Heather Brown: Wife turned on

She left the room to get the brush. Believe it or not, I was so horny that while she was gone I finger-fucked myself. I didn't want to lose a precious bit of the tremendous climax raging within me.

When she returned, she was holding the bristle end of the brush against her crotch so the handle loomed from her loins like a hard-on. I could hardly wait for her to slip it inside my cunt and start pumping. I'd soul-kiss her and play with her perfect tits while she was doing it.

"Fuck me, Ann, fuck me!" I cried, pulling my hand from between my legs and opening my snatch to my cervix.

She came to the bed, climbed aboard, and kneeled before me. My pussy was steaming with anticipation.

Expertly guiding the brush handle, Ann lowered her tawny loins toward my open honey-pot. Operating in a no-nonsense fashion, she made her first thrust a deep and probing one. All of a sudden my twat was engorged with her hardness.

Just as I'd planned, I seized her breasts and covered her mouth with my lips when she started screwing me. Making total love with another woman made fucking my husband seem tame indeed.

The springs in the mattress squeaked like a rusty gate in the wind from our furious humping. The end of the brush felt like it was in my womb, and then it seemed to penetrate even beyond that.

This was fucking. Real fucking. Had I known about this kind of sex when I was growing up, I might never have married.

Wrapping my legs around Ann's slim waist, I drew her tighter and tighter into the grip of my thighs. We were both generously endowed with pubic hair, and now, with the welding of our groins, it had combined into one enormous tangle.

Then our pussy lips melted together. Even our cuts. Our cunts were one. One pulsing, dripping, spasming organism of sensual female lust.

It was only natural that eventually I would take the brush out of my twat, lick my own juice off the handle, and then begin fucking Ann back with it. It turned out to be as much fun doing the fucking as receiving it.

We must have switched places five or six times before we were finally exhausted. Then we got under the sheets and just curled up against each other's naked bodies, luxuriating in the afterglow of perfect love-making.

Eventually dozing off, my dreams were wet. When I awoke, I told Ann about it and she laughed and said the same thing had happened to her. After trading details we were so turned-on that we started sucking and fucking all over again.

The second time around we gave the long handled brush to each other in the ass as well as the cunt. Also, we licked and ate everywhere – tits, pussy, ass, belly-button, armpits. As far as I was concerned, every part of Ann was sweeter than the last part I'd tasted.

It finally had to and just before three o'clock because I realized the kids were coming home from school. We had been in bed with each other for almost five solid hours.

For the first time since I had been raped, I felt good about myself. And for the first time in my life, I felt like a total woman.

As I reluctantly said goodbye to Ann, I suspected that things would never be the same.

Of course, I began seeing my female lover during the day as much as I could. Her Avon sales were falling off drastically, but she didn't seem to care as long as she could kiss me, and feel my tits, and get inside my pussy and asshole.

However, all was not perfection. I still had to cope with Don. While my lesbian love life was booming, my marital situation was deteriorating faster than a piece of bread under water.

I had no patience with Don any more. His presence around the house seemed an intrusion to me. I wished he would just leave for work one day and never come back.

Maybe if I had said the hell with it, and just gone ahead and left him, perhaps what happened next could have been forestalled. Believe me, had I known how things were going to turn out, I would have been more courageous.

Ann lost her job because she was spending so much time during the day in my arms and between my legs. Her sales had fallen to nothing. And since she had no husband to support her, she had to do something quickly.

"What are you going to do?" I anxiously asked when she told me the bad news.

"I don't know," she answered, "but I'll have to decide right away. I only have a little money in the bank – not even enough to pay my rent."

I wanted to offer her everything I had, but reality forced me to say nothing. Everything I had was under my husband's thumb. As much as I wanted to, as long as I was married, I could not help her.

That day when we said goodbye it was the first time we had not made love. In tears when she left, I chillingly suspected that things would never be the same between us.

I was right. The crushing blow I expected came in the form of a letter the next day. Its message was like a gunshot to my heart.

"Dearest, Mary," she wrote. "I am going to Chicago. I have relatives there I can stay with until I find work. I know this will hurt you, but it's the only way. I'm sorry I couldn't work up enough courage to tell you in person."

Her name was signed with love, and that was it. I had never felt so let down – so alone and abandoned.

I fell into a depression that closed in on me like a vise. I felt like I was living in a world where quicksand was the only element.

Surprisingly, it was Don who came up with a suggestion that might help me. My moping around had even gotten to him.

For the first time in weeks, he came into the bedroom at night. At first I was afraid that he'd gotten horny and wanted to fuck, but he said he just wanted to talk.

"We can't go on like this," he bluntly stated. There was nothing I could do but agree with him.

For an instant I was on the verge of opening up to him, telling him everything – that's how desperately lonely I was.

But when I looked into his face, I couldn't do it. My own husband seemed like a stranger to me. He would never understand.

So I just sat there in bed, not speaking, waiting for him to make the next move. He did with a firm sureness that indicated he had carefully planned what he was going to say well in advance.

"I want you to see a psychiatrist," he laid it on the line. "It's covered in my company health insurance, so there's no reason for you not to go."

"And if I don't?" I got up the nerve to challenge him.

"I'm seeing my lawyer and taking the kids to stay with my mother," he replied in a chilling voice. "You're no kind of wife like this, and no kind of mother."

"Please don't leave me!" I blurted, ignoring the fact that I had felt nothing for him for weeks. I was so insecure that life on my own seemed unbearable, even if it was with a man who had spitefully withheld his love and support from me in my time of greatest need.

"Okay, then," he said with enough trace of smugness to suggest that he had counted on this reaction from me. "I've made an appointment for you tomorrow with a Dr. Higgins downtown. If you go, I'll give you another chance."

Nothing in my anticipation prepared me for Dr.

Bob Higgins. When I was introduced to him, I initially thought some kind of mistake had been made. I had never expected such a young, handsome, friendly man to be a member of such a forbidding profession.

Right away he insisted I called him Bob instead of doctor. By the time I lay down on his couch and began answering his sympathetic questions, I felt more comfortable than I had at any time since Ann had left. He had a way about him that put me completely at ease. After a few minutes of his compassionate approach, I was ready to tell him all.

"I was raped." I finally got to the heart of my problem.

"And ever since, your husband has treated you like damaged goods," Dr. Higgins, or Bob, completed the sentence for me.