Sacred Slave

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You are going to think that I am ungrateful that I am a MILF, but I am more than a little uncomfortable. My husband coaches our kid’s baseball teams, so you can well imagine that I have to make appearances there. The fact that my husband is the coach is the only thing stopping the other fathers from hitting on me. The hardest thing about the baseball games is when I walk from my lawn chair, past the bleachers to do something. If I have to go to my car, or have to go to the refreshment stand, all eyes are on me. Hungry eyed looks that want nothing more than to devour me. When I sit in my chair, trying to look interested in the game, I can feel the looks of the fathers, either on my crossed legs or other parts of my body. There are other moms there that are very sexy too, but I made the mistake of coming to a game wearing a revealing top. I was at another function and came late to the game. My 38D’S were on full display. My husband usually takes pride in the fact that I get stared at, but when the staring is coming from parents of kids he is coaching, well that crosses some line of decency. I love my 38D’S, but sometimes they cause trouble. My husband has gotten into a few arguments and near fights because of them. I usually wear some type of clothing to cover them up. Sweaters do not work all the time. They can accentuate them beyond normal size.

After having kids, I was sure that my body was going to fail me. I was certain that my ass was going to drop and never be heard from again. I thought my boobs were going to travel to another zip code. I was wrong. My ass is still firm, with very little jiggle to the skin underneath. The shape is well rounded. I live in California, and there are a plenty of Latino men here. They prefer a shapely ass. It is they who stare the most. My boobs slipped a little, mainly from the weight, but they are still firm and make statements all on their own. ‘Shut up!’ I have to tell them.

My husband is a lawyer and can afford to treat me well. I don’t have a need to cheat on my husband. He is a loving, professional man that works hard at all the areas of marriage, work and being a father. I feel as though to complain in any way about him would be equal to cheating on him. He is there for every occasion that a man needs to be called on. He is my man. So, it is not easy for me to admit that I need a moment of meaningless sex with another man. Something, alien to me, opened up inside of me and started asking for sex with someone else. I have been faithful throughout all the years of our marriage, and while I cannot say with exactitude that my husband has never strayed, I know that he would have had a pained look on his face after the deed, and that never showed. He sometimes looks at me with renewed attraction, especially when I lay out in the backyard. I like to lay on a lounge chair, getting some sun. He will motion for me to remove my top, and I do.

Lying out topless has not been a problem. There is a large wall that surrounds our back yard, so no one has any angle to see me when I am out there, except for one house. Most of the houses in the neighborhood are ranch style homes, but there are a few colonials throughout. The one house that offers a view of my sunbathing was owned by an older couple that I don’t think ventured to the attic level to have a seat while I exposed myself, but those people are gone now and have been replaced by a younger family with an eighteen year old son. I was tanning one day, when I noticed movement in the attic, then just saw the outline of a person. I was caught. Part of me did not mind it, but part of me did not want to be pegged as an exhibitionist. I covered up and went inside. I could tell from the front of the house that there were no cars in the driveway. Both parents worked and the son was the only one home. I was sure my days of going topless in the backyard were over.

When I told my good friend Sandra about what happened, her eyes opened wide. I knew she would be intrigued by the thought of being spied on. She is a spiced up Mexican-American who is probably the only one in my circle of friends who I know my husband imagines having sex with. I don’t mind that he stares at her sometimes. He thinks it doesn’t show. Most guys think they can hide their desires, but no matter how cool they are, those secret glances are so telling.

Sandra and I decided to make an afternoon of it. I told my husband and the kids that I was spending the afternoon with Sandra, to catch up on some gossip. They went to a baseball game that afternoon. I had never seen Sandra in a bikini, so was also looking forward to that. She is petite, but very shapely. I was already dressed when she came over. She went into my bedroom to change. I had on a black bikini, and Sandra stepped out of my room wearing a white bikini. Her dark skin is sexy on its own, but the contrast with the white bikini was very sexy. She did not seem so petite now. Her tight top made her 34B’s overflow a bit, and she was actually wearing a thong. She had very nice cheeks. They were not as shapely güvenilir bahis as I imagined them. They kind of flattened out, but were still impressive. We were two MILFS with a plan.

I was going to stretch out, all 5’9″ of me, in the backyard. Sandra was going to use a pair of binoculars to try and see any activity from the neighbor’s attic window. I waited outside, tugging at my top, closing my eyes, waiting for Sandra to report back. She came out once and said nothing was going on. I watched her walk back inside. She was shaking her ass with extra emphasis. Her dark hair was swaying. About half an hour into our adventure, she came out and sat on the lounge chair with me. She was smiling. I could sense she was very horny.

‘There are two kids up there. Looks like he brought a friend.” She said.

“What? Two of them?”


“Little fucker.” I said, laughing.

“Two little fuckers, actually.” Sandra said. One is just standing there, and it looks like he might be stroking…”

“Are you serious?” I asked.

“Yeah. The other one is either taking pictures or recording us. Both his hands are visible.” She laughed.

I reached over and put my sun hat on. I really didn’t want pictures of me to end up on the internet.

“I guess I’m not going topless any more.” I said.

Sandra was pensive. “We can still have some fun. Let me oil you up, act like we are lovers. You can oil me up too.”

“You’re crazy.” I said.

The truth was, I knew this type of situation came very natural to her. She had an exhibitionist streak, but I really did not count on being taped, especially videotaped, which was I was sure they were doing.

Sandra went inside and came out with some tanning lotion. I knew this was going to get interesting, but I was getting a bit modest in front of the camera. She sat next to me again.

“Sandra… Don’t.” I said.

She lathered up her hands and reached for my thighs. The lotion felt cold and uncomfortable at first, then it warmed with my body, I could feel her fingernails, and the softness of her hands. This felt good. Men’s hands can be hard. I liked Sandra more than ever at this moment, but I still did not want my face showing clearly. I pulled down the hat farther over my face.

“You are such a bitch.” I said to her.

“Just relax.” She said.

Her hands found there way to my stomach. I felt a little flabby there, and vulnerable to her touches. Her stomach was very flat and toned. The one area I lost to her with no contest.

‘Take your top off.” She said.

“No way, Sandra.”

“Alicia, come on. That kid needs you.” She laughed.

I was easing up a bit. Sandra had very seductive hands, but I was not taking off my top. I thought of those two kids up there, and wondered if they had taped me topless the previous time. What if they had? I was unnerved a bit.

“You can oil up the back of my thighs.” I said. I wanted that more for me than for the kids.

“Baby! You have a great ass. I sure can.” She said.

I turned over, hiding my face while I took off the sun hat. Sandra wasted no time. Her hands were stronger on this area. I could feel her looking for imperfections. She was quiet. I sensed she was not finding any thing wrong back there. I was very relaxed now, and wondered if any of the voyeurs ejaculated yet. The lotion felt good. I wanted this in privacy, and imagined it moving to something meaningful.

“Turn over. This side is done.” She said, as she spanked my bottom. I wondered if she would be so flirty with me under normal conditions, or if she was mainly playing to the camera.

I lay on my back again and covered my face as best I could with my hat. She was in a playful mood, and I wanted to go inside. I really felt exposed. Sandra pinched my nipples through the bikini top. She was giggling. Part of me wanted to oil her up, but inside the house, not outside. I was going to suggest that we go inside, when my husband drove up with the kids. I got up to put on my robe.

” Don’t forget, you’re wearing a thong.” I said, as I walked to meet my husband and the kids.

That night, I could tell that my husband wanted to talk about Sandra and her thong. He was flipping through the sports page, talking about some trade the Dodgers had made. I was willing to oblige his need to talk about her. I was sure he was going to masturbate to her later.

“We should have her over more often.” I said.

“And her thong.” He joked.

“Were you impressed?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I was expecting it to be a little fuller. Her boobs looked unreal.”

“Really?” I wasn’t so sure I liked that comment, and he sensed that.

“You know what I mean. Maybe they are fake.” He tried to recover.

“Did you decide if you are taking that class or not?” He changed the subject.

I had been feeling a bit bored with things in general, and we had talked about me taking a class. I wanted to take a poetry writing class. I felt that was a subject that I never got the chance to explore. I never went türkçe bahis in for the gushy romance novels. Poetry seemed more serious, more sophisticated. I wanted to learn how to express my emotions through poetry. I was frightened about taking a class at the local University. I felt that it had been so long since I had been in that setting. Being around my kids was hard enough. I envisioned snobby college kids as being even harder to bear, but I felt the timing was perfect: the kids were older now and could be trusted to be home alone. Also, it was either take the class or have an affair with someone. I was going to take the class.

“I think I am going to do it.” I said.

‘Good.” My husband said.


The first day of class was not too overwhelming. I was only taking one subject, and id not have that hurried look that most of the students had. I felt mature, felt in control of what I was doing. Most of the students were young, and gave the impression they were really somewhere else. There were a few older women in the class. They all seemed tired and bit worn down. I felt open to whatever I was going to learn there.

The professor was late, and most people in the room were getting fidgety. One girl continuously popped her bubblegum. I could see that was going to be annoying. Finally, Professor Wilkins walked in. He had that air of having to much information that could suddenly spill over and amaze you. He was a fit man, not too tall. I guess he was about 5’10”. He had sandy colored hair and a full beard of the same color. I tried to spot some gray in the beard, but could not see any. He must have been about 45 or so. Everything about him was stable, except for his eyes. They were a burning shade of blue. Hot eyes, in the sense they seemed to be unnaturally lit. His voice was deep and sure of itself.

He asked us to introduce ourselves and asked us to talk about what we wanted to get out of the class. He called all of us aspiring poets.

When it was my turn to speak, it was as though I was not thinking. The wave of the moment took over.

“My name is Alicia, and I guess I just want to…. Well, it seems like the time is right for me to become a poet.” I said, trying to be funny.

A few people laughed and the professor smiled.

After class, a few people said goodbye to each other, as though were kindred spirits in our pursuit of the written word. It felt good to walk down the hallways, knowing I was there to learn what I wanted to learn, and was not committed to the battle to get good grades. When I got home, my husband was happy for me. I could tell that he was looking me over, to see if I had acquired any new feelings about myself, or about life in general. I lingered by the kitchen sink for a few minutes, with a glass of red wine. I looked up to the window that the neighbor’s kid had been watching Sandra and me from. I wondered if his desires would make for a poem. My husband reminded me it was late, so we headed off for bed. He sat in bed, stoking, as I told him about my class. He wanted me to tell him what it was like being in a room full of college girls. He said I was a woman amongst kids. I helped him with his stroking. He yelped when he came.

I was at the local coffee shop the next day, before class, when a short and square woman came up to me. An awkward young man with a tangle of brown hair accompanied her. She introduced herself as the new neighbor.

“I have been meaning to… Meet some of the neighbors, but have not found the time. My name is Martha. This is my son, Stan.” She said.

“Oh, hello. My name is Alicia. Welcome to the neighborhood.” I said, looking over to her son that nodded at me. His head was lowered and he was zoomed in on my chest. I was wearing a white blouse that blunted any real outline of them, but the size of something large shown through.

“Hello, Stan.” I said playfully.

“Hi,’ was all that he said.

We made plans to get together one afternoon for a session of neighborhood gossip.

I walked away with a sexy cadence to my hips. I knew the son as looking at me with the desperate eyes some teenaged boys have. He needed to have sex. That was for sure. Part of me felt sorry for him, and part of me was disgusted by his lack of obvious success with girls.

I was sitting in the school cafeteria by myself, looking over some notes for class. I wore jeans my first day of class, but now decided that I wanted to dress more mature. I did not need to show off my ass in jeans. There were plenty of hot asses to go around. I was a woman. I was wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt with oversized cuffs. I had on a pair of brown ¾ boots. I felt so relaxed sitting there. A student walking by me gave me a look of recognition. She stopped in front of my table.

“Alicia? ” She said. “I am in the same poetry class with you. My name is Rachel.”

“Oh, hello.” I said. It was the bubble gum popper.

She was cute. Thin with her dark brown hair bundled up. She wore mini-framed glasses and was wearing a tie-died güvenilir bahis siteleri shirt and jean shorts. He legs were nicely tanned. She had matching nail polish on: pink. She sat down and told me that she was a Psychology major who was taking this class for a chance to have an affair with the professor. I was surprised but did not show it. She told me that every semester he chooses one girl to be some sort of assistant and he always ends up sleeping with her. He was famous for that. She wanted to be that girl, but for the first time he was hanging on to the girl from the last semester: a very pretty, star basketball player.

“I think it must be exciting to be with a star player… Probably sees her as some trophy. She’s all over the place, when it comes to news about the team.” Rachel said.

I tried to imagine professor Wilkins, without one of his wool suits, reciting poetry to a young woman while in bed. It seemed enticing to me.

“He… I am sure knows exactly what to say to girls.” I said.

“I know.” Rachel nodded and walked away.

Had she wanted an easy A, or did she just want to be his next girl.

The professor was talking about the need to express one’s ideas, emotions, and the essence of oneself. We had turned in a poem the previous class, and I was excited about getting it back with his feedback. Near the end of class he started to recite from a few of the submissions. He did not seem too enthusiastic, until he got to one he said moved him. We did not know whom the poems belonged too. He was keeping it anonymous, but all of a sudden the words he was speaking were my words. I tried hiding any recognition. I was ready to be embarrassed.

“And this part is particularly evocative.” He said. “Please listen, ‘Sacred Slave that I have become. When did this matrimony become so knotted? I stepped into bliss on the way in, and now, time elapsed, I am in too deep.’ That is very poignant writing. Can you feel this person’s pain?”

An older woman raised her arm. I was expecting something that would make me feel foolish, but the woman said something reassuring. “I feel it ever day.”

I was relieved by her words. I was expecting some mean comment, but I wanted to remain private about the whole thing.

The class was done for the day, and I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. There were 3 or 4 married women there, so it was not hard to narrow down who the author was. Professor Wilkins grabbed me by the arm as I was leaving. He was stronger than he appeared. I was closer to him now than ever. His voiced deep and practiced. His eyes were a shade of blue I had only seen a few times. They were too blue.

“May I talk to you, Alicia?” He asked.

“Sure.” I said.

“Great piece. You have so much experience to draw from. This class must be easy for you.”

“Not at all.” I said. “That is very kind of you to say, though.”

The rest of the class was gone. It felt as though I was not even in the school anymore, but someplace else, meeting him for the first time. He had an air of superiority, but I also sensed uncertainty in the way he spoke to me.

“Perhaps we could get together one night soon and discuss, or not discuss class. It is very refreshing having someone such as yourself as a student.”

“Thank you.” I said. I felt as though his request was not unusual, and felt his intentions were mostly sincere, but that door, that swinging door to something else is always present. I thought of my husband, and of the reason I took the class: to avoid just the sort of thing he probably had on his mind. I relented.

“Sure.” I said. “We can get together for drinks or dinner.”

“And to prove to you, I am only interested in an exchange of ideas, I will bring a friend. I respect that you are a married woman.” He said. His blue eyes were softer now.

That actually felt reassuring. I was going to ask him if she didn’t happen to be the star basketball player I had heard about.

That night, I watched my husband, as he practiced with the kids in the backyard, and felt, and felt closer to him, now that I was moving to something different. How could that be? I felt closer to him, even though I was going to meet with another man. The professor, his mistress, and myself, were going to meet at a restaurant near campus. I already knew what skirt, and what blouse I would wear. I even picked out the stockings and shoes. I was moving forward and there was nothing to stop dinner with Wilkins. Sandra, as usual, condoned it. She didn’t believe I was serious, but she encouraged me. I knew her support would be easy to get.

We met for dinner on campus. It was a pretentious steak house with rude waiters and waitresses. The professor was there with his friend, Jillian. She was very pretty. She was a few inches taller than me. Her hair was light brown and worn in a ponytail. There were more than a few curls trying to escape. Her body was athletic, although a bit gawky because of her long legs. She had a mole on the right side of her lip. She was wearing a black and white skirt and had on black stockings and black heels. Her blouse was gray. She had a friendly smile for me. It did not seem that she saw me as a threat. She probably knew relationships were brief and things undoubtedly moved on.

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