Paying in Full

by Don Jetman

~2~

The following weeks were filled with tension for Barbara and Peter. Barbara harbored a silent resentment for Peter's thoughtlessness and lack of character, while fighting a nagging sexual heat that grew day by day. Peter watched helplessly as his wife's nipples stiffened beneath her clothes, a constant reminder of the penalty for his mistake. He listened in bed at night as she moaned in her sleep, her hips rising off the bed in frustration. He stood by as she gradually dressed more provocatively for work - shorter skirts, an additional button undone on her new silk blouses, and a new, shorter, sexier haircut that bared her neck and shoulders to all the men who noticed the changes in her. He saw his wife burn with an obvious sexual heat that turned her every move into one of subtle seduction as he lost all ability to respond physically to her teasing.

"Mmmm, I need sex - can't you try to get hard for me?" she'd ask him in bed at night while fingering his flaccid penis. But the drug did its work, and she would sigh after a few minutes and give up, rolling away from him, sulking, finally thinking of Farmer's thick cock, remembering how good it felt inside her. Peter lay awake in the darkness, thinking, listening, until he would feel her body shifting gently in their bed, the regular rhythm a sign that her hand was between her legs, and that he would soon hear her whimper, then fall into a deep sleep.

Each Friday night over the next four weeks Farmer would pull his car into their driveway, give three short taps on the horn, and wait for the garage door to open. Once inside, Farmer would wait for the couple to appear and watch Peter open the car door so a very naked Barbara could slide in beside him. Each Sunday night Peter would hear the same three taps from Farmer's horn, open the garage, and watch his wife exit the car, again naked, but showing all the signs of Farmer's unquenchable sexual appetite. As she walked past Peter, he could see the knots of dried semen in her hair, smell the remnants of sweat and semen that coated her smooth skin, and watch the dazed look of satisfaction grow in her eyes. She would shower, dry herself in full view, parade naked in front of him for a while, then go to bed.

As time passed, Peter saw his wife become more and more preoccupied with sex. It seemed to be on her mind constantly, in the mornings when she dressed for work, bare breasted beneath the silky tops only partially hidden under her smart suit jacket, and at night when she shed her wrinkled clothes, showered, and strutted around the house in a brief robe that flaunted the freshly-shaven slit between her long, slender legs. She no longer asked Peter for sex, but he could see the urgent desire in her eyes and her body's tell-tale signs that whatever happened every day at work, and during her weekends with Farmer, her thoughts were miles away, ignoring Peter as he watched helplessly from the sidelines. Peter took his medicine silently, tortured by his impotence and imagination.

Then, Farmer brought the price Peter was to pay closer to home. Farmer announced he was to be their guest one weekend. He appeared at their door on a Friday night after outlining what he expected from Barbara the week before. Barbara let Peter know just thirty minutes before Farmer's arrival.

"He's coming to spend the weekend. Everything's been arranged."

Peter stared at her, at first not understanding what she meant. Then came the sick sensation in the pit of his gut.

"Farmer?" he asked, knowing what her answer would be.

But she didn't answer. Instead, she disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door. Peter watched the sway of her hips as she walked away from him, the smooth lines of her round ass on display beneath the thin material of the dress she had worn to work that day. He had watched her clothes become even more revealing lately - breasts swaying freely under silky tops, and dresses and slacks fitted to leave no doubt every inch of her body was naked against the delicate cottons and silks. Peter wondered if she had become a distraction at work, and beyond that, if the men she worked with had approached her for sex. 'Would she do it?' he wondered. 'Would she have sex with other men, suck them, let them ravage her body?' He shook off the thoughts as soon as they came to him, but his doubts remained. She seemed to need sex so often...

Barbara was still concealed behind their bedroom door when Farmer arrived. Peter let him in, feeling more powerless and impotent than ever before.

"Where is she?" Farmer asked as he looked around the room, never once making eye contact with Peter. When Peter hesitated, Farmer spoke louder, his voice laced with irritation. "I asked where she is! I expect an answer, not cowering silence from her traitorous husband!"

"S-she's in the bedroom," Peter managed with a faltering voice.

"So, do you want me to go in there and fuck her in your bed, or would you rather I bring her out here so you can watch?"

"I-I g-guess you should go in there," Peter stammered.

Farmer smiled, enjoying Peter's shame and discomfort. "So, if you want me to go in and fuck your wife in your bed, you should ask me, don't you think?"

"I-I don't want you to - but, well, I know it's why you're here. I can't stop you, and well, she's um, been waiting for you. So..."

Farmer's smile widened. "So, does that mean you want me to fuck her in your bed? If that's what you want, you have to tell me, Peter. You owe me an answer - and you owe your wife something we both know you can't give her."

Peter lowered his eyes and muttered, "In our bed..."

"I'll grant you your wish eventually Peter, but for now, I'd like you to see just what Barbara has become. Go get her."

Peter froze for a second, battling the urge to attack Farmer, to beat him senseless and throw him out. But he knew he was no match. Farmer was six inches taller, had fifty pounds on him, and was built like a rock. And of course there was the stupid stunt he had pulled that still made him Farmer's bitch. Shoulders sagging, Peter turned and went to the bedroom door, knocked, and went inside.

Barbara was on the bed, reading. Her little pink nightshirt clung to her body like tissue, the hem barely reaching below her hips. Peter stared between her legs where her freshly-shaved slit glistened with moisture. Propped against the headboard as she read, she seemed not to notice Peter. She seemed - too calm? Too relaxed? Or was it too expectant? When Peter compared what he saw to his own turmoil and humiliation, he felt his stomach twist and sicken. Was this his wife?

"Um, I didn't think you were going to bed," he said. "Didn't you remember Farmer was coming?"

Barbara looked up at him from her book and smiled sweetly.

"Mmmm, is he here?"

Peter stared into her violet eyes. Her face was beaming. She put the book down, pulled her knees up and encircled them with her bare arms. Everything about her was screaming for sex - with Farmer.

"He wants you to come out to see him," Peter stammered.

"I think I know what he wants," she answered. Barbara climbed off the bed and stood beside him. Peter could feel the heat flow from her body and could see her nipples straining against the thin cotton of her nightshirt.

"I want to be sure you understand what's happening, and why, Peter. You put us in a terrible mess. Honestly, selling confidential information? What were you thinking? Now it isn't just your reputation, it's my father's that's at stake. So, because of your foolish greed and thoughtlessness, your own wife has become a common ***** for your boss. Are you proud of yourself? Are you happy now?"

Peter stood there trembling, somehow knowing that someday this speech would come, but never expecting it minutes before Farmer took his wife in his own home. The guilt and embarrassment rose up to new heights in him, paralyzing him as his nearly naked wife stood inches away, the light scent of her perfume and shining luster of her freshly shampooed hair taunting him as her calm words sliced away at his ego.

But Barbara wasn't finished with him. "I've changed, Peter. I don't know anymore if it's the drug or something else, but I think about sex more than ever - I need it more than ever. At first it was a duty to Farmer. At first I hated it, and not long after I didn't care. But Peter, now I want him. Sex with him is amazing. He satisfies me, Peter, much more than men like you ever have. I want you to understand that this isn't blackmail - I want him, here. I want him here to fuck me."

At first, each of her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Then quickly, he found he was numb to them, absorbing her onslaught of brutal confessions as though it was his duty, his punishment. He knew he would carry them with him, like a heavy weight that would forever haunt him. "Yes, yes, I understand," were the only words he could manage.

"You'll behave yourself tonight, Peter. You'll do as you're told. And when he takes me - when he puts his big cock inside me and makes me come - you'll stand by and allow it. Because this is what we've become, Peter. This is what you've made us."

With that, Barbara turned her back to him and walked to the door. The tiny shirt barely covered the round curves of her ass. Peter stared at the long lines of her slim thighs and calves. They were naked and inviting, and he couldn't help from imagining them wrapped around Farmer's back, straining and pumping, pulling him closer as he fucked her.

He followed Barbara through the door, down the hallway, and out into the living room. The accentuated sway of her hips was a slap in the face to Peter - he knew she did it intentionally, a suggestive reminder that what she had told him was all too true. He stopped when she approached Farmer, his feet now refusing to propel him forward. She pressed her body against Farmer's, raised her hands to caress his face, and kissed him. Farmer's hand trailed down her back, then up under her shirt, his fingers working patiently between her legs, probing, then penetrating her from behind. She broke the kiss suddenly and gasped, looking longingly into his dark eyes as if in a trance.

"Your husband's watching, Barbara," Farmer told her. "Is there anything you want to say to him?"

"No - nothing," she responded without the slightest pause. "Let him watch." Her words were meant to show her contempt, and her tone more than succeeded.

Peter watched Farmer slowly raise her nightshirt, ******** at first her smooth, round ass, then her slim waist and back. His wife leaned into Farmer, pressing her breasts into his broad chest, her pretty young hands clutching his shoulders. Within seconds, Peter saw her hips rock gently, her bare back arched as she offered her waiting slit to him. Farmer's fingers wormed inside her, then withdrew, teasing her by gently pulling on her engorged labia, intentionally enlarging and spreading them until there was no doubt that Peter could witness his wife's betrayal. At that very moment, a reality that was once only unfocused innuendo settled over Peter like a descending fog, then condensed into a humiliating blanket of defeat. She had put herself completely at Farmer's mercy, clinging to him, her sex swollen and wet at his every touch. It was true. Barbara had given herself to him completely. He had taken her so easily. But Peter couldn't take his eyes away.

"How long has it been since you've seen your wife come, Peter?" Farmer asked. Peter was stunned into silence. How long had it been? He couldn't even remember. He could barely remember her body's response to their foreplay, or the sounds she made late at night as they made love in their bed. He now saw her body respond in new ways, ways that easily told anyone watching that she had given up any evidence of decency for a bold new craving.

"Well Peter, if you can't even remember, it must have been a very, very long time." Farmer's hand was still busy between her legs. Barbara's breathing came in ragged gasps, punctuated by quivering little moans. "If it's been that long, Peter, you must be enjoying this - seeing her so wet and panting for sex. At least you can watch her get hot and juicy for a man, even if it isn't for you. You could even pretend, Peter - pretend it's you she's begging for instead of me, pretend her hot little body's grinding against your cock instead of mine."

For a second Peter could see it in his mind, his pretty wife more aroused than he had ever seen her, in his arms rather than Farmer's. If she would only be like that for him, panting and clutching, moaning and twitching as though nothing was more important than coming for him, as though there was nothing she would rather do than please him. Peter felt his pulse pounding as he watched his wife's sex drip onto Farmer's thick fingers.

He didn't question why he was soaked with precum, or why watching another man take his wife made him feel more excited than he had in years. He didn't even think about why he was mindlessly stroking his limp penis through his pants, until Farmer noticed.

"Yes, Peter - now you understand. It's how you pay for your transgressions. It's your last hope for your wife's forgiveness. And it's really not so bad, is it? If she can bring herself to forgive you, think of how she'll have changed. After a year of me owning her mind and body, think of what you'll get in return. If you show genuine repentance, and if you accept, or even embrace the price you must pay, you may find she'll understand."

Acceptance of what he saw before him suddenly became easier than accepting his past deeds and the guilt they had brought him. In a way, it was a refuge from all the regret, self-loathing, and pain that had enveloped him over the past months. Barbara had been distant and cold to him, but now, before his very eyes, she was a sexy, exciting woman, aroused and beautiful in the arms of a man that controlled their future. Mindlessly, as if in a trance, Peter opened his pants and fingered his shrunken, lifeless dick.

"Barbara," Farmer said, in a voice meant for Peter as well, "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Please - yessss!" she hissed.

"Your husband is still watching. Do you want to fuck in front of him? Do you want him to see you cum when I put my cock in you?"

There was no pause. "I don't care!" she answered breathlessly. "Just do it..." Her words were jarring to Peter. There was contempt in her voice - contempt that was surely meant for him. And, at the same time, there was Barbara's rampant sexual heat, her willing submission to his boss in the way her voice softly but urgently pleaded. She gave herself to him with a single look, and repeated the words that sank slowly into Peter's heart like a knife - "Just do it...make him watch...make me come..."

Farmer picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom. As they passed Peter, still glued to his spot, still trying to masturbate to the surreal scene before him, Barbara noticed him, and her face lit up in a vicious smile. Seconds later she was under Farmer in their bed, eagerly grasping his huge cock as she guided it inside her.

Peter watched by the open door. Farmer was suspended over her, his cock deeply imbedded in her belly, his muscular ass clenched tightly as he drove his cock in and out. Barbara's eyes were closed, her legs wrapped tightly around Farmer's waist. With each of his thrusts, her flat belly contracted, and her full breasts jutted upward, nipples reaching out to him, offering her body to him with no resistance. Peter winced as he listened to his wife beg Farmer for more. She had never said those things to Peter, those repeated pleas to Farmer to "Fuck me, oh please, I want more...more!". When Farmer increased the speed and depth of his thrusts, she moaned. And in between the moans, a smile of satisfaction grew wider across her face. And when Barbara came, head back, eyes closed, hands clutching Farmer's ass as she thrust her soaking pussy against him, Peter fell to his knees, tears filling his eyes, still stroking his shrunken, flaccid penis.

Compared to that moment, the remainder of the night was merely uneasy reconciliation for Peter. Barbara and Farmer simply ignored him. They behaved as though they were a couple, strolling about the house in the nude, playfully fondling each other between snacking, drinking, and enjoying Barbara's favorite film chosen from Peter's DVD collection.

When the pizza arrived, they went to the door together dressed only in his and hers robes. As Barbara paid the delivery boy, Farmer opened the front of her robe and told him, "She'd like to give you a little something extra." The boy stepped inside as Barbara unfastened his pants, went to her knees, and took his young, hard cock in her mouth. "You're a lucky guy," Farmer told him. "She doesn't even do this for her husband." Peter looked on as the delivery boy glanced up at him and grinned. Seconds later, he came in Barbara's mouth, groaning and thrusting as she swallowed all of it. Farmer's huge hands caressed her velvety throat as she consumed the boy's semen in hungry gulps, excited to near orgasm by Farmer's touch.

When she finished, Farmer motioned for Peter to come nearer.

"Well, tip the boy, Peter. What do you think a blowjob from your wife is worth these days?"

Peter turned red as the delivery boy waited, grinning from ear to ear. He reached for his wallet, took out a twenty, and handed it to the boy.

"Peter, Peter, Peter," Farmer chided, shaking his head in disbelief. "Twenty dollars is the price of a cheap *****. Is that what you think of your wife? That she's a cheap *****?"

Peter removed a second twenty and placed in the boy's outstretched hand.

"Can you believe that, Barbara?" Famer told her. She was still on her knees, still fondling the boy's cock. "Your husband just called you a forty dollar *****." She stood up, moved closer to the boy, and kissed him, devouring him with her tongue as his hands explored greedily beneath her robe.

When she broke the kiss, she turned to Peter, her face smeared with the boy's semen and saliva, her robe gaping open to show her reddened, juicy slit. "He wouldn't know what I'm worth. He couldn't get hard if his life depended on it. He hasn't touched me in months. Give him what I'm worth, Peter. Give him everything you have. Oh - and thank him. Thank him for coming in my mouth."

Peter took the remaining eighty dollars from his wallet and gave it to the boy.

"Thank you," he muttered. "Thank you for coming in her mouth."

The boy took the money and left, a bit stunned, but satisfied. Farmer walked behind her, put both arms around her, and took her breasts in his hands. Her nipples rose within seconds - pink and hard, the way Peter remembered them in his own hands so long ago. He couldn't help but stare at his wife, her robe open, her body on fire as she responded instantly to Farmer's touch.

"She is a ***** now, Peter," Farmer said, grinning at him from just above Barbara's silky shoulder. "But from your perspective, I suppose that's not the worst of it. She's my *****, and you've delivered her right into my hands."