Robert Mills - Slut wife

"It has a lot of possibilities," Melissa said sweetly.

After dinner Martin settled down to watch a ball game and Melissa went back to thinking about the message she had received from Mark Anderson.

The game ended at ten-thirty. Martin had consumed two cans of beer, three straight shots of bourbon and was cussing the outcome. He was in an apparent nasty mood and complaining.

"Some people have all the goddamn luck! Why the hell can't Nagel give me that job like he's supposed to? We could have a ball on twenty-five hundred a month!"

"We're doing fine," Melissa stated reproachfully. "Don't be so greedy."

Martin continued to grumble. "I should have had that job. What I get now is peanuts."

Melissa smiled. "I could let Mr. Nagel finger-fuck me," she said with a sly grin. "Then maybe he will change his mind."

He gave her a sharp glance. "I wish you would," he retorted. Then he got up and shuffled off to bed.

Melissa followed, a little reluctant, knowing what Martin was like when he was in such a mood. He wouldn't actually care, she decided as she went about preparing for bed. He even sounded as if he would be pleased if she became intimate with his employer. What if Nagel was to go beyond the fingering stage? What would he say if she let Nagel fuck her? Would he care then?

She removed her makeup and washed her face. She could hear Martin in the bedroom removing his shoes.

She opened the door and turned out the bathroom light. Martin was sifting on the edge of the bed, waiting. He had turned on the bedside love lamp and he was naked.

She removed her own clothing, placing the garments on a chair, intending to take care of them in the morning. Martin was always in a hurry when he wanted to fuck.

"Hurry up, Lissa," he muttered impatiently. "My cock is throbbing."

She paused at the bedside, debating what position she should assume. "Where do you want me, honey?"

"On the bed, of course. I want to stick my cock in your pussy.

"Don't be so vulgar. I'm right here and I know what you want."

"'Course you do," he muttered. "I want my cock in your cunt."

Melissa frowned again.

"That's part of the enjoyment, Lissa. Saying fuck and cunt helps turn a man on. You should know that."

"I'm learning," Melissa said. She moved over on the sheet and lay back, resting her head on the pillows.

"Pull your legs up. I want to finger your cunt a bit first."

She drew her legs up, opened them so he could get down to her pussy. She could feel his fingers scratching in the hair, then one finger probed the lips of her pussy.

"It's still there, Martin," she reproached him. "The same as it was last night. It hasn't changed."

He didn't say a word. His finger worked in around the clitoris and it didn't do a thing to her. She closed her eyes and said fuck to herself Then she said it again. She didn't feel a bit turned on.

She could sense him beside her, leaning over, looking into her face. He wanted something more.

"Do you want to play with my cock, Lissa?"

She reached blindly for his prick. He was too far down.

"I can't reach it."

He turned his body, moved closer to her.

His cock was hard, she reflected, but not as puffy as usual. She couldn't. remember it feeling so big before and she squeezed it, noting how it fit in her hand. His cock felt so stiff that she found herself thinking it might satisfy her more than usual.

"Suck it, Lissa."

She didn't want to suck his prick. She wasn't in the mood and said so.

"You act like you've been fucked out," Martin grumbled.

That irritated her even more. Then she realized he was right. She was fucked out, she was fired. Roger had given her such a thorough fucking that she didn't want any more cock. At least not tonight.

But she knew she would have to comply.

She raised her ass until he had thrust his cock deep into her cunt, then she sank back with a sigh. It was only a coupling of convenience, she told herself. His cock was in her cunt and he was pumping up and down, arguing, complaining, telling her to move her ass around so he could get some feeling. She raised her ass a few times, then gave up. She was that tired.

His fucking was wearing her down and she had no feeling. It was so inhuman to climb on and start fucking. She had seen dogs in the process of fucking and it struck her that was the way Martin was doing it now. Just fucking.

You should fuck me in the ass doggy fashion, Martin. That really would be funny. You look like a dog fucking me, jacking your ass up and down, jabbing your cock into my cunt just because it there.

"Do you ha b to be so dead? Wiggle your ass a little."

She wiggled her ass.

"Can't you say something?"

Melissa clenched her fists against the sheet. "Aren't you about through?"

"No, damn it, I'm not through!" Martin sputtered. "I wish you would learn how to fuck."

"I will, Martin," she said in a weary voice. "I certainly will."

She didn't work Tuesday and Martin called her from his office explaining he wanted her to go out to the club with him.

"I'd like you to meet some of the fellows," he said on the phone. "Put on something that will make them drool a little."Melissa knew Martin loved showing her off. "I'll wear something nice," she agreed.

"Not nice," he corrected. "Sexy. Something that shows a lot of ass."

"I could come naked," she retorted, then hung up.

She picked one of her shortest skirts. A smooth beige with a short ruffle that flopped up and down when she walked. That, with bikini briefs, should show enough ass to please even a professional wolf. A tight-fitting green sweater completed the outfit and, viewing herself in the mirror, she smiled slyly, noting that she looked every bit the little bitch she intended to be.

Martin suggested a drink before having lunch. He chose to sit at the bar, watching people come and go.

Melissa perched quietly on her stool, aimlessly viewing the people at the bar. Her skirt had worked back up her thigh, leaving an expanse of leg visible.

She noticed Martin's sudden interest as three men entered from the dining room. He slid from his stool. "That's them," he said, nodding at the trio. "Remember, just be nice to them."

Melissa followed as he went over to the table. Be nice to them. How could she be nice to them in a bar? Bar tables are noted for being cramped, even in private country dubs.

Then Martin was talking to them, explaining something she couldn't hear, they moved over, asking her to please be seated and viewing her costume with lust-filled eyes.

She didn't like these men, Melissa decided. The way they peered at her, their leering grins, made her feel cheap and she was beginning to wish she had worn something a little more refined.

"Sandino will be along in a few minutes," one of the men said. "I'm Mike Christy, Sandino's accountant. I assume you brought the money."

Martin produced the bills, gave them to him. Christy thrust them into his pocket. Then he ordered drinks for the table.

What followed, Melissa considered shop talk. Golf scores, green fees. She had heard it all before. It was all so boring. She took larger swallows of her drink.

"You should join us more often," Christy told Martin. "We're working up a tournament and need a few potential pros, like you."

Martin was overcome by the flattery. "A good-looking wife can help too," Christy added. He grinned happily at Melissa.

Melissa gave him only a caustic glance, then turned her attention back to her drink. She wasn't prepared for the arrival of Chester Sandino.

Sandino came in through a side entrance, glanced about, sighted the group at the table, then came over.

"There's Sandino," Christy informed Martin. He nodded a vigorous welcome to the newcomer.

"Nice afternoon for a game," Sandino said as he extended his hand to Christy. "I assume this is your new friend." He offered his hand to Martin, then peered at Melissa.