Lies

My name is John Doe, and I've got a strange fetish. I first began to comprehend this fetish when my wife Hannah and I were first dating. The exact details of how it all happened I don’t know, and it’s essential to the arrangement that I never find them out. We weren't exclusive when we first started going on dates and fooling around. Aside from my dick, whispered rumors around the university campus told me Hannah was sucking on a handful of others. This didn't bother me, since we were still in the very early stages of our blossoming relationship, but then she would lie about her activities, and the sexual history she provided me was terribly incomplete according to shared friends. I knew that she was lying to my face, and every time she told a blatant or even a possible lie, my cock would stir in my jeans. The more outrageous or obvious the lie, the more I would spring to life. My fetish, you see, is what I now recognize to be an insatiable lust for lies, and it is also the basis of my committed relationship with my short, extremely cute, busty, big-assed brunette wife Hannah.

Hannah didn't just lie to me to conceal her promiscuity, though, she would lie to me to manipulate me. She would tell me all about how hard she worked, how stressed out she was about school, how broke she was, how much she cleaned and cooked, and how nice she was to me. And I ate it up because it made my cock throb, and sometimes she would relieve me with a nice blow job or hand job or titty-fuck, or pity fuck. I did her homework, worked more hours than her, cleaned for her, cooked for her. She would ask me for money for rent or bills and spend it on clothes, jewelry, and booze, and then I'd end up paying her bills too! She bought all kinds of sexy clothes and underwear that I never saw her wearing, and then I'd listen to her complain about how lazy and mean to her I was.

It made me so hard that I would beg for her forgiveness. I would beg her just to eat her pussy to make up for it. After I made her cum, she would usually roll over and go to sleep leaving me unsatisfied. I would cuddle up to her snoring form and push my cock against her big ass and lay awake for hours wishing she would wake up and take care of me. If I ever got up to go take care of myself, she would immediately wake up and tell me she needs me to come back to bed so she feels safe before falling back asleep. When she did let me cum, she always made me eat her pussy til she came again afterward, even if I’d just blown my load inside it. She would even lie to me to humiliate me. She would tell me she can’t cum unless I stick my tongue deep inside her, and make me eat my own cum, or she would tell me she can’t cum unless I lick her ass, even though she’s came many times with only clitoral stimulation. She would squirt cum on my chin and then tell me she hadn't orgasmed yet and tell me to keep licking. She would tell me my cock is small even though I happen to know it's above average. She would tell me that I don't deserve how nice she is to me, which is really the opposite of the nature of our give and take (I give, she takes.) The only thing she gives me is the only thing I crave: Lies. The crueler they are, the more they make my dick ache.

When our relationship was in full bloom we went to bars together most weekends. Of course I would foot the bill for all the drinks, but I was also usually stranded watching her purse while she went off and danced close with strangers right where I could see. Then she would come back looking for drinks and say nothing about it, even though I could see her across the bar dancing up on other guys. One particular night, I was “watching her purse,” but really I was watching her as she danced close with a tall dark stranger for several songs. She shook her ass against him, or pressed her tits against his abs, always with a wide sexy smile on her face. He gave her ass a smack as she danced with him and she laughed back at him over her shoulder. A waitress came by and asked if I’d like another beer. I decided to wait until Hannah came back looking for another drink and waved the waitress away.

When I looked back at the action, Hannah was dancing facing the stranger. His hand was inside the front of her low-cut blouse, and he was fondling her tit. Her sneaky hand was clenched around the man’s massive hard-on, visible even 20 yards away through the smoky bar. I stared at them, mouth agape, while they felt one another up. The stranger then brought Hannah to the bar and ordered them both shots. The man sat in the corner barstool grabbed Hannah’s hand. She sat her short-skirted sexy ass atop the man’s lap and kissed him on the cheek while the bartender poured the shots. I swear she caught me staring at that moment, so I quickly looked down embarrassedly, tightly clenching the empty beer bottle in my hand.

When I worked up the nerve to look back at them, Hannah was wriggling her body in the man’s lap. One of his hands was on my wife’s stomach and with the other, the man ordered another couple of shots. Hannah took his wrists in hers and guided his hands to her tits, which he grabbed, cupped, squeezed, and rubbed while she lay back against him, her head hanging back blissfully against his brawny shoulder. Then she guided his hands down her body past her waist and over her sexy hips down into her lap. She gyrated her hips in his lap and whispered something into his ear as his hands between her legs did what I could not see behind the bar. The shots came, and they took them. Hannah got out from his lap. I watched the stranger as he stared at Hannah’s swaying ass as she walked away from him.