Error Correction Ch. 02

TWO

Of course, it was not Becky. At the time neither of us knew she existed. But in my false recollection, Ben slid his hard cock in and Becky/Emma moaned as if grateful for a wonderful favor. I swallowed dry rubbish that had accumulated in my mouth and picked up my cell.

Two weekends later, the doorbell rang. Becky opened the door and gave a happy cry when she saw Ben standing on our steps. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. He wrapped her in his arms, and as I came to the door, gave me a wink over her head.

Becky had not known Ben was coming. I had had a long conversation with him over the phone. I confided the problems with our sex life, then paused for a long uncomfortable moment before asking him if he would... make out with my wife.

"What?" he had said, astonished. "Are you sure? Are you going to tell her?"

I told him no, of course I was not going to tell my plan to Becky. I needed to see if she would respond physically to a man who was, well, not me.

"I figure after we have a few drinks, I will find an excuse to leave you alone with her. You can tell her -- hell, I hate to even say the words. You can tell her you are missing Emma so much you need a kiss. I'm sorry. That seems like so disrespectful to Emma."

A protracted silence.

"It is that," he said. "And I do miss her terribly. You may have never known it, but that woman was a freak. She would have loved this idea. You just need to consider how far you are willing to let this thing go."

I clammed up. I had not considered that. I just wanted to see how my wife would respond to the attentions of another man. A man not me. Finally, I said that I trusted him. I knew he had a great affection for Becky. He would treat her gently no matter what.

So the plan was in motion. We drank and talked and grilled some chops. After dinner we retired to the living room with a bottle of wine. Becky had drunk more than she normally would, perhaps fueled by the bittersweet memories of Emma I kept injecting into the conversation. I refilled their glasses and then glanced at the wall clock as though I had lost track of time.

"Oh hell," I said. "I have to call the manager of the Falmouth office. He messaged me earlier that there was a water line break on the street. I need to make sure the office is not damaged and talk to the plumbing contractor and the town. This could take some time." And I went into my home office, which is on the other side of the kitchen, far from the living room.

The year before, there had been an outbreak of break-ins on the Cape, and at that time I had paid Allan to wire up our house with a security system. It was slick. The cameras were the same model that caught the frolicking couple. High-definition color and crystal-clear sound. And invisible. I shut the door and sat down to turn on my computer. The system fed all sound and video into digital recorders, and I could monitor the streams in real time. I launched the software and brought up one of the living room cameras.

I nearly choked. Ben and Becky were still on the sofa as I had left them, but not as I had left them. They were kissing passionately. Becky's light sweater was totally unbuttoned and wide open. Her bra had been slipped down over her breasts and Ben was sucking hard on one tit while roughly squeezing the other.

I jumped up, ready to run back in and break this up. But my feet were glued down fast. Ben was mauling my dear wife's breasts in a rough way that I had never ever done. And she seemed to be loving it. Her head was tilted back, her eyes were closed, and she was licking her lips. I tapped a key to turn the audio up. The slurping of his mouth, her encouraging sighs. I sat back down, feeling like I was watching two strangers in a movie. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. But my eyes were fixed on the screen.

Suddenly Ben stood, grabbing Becky's hand. He dragged her offscreen, her blouse still open, her boobs out and jiggling.

My hands were shaking so violently I could not negotiate the menu. By the time I switched to the stair camera I just caught their backs passing into the master bedroom. More lost minutes as I tried and eventually found the cameras there. I had installed two -- one viewing the whole room but centered on the bed, and another which looked straight down onto the king bed. I had chosen the overhead installation deliberately, thinking wicked thoughts about recording Becky and I making love and watching the footage with her as a way to get her to shed inhibitions. But I never used it.

I got them back into the picture. Ben had my wife naked from the waist up and was removing her pants. She sat on the bed and raised her legs to aid him, then lifted her ass as he reached and slid her panties off. She had kicked off her flats somewhere on the journey upstairs, so now my virginal bride -- inhibitions and all -- sat nude on our marital bed, undressed by a man who was not her husband. She looked up at him, her face bright and excited. Ben flung away his shirt and kicked off his pants and underwear. There was the cock I had last seen on its way to Emma's cunt. It looked even bigger now, and it was quivering right in front of my dear wife's face.

He took a half step forward and she reached out and wrapped her hand around it and directed it into her mouth as though sucking cock was something she practiced every day and not some abomination that she had never been able to bring herself to perform on her loving husband.

Who was this woman?

She stroked and sucked him with ease, and I realized with an additional shock that her other hand was between her legs, rubbing her clit.

Ben groaned. Her stoking got faster, and he made a heroic effort to stop. He reached out and removed her hand from his member and slid the shaft back out of her mouth. I thought for an instant that he would end it there, that my question had been answered, and it was time to reestablish boundaries.

I was wrong. He bent down and took a condom out of his pants pocket, tore it open, and rolled it on. He then grabbed her ankles, and raised them up in the air. Her dripping cunt was exposed and available. He pushed forward until his cock was pressing against Becky's labia. She exclaimed, "OH GOD!" , and he drove into her.

I put my head in my hands as a I watched him fuck my wife.

Ben stroked into her steadily in a fast heartless rhythm, bottoming hard against her wide-open hips and spread thighs. I could clearly hear the sweaty slapping of their flesh. I probably could have heard them without the camera pick up, their grunts and cries were so loud. Becky came. Not the silent polite maybe orgasm of our bed. This came from far down in her guts and convulsed her and lasted a good ten seconds. Ben's rhythm kept steady through it.

My emotions were a whirlpool of self-hate, anxiety, loss, regret. I had asked for this, so I had no right to feel ambushed. Watching one of my oldest friends pound my wife into a sexual frenzy denied me was emasculating. Still, I could not look away. I was more aroused than I had ever been.

Ben was concentrating hard. I could tell he was struggling not to cum. Suddenly he stopped and pulled out. Becky groaned, a lament of abandonment, as he flipped her over onto her stomach. He reached again into his pants pocket and pulled out a small tube.

I cried, "No!" as I realized what was coming. Again I wanted to race up the stairs and rescue my dear love. I wanted to shout that she never let me touch her there, would push away any hand that strayed back there!

I watched in fascinated horror as he spread her cheeks and squirted some of the tube into her crack.

All this time they had not said one coherent word to each other. I expected Becky to erupt in anger. Surely she would put her hands down to protect her virgin asshole. And she did reach back, but only to help spread herself for her lover's penetration.

So she knew how this was supposed to work.

Ben climbed onto the bed and atop the tiny prone figure of my wife and pressed the tip of his cock against her puckered hole. I could see her hesitate at that. She began to raise her shoulders and made a high sound in her throat as if to caution him. but he paid no mind and pushed firmly down. Her virginal ring muscle resisted for a bit, then I saw his cock sink in about an inch. He held it there as Becky lost her mind. She began to howl. Not in pain. In extreme joy. Ben started to press again, very slowly, and his stiff pole began its journey into her bowels. Her arms began to flail about, and she pounded the bed with her legs, bending them up at the knee and slamming them down over and over in a blur. Ben had to put his hands down on the bed on either side of her head to keep from being thrown off. When he was fully inserted, his balls resting against her cunt, he stopped and held the depth. She shimmied like a belly dancer, twisting her torso from side to side, her shouts turning to happy screams.

Ben was only human. He bellowed, thrust his pelvis forward in anger several times, then sank quivering and groaning onto Becky, covering her with his larger body.

My heart was pounding. My cock ached like it had been slammed in a car door. I pushed down my pants and grabbed myself, exploding on the first stroke. My semen squirted out, spraying the monitor, the keyboard, and much of the desk. I hadn't cum so hard since I was a teenager. I staggered to the couch and fell onto it without the energy to clean up my mess.

I woke to the sunlight through the curtains and remembered the horrible dream. Then I saw the blobs of cum drying on my desk and raced around it to look at the screen. On the bed -- on my bed, Ben lay holding my wife. They were both naked and relaxed. Becky looked contented.

I wanted to scream and cry, but I remembered my hospitality and went to make coffee.

Ben came down first, showered and fully dressed. He accepted a cup and begged off breakfast. "Got meetings," he said. "I thought that went pretty well last night, don't you?"

He did not know about my camera system. I had witnessed -- and had a full recording of -- just how well it had gone. I was about to reply when Becky glided into the room. She glowed. Her smile was brilliant and almost drew my attention away from where her unclosed robe exposed her dark bush and most of both breasts. She saw us looking at the goods and smiled even wider as she drew her robe closed.

"Sorry, I have to run. Great to see you all!" Ben went to the front door and left the house. Becky glanced at me -- and ran after him.

I hurried over to a window from which I could see the steps. Becky had caught Ben in the driveway, and they were kissing wantonly. He explored inside her robe with both hands. He opened it wide and worked her tits as if they were his own personal stress balls in the bright morning sun. I prayed no cars drove up. They kissed long and hard and with plenty of tongue before Ben drove away.

Becky came in and sat quietly at the kitchen table, looking at me, waiting for me. A mixture of guilt, defiance, and residual excitement? I poured her a cup.

"Sorry about last night," I said. "I fell asleep in the office. Did you have a nice talk?"

This was her moment. She had forgotten all about my recording system. She could deny everything. What would I do then? My Becky was not a liar. But I did not know if this was my old Becky anymore.

She sighed. "He kissed me. You were right. He misses Emma badly. He told me how they used to make out like kids right up until she..." She took a long drink.

"Anything else?"

Her cup trembled in her grasp. "He... He made love to me." She began to speak rapidly. "Don't be mad at me, Mike. Don't leave me, please. He was crying, talking about how much he missed her, how much he missed her body, missed feeling her beside him...." My poor wife was shaking in terror that her confession would drive me away, when I was the idiot who had set it up and given them both permission.

That smooth talking shyster bastard. I hated him right then. I was jealous and envious and hard again. I went to Becky and stood her up to hug her tight.

"It's okay. You did nothing wrong. You gave your body to a friend who needed comfort. I love you for your generosity. Always have. Always will. It's your body to offer. Never forget that." I kissed her hard. And she pushed me away. She actually pushed me away.

"Ouch," she laughed. "You are going to bruise me."

But I was the one bruised. It wasn't the sights and sounds of what I had always thought of as my modest petite shy wife climaxing with superhuman energy. Not even the memory of her enthusiastic fellatio or her ready acceptance of him into her butthole. No -- what shredded my heart was the look Becky had given her lover in the driveway in between kisses and as he parted from her. She had looked at Ben with those large wonderful eyes that had looked at me a million time with what I thought -- no, I knew was the deepest love and respect. But this morning those eyes -- my eyes, damn it! - looked at the man who had dominated and fucked all of her holes. Looked at him with lust and admiration and need and want. It was a look she had never directed at me.

(I rewatched their encounter later, just to torture myself. My traitorous penis was stiff the whole time. The most horrible thing reliving their joyous fucking was wondering if Becky loved Ben. Maybe had always really loved him, and her enthusiasm with his cock inside her was proof of it. But she never gave me any reason to suspect that she wanted another match with him. Neither did Ben. His actions ever after to me were those of a friend who had done me a good turn -- at my request. He never even made an off-color reference to that night.)

Still, I was encouraged. I thought perhaps the dam had been busted. I thought this was her epiphany. I thought she would open up. I thought I could now fuck her with some lights on in the room.

But the residual confidence she took away from their coupling dimmed. She began to act tentative around me. Watching me when she thought I did not notice. Asking me if I needed anything. Just trying to stand or sit close to me whenever possible but fidgeting nervously when she did. I knew that the guilt of her night with Ben was gripping her. (And it had been a whole night. They had fucked twice more.) She was afraid that I was not as okay with the whole turn of events as I had claimed. She would not volunteer any more details about that night. The Becky I had called wife and lover for twenty plus years could not bring her mouth to form the word blowjob or assfuck much less admit to partaking in them.

So I enveloped her with affection. I embraced her when we passed in the house. I told her that I loved her every five minutes. I brought her bunches of her favorite flowers. I doted. Over the next weeks she began to believe that we were back to normal.

Yeah, normal. That place I was trying to drag her away from.

I stupidly thought that after blowing Ben and taking his cock up her ass that Becky might push past some of her old boundaries, but no. The night after their fuck fest, I joined her in bed. The exact same bed on which not 24 hours before she had surrendered her throat and her rectum. Two virginities given outside of our marital bonds. She huddled under the covers, nightgown on again, lights out again. I slid under the covers and started to rub against her. When my hand strayed down to her mound, she squirmed away with a disapproving noise.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Sore."

"Sore? Was he rough?

She sighed. "No, I'm just... sore tonight."

Fuck. Well, no fuck. It took a full five days for her quim to recover from Ben's vigorous attentions. On the first night she was receptive to me, I lightly stroked her asshole. She jackknifed away from me and rolled over, saying "Not there." Her tone was final.

So she'd taken his whole fucking schlong in her ass, and I can't even caress it. I lay back, discouraged. I thought I knew this woman pretty well, but I had no idea what was going on in the sex parts of her brain.

Two months later I drove up to Boston to play in a golf tournament a bunch of Harvard alumni and friends ran every year for charity. I would usually stay with Ben, but I didn't think I could stand to hang out and chat with a guy, no matter how old or good a friend he was, who my wife had sucked off and who had fucked her in the ass. Two experiences denied me, of course. Maybe if Becky had done these things with me I could let it go. I begged off that I was going to be meeting clients and stayed at the Park Plaza, my home away from home. I checked in Thursday afternoon. Friday morning, I got an alarm alert on my phone. The security system in my house incorporates a tracking device that sends a message anytime a vehicle which does not have the special module that tells the system you are a friend enters the drive.

I opened my laptop and logged into the system to check. I hadn't scheduled any work on the house and it wasn't the landscapers' day. Probably a delivery truck. There were so many of those lately that I was considering turning off notifications.

The camera showed a car I vaguely recognized parked in my drive. It was a black Cadillac Escalade, not the usual choice of criminals. It was probably someone visiting Becky. She had been busy the last month helping with food drives for the local pantry and also advising an organization which brought city kids from Boston and some of the other urban centers to the Cape for camping, hiking, sailing, etc. I switched to an interior camera and saw that my guess was correct. Becky was in the kitchen talking to one of the camp counselors, a young man named Andre who had played offensive tackle at USC and still looked like he could put on the pads. He was an outgoing guy who was liked by everyone. It could not be easy being a large intimidating African American on the lily-white conservative Cape, but I had never seen him in any mood other than cheerful. He and Becky had worked together raising funds for a new rope course. The car was familiar because he had been to the house several times.

Something was wrong today. An interior camera showed Andre in profile, sitting at our kitchen table, a glass of iced tea in front of him, his face serious. Becky was sitting across from him listening intently to what he was saying. I could not hear a word because the audio pickup was right next to the running dishwasher.

Something that he said made Becky's face crumple in sadness. She rushed around the table and stood next to Andre. He turned to her and she put her arms around him, comforting him. They stayed that way for a minute -- my tiny wife standing and still not up to his massive shoulders while he was seated. He put his arms around Becky. They hugged. Becky looked up at him and went to give him a peck on the cheek, but he turned his head at that instant. Their lips met. They both drew back at once, looking surprised. Then they kissed with intent. Softly at first, then harder and deeper. Andre stood up and lifted Becky off the ground, their faces together, lips and tongues playing.

70 miles away, I leapt to my feet, but could do nothing.

He carried her to the couch. On the few steps it took to get there he had kicked off his shorts and underwear. I swore silently. His cock was erect, longer and thicker than Ben's. I hoped that he would not damage my wife. As they were kissing intently, he reached under her skirt and drew her panties to one side, then lowered her down until her pussy was centered over the dark purple head of his cock. When it touched her, she gave out a squawk and began to work her butt up and down until she had the tip spreading her lips. Another squawk and she thrust downwards. A third of Andre's dark shaft disappeared up into her. She quit squawking and began to hyperventilate the way I had seen her do long ago in our birth classes. Andre was silently concentrating on balancing her as she gyrated like a toy on his cock. She wiggled and twisted until she had taken him all the way. She stopped moving. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. This cock was the largest thing she had ever had inside her, and a painful ecstasy crossed her face. Then she cried loudly and her thighs began to clamp and unclamp on Andre's large torso. She was coming without any effort or movement on her lover's part.