Martha Finally Cheats
- 3 years ago
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Martha Finally Cheats Too Often free porn video
She’s not as smart as she thinks – my ending to LaffWithMe’s Martha Finally Cheats
URL: http://www.literotica.com/s/martha-finally-cheats
LaffWithMe’s story is pretty simple. A story of a thirty eight year old happily married wife (20 years) and mother of two. Wife hears about big cock, wife feels big cock, wife sees big cock, wife becomes a slut for big cock. Continues to fuck hubby, even though she says she can’t even feel him, for months. The end. Another real Laffer.
The End? I don’t think so… A quick read this time. Ugly, dark, and vicious flash story. You’ve been forewarned.
There are too damn many intriguing stories that are never completed, or left hanging with disgusting endings. If I find a story that’s been abandoned for too long, I’ll give you my idea of an ending. Fair warning though, I don’t write about total wimps. May not be BTB, all nuclear and shit, but no voluntary cucks, or whiny simpering wimps.
For Information on how I choose which stories to continue, please read my profile.
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
The end(?) of Martha Finally Cheats
I tried to say, ‘I’m just not that kind of woman. This was a mistake. I think we should just forget that this happened.’ But no words came out of my mouth. I just reached down and fondled Martins big soft cock.
Sybil sat on the bed, kissed me softly. ‘Sharing is fun Martha. And we’re all a little bit slut down deep aren’t we?’
Slut – the word rattled in my mind. God, I am a slut, aren’t I. And I don’t care, I just know that I want to fuck that big cock again.
So there it is, that’s how it began. Poor Tom has no idea why I’m such good friends with Martin and Sybil. Tom continues to like to fuck every week or two but I can hardly feel him in me.
I thought I had it pretty good. At 41 years old, I had it all. Two smart, beautiful daughters, the last one had just been shipped off to college. A good loving husband who was a great provider and gave me the love and affection I adored.
And then there was Martin Pratt’s huge cock, and Sybil’s tantalizing tongue that gave me the mind-blowing sex I craved and needed.
We had driven Tina up to college over the weekend, and gotten her setup in her dorm. Tom got his weekly helping of pussy on the drive back. I could even feel him a little, it had been almost a week since I’d been with Martin. I was looking forward to Monday, when my husband would go to work, and I’d get that big hard cock I’d grown accustomed too.
When I woke up that morning, Tom had already left for work. He was considerate that way, often showering in the guest bathroom so he wouldn’t disturb me. He knew I liked to sleep in. As I rolled out of bed, I was already feeling that familiar itch. I cleaned up carefully, lubing up thoroughly to make sure I could handle Martin where ever he wanted me. The lube was flavored, for Sybil’s sake.
I put on my favorite ‘heading-across-the-street-to-cheat-on-my-husband’ outfit, shorts with a stretch waistband, an oversized t-shirt, and sandals. I bet you thought that I’d wear something sexy, but I’m not stupid. I wasn’t going to feed the gossip machine anymore than I already was. I’d already heard too many mean-hearted rumors about spending so much time with the Pratts. Besides, I could be out of that outfit in less than three seconds. They’d timed me.
I let myself into their house, using the key they’d given me. As soon as I was in the door, I got a little pissed off, to be brutally honest. I heard the moans from the back of the house, and knew they’d started without me. Selfish meanies.
Opening the door to the bedroom, it took me a few moments for my brain to actually take in what I was seeing. Martin and Sybil were tied down on their own bed and there was blood everywhere! The iron-rich sickly sweet smell hit me only seconds later. For a moment I was sure they were dead, but their moans quickly set that notion straight.
Moving closer, I was stunned by the horror before me. I now recognized that the blood was localized. It took a few more seconds to confirm what had happened. I threw up all over the two of them.
Martin’s cock had been cut off. Right to the quick. Nothing left. Not even a nub. It looked like someone had cauterized the wound afterward, because it wasn’t bleeding. Who ever had removed his cock hadn’t left it around.
Martin was moaning, and I almost lost what I didn’t have in my stomach, when he tried to talk. Grunting sounds escaped, and as I got closer and looked past all the blood on his face, I recognized that his tongue was gone.
‘Unhgg – uggg – muh,’ he groaned, looking at me.
He reached toward me with his bound hand, only able to move it a few inches, and a new atrocity emerged. His index and middle fingers, along with his thumb were missing.
I reached for my cellphone, and hesitated only a moment before calling 911. I tried to think up a story for why I was there, when my gaze moved over to Sybil.
The words of the 911 operator went in one ear and out the other as I took in her injuries. Like her husband, her tongue and fingers had been removed. Her nipples appeared to have been burned off. It also looked like someone had sewn her pussy shut.
‘What is your emergency?’ the voice from the phone repeated.
‘My… my neighbors, someone has hurt them. They’re tied up.’
‘Are you alone in the house?’ the operator asked.
Suddenly fear rushed through my body. Was the torturer still there? Was I in danger? I ran from the building, my heart racing, until I was standing in the middle of the street.
‘Hello? What is your address? What is the nature of the injuries?’ the voice was repeating over the phone.
I gave them the address, and listed what I’d seen. Then I stood outside shivering in the 95 degree weather, while the neighbors slowly gathered around me, until the speeding vehicles and sirens forced me to move onto the sidewalk. The inquisitive mob followed, and I heard the heart-rending murmurs and innuendo that I left in my wake.
~ * ~ * ~
I told my story to the policemen, explaining that I was supposed to go shopping with Sybil, and that the front door was unlocked and we commonly entered each other’s homes. When they asked me if I knew who might have done such a thing I drew a blank.
‘Nobody,’ I said. ‘They’re nice people, popular. They’ve lived here for over three years, and never had a problem. This is a quiet neighborhood. We have no crime here. None.’ I hesitated for a moment, voicing a concern. ‘He works with Mexicans, importing stuff. You don’t think…’ I’d heard about those foreign gangs. Were they caught up in something illegal?
Suddenly the injuries made sense. Their tongues cut out and fingers removed so they couldn’t identify their assailants. Couldn’t even write it down. It was an evil, vicious thing, a way of covering their tracks. Cold-hearted.
It was hours before things settled down, and the police left. Even then, I was stuck with our nosy neighbors, talking about what I’d found, and what had happened. I received more than a few suspicious looks and glares, but I shook it off. Let them speculate. We were too careful for anyone to know the truth.
It was late afternoon before I had freed myself of the last of the rumor-mongers. I was exhausted and shaken. I was also sick to my stomach over what I’d seen. I waffled between going to the hospital or not, but in the end, I figured that might look too suspicious.
I thought about calling my husband, but I was too nervous and upset to speak to him. I decided I’d wait until he got home, took a couple of pills to calm myself, and laid down on the couch, hoping to nap but knowing the likelihood was slim to none.
When Tom hadn’t arrived by seven o’clock, and the dinner I’d prepared was getting cold, I tried to call him. The phone went right to voicemail.
Eight rolled by, and I was gett
ing pissed. I’d had one of the most frightening and disturbing days of my life, and my husband couldn’t even have the decency to call to let me know he was going to be late. Sure, he was late a lot with his new responsibilities, and I was used to it, but he would normally at least give me a heads up if he was going to be more than an hour or so late.
By nine o’clock, I was frantic. Horrible scenarios were running through my mind. I’d called his work, but instead of reaching his voicemail, it went straight to the main switchboard. I’d already left half-a-dozen messages on his phone for him to call me.
Looking around the living room, working on my second bottle of wine, I noticed a blank spot on the wall, and felt a shiver down my spine. That was where the picture of Tom fishing with the girls should have been. I stood up and started noticing things. Things missing. Not much, just a few here and there. Moving into the kitchen, I noticed our Wusthof knife set was gone. Tom’s precious cooking knives, which I wasn’t allowed to use after cutting myself twice.
I ran up the stairs, and my fears took form. Half his clothing was missing, most of his toiletries, as well as his watch collection and jewelry box. I groaned, growing more frantic by the moment, trying to remember where everything should be. Itemizing in my mind the things he’d taken. The document fire safe we kept in the closet. His high school trophies. My jewelry case. His bedside phone charger.
I ran from room to room, dialing his cell repeatedly, shrieking into the phone, begging him to call me. In the garage most of his tools were gone. His fly fishing gear, and his two favorite spinning rods, his golf clubs, all vanished. The gun safe was empty, and the computers were gone from the study.
I don’t know how he’d managed to get it all out of there without my knowing. His truck bed must have been filled to the rim when he’d left.
In the living room, I saw our videos and CDs had several missing. I finally noticed that an empty CD case was open on the coffee table, with the remote beside it. I turned on the TV, and almost died when I saw the paused video of Martin fucking me, while Sybil sat on my face. With a trembling hand I hit play, and saw clip after clip of my time in our neighbor’s bed. It was at least two year’s worth, obvious from the different hair styles Sybil and I wore. Most clips were no more than a minute or two, highlighting my noisy orgasms and complete sexual capitulation. They appeared to be endless.
He knew.
He’d known for a long time.
And he’d never said a word.
~ * ~ * ~
I managed to stay in the house for almost ninety days before the sheriff evicted me. I hadn’t paid the mortgage in three months. How could I? I was dead broke.
Tom was gone, and the police had not managed to find him yet. He’d drained our home of its equity, cashed out his 401K, emptied our safety deposit box and bank accounts, then somehow disappeared. They’d found his truck three states away, nearly a month later, but that was all. Other than that, not a single trace.
Selling things from our home, and getting a job that paid $10.25 an hour allowed me to keep the lights on and to eat for three months, but that was about it.
I was ostracized by our friends and neighbors. I don’t know how they came to know everything about my business, but I saw the looks, heard the rumors, watched them turn away, not returning my calls.
I hadn’t seen or heard from Martin or Sybil, since I’d found them in that bed. The scuttlebutt was that they’d survived, but at what cost? It was only two weeks after I’d found them that the For Sale sign went up on their house, and it sold for a song. I know, because I was trying to price my house, and get something, anything out of it, but without Tom’s signature, it took way too long to jump through the legal hoops.
Eventually, I ended up driving my beat up van 400 miles to my mother’s house, all my remaining worldly goods packed inside. The eight year old van my husband had said we were going to replace as soon as our youngest was off to college. I remember shopping for cars with him, excited at putting the old workhorse behind us, and buying a sexy little convertible. It was yellow, with black seats. I had looked great behind the wheel. Now it was no more than a pipe dream.
Mom wasn’t happy to see me, with Dad gone for almost three years, things were tight for her as well. That, plus I’d had to confess why my husband had left me. I’d never heard her use some of the words she screamed at me. We hardly spoke to each other for two weeks, but at least she let me stay. If she hadn’t I don’t know where I would have gone.
I never heard from Tom. Except for that last obvious message.
I never got a chance to apologize, to explain. I never intended to hurt him. It just got out of hand. If he’d only given me a chance, confronted me when he’d first learned of my affair, maybe we could have fixed things. I would have done anything to make it up to him, if he’d only given me one more chance.
I’ve tried to talk to the girls, but they’ve disowned me. He got to them first. Tom left them a message, including a similar video to the one he’d left me, showing what I’d done and for how long I’d done it. He gave them the worst parts, the parts where things were said. Cruel things, vicious things, hurtful things, about my husband and my family. Mostly by Martin and Sybil, but I never defended them. And yes, several horrible statements from my own cheating lips. They were lies, said in the heat of the moment, but there was no way I could take them back now, and I could only imagine how painful it had been for my family to hear them.
He took care of his precious girls. He may have destroyed me, me, who gave him over 20 years of my life, bore his children, raised them, gave my soul to my ungrateful family, but he made sure that the girls were taken care of. He left them a trust, and he paid for their college. I hear that money even shows up in the mail for them, anonymously. I offered to try to help them, sacrificing the pittance I have, but they laughed at me. My daughter’s laughed at me.
I think I deserved another chance. It was one stupid mistake. I was a good wife, a good mother, at least most of the time. A couple of years of foolishness shouldn’t negate a lifetime spent together, being a good, loving and faithful wife and mother. It was only sex, for heaven’s sake.
Instead, I work at the Piggly-Wiggly, and hide in my room. I’m always looking over my shoulder, knowing that one day, my turn will come. It’s been four years now, and my daughters are out of college. I don’t even have an address for them. If I did, I don’t know if I’d write, the last few experiences weren’t good. No, I pass my time, working, eating and sleeping, always wondering, fearful, sometimes even regretful.
The last frame of that evil video, showing Martin and Sybil on that bed, their blood fresh, bright and shiny, with the caption ‘You’re Next’ is burned into my brain.
I know it wasn’t an idle threat. Not my husband. The only thing I wonder is how long he’ll make me wait before delivering the coup de grâce. I shudder to think what form my own ending will take. I wish I had the courage to end it myself. But I’m weak, I’ve always been weak, and he knows that.
All I do is wait. Wait and wonder.
That and think about the weakness that took me down this road. What if Sue had never told me about seeing Marty’s huge cock? What if I’d never danced with him, feeling it pressing against me? What if I hadn’t allowed him to kiss me like that, on New Year’s? What if I’d been strong, and rejected Sybil’s offer to come over and see the jewelry he imported? What if I hadn’t looked, if I’d left when Sybil did, if I hadn’t touched it, gripped it in my hand, rubbed it against my face, let him undress me, licked it, sucked it?
What if I hadn’t let my desires overcome my weak will, what if I had
n’t pleaded with him to fuck me, to feel that huge thing inside me?
What if I’d denied Sybil’s statement that I was just a slut? What if I hadn’t gone on to prove it, day after day for years? What if I’d been a faithful wife?
What if?
Epilogue
It was a dreary, overcast day. There were five people in attendance. Her mother, two people from work, one of her daughters and the minister. The eulogy was short, describing her as a hard worker. Her mother took a moment to say she’d been a good daughter, a good wife and good mother for most of her life. She had made mistakes, but who among them hadn’t? Her daughter Tina didn’t say anything, but she did leave a flower on the coffin.
It had taken nine years. Nine years of fearful anticipation before she was strong enough to end it on her own. It came as no surprise to those who knew her.
Far away, in Manila, it would be weeks before Tom’s baby girl contacted him and let him know his wife was gone. He read the note, crumbled it up and threw it away. It had been a few years since the last time he’d even thought of her. For a few minutes he wondered what his life would have been like if things had been different. If he hadn’t married a faithless, cheating whore.
Tom recalled the difficulty of waiting over two years for his children to graduate high-school and leave the home. Refusing to disrupt their happy life, because of his wife’s heartless betrayal. Watching Martha, waiting to see if at any time she’d remember, change her ways, come back to him and the family. Planning, and preparing, for the eventuality that she never would. At any time she could have stopped, and things might have been different. Maybe. But she didn’t. If anything her adultery became more blatant and more frequent. He felt the anger slowly return, as he recalled their friends carefully broaching the subject, trying to warn him of what everybody knew. The humiliation and embarrassment as he denied that anything was wrong, that her relationship with the neighbors was anything other than friendship. Tom waited, documented, and prepared.
He called in a couple of the girls that lived with him on his estate. They were quite effective at helping him to forget again, reminding him of why he was happy and content. Afterward, he contemplated his eldest child’s upcoming visit, bringing her newest child to meet his grandfather.
Any thoughts of ‘What if? were quickly dismissed. Why mess with happiness?
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Cayleigh
- 15.04.2020
- 10
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