His Wife Thinks of Her as a Mother; He Thinks of Her as Something Else

My wife, Francesca, and I married out of college and are in our early twenties. She’s a beautiful woman with dark hair, green eyes, and all the right curves in all the right places.

I’ve always known that the people Francesca thinks of as her parents aren’t really. Her real parents died when she was very young (she hardly remembers them) and, with no relatives available, had entrusted her care in their will to her mother’s oldest friend, Maria.

I’ve always been crazy about Maria, who’s the nicest person in the world, but her husband, Philip—a big man, more than six feet tall and 250 pounds—is a mean bastard and fanatical Bible-thumper, always going on about the sins of the world. Needless to say, Francesca lived a sheltered life. Even worse was the way Philip treated Maria, talking to her as if she were an ultrasinner. He expected her not to speak until spoken to and didn’t allow her to go anywhere without him. Francesca said that the way Maria went quietly about her housework always made her think she was afraid of Philip.

One day after Francesca and I were married, Maria told her some things during a woman-to-woman talk just to get them off her chest. She confided that she and Philip had sex at most once every few months, and it lasted only two minutes. She said she hadn’t had a single orgasm her whole married life, because Philip believed it was evil for a woman to enjoy sex.

I was amazed that a normal, healthy, married woman wasn’t permitted to enjoy sex with her own husband. Maria told Francesca that sometimes she wanted it so badly that her breasts hurt, but it never occurred to her to cheat. That wasn’t her.

Maria is allowed to drop by our house once or twice a week. A few weeks ago she stopped by when Francesca wasn’t home, so we had a visit. We were in the kitchen, with her standing at the sink and me sitting at the kitchen table behind her. I watched her, and the way her waist curved inward and then back out to her softly molded hips and plump rear made my prick tingle. I got up, moved behind her, and slipped my arms around her waist. She smiled and patted my arm and hand. While I held her, I slid my hand up slowly and cupped, then fondled her generous tits. She moaned but then in a mere second came to her senses, stiffening and then pushing my hands away.

She turned to me, frowning, and in shock said, “Seth, what are you doing?”

“Relax,” I said. “You need affection, too.”

Her face crimson, she said, “What do you mean? What’s come over you? Are you out of your mind?”

She backed away, staring at me, but in a moment she was backed up against the sink and I was in front of her. “It’s okay,” I said as she stared up at me. I took her hand and turned toward the hall leading to the bedroom. At first she stayed rooted to the kitchen floor, but I persisted, and after a while she let me lead her to the bedroom and position her gently on the bed.

“Oh, Seth,” she moaned. I lay beside her, and she lay panting in my arms. Somehow one milky tit was out in the open and jiggling, the small, dark nipples hard. I got her dress up and with some persistence (surprisingly, without resistance), I got my hand in her panties. I felt her coarse hair, soft lips, and wet crack. She whimpered as I worked her panties down her butt and thighs. I kissed her to relax her more. I nibbled at her neck and played with her swollen pussy. She moaned when I moved down her body and wedged her knees apart.

“God, Seth,” she gasped as my face went between her legs. I inhaled her scent, then licked and sucked her aroused vaginal area. I ate her musky cunt, and with her hips surging, she came in maybe half the time a younger girl would.

I got up, pushed my pants down, and got on top of her. In moments I was inside her. I fucked her hard—missionary-, spoon-and doggie-style. Over the next couple of hours I must have shot a gallon of semen in her. When it was over, she just sat there, cheeks flushed and moist.

“God! Oh God!” she said, panting. She wouldn’t make eye contact, so I went over, tilted her head up, and kissed her, then said, “It’s what you needed, Maria. Your pussy tasted lovely. You’re a fine piece of ass.” She smiled, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You liked it, didn’t you?” I said.

After a moment she said demurely, “Yes, I liked it.”

“Good,” I said. “That’s how I’ll treat you from now on when we’re alone. Okay?” She smiled and nodded as I pulled up my pants.

A few days later Maria dropped in knowing Francesca wasn’t home. I ate her to climax again and then fucked her till I deposited another big load deep in her. She was very vocal and said that next time she wanted to suck my cock. And she did, until I shot a load down her throat. I’ve turned Maria into a sex-hungry hottie who’ll do whatever I ask, which leaves lots of possibilities and fantasies to be fulfilled. I’d like to introduce her to anal sex, something Francesca hates.

Yesterday while I was watching TV Francesca came over to me and asked, “What did you do to Maria?”

Nervously, I said, “Why?”

“She’s a different woman. She sings to herself while she does housework. She walks differently and talks more. The other day she told Philip to shut up!

“Well, whatever you did,” Francesca said, “keep it up. I like the new Maria.”

“Okay,” I said, relieved. “I’ll sure do my best.”

—Name and address withheld