Broken Dishwasher

"I feel so full. I think you are bigger than Peter."

"This feels incredible," I replied holding on to her hips as my ego along with my cock swelled to new heights.

She playfully slapped my hip and I took the cue and began slowly thrusting into her canal. I could feel every ring of muscle against my cock as I went back and forth. Every time I hit bottom Jessica would grunt and as I built up speed her grunts became a long series of guttural syllables. The noise, the heat of her canal, the thrill of the fuck, all came together and I spewed my seed with a final thrust deep inside her. Even the pressure against my spewing cum made me cum harder still.

with my own groan, I took Jessica with me and fell on my side with my deflating cock still buried within her. We both lay panting.

I didn't go home that night, nor the next day.

We lay naked and spent with the late afternoon sun lingering in the room. Jessica was trying to explain to me her peculiar manner. It is not a kink, but maybe a quirk. In some ways she is an insecure person and having someone tell her what to do, no matter how much skill or thought the task takes, gives her the courage and the motivation to do it. She is quite intelligent; she just needs this structure in her life. When unstructured things happen, like a broken dishwasher, she panics unless someone tells her what to do. In significant ways Jessica is handicapped.

Apparently Peter was no longer paying much attention to his beautiful wife and stopped giving her what she needed, that sense of security. He had dropped out of her life in many ways and his absense was mental anguish. In fact he did not call the whole time I was there.

Sunday night I came home because of work on Monday. That evening I called just to check in and Jessica complained that she was sore 'down there' but she was holding it together.

Tuesday Peter came home so I left a message on his office voicemail for lunch plans later in the week. He didn't get back to me. I started to panic that maybe he had found out about my tryst with his wife.

By Friday I was frantic and I walked over to his offices to look for him when I recognized one of his co-workers.

"He's gone," she answered with I asked for Peter. The short story is that the V.P. caught him

with a woman in his hotel room. The V.P. happens to be a devoutly religious man, so while Peter could not be fired for having an affair, the V.P. made it clear he had no future, no hope, and, when Peter made the first, slightest mistake, no job. Peter quit.

I rushed back to my desk and called Peter's house; Jessica answered.

"Hi Jessica, it's Brad."

Before I could go on, she said simply, "He's gone. I threw him out."

I offered some common words of comfort and sorrow but Jessica interrupted me. She told me she had enjoyed the weekend with me but now was not the time for anything more. She needed to make her way through the coming divorce.

"Fine," I replied, "but I am going to call you every week to check in on you."

And I did. Every week we would talk for nearly an hour. After six months the divorce was settled and Jessica called me from the attorney's office. The first words out of her mouth were "tell me what to do."

I did and I have been ever since.