Mary Moore - Whore wife

Linda humped herself harder, anxious to take advantage of the still-hard erection before it withered.

"Mmmmmmmm," she moaned, pressing harder and harder, and at last feeling him in the deepest recesses of her pussy, she humped hard, and came. She groaned loud and long with overwhelming pleasure. She panted hard and lay back, her arms and legs still clinging to her husband. "Ohhhh, honey, oh, that was great, mmmm, so nice! Wonderful!"

She was in the oblivion of post-orgasm. She felt peaceful. Relaxed. She shook her head. She didn't want this moment to end. A trickle of semen was still rolling down her inner thigh. Her husbands burly body was heavy on her. She didn't mind. She rubbed his back fondly.

All the tension was gone. Her lips felt full and sensual. She kissed Tim's neck and shoulders. She kissed his arms. She nibbled his ear.

"Honey, oh, honey, it was wonderful." It was one of those rare moments when she was completely in love with her husband again. The moments of supreme satisfaction were rare.

"It was nice," Tim agreed in a muffled voice.

"Boy, I'm I bushed. Mmmmmm. Wow."

"Honey, you're wonderful, I'll do anything for you. Anything." Linda was serious. She'd forgotten her plans to leave him. She forgot her list of resolutions. She forgot her decision to go to the theater that night to look…

Why would she want to look for a man when she had one in her arms?

So, Linda didn't go to the theater that night. She was convinced there would be a repeat performance Saturday night of the sex that had begun Saturday morning, which had only been a warm-up session as far as she was concerned.

By the time she was ready for bed that night, she'd had so many arousing fantasies that she was hornier than a toad. Her body tingled all over. Her pussy was wet and expanding. She wore her short pink nightie. She read a magazine story while her husband took his bath. When he came to bed, she set the magazine aside and welcomed him with open arms. She was so sure he would desire her as much as she did him. Her body ached with need and passion.

"I love you," she crooned.

"Oh, honey, pot again," he said gruffly as he slipped out of his house slippers and swung his feet over into bed. He wore only a pair of pajama bottoms. He turned on his side away from her.

"But Tim," she said, hurt and wanting to cry, "Why not?" she reached out an arm to touch his shoulder.

He pulled away. "Honey, you're wearing me out. I hardly had any energy all day today."

"Well, how much energy do you need to drink beer and watch the baseball game?" she snapped. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth.

She hadn't meant to say that. She'd been walking on air all day. She'd cleaned and baked and even brought Tim a piece of chocolate cake right out of the oven, and hadn't minded as he scarcely muttered a thank you, and cheered a home run. She'd only smiled that he'd taken no heed of her, and she went on with her housework.

She thought that since her body was so satisfied, she really hadn't minded. But she realized she DID mind. And now he was rejecting her sexually again.

She crossed her arms over her needy body and pleaded, "Tim, I want you. I need you!" She looked over at him, his husky male form huddled to one side of the bed. He didn't answer.

She despised him in that moment. She didn't even understand him. All her love for him, that had filled her all day, drained out of her in one moment. She cursed herself for not going to the play that night. How could she have been such a fool?

"I hate you!" she said under her breath, and sharp, salty team stung her eyes. Her rage overwhelmed her.

Tim, unaware of her misery, fell asleep. Linda dried her eyes on the pillowcase. She set her lips firm and didn't go to sleep for a long time. She vowed revenge. Her anger was all she'd needed to give her the strength and momentum to take action.

Sunday was a quiet day. Linda went off to Livermore's only church alone, which she often did, while Tim washed the car.

When she came home, she barely spoke to him. She fixed lunch. When he asked her anything, she only answered yes or no. All her feelings for him were gone, drained away. She was completely immune to him now.

Only her plans filled her mind now: to meet a new man, to meet many men, and pick and choose among the brightest and the best! She thought her future looked bright, indeed.

She did everything mechanically. She didn't see her husband watching her quizzically out of the corner of his eye, and she wouldn't have cared anyway. He seemed to know something was wrong, but couldn't put his finger on it.

He frowned slightly and got up, pushing his chair back and belching. That he went to the television and flicked it on. The Raiders were playing The Bears today. He wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Linda washed the laundry and made plans for the theater on Monday night.

Tim looked surprised to see Linda all dressed up the next evening. She knew he'd probably planned a quiet evening at home and hoped they could talk about things. A shadow passed over his face. "Where are we going?" he asked sharply.

"I'm going to see a play," she announced, somewhat shaken. She'd rehearsed this moment for twenty-four hours. But when, it came down to actually asserting herself, it wasn't too easy. She'd never gone anywhere by herself before. She'd only shopped alone and gone to church alone. She'd never gone out evenings alone.

Tim got up and came towards her. His top shirt buttons were open and his slightly hairy chest was exposed. Linda suppressed a strong desire to nuzzle that chest.

"Where? Where are you going?" said Tim, incredulously. "What play? Where?" He took her wrist and held it tight.

Linda remained firm. She resolved to be strong, even though she was trembling. She pulled out of Tim's grasp and placed her opposite hand on the door knob. "Good-bye, dear," she said in a low, controlled voice. "I'll be back late."

"Where are you going?" repeated Tim firmly.

"Out!" said Linda sharply. "I'm going to a play at the Livingston Theater. The Palo Players. You've probably never heard of them."

Tim studied his wife and she met his gaze firmly. "Why are you being so uppity?" he asked. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He looked at his watch. "You can go out. It'll be dark when you get back. What time's it over?"

"Ten-thirty," Linda, answered her irritation growing. She started to open the door.

"Who are you going with?" he demanded.

"I'm going alone!"

"Linda, you've never done this before." His face was red and he was sputtering. She'd never seen him like that and it frightened her.

"Yes, that's too bad, isn't it?" Linda didn't wait for a reply. She got into the car and drove off, not looking back.

She stopped for gas and continued on to the theater.

Her seat was in the rear of the orchestra. It was not the most expensive seat, but then it was far from the cheapest. Here she could see, without being seen… much. This was all too new for her; she was not terribly sure of herself.

Many couples arrived at the last minute. There was a general drone of voices as they were seated. They were still nodding and smiling and waving to friends when the house lights went down, and the curtain went up. A hush fell over the theater.

Linda wasn't familiar with the play. But it hardly mattered after the first player made his entrance. He played the wayward husband, and Linda, after studying her program and learning that he was a visiting actor from Chicago, concluded that he was one of the most attractive men she'd ever seen. By the time the first act was over, she'd fallen madly in love with him, and wondered how she could manage to meet him.

No wondering. She was determined to go to his dressing room after the play was over. She wasn't quite sure how that was done. But she certainly didn't want to be one of a crowd at the stage door as he slipped out. He would never even notice her then.