF/m-teen, inc, orgy, 
wife-cheat, voy, cuck)

***

I crashed a sprint car five years ago, and busted 
myself up pretty good. I had been on top of the world, 
with a new house in construction, a pretty loving wife, 
a dream job, and all the shiny noisy toys I wanted. An 
hour later I was in a hospital bed, wondering if my 
legs would ever move again, if I would ever have 
another erection.

After three months of surgery and rehabilitation, minor 
miracles were accomplished and I was put back together, 
almost like new. My boss saved my job; my career was 
brighter than before. I had made my living with my 
hands and tools, engineering degree and union card, 
which were not much use flat on my back in bed. By 
necessity, I learned to accomplish similar results with 
the computer, fax and modem. By accident, literally, I 
had removed a ceiling limiting how far I could rise.  
My marriage was a completely different story.

Joan never understood my drive to compete on the 
racetrack, and was devastated by the results of the 
crash. We were in an intensely sexual honeymoon phase 
of our marriage. There was a very good chance I would 
lose that ability. We faced bankruptcy. Her dreams: 
house, husband, and children, were in ruins. She very 
nearly left me. She was in no way prepared for life as 
the caretaker of a paralyzed invalid. I recovered, our 
relationship continued, but in many ways things were 
never the same again.

Joan kept working after we married, but it was more 
pastime than career.  Facing the mountain of hospital 
bills, with a mixture of inspiration, desperation and 
an inflated resume, she moved in a single step from 
salesclerk to manager. She changed. She became tougher, 
more independent, driven to control every aspect of her 
life.  Stress and hard work pared her lush body to slim 
perfection. She became more aggressive in and out of 
bed, more demanding of exactly what she wanted. She had 
not been at the track; it had taken hours to find her, 
now she had to know at all times, where I was, what I 
was doing.

When I had recovered enough for my hospital bed to be 
relocated to the ground floor of our townhouse, Joan 
brought me up to date on our financial health. I had 
taken a company bonus as a sponsorship instead of cash. 
By legal fiction, and intervention by my boss, I was 
therefore still an employee while on the track, and 
entitled to some insurance benefits. Jack had gone even 
further out on a limb for me than I had imagined. We 
were still massively in debt, and will be for quite 
some time, but Joan had cut deals with our creditors 
that would allow us to move on and recover. Then she 
told me about the house.

My design for our home was patterned on the New England 
farm, house and barn connected by a screened breezeway. 
The barn was built first, to house my toys and the race 
shop. The connecting tunnel was poured, and footings 
done for the house at the time of the crash. 

The bank was forced to call the construction note. We 
probably would have had to sell for pennies on the 
dollar, if my buddy Jack hadn't stepped in to rescue 
us. He paid an almost fair price for a garage and a 
roll of drawings.  My street cars and bikes were sold 
at auction. Joan would gladly have burned all the race 
stuff, but Jack persuaded her to throw it in with his 
deal, thinking, perhaps, at some point I could race 
again.

When I was well enough to move back to the master 
bedroom, she renegotiated our marriage. Joan would keep 
her job; she would retain control of our finances. I 
would carry a cell-phone at all times, and respond to 
her every call. She was now on the pill, she would 
decide when we were ready for children. If I ever got 
within ten feet of another race car she would castrate 
me! She tried to dominate me in bed also, but that just 
wasn't going to happen. We worked out an uneasy truce, 
as semi-equal bed partners.

Jack approached me a month before this season started, 
with a proposal to resume racing. His son, Mark, had 
grown up playing around the race shop, now he wanted to 
drive. He had convinced his parents, despite the wreck 
still on the trailer in the hauler bay, that asphalt 
racing would be much safer than the dirt track I had 
been hurt on.  He had a kid's wildly optimistic idea of 
how easily we could convert the frame I had been 
working on, still tacked-together on the jig, to run 
pavement. The racing bug had bit deep.

His dad had been bitten also. He had some surplus CAD/ 
CAM equipment, not quite the current generation, 
available for the shop. "We had drafting and 
manufacturing programs under license, didn't we? I did 
still design and prototype the odd repair part didn't 
I? Wouldn't my old shop be ideal for that? Did a 
milling machine or lathe really know the difference 
between a compressor part and a racecar piece?"

So I started a secret second job. The second floor 
workstation became an extension of my real office. 
Phone, fax or e-mail didn't reveal what desk I was 
using. The shop really was efficient for turning out 
the out-of-production repair part or odd adapter. Down 
loaded data from the sensors hidden on the car helped 
me put together something Mark could get around the 
track. I wrote a couple programs for Jack's laptop 
computer that guided his adjustments at the track. Of 
course, I couldn't go with them, but Jack could call if 
he got in over his head. Things were working well. 
Until Joan's cell phone rang.

Working with customers on the cutting-edge of 
technology, we have access to the latest toys and 
gadgets. Jack and I, and our families, have helped our 
clients test and develop the next generation of cell 
phones. Which was how I came to recognize the unique 
tone of Joan's. I had finished prepping the car, and 
was winching it on the trailer, when I called my wife. 
I could have sworn it rang in the office upstairs. I 
climbed the stairs to investigate.

The mirror-glazed windows of the shop office face those 
of the master bedroom across the short breezeway. 
Joan's cell phone sat on a desk by the wide-open 
windows. Jack sat on the edge of the foot of his bed, 
facing me, not ten feet away. Joan, naked, sat on his 
lap, her back to his chest, impaled on his thick cock. 
A dark-haired woman knelt between their legs, slurping 
at the junction of their bodies. Mark stood on the bed 
beside my wife,his hands on her shoulders, feeding his 
cock into her mouth.

Joan's phone pealed again on the desk. Stunned, I still 
held mine in my hand.

Joan slapped Mark on the butt, he didn't move. She 
snapped her fingers, then pointed at the phone. Slowly, 
as slowly as only a reluctant teenager can move, he 
pulled his massive erection from her sucking mouth and 
moved toward the phone. A horny teenager pulled his 
hard cock from my wife's throat and did as she 
directed!

Joan tapped the woman on the top of the head. Her face 
rose. Joan pointed at something on a table near the 
headboard. As the woman stood, I recognized Jack's 
wife, Sharon. She walked to the head of the bed, and 
returned with a tube of lubricant. Joan pulled Jack's 
hands off her breasts and stood. She nodded, and Sharon 
applied a heavy glob of grease to the head of her 
husband's cock, working it around with both hands. 

Joan thrust her hips forward. Sharon shook her head. 
Joan glared at her. Sharon, reluctantly, nodded and 
applied another dollop of grease to the first two 
fingers of her right hand. Joan smiled as she began to 
work it around her asshole, beamed when Sharon's index 
finger entered her rectum.

Mark returned with the ringing phone, and a sagging 
erection. He held out the phone, but Joan waved it 
away. She pulled Sharon's lubricated fingers from her 
ass, and placed them on her son's cock. Joan made a 
hand-job gesture, and Sharon began to stroke her son 
back to full erection. Jack stroked his ten-inch cock 
between my wife's legs.

Joan put a hand on Mark's shoulder, pulled him a step 
closer to his mother. 

Joan grabbed a handful of Sharon's hair, tilting her 
face up and forward.  She stroked Mark's cock over his 
mother's cheeks, smearing her face with lube and pre-
cum. She pressed Sharon's lips against the head of her 
son's cock, twisted her handful of hair until she 
opened her mouth and swallowed him in. Sharon's eyes 
rolled to the corner of their sockets, meeting Joan's, 
begging. 

Joan slid her hand down to Mark's butt and pushed them 
tighter together. Sharon gagged when his cockhead 
entered her throat. Joan gave her a moment's respite, 
then forcibly pressed her back onto her son's nine-inch 
cock, harder, until she had taken him full depth. Joan 
removed her hands, but Sharon continued the full-depth 
stroking, after another pleading glance.

Jack reached upward to cup Joan's breasts. She slapped 
his hands away, and knocked him back on his elbows. She 
leaned back against him, and reached between her legs 
with both hands. One hand spread her cheeks, while the 
other guided his massive cock to her anus.

Her head fell back on her shoulder. She gazed 
sightlessly at the ceiling, an expression of intense 
erotic concentration on her face, as she settled 
herself upon that awesome prick. Her face twisted in 
strain and discomfort, but then broke into a broad grin 
as his cockhead slipped past her sphincter. She moaned 
in ecstasy when her ass bottomed fully on Jack's 
thighs.

Mark was enjoying himself while Joan's attention was 
elsewhere. He had pulled his mother's head forward and 
tilted it back, flattening the angle where his cock 
entered her throat. He held her head between his hands, 
steadying her while he thrust into her face. Sharon was 
taking him full depth now, with apparent ease, working 
his shaft and balls with both hands.  Mark would push 
forward until his belly wrinkled her nose, then pull 
back until his cockhead was just in reach of her 
sucking lips, or extended caressing tongue.

His balls were tightening in their sack, his butt 
clenched, he began to moan in anticipation of his 
onrushing orgasm. His mom nodded, "Unh Hunh," around 
his thrusting shaft, indicating her acceptance of his 
impending ejaculation.

An open-handed slap to the back of Sharon's head 
interrupted them. A fistful of hair pulled her face 
back to Joan's pussy. Joan seized Sharon's hand and 
emptied the tube of lube onto it. She crushed Sharon's 
extended fingers around her thumb, and began to insert 
her hand, palm up, into her cunt.  Sharon continued her 
clit licking, as she worked her fingers into my wife.  
Joan paused, halfway down on Jack's cock, as the wide 
flat of Sharon's palm passed through her stretched 
labia. A snarl of pain and tension morphed into a 
satisfied moan, as Sharon's fist formed inside her, as 
she slumped down, taking my boss's cock full depth in 
her ass.

Joan caught Mark's ear between her finger and thumb, 
and pulled him up beside her. A quick dip of her head 
and she had swallowed him to the root, restoring the 
gleam to his lubricated cock. She took the phone from 
him, pressing his hands against the sides of her full 
breasts, forming a tunnel for his long cock. A cock 
long enough to reach her lips and tongue as it fucked 
her tits. Mark twisted her nipples between thumbs and 
fingers, as he crushed her breasts against his pumping 
cock.

Joan paused, placing a finger against her pursed lips 
in a gesture commanding silence. When she was satisfied 
all understood, motion was allowed to resume. She was 
on her knees, straddling Jack's thighs, high enough to 
allow him to make six-inch thrusts upwards into her 
ass. The tendons on Sharon's forearm writhed as she 
rotated her fist, as her arm plunged in and out of my 
wife's clasping pussy. Her extended tongue slathered 
Joan's exposed clit and tight-stretched labia. 

Joan's hands were on Mark's asscheeks, holding her 
upper body in position, two fingers worming their way 
into his anus, as his cock plunged between her breasts. 
She gave his cockhead a quick sucking kiss or lash of 
the tongue, as it emerged from between her breasts, 
before withdrawing again into her cleavage.

Joan leaned back, shook the hair away from her ear, and 
flipped open the mouthpiece of the phone. She spoke for 
the first time, "Hello?"

"Hey babe, it's me. Just checking in. We still on for 
Chili's at seven?"

"I'll be there. Don't you, unhh, dare wear that ugly 
green sweater."

I disconnected.

I was aroused, but amazingly calm.  I wasn't mad at 
Jack, or even at Joan.  Jack may have initiated the 
sexual relationship, in return for the help with the 
insurance, but he had long since lost control of the 
situation, and his family. Joan had the dominant sex 
role I couldn't provide her.

My plan wasn't fully formed yet, but I knew that my new 
knowledge would lead to some improvements around our 
house. One thing I knew for sure: I was going back to 
the races.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 29