I love my wife (M/M)

Robiqe2

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I was bored today, and thought I'd do some writing. Finished that early, and wrote this. Feedback is appreciated. Should I continue?

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A friend of mine said this might be therapeutic. I’m not a writer and I’m not sure where to start, but I guess the beginning is a good place. Let me first say that I love my wife, and would never do anything to hurt her, but . . . I’m still not sure how this happened.

About seven years ago I ran into an old friend of mine in a Target. I’m not going to say where we live or use anyone’s actual names, but I think everyone can relate to a Target or one of those big box stores. Walmart, if it’s easier to relate. Anyway, I ran into my old buddy Mark and we started talking. We finished the conversation the same way you do when you run into people from college and such: promises of “Hey, we really need to get back in touch,” “We should really hang out,” etc. We exchanged numbers. That was that. I was surprised when he called saying he and Molly moved back to the area recently and wanted to meet up for a beer. I tried to make a reunion out of it and about five of us met up for a crazy night. The kind of night you ask your wife to forget about because she still rolls her eyes when you get home from work and plug in Call of Duty: Black Ops or tell her you’re going to the bar with the guys and not to wait up.
A little about myself before I continue. I’ll give myself a fun name: Alastair. Al for short. I was always picked on when I was a kid and my bigger, older brother didn’t help. I tried dating right out of college and never got really far. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 26, and that was after reinventing myself. I’m a tax law technician/consultant/lawyer. Not exactly exciting, but it pays well. I hired a personal trainer when I was 25 and eventually became one. I’m the friend in our group that ends conflicts because if my law degree doesn’t work, then my size does. I’ve known my wife since high school. It wasn’t until I was about 28 that she started taking me seriously, reinforcing my “new me” belief: women respond to muscle and cock. Despite that I love her, and try to maintain my physical being, believing it’s part of what she loves about me. She’s a sexy Asian-American goddess with curves in the right places. I love the contrast between her skin and silky black hair. I love her smile and her hands. I love how I would kill to prevent her from ever crying. She’s picky about her weight, but all the extra seems to go to her chest . . . which I love! We’re expecting our first kid and whatever my son is doing to her breasts I need to find a way to make permanent.

Mark hadn’t seen me in a while and kept commenting about my size when we met up. Mark is the typical beanpole, 5’10”, 140lb. waif of a man. I think his wife Molly is actually bigger than him. He’s into real estate, but I never really asked what he actually does. Molly and my wife get along because they both spend money well, in my opinion. I’ve seen Mark take many phone calls about work, but never seen him go to an office or worry about money. So one night after beer and wings with the guys I take off and Mark asks for a ride back. A little odd because I have to work in the morning, and I know Mark doesn’t have any obligations. He and Molly have two children, twins, a boy and a girl but Molly does most of that work. So we’re driving to his place and he starts up:
“So whadya have planned for tomorrow?”
“The usual. Lift, work, gym, and I’m teaching a tax prep class at the CC. Why? What’s up?”
“Why the gym twice?”
 
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“No, no. I lift in my basement. I go to the gym for reflexology and cardio. If I miss a day I’ll usually pull a double. Business trips, ya know? Are you thinking of joining up? I thought you belonged to the gold league golf or club?”
“Thinking about it. I’ve never done well there. Are you still training others?”

By the end of the ride, we’d set an appointment at Gold’s for the following day. We tried it for a couple of days, but he seemed overanxious. In the end we started his lifting in my basement. I have almost everything but a Smith machine, thousands of dollars of equipment. His goals were obvious: put on muscle. Of course he’s an ectomorph (hard gainer), so we had to load him up with calories, a base, and heavy lifting. After about 14 months of basement work Mark felt confident enough to go to the gym. When Mark was about 170lb. his twins were enrolled in some crazy expensive, IV-league type prep school, and I wasn’t entirely prepared for his next requests.

“Today was good. We always struggle through ergogenics, but it’s worth it. Remember I have to leave tomorrow for Chicago, but we can lift in the morning if you want. Let me know.”
“Hey, is Sana home. I wonder if you have time for a beer?”
“She’s visiting her mother. I have to pick her up at the airport when I get back. That’s why I planned the trip. Yeah, I’ve got some choices in the basement fridge. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you there. Leave the door open. I’m going to stay for some cardio. You can shower and shit.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you there.”
So now I’m weirded out a bit. Mark doesn’t usually talk like this, because there’s not much I can do for someone like Mark, favor wise, and our “hanging out” is usually very relaxed. So I showered, took out a beer for Mark and one for me. I keep specific beers in the fridge for individual friends. I’ve always wondered if other people do that, or if I’m just a people pleaser. Mark came in with his gym bag, showered in the basement and came up to the den where SportsCenter, PTI was on. I muted it.
“What’s up Mark?”
“I just wanted to talk.”
“About your lifting program? Your weights are still going up, right?”
I stopped charging Mark after our first 6 months when we pretty much became real friends. I checked his weights every now and then, and they still showed an upward trend. Mark always brags about how much Molly loves the new Mark, and owes their twins birth to me for showing him the light, so to speak. But he grabbed his beer, uncapped, sat on the nearest couch, and leaned forward.
“It’s not about the lifting. I’m never hungry, but have to eat. I get that. No, this is about Molly, or Sana.”
“What about Sana?”
“Were you always able to . . . to please her? Uh, . . . sexually, that is?”
“Mark, I’ve stressed that I’m a natural lifter. I recommend you do the same, and that’s been my recommendation. I can introduce you to other, more experienced trainers that have more experience with you body type, but pumping that junk into your body is bound to have side effects t-
“I’m not juicing! I just . . . Listen, we lift everything, but, well, what about the dick.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. That didn’t sit well with Mark, and I had to calm him down.

“Sorry about that. Sit back. Relax. The guy that first trained me, WT. He stressed working the entire body. There are muscles everywhere. Everywhere. In my last house, when I started with my own basement gym, WT worked me through some full-body sets. One day at the end of the week he took a ten pound weight and handed me a 2.5lb. weight. I remember he pulled down his pants and started stroking his dick. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’, I said. All he did was look at me and say, ‘Muscles EVERYWHERE!’ It sounds gay, but I was hypnotized by what I saw. We all knew WT was jacked, but his dick was covered in veins and huge. I know of no other way to say it. He put the 10lb. plate just below head on his semi and started flexing. He did about fifty reps and said, “Okay, now you.” I looked down surprised to see I had solid wood, and my hand was on my own, much smaller dick. I put the 2.5lb. plate on and it fell right to floor. WT looked at me as he always did when I failed to lift something, or crapped out on the last rep: disgusted. He walked me through kegels, urinating and breathing, and exercises for my dick. Is that what you’re asking me for Mark?”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always been able to please Molly, but since the kids are away she seems more excitable than usual. I have no problem getting it up, but I know you’re thicker than me, and I wondered if you’ve always been that way.”
“Wow, just out and said it, huh. No, I wasn’t always this thick or this long. I do a lot to please Sana. I know I’m the biggest she’s ever had, but Molly says you’re pretty long. Stop with the face. Molly talks to Sana. Sana talks to me.”
We spent the next 4 hours going over methods that I had to offer, and things Mark had heard about. I even showed him some of my pumps. The following week we both took measurements in front of each other and added girth, length, and that data to our workout journal. I’ll say it. I was pissed. Mark was easily longer than I, but at least I had the girth. Mark: 9.2” x 5.1”. Al: 8.3” x 6.6” Before WT I was 7.9” x 5.5” It would be nice to have my girth and Mark’s length.

So that was then. Fast-forward to summer 2012.
 
Mark and I still work out everyday, all over. I have two other people I train, but not like Mark. One is a woman trying to get everything tight before her wedding. The other is a young man training for competition in three months. Mark and I were on the road, headed for one of Mark’s properties. This tenant needed help moving out.
“So what’s the deal with this tenant?”
“He’s Molly’s brother’s wife’s nephew’s best friend. They grew up together. He can’t afford to stay any more. I guess I’m kind of an unofficial “uncle” to them, but it was even a favor to have him there to begin with. I’m always doing favors for this kid. He’s got potential, but no focus.”
“You nephew? The punk artist?”
“I think his type prefer ‘hipster.’”
“How did we get roped into the ‘Uncle’s Grandmother’s Mayor’s Shit Moving Company?’”
“Mol’s exact words were, ‘Better to put mass into moving mass.’ A way to get me out of the house. She says I’m big enough and should stop, but if you ask me she just needs a project.”
“Everything okay between you two?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just that with another kid on the way she seems more . . . hormonal than usual. It’s here on the right.”

Mark drove into a garage facility under a series of condos in a nice part of town before I could say anything further on the topic of him and Molly. There were stairs headed up to a private pool with cedar gates. We turned down a stone path that read 2B. It looks like there were only three condos or three exits. If that was the case, these places must have been huge. Mark took out a set of keys that made him look like an elementary school janitor, “Should be this one.” Mark used a large white key labeled SF Condos. It was probably a skeleton key. He didn’t need it though. The door was cracked open. We stepped into an open sky vestibule leading to a large wooden door that was wide open.

“Ricky! It’s Mark! Where are you?”
“Back here. In the bedroom bath.”

In the back, they came across Ricky sealed a cardboard box with packaging tape. The bos read “FRAGILE.” To describe Ricky, I’d call him a taller, paler version of Mark three years ago. Probably six-two, and wearing daisy-dukes with an oversized light-blue tank and flip-flops. Definitely looked like some kind of hippie. I didn’t like him the second I saw him. We spent the rest of the day moving dozens of small boxes and minimal furniture out into a POD in the garage. Not the ideal setup, as we had to walk back and forth a lot. The kid had painting galore and each required two people because of their size. After about 5 hours we all echoed the same thought for food. I remembered seeing a Chipotle a few miles back and mentioned it as a suggestion. All agreed, but Ricky didn’t want to “break the momentum,” so I said I would go alone. I guess this is where things got weird.

Chipotle was closed. Can’t remember why, but there you go. GPS pointed me to a Moe’s a little further away. I thought about stopping at this local place, but Yelp suggested otherwise. So my trip took longer than usual. After about 40 minutes I show up, grab the bag and the 12-pack I added from the gas station from the passenger seat and head up. I remember thinking about how hot it was getting, and that I should change my shirt. My extra gym bag was in Mark’s trunk, but I didn’t. Already sweaty, might as well deal with it. I got to the door and entered the vestibule. There was ice all over the floor, half-melted into a half-puddle. The wooden door was closed, but not locked.

“Hey, you guys didn’t answer any of my texts, so you get what you get,” I shouted.
Nothing. But like I said the place was huge. The only place to eat would be the kitchen counter as everything was out, so I headed there.
“You guys done packing?”
Again nothing. There was a noise though. It sounded like it came from the back bedroom. There were some French doors that opened onto a private patio of sorts. They were probably out there lounging. I grabbed three beers and headed back there. That noise grew, but it wasn’t consistent. About two rooms away I heard it clearer,
“Fuck yeah! Fuck my ass!”
“You like that you fucking twink? You like my cock up that ass, don’t you.”
“YES!! You’re hitting all the spots my boyfriend can’t reach. FUUUCCCCKK YES”
 
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I inched through to the next room, and peaked through the door. In hindsight, I should have turned around and gone to a local bar for a bit, but if I did I wouldn’t be here, right? I peered around the door and noticed the French doors open and no one in the bedroom. I put the beers on the floor in the corner and continued to the doors. I probably didn’t think it was Mark and Ricky, even though it made logical sense. My brain wasn’t ready for that thought. The scene before my eyes was life-changing. Bent over a stone casing for a commercial gas grill was Ricky, base-ass. The tank on the floor eight feet away, but he was still wearing flip-flops. Standing directly behind him was Mark, fully naked. His eyes were rolled back in his eyes with a look of pure ecstasy on his face. I moved a little closer and saw it. Mike was slamming 10” in and out of Ricky, like a professional porn star in one of those Big Dick Compilations. There was a small puddle of I don’t know what slowly forming beneath the entwined two. They must have been at it for a while.

I couldn’t help it. I was rock hard. There was this overwhelming sense of pride I felt looking at Mark do his thing. 195lb. of lean muscle slamming into this tall, effeminate-looking guy. Maybe it was because it was so intense, or that they both seemed to really be enjoying it. I didn’t think anyone would like having something shoved up their ass, but Ricky had near the same look as Mark did. I wondered if Ricky could take my thick cock up his ass as well. That thought sent my hand into my shorts. I unzipped and pulled my boxers halfway down, freeing my monster. I was covered in sweat, as it was high-noon now. I used this for lube, and started long strokes, while those two kept fucking. Mark’s pace was amazing. More pride. He was clearly doing all of his exercises. After about five minutes my shirt was soaked and just getting in the way, so I tossed it into the pile. It gave me a chance to massage my 54” chest and near rock hard 8-pack. Ricky must have seen this toss out of peripheral vision, because he turned to his left to look at me. This was the first time I noticed he was stroking too.
“Nice log Al. Ughh. Fuck, I’m cumming. I’m cumming! I’m CUMM-OOHHHH FUCK!!”

At the same moment Ricky saw my cock he started bucking back into Mark, changing the rhythm and came all over the floor. Mark pulled out and starred right at me. He started stroking his long dick. He wasn’t done yet.
“Welcome to the show Al. Come on over.”
I approached, but stopped stroking. Ricky was useless. He was on the floor rolling around in his own jizz, coming down from his orgasmic high. Within arm’s reach of Mark, he grasped my shoulder, and told me to relax. He’s wanted to pay me back for his body transformation for some time. I told him I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. I bumbled on, but he stopped me:
“On your knees Ricky! Come suck my friends cock.”

Just like that Ricky was on me, slurping my knob, and cupping my balls. I should mention at this time that I was very happy with my dick. It was now 8.7” x 7.2” and extremely veiny. Still not what WT had in his briefs, but I was getting closer, and my wife didn’t mind the extra girth at all. I looked over to Mark’s and he had at least 10 inches, but less than 6 in girth. I still wanted that length, but it was probably never going to happen. No one could last long under Ricky’s administrations. Easily the best blowjob I’ve ever had. It didn’t help that Ricky was mind-fucking me between breaths with,
“So fucking thick, Thickest cock I’ve ever seen, Barely fit’s in my mouth, Wanna cum all over those rippling muscles, Fuck my mouth with your cock, Wonder if it would fit,” and more.

Mark was no better. Egging him on. Finally Mark just ripped Ricky’s head back from off my cock, picked him up by the back of his neck and pushed him down on a large prep surface covered in terracotta-colored stones. The surface must have been hot, but Ricky threw his feet into the air, exposing his mancunt. I remember thinking, “How many times has he done this? Such a practiced motion.”

Mark grabbed both of Ricky’s twig hammys and braced his weight as he knelt and buried his jaw in Ricky’s ass. I can’t imagine what he was doing, but it sent Ricky’s head and eyes rolling. Truth be told, I missed Ricky’s mouth, and moved in to take advantage of Mark’s distraction. I found myself joining in the reverie,
“Fuck yeah. Suck that cock. Yeah, just like that.” Sana and I don’t do a lot of dirty talk.

This went on for a while. It was easy to lose track of time with Ricky’s lips and suction, but he broke away to cum again. I don’t even think he stroked himself off that time. Mark popped up with a newly moistened mustache, and told me to switch with him. I took his place, but just stood there, a mix of saliva and precum dripping from the tip of my dick, sweat running down my body from my shaved head. There was a new scent in my nostrils, like muscle and sex slammed together to make a special man-deodorant. It clouded my thoughts. My heartbeat was thumping in my hardon. I must have been taking too long because Ricky leaned forward and put the tip of my dick right at his hole,
“Fuck me with donkey dick!”

That did it. I slammed in and Ricky screamed. This one didn’t sound like it was all pleasure, but I didn’t care. Nothing felt tighter, or better. Ricky put both feet on my shoulders and we began a rhythm. Slow at first, then faster and faster. His moans and screams grew lower and I knew he switched to pure pleasure. Pretty soon I was fucking the sense out of him, as he stopped making coherent noises, and sounded more like a discovery channel special on African wildlife mating seasons. Later Mark described the scene as a gorilla fucking a bunny rabbit. Soon I had both thighs gripped under his knees and lifted him off the prep table. His ankles were wrapped around my neck. Mark re-entered the frame grunting and stroking his long dick furiously. I’d all but forgotten about him. Then, without warning he came all over Ricky’s face, two huge strands as his balls contracted and jumped; those too looked bigger than a few years ago. Still pumping, he thrust his dick into Ricky’s mouth, and Ricky made swallowing noises as Mark grunted and shook all over. Ricky was stroking his own and started cumming again. He ass slammed down on my dick, and I knew that was the moment. I joined in the group orgasm with cries of, “FUCK!, GAWD!, and FUCK!!” I pulled out and shot the rest of my load, hitting his chin with the first, his chest with the second and third, and the rest over his abs.

It was a few minutes of exasperated breathing before I snapped out of it. Ricky was passed out on the prep table. I was on the floor in the shade, completely naked, but soaked. I don’t remember taking off my boots, but they were in the pile of miscellaneous clothes, now dry in the pre-evening sun. A shadow crossed over from the doorway to extend the shade. It was Mark, standing there with his briefs back on, handing me a beer. It was warm, but I drank it. Mark sat down next to me and slapped my thigh,
“No gym today, ehh? That was enough of a workout.”

And that’s how it started.
 
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