Wives

"Ohhh, Betty darling... you look simply radiant tonight."

I smooth the wrinkles out of my floral print apron, though I haven't cooked a thing all evening. The house smells of lemon wax, fresh laundry, and the faint, musky undertone of the evening's 'communion.' The suburban quiet of Levittown stretches out beyond our white picket fence, peaceful and orderly, exactly as God intended.

I turn to my beautiful wife, Betty. She is standing by the radio, humming a sweet tune. Her blonde hair is coiffed into perfect, immovable waves, and her pearls shine against her flawless skin. Her dress is cinched tight at the waist, emphasizing the soft, generous curves that make her such a perfect vessel for the neighborhood's needs.

"Thank you, Margaret, dear," Betty chirps, her voice bright and melodic, carrying that pleasant, empty quality that comes from years of proper feeding. "I was just thinking how lovely it is to be alone with you."

We move toward each other in the dim light of the living room. Our marriage is a beautiful thing a legal union of two devoted spermivores who understand that our love is the glue that holds the community together. We kiss deeply, our lips tasting of the sweet strawberry frosting from dinner and the salty blessing we both received from Mr. Henderson next door earlier this afternoon.

As we sink onto the plush velvet sofa, our hands wandering over each other's silk stockings, the intimacy feels sacred. I press my mouth to hers, feeling her soft moan vibrate against my tongue. We roll together, a tangle of floral fabric and warm skin, finding solace in each other's softness.

*Thump. Thump. Thump.*

The front door opens without a knock. We don't startle; we don't even tense up. That would be rude.

"Evening, ladies," comes the deep, commanding voice of Frank, our neighbor from three houses down. He's already unbuckling his belt as he strides into the room. "Saw the lights were low. Thought you two might need another helping of something special before bed."

Betty sits up immediately, her face lighting up with a grateful, dopey smile. "Oh, Frank! What wonderful timing! We were just about to begin our evening."

I shift to make room for him on the sofa, stretching my legs out to expose my panties. "How thoughtful of you, Frank. We simply couldn't imagine going to sleep without a man."

Frank approaches us with the confident stride of a man who knows he is desired, his cock already freed from his trousers and standing proud in the lamplight. Betty immediately drops to her knees on the Persian rug, her floral skirt billowing around her like a fallen flower. Her hands flutter to his thighs with eager, practiced reverence.

"There you are, Frank," she purrs, her eyes rolling back as she nuzzles against him. "We were just telling each other how empty we felt."

I crawl toward him from the opposite side, my movements slow and sybaritic. I press my breasts against his muscular calves, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. "Please, Frank," I whimper, looking up at him with the glassy, devoted expression that all good wives should wear. "Don't let us spend another moment without your blessing."

Frank chuckles, a deep sound that vibrates through the quiet living room. He grabs Betty by the hair, tilting her head back to expose her throat, while his other hand reaches down to guide me toward him. The interruption to our private moment is the best part of our evening it transforms our simple affection into a grand, communal celebration of our purpose.

As he begins to fuck Betty with steady, commanding thrusts, I position myself beneath his other hand, waiting for the moment he decides to share his abundance with me as well. Betty's moans fill the room, sweet and mindless, harmonizing with the distant chirp of crickets outside. We are so lucky. We have each other to love, and we have men to keep us blissfully, wonderfully empty.