Heather Brown - Wife turned on

We were moving, grooving, fucking and sucking three ways. The bed bounced up and down from the action, its squeaking springs as loud as our slurping and groaning.

Ted came. For the third time his cock struck like a rabid cobra in his sister's pussy. His effort was so great that his balls pulled out of my mouth and jumped to each side of his prick.

While he was still spurting, I removed his hard-on from Gwen's cunt. Then she and I scrambled to go down on it, mother and daughter lapping up little brother's endless cum in tandem.

By the time we had devoured every drop, Ted was really exhausted. Lying on his back, he caught his breath while his cock wilted at last.

While we were waiting for Ted's cock to get hard again, Gwen and I made quiet love, gently stroking each other's tits and pussies. Too bad the male of the species can't stay on a continuous orgasmic high like we girls.

Yes, it had been a typical morning. I thought as I lovingly caressed my beautiful daughter that life couldn't be more perfect. My troubles were as far away as they could be.

But then there was an interruption. Someone was knocking at the door.

We ignored it at first, however whoever it was persisted. "Maybe you'd better answer it, Mom," Gwen said. "By the time you get rid of them maybe Ted's cock will be ready to fuck again."

Since she put it that way, I decided to go ahead and see who it was. I put on a bathrobe, left the bedroom and crossed the living room toward the front door.

When I opened it, there was a man there I'd never seen before.

"Mrs. Randall?" he asked. "Mary Randall?" I nodded my head that I was she.

"I have something for you."

He handed me a sheaf of papers and then left like he didn't want to be around when I read them.

Suddenly I was frightened. Even without reading them I knew these papers were bad news.

Finally I forced myself to look at them. The first thing I saw was the official seal of the Superior Court.

"In the action of Donald T. Randall versus Mary F. Randall," I read aloud in a trembling voice; Don had filed for divorce.

With the abruptness of a tragic accident, my life plunged into despair. Not only was my husband cutting me loose, I quickly learned that he was determined to gain custody of the kids.

His lawyer put it to me with brutal clarity: "Your husband feels that you're a changed woman since your rape. Not the woman he married and who mothered his children."

"But," I protested, "it wasn't my fault somebody raped me."

"Try convincing a judge of that," the lawyer smiled. "As an attorney, I can assure you that the burden of proof is on the woman in these cases. And from what my client tells me, you've come up far short in this area."

"I thought the wife automatically got custody of the children," I said.

"If she's a woman of good reputation," the lawyer rejoined. "The taint of rape, however, automatically changes all that."

"It's not fair!" I wailed.

"Let me ask you something, Mrs. Randall," the lawyer calmly said. "And if you don't mind, I'm going to be brutally frank."

"Go ahead," I sighed, knowing in advance that what he was going to say would be devastating.

"Suppose that you were a man," he began to spin his web. "A hard-working man, putting everything you had into providing for your family. Working long hours so your wife and children can live in suburban comfort."

"Yes, go on," I allowed him to continue.

"And then the wife for whom you've provided so many benefits becomes intimately involved with another man."

"But I was raped!" I excitedly pointed out for the umptenth time.

"Rape is another word for fucking, is it not?" the lawyer delivered the brutal frankness he had promised.

"Yes," I was forced to admit.

"Another man achieved an erection because of your body and then, inserted it between your legs, didn't he?"

The wind out of my sails, I sadly nodded.

"A man other than your husband – a man who contributes nothing to your support – put his stiff cock in your cunt and fucked you, Mrs. Randall," the lawyer explicitly went over the obvious. "Are you going to deny that?"

I silently gestured that I could not.

"Another man's cock was in your cunt and he kept fucking you and fucking you," the lawyer poured it on like he was cross-examining me in a courtroom. "The friction built and built. The man's cock got harder and harder in your cunt. Then, after several minutes of hot fucking, he came."

I automatically nodded.

"Your cunt was filled with cum. A stranger's cum. Your husband had given you two beautiful children, yet here you were with your pussy filled with somebody else's seed."

I felt like he was beating me with his words. His fists could not have done as efficient a job at pummeling me.

"Tell me, Mrs. Randall," the lawyer knifed to the core. "Couldn't you have resisted him? You know that has to be the question that's been haunting your husband. When he's at work, valiantly trying to live up to his responsibilities as a husband and father, you know he's thinking about it. Tell me, Mrs. Randall, how can he do his best when he's thinking about his wife's cunt dripping with another man's cum, knowing that she didn't have it in her heart to stop this man from fucking her?"

The way he expressed it there was no doubt about my guilt. As a divorce lawyer, he was an expert at making a wife feel like a piece of shit.

"And the children," he continued. "What about the children? What kind of mother can you be to them with this cloud hanging over your head? Suppose the rapist were caught and brought to trial – the testimony you'd be required to give in court would be a matter of public record. Don't you agree that it's best they be spared from such stigma?"

He'd beaten me down so thoroughly that I had no choice by now but to passively agree with everything he said. When he gave me some papers to sign, promising that my signature would solve many of the problems he had outlined, I affixed my name without even bothering to read them.

To make a long story short, in my grief I agreed to give up my rights to practically everything associated with my family. The kids, the house, the joint bank account – all of it went to Don. In addition to total isolation, what I received as my part of the bargain was one of the cars and a weekly check – yes, Don was willing to pay to get rid of me.

A defeated woman, I moved into a furnished room in a seedy part of town, the only thing I could afford. My new circumstances were degrading after a lifetime of middle-class comforts, however they were what I felt I deserved. In the final analysis, my rape had eventually robbed me of all my rights and dignity.

At first I longed to see the kids, but letters I got from them changed that. Their messages brimmed with happiness. They were obviously easy prey for the goodies their father was heaping on them to win their loyalty. It wasn't long, of course, before the letters stopped and all contact ceased.

It would have been stupid of me to think I couldn't be replaced in the lives of my children. Ted and Gwen were both such attractive teens that they could find all the affection they needed, if you know what I mean.

Logically I knew that I should find a job, but it was so hard to get up off my butt and face the world. I was so down that I preferred to lie around in bed all day smoking cigarettes, drinking gin and tonics, and watching game shows on television.

Then Don started being late with his weekly support checks. When I complained to his lawyer, I was laughed at.

"If you don't like it," the attorney sneered, "hire your own legal representation and take my client to court for contempt."

That was about like telling me to fly myself to the moon using my arms. Lawyers cost money, and I didn't have any. In other words, the only way I could force Don to live up to his legal responsibilities was for him to finance the litigation.