That was that. My wife spent the rest of day preparing for her lover.

That evening, the doorbell rang, and Mike entered. To avoid conflict, I offered him my hand. He slapped my back really hard and smirked. I fetched a pack of ice for my bruised hand and a towel for my aching shoulder. Mike sauntered into the living room and sprawled on our couch. My wife fixed him a drink and they started making out on the couch.

I watched, aroused, as he suddenly ripped open my wife's blouse and began to knead her breasts. Burned forever into my memory is the image of her moaning and gasping as he kissed her neck, while reaching down to her quim. He pushed aside her panties, and I could hear the squish of her juices. She gasped. "Hurry, Mike, I need that big cock of yours."

I had not had an opportunity to clinically examine Mike's cock during his previous tryst with my wife. The shock of her sudden lustful surrender had left only an faint impression of his anatomy, a vision colored by impotence and rage. This time, I calmly steepled my fingers, adopted a scientific curiosity, and prepared to be awed.

A thick, veiny beast emerged from the hole in his boxers. He teased my wife with his love snake, pinning her arms to the couch as she struggled to shove his length into her hot ditch.

In profile, his well-formed glutes visibly tightened as he tensed up, readying to enter my supine wife. "Please, please, please, please, please," she whispered. "I need it, I need it."

"Tell me what you need," he growled.

"Please." Her back arched. "Please."

"Say it, slut."

At this point, I loudly coughed to indicate that I found his language problematic. For some reason, my wife often will fuck men who are politically incorrect. It's difficult to tell how much of this is ironic. I have observed that my wife tends to sincerely enjoy these encounters with fit, well-muscled, and somewhat reactionary men. Perhaps these encounters function as a safe space for her to explore fantasies of political disengagement. That's all fine, but I find it helpful to be the "conscience" of the encounter.

"Fuck me with that big cock," she gasped.

"Say it, whore."

"Fuck my cunt, daddy."

He lowered his shaft to within a millimeter or two (lately I have taken to avoiding U.S. customary units) of her gaping pussy. He stopped.

"You have to say it."

"No, Mike."

I had difficulty deciding if my wife objected to the sexual encounter entirely or just this particular portion. In situations of unclear consent, sometimes a neutral party can help in clarifying the situation. I leaned off my stool. Mike's muscular body dripped with sweat, mingling with my own wife's alluring must. Nope, I thought, better sit back down.

"Please," my wife begged, elongating her vowels in delighted agony. "Just give me that cock."

"Say it, bitch. Say 'Make America Great Again.'"

This really was too much. I grinned. My wife is a principled liberal. She'll sometimes watch a Trump video, but she's with Hillary Clinton all the way.

"Make America Great Again!" my wife screamed.

His cock plunged into her cavern. He pounded furiously at her, the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of his balls against her flesh drawing fluttered gasps from her in response. "Yes, yes, baby, hard like that." She closed her eyes, moaning indistinctly. Her body shook. She gripped him hard, her nails digging into his wide lats.

"Fuck!"

He withdrew, flipped her around and pushed her face into the sofa. He flashed a triumphant thumbs-up to me, then plowed away like some Roman god. My own tiny pissworm involuntarily ejaculated. I left to take a shower.

When I returned, Mike was dominating my wife thoroughly. She was on her back, eyes rolling in ecstasy, her legs bicycling the air. Mike roared. His balls pulsed. When he withdrew, I could see a pearly stream emerge from my wife's petals. She lunged forward to suck him clean.

"You're staying the night," she said.

Mike grinned. My wife gently took him by hand, her legs leaking his come onto our lacquered hardwood tiles.

"I'll clean up," I mumbled.

"Thanks, tree man," Mike said. He offered me a high-five, but accidentally swatted me to the floor.

"Whoa, sorry about that, tree man," he boomed.

I mumbled some peaceful words and told him there was ice cream in the fridge if he wanted any ice cream. The cows were grass-fed and did not have any hormones. Mike nodded, paying more attention to my wife's swaying ass as she ascended the staircase and crooked her finger towards him. Her eyes, sparkling with lust, intently locked with his. She bit her lower lip.

"All the ingredients are organic too. Let me know if you want some ice cream."

"Cyanide's organic, tree man," Mike said, slapping my back hard. As I stood up again, he laughed and scrambled up to my wife's love nest. I heard her loud giggle.

"Stop, Mike, stop."

I assumed it was ironic.

For the rest of the night, I tried to deeply meditate on Deleuze's concept of the rhizome, but my thoughts were continually interrupted by my wife's shameless moans. I did some chores to pass the time. Past midnight, Mike came downstairs, entirely naked, talking to his wife Susan on the phone.

"Yeah, babe, working late tonight. I'll be home around four. Don't stay up too late. How are the kids?"

I waited for Mike's phone call to finish, before pointing to his neatly pressed and folded clothes.

"Wow, great work, tree man. Don't stay up too late."

I croaked. The Keurig had finished heating. Mike fixed himself a cup of steaming coffee. Looking over my shoulder at the highlighted passages of A Thousand Plateaus, he laughed and shook his head. I couldn't expect him, a Trump supporter, to understand.

In the morning, I cooked a spinach omelette and poured a glass of orange juice for my wife. Carrying it upstairs on her special tray, I gently knocked before entering her room. She was lying spread-eagle in lustful repose. The stained and sweat-soaked sheets were torn. I noticed something funny about the bed. It was broken.

Wow.

"Honey, the bed's broken," I mewled.

She nodded. "Yeah, Mike's coming over to fix it."

I swallowed hard and nodded, before quietly setting down her tray on the dresser, replacing a new bottle of lube, and tiptoeing back downstairs to face the dawn.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30907593)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30915889)

this is all Mike's doing. tree man and his wife are blameless here

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30915893)

Fucking brilliant.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30915908)

also, 180 word "quim"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30926229)

lol

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3282716&forum_id=2#30930606)