From: rdragon@ix.netcom.com(***)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Group Sex by J. Boswell (FM+, cheat, slut)
Date: 3 Oct 1996 23:11:38 GMT

			      Group Sex
			Another Hot Wife Tale
				  by
			     J. Boswell

	This is an adult file, not a sex file. It doesn't dwell on
which organs function sexually with other organs. It deals with two
people. It's the truth and parts of it are painful. I guess it's more
therapy for me than entertainment for you.

	When I married Susan, we were both twenty-three, out of
college, and beginning our careers. Neither one of us was a virgin,
and during the twelve years we've been married, neither one of us has
pried into or even discussed past lovers.

	Susan is a "Lady" in all the positive connotations that word
brings to mind. She is a bit on the "proper" side - cordial, but cool
(almost aloof), until you get to know her. We have had a wonderful
marriage, though unable to have children, and she is my wife, my
friend, my lover. All of this is to emphasize the degree of my recent
shock.

	Several months ago, I was digging the comforter out of the
back of the closet. In pulling it off the high shelf, I also brought
down a small cardboard box that popped open when it hit the floor. I
ducked, cursed and looked down to see books spilling out of the box.
The books were diaries.

	In the box were eleven diaries of various design and size that
covered the years Susan was in seventh grade through the year she met
me.

	I know what I SHOULD have done, but I didn't do it. I was
home, alone, and I began reading the diaries. Over the next two weeks,
I slipped one out at a time, read it at the office, and returned it to
the box, until I had completed all eleven of them.

	I discovered I had not married the woman I assumed I had. I
had assumed that, like me, Susan had experimented with sex, to varying
degrees, in high school and through college; having two, three, maybe
four or five lovers over those years. I had made love to only two
other women (really just girls) before I met Susan, and I thought,
because of her looks (so important in the school years), that she had
probably been more active than me. On that point, I was correct. From
reading the diaries I determined that my cool, formal, lady of a wife
had had over four hundred lovers in those ten years! I feel that I'm
liberated, but still, in my mind, that number of lovers would qualify
my wife for the description of "slut".

	Susan's young sex life was almost too full and too painful to
believe.

	She began in eighth grade, when she was only thirteen years
old, and one of her teachers seduced her. This wasn't the only
occurrence of sexual abuse of her as a child. Just while she was in
high school, several neighbors, an uncle, two older cousins, two
fathers of girlfriends, three brothers of girlfriends, three men that
she babysat for, a father of a boyfriend, a guidance counselor, a
therapist, two other teachers, and a priest(!) all had sex with Susan.
At the same time, Susan was dating boys her own age, sometimes two a
weekend, and never saying "No."

	The diaries covering her high school years were sad, because
Susan knew she was being used by the boys and men and didn't know how
to stop being a victim. She talked to a counselor and a therapist, and
they both ended up fucking her.

	In college, Susan began to take control of her life in every
way except sex. There, she remained a victim; always "Miss Roundheels"
and the "easiest" piece of ass in the school.

	Reading those pages now, at age thirty-five, I could clearly
see the hurt and confusion Susan was feeling, but the words she wrote
were usually happy, full of hope, and filled with wonder at the
adventure she was experiencing.

	And it was an adventure. In ninth grade, alone, besides the
"normal" dates she had, Susan screwed two guys in a car after they
dropped the first girl off after a double-date; fucked and sucked four
guys at a party; was screwed by her two older cousins in the woods on
Thanksgiving Day; and, for the finale, sucked and fucked seven players
and the manager of her high school lacrosse team, in the locker room,
after the championship game. The only thing she complained about in
her diary was the smell!

	Several times in college, Susan fucked two, even three
different guys on the same night, usually at parties. She spent a
weekend at the ocean with four guys, fucking all of them. Screwed five
different professors. Was the "mascot" for a heavy metal band one
summer (A summer basically spent drunk and on her back or her knees,
of which she wrote "I hope I'm strong enough to never again do the
gross and disgusting things I did with and for and to those five
guys!!!!") Spent a Spring Break in Florida, competing with two of her
girlfriends to see who could fuck the most guys (Of course, Susan
won.) And, finally, spent an afternoon and night upstairs at a Frat
house, taking on all comers (Her diary said she lost count, but she
thinks it was in the twelve to fifteen different guys range! Susan did
wonder if she was a "nympho" after that!).

	One angry thought that I had, reading all of this, was that
Susan didn't go to bed with me for months after we started dating!

	This wasn't my only angry thought. I couldn't get the number
out of my mind. It was overwhelming. I kept thinking of the number of
cocks and fingers and tongues that had filled my wife's cunt and mouth
and ass. How many gallons of cum had entered her body? I began to
wonder what had driven her, and if she was a "nympho". And then, I was
filled with bile as I wondered if she had stopped screwing every man
in sight, or if only the diaries had stopped. Was she still the
easiest piece of ass in the city?

	I became obsessed to find out.

	I began by keeping track of the time we weren't together. I
was convinced that Susan couldn't have stopped "Cold Turkey" and I was
going to find out for certain.

	I followed her sporadically for a few weeks, and she was
always where she said she was going to be. Soon, I was saying I had to
work late or meet friends, to leave her alone in the house. She didn't
leave and she didn't have men lined up and taking a number at the
front door.

	I continued until I realized that I was missing Susan. We had
always enjoyed our time together, and I was shortening that time to
carry out some obsession I had. I loved Susan, and she had never given
me any reason to doubt her love, or her fidelity.

	She hadn't lied to me about her past; I never asked and she
never volunteered any information.

	I began to relax. And even though thoughts of the hundreds of
boys and men haunted me, I was working to put Susan's past behind me.
It was obvious Susan had managed to do just that.

	All of that changed two months ago.

	I attended a farewell luncheon for a coworker at his favorite
restaurant. It was on the other side of town from where I worked and
we lived, but the food was excellent. None of us intended to return to
work in the afternoon, so I stayed with the crowd, sipping my club-
sodas-and-lime.

	I was the last to leave. Susan had a "Professional Women"
dinner and meeting and wouldn't be home until later; so I had stayed
to enjoy another shrimp salad sandwich. On my way home, I passed
Susan's office.

	Bad habits are hard to break, because when I drove by the
almost-empty parking lot, I saw Susan's car, and decided to wait for
her. I should have just parked next to her and invited her to skip her
meeting and go have a drink with me, but I didn't. I parked away from
her car and watched.

	Right on time, Susan appeared at the door and walked to her
car. Just looking at her made me warm up. Pretty beyond words, she
still had her great figure and fantastic legs. The red suit she was
wearing was one of my favorites, because the blouse she wore with it
displayed her creamy cleavage and the tight, short skirt emphasized
her hips and legs. I was immediately suspicious because it was a
strange outfit to wear to a "career women" organization's meeting!

	I followed her car from a distance, because I knew where her
dinner was being held. When we drove right past the restaurant, I
crept up to keep her car in sight. Susan drove downtown and pulled
into the parking garage next to the Convention Center.

	Not wanting to pull in behind her, I decided to make a trip
around the block and then park.

	That was a mistake. Rush hour traffic and getting past an
accident turned my two minute trip into a twenty minute ordeal.

	I finally got to the garage and found Susan's car. I drove by
it and parked on the next level. My fear was that I'd never be able to
find Susan in the downtown area, and that my trip was for nothing.

	I was very, very lucky. I spotted the red suit at the bar in
the fourth and nicest lounge I searched. I took a table at the back in
a dark corner and watched what was going on.

	Susan was obviously enjoying being the center of attention for
three businessmen. She was turned with her back to the bar, and the
men were at her sides and in front of her. Her legs were crossed,
giving the entire lounge a breathtaking view of her thighs. As she
laughed, she would bend forward, and I could almost hear the three
sets of eyeballs click as they gazed down the front of her blouse.

	On the next round of drinks, I noticed that the gray-haired
executive placed his hand on my wife's stocking-clad thigh.

	Susan made no motion to move it. After the next round, the
four of them left the lounge. Susan was arm-in-arm with two of them,
and I was close behind.

	They walked along the elevated walkways to the biggest hotel
in town. They were the only ones on their elevator, so I watched the
numbers light to see that they went to the fifteenth floor.

	I followed.

	To my surprise, they didn't go to someone's room. The whole
floor was taken up with "Hospitality" suites for the electronics
industry conventioneers in town. The corridor was crowded and loud,
but I caught a glimpse of Susan and her friends enter a doorway at the
end of the hall.

	I stopped off at one vendor's table, grabbed a spare name tag
and filled it in with an appropriate sounding company name.

	I took my time approaching the last suite, spending over a
half hour waiting for them to come out. When I got there, it was a
huge corner suite of two very large rooms. I didn't see Susan or the
men in the first room, so I carefully approached the doorway to the
second room. It was also crowded but I was certain Susan wasn't there,
either.

	How had I lost them? I was certain I was in the right suite. I
grabbed a soda and sat down in a corner chair, pondering my next step.

	I was almost finished my soda when the door on my right opened
and out stepped the gray-haired businessman I had seen with his hands
on my wife's thighs. I had thought the door was just the locked door
to the next suite.

	The gray-haired guy grabbed a drink at the bar next to me and
smiled at another businessman with the same kind of name tag on,
"Whew! Hot stuff in there."

	The second guy glanced around, "I saw her when you brought her
in. Prime stuff. Both Roy and Phil in there?"

	"Yeah, but go ahead. I guarantee SHE won't mind! She told us
she was a real party girl... and she is!"

	The second guy smiled, nodded and opened the door. In the
seconds it was open, I could see Susan's red suit lying on the floor.
My wife was in there and she was fucking strangers.

	I didn't know what to do. I was angry, hurt, shocked, and yet,
part of me was excited and curious. I decided to sit there and wait
for Susan to come out.

	By ten, the crowd was thinning out, and a sales rep was trying
to sell me a million dollars worth of microchips. I hadn't left the
room, and, in addition to the original three men, four more had gone
into the room where Susan was. There were still two men in there with
her at that moment.

	By eleven, three more men had visited Susan, and only the
sales reps and some drunks were left in the suite. I played drunk, and
no one asked me to leave.

	They weren't as careful opening and closing the door and I had
had two glimpses of my darling wife. The first time, she was on her
back, spread-legged and an old man was pounding her ass into the bed.
The second time, she was on her knees, sucking a cock as a young
blonde with an erection was crawling up behind her. What a lady!

	Finally, the party was wrapping up. By my count, fourteen men
had sampled my wife's charms. I stood up to leave and saw that Susan
was still on her back on the bed. Her eyes were closed. Without
thinking about what I was doing, I walked into the room, dropped my
trousers and shorts and crawled between her legs. Her cunt was so full
of cum, that as I pushed my cock into her, I could feel the other
men's jizm squeeze out around my skin and into my pubic hair.

	Susan moaned and said, "Mmmm, the party's not over, yet, eh?"
Then, she turned to look at the man fucking her. Her eyes popped open
in surprise and shock.

	"There's at least one more cock here that you haven't had,
yet, tonight, you disgusting slut." I was so angry and hurt and hot, I
was spitting my words at her. "Now I know what they mean by `sloppy
cunt'. That's what you have right now, bitch."

	Seconds later, I had the most intense orgasm in my life. I
pulled my cock out of her slimy pussy, pulled up my pants and walked
out of the suite.

	I was showering when Susan walked into the bathroom.

	I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a towel.

	"By my count, I was the fifteenth cock you had shoved up your
cunt, tonight. Is that a personal record?"

	Susan reddened and glared back at me, "No, the record's still
two years ago, when I fucked an entire softball team and the two
umpires in the back of a bar. The total that night was nineteen."

	"You slut! You cunt-bitch-slut! Is there anybody in the city
you haven't opened your pussy for?"

	Susan raised her hand in a fist, but she collapsed into my
arms. "I'm sick, Jim. I don't know why I do it. I never wanted to hurt
you. Leave me, right now. You don't deserve this!"

	Still holding Susan, I filled the tub. I undressed her and
placed her in the water, washing the cum and sweat of other men off of
her smooth, white skin.

	She never stopped crying, as I dried her and put her into bed.
I warmed oil on my hands and massaged her legs and back and arms. I
covered her, turned out the lights, and got under the covers with her.
Only sleep let her stop sobbing.

	She was gone in the morning. She left her diaries, and as I
was cleaning out her dresser, I found the ones for the years we were
married. The four-hundred-plus men from her younger years were just a
feeble rehearsal for the army of men she had over those twelve years.

	But it doesn't matter. I miss her, and would take her back in
an instant. But, she's gone, and I'm afraid I'll never see her, again.

4/90