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I married her for her money; then she became determined to thwart my efforts by having babies; could I win in the end? (Full story)

I married her for her money; then she became determined to thwart my efforts by having babies; could I win in the end? (Full story)

Let’s be honest. I married Martha for her money. I knew it, she knew it; it’s no mystery when a good looking guy of 30 (yours truly) marries a wealthy heiress of 47 (my beloved Martha). She was, umm, ‘compact’ and firmly built. That’s a polite way of saying she was five foot zip, weighing a solid 170. A true ‘no-neck monster’ as Tennessee Williams might have said. I for my part had a great physique as might be expected of a gigolo.

Martha was uptight about sex, having had some last minute cancellations on scheduled dates. This was okay with me, to say the least! Our wedding was a splendid display of wealth by her family. We honeymooned in Acapulco, which was beautiful. The marriage consummation, on the other hand, threatened to be as sexy and pleasant as disarming ‘IED’s’ in Iraq. In the event, the only ‘action’ I got at all down there was when Martha went shopping. The maid came in as I was chastising myself for marrying a woman who could easily work as a bar bouncer.

I told the maid not to mind me; I would just sit and watch TV as she worked. Her name was Lupita and she said she was 18. She looked older than that, as if she was worn down already by the long hours. I was only staring at her when she was facing away from me. At one point, she bent over to tuck the new sheets in when I noticed. Her maid’s uniform was skin tight, the skirt some ten inches above the knee. As she bent over, I was shocked to see she wore no panties. This young woman was as short as Martha, no more than five two. Unlike her, she was petite, with delicate features, incredibly shapely but strong legs, and a fantastic figure. The maid’s uniform top barely fit her, the big white buttons about to pop off. As an all-out ‘leg man’, I was turned on by those gorgeous legs. I noticed that she had left her maid nurses’ shoes at the foyer and was working barefoot. Her small, delicate feet were as beautiful as the legs above, tanned, soft, and innocent. My beloved Martha’s feet were flat and as alluring as the stocky legs and thick thighs of the rest of her.

Having been sex-starved since I married my compact little Martha, my cock pumped to iron hardness, some ten inches of neglected splendor. Throwing caution to the winds, I stood up and got behind that nubile young woman. As she bent over she felt the ram rod ten inches slap against her pert behind and then tap against the (surprise!) slavering, wet lips of her pussy. She stood bolt upright, feigning surprise and shock, but not being much of an actress. All she said was ‘O, senor’ and ‘Dios’. I pivoted her so that she was bent over the desk. My powerful cock was then plunged deeply inside of her. Lodged so deep I could feel what must have been her cervix, I waited for a few moments. I wanted to be sure there was no protest.

After a period of total silence, I resumed. Slowly sliding my manhood out of her, I was out except for the oversized uncut cockhead, which just kissed those sensitive lips. Then, with a manly grunt, I rammed it home, my cockhead reaching and sliding sideways against the backwalls. I proceeded to drag the rough, uncut, head of my huge cock back and forth, back and forth. Lupita moaned in pleasure. This only got more intense as I undid that damn blouse and felt her surprisingly big knockers (for 18). We were now going at it furiously, looking at the wall perpendicular to the hotel room door. Neither of us noticed that the door was ajar, or that three maids were watching, with approval.

With a fierce howl, I came inside of Lupita’s totally unprotected and incredibly fertile cunt. So much passion pent up, so much lust having been restrained during my months with Martha. I unleashed all–every single spermatozoa–deep inside that young lady’s wonderful, welcoming vagina. As we both subsided from the coitus, I held firmly to her hips and dragged us both to the perfectly made bed. To our shock, we heard mild applause, as the three maids enjoyed the show. Better yet, one of the three maids was her mother (!)

Two of the three in the audience left, giggling as they went to do their assigned room clean-up. The third came in, introducing herself as Lupita’s ‘madre’. What happened next was another surprise. Lupita closed the room door, deploying the ‘DO NOT DISTURB’ sign. She then went to her mother, who was equally hot at about 40 years of age. Lupita sat on the bed and nodded to her mom. The older woman then mechanically removed her uniform as if it were part of the job description. She then lay on the bed opposite me, moving to the center, raising her knees and framing her welcoming warm, moist area. Lupita then stood me up and pushed me to the foot of the other bed, where her mom lay.

Expertly stroking me back to full ten inch stiffness, she gently but firmly pushed me onto the bed and on top of her mom. Like an industrial machine, my cock slipped in perfectly to that warm, damp hole. The 40 year-old maid had muscles in there her daughter could only dream of. I was held like a glove. Meanwhile, her daughter was so anxious for us to mate that she used her powerful from maid work arms to get my hips into play. I got the idea and started doing her mom hard. ‘Blippity-bam, blippity-bam’, we fucked so hard I was surprised the room didn’t sink to the floor below. Finally, I rolled her up towards the bed post and jetted my love deep inside of her.

Whereas I was worried about possibly knocking up that young (18) maid, the same thoughts inspired me to impregnate this older woman. God, I wanted so much to get her pregnant. Each time I thought of making a baby, my cock came back to life and a heavy spurt of sperm laden-cum was generated. After ten minutes of ejaculating into that fertile womb, I fell over totally spent. Nothing could ruin this, the best day I had had since I married that no-neck monster, Martha. What could ruin this day?

Hearing the click of the door lock, ruination was at hand! Martha was supposed to be out on the town, wasting our money as usual. Instead, she had returned early. Now she looked in goggle-eyed amazement at her gigolo husband, lying nude on the hotel bed. Surrounding that bed and only now putting on their blouses were two comely maids, mother and daughter. Unfortunately, they were both nude from the waist down. Both of them sported thick, creamy, rivers of liquid oozing out of their well-fucked cunts and slowly sliding down their silky, tanned thighs. Martha could only imagine how much of my potent seed was still deep inside of them, possibly putting them in the family way.

To my embarrassment, Martha went up to Lupita and slapped her. She then went to Lupita’s mom, but before she could slap her, she got slapped first. I just had to applaud. As Martha glared at me, she gave both of the fetching Latinas her card. She let them know that if there were any developments (i.e. pregnancy?), that they should call her. Martha was going to offer them money but only enough to terminate anything I started inside of them. They had a conversation in Spanish, something that Martha spoke (to my surprise). Being a Texan in business as she was, I shouldn’t have been so surprised. [Two months later, they did call and she did send them $500 each. Though that would never have mollified an American, it seemed to do the trick and we did not hear more from them.]

Martha proceeded to ream me out for having that tryst. She said that she had given the ladies her card; if there was anything like a pregnancy, she would pay a few bucks…for their abortions. I was furious. Martha not only renounced sex and the children that might result, she forbade me from ever having offspring anywhere. If she was chaste I would have to be too.

Before we left that hotel, as Martha bathed, I searched out Lupita during the maids’ rounds. I found instead her mom. I explained to her that she should call ME (I gave her my personal cell number) if something developed inside of her. She was delighted; my wife’s haughtiness made her afraid that I was as cruel a ‘pen-day-ho’ as my wife. I re-assured her. In fact, I discretely re-assured her by closing that hotel room’s door and pumping a lot of seed deep inside of her unprotected and oh-so-very-fertile womb. I didn’t know, I couldn’t know, that when Martha screamed at me the day before, Lupita had conceived. Now, as I returned to apologize for my cruel wife, Lupita’s mother had also conceived. This might have been an easy and pain-free way for Martha to allay my drive to reproduce while maintaining her pregnancy-free status. A neat solution, but Martha was not concerned with my happiness, let alone the Latinas, and just threw a few bucks their way.

When we returned state-side to Texas, I was told in plain English that I was not to have any dalliances with anyone outside of marriage. If I was to be of any use to Martha, it would be helping out managing some of the businesses that she had been given by her wealthy family. I was to manage BLOB (beautiful ladies of Bunzing[TX]) and Martha’s Tea Room. She had carefully picked these two, out of her six companies, because they catered to older, ‘over the hill’, matrons with whom no one would have any sexual longings.

I couldn’t accept defeat easily and went to work planning. With a brilliant epiphany, I formulated almost Machiavellian designs for these businesses. For the BLOB work-out places, I would first install mirrors on all walls. Older, out-of-shape women hate mirrors. Then I would hire some incredibly fit, sexy, instructresses who would tacitly remind these matrons how old and ugly they were.

For the tearoom, I would hire hot waitresses with a long, hot, hiring interview. The interviews would be ‘in depth’ and might go on for thirty minutes, with really intense back and forth, in and out, ‘questioning’. Eventually, the waitresses hired would wear less and less as our ad campaign would appeal to male customers. Hopefully, we would rival ‘Hooters’ when I was thru with the changes.

With visions of nubile young waitresses dancing in my head, I put that plan into an encrypted file, safely buried in the bowels of my computer hard-disk. No one on earth could possibly find it…

At dinner the night after I had finished my plan, we were having the usual intimate meal. Martha sat on her thick oaken chair while I sat on a ‘side’ chair at the opposite end of the twelve foot table. I wasn’t allowed to sit at an end, only the side. As the 60 year old ‘undocumented alien’ served us, she was handed a passel of printouts and told to hand it to me. I was appalled to see that Martha had paid a visit to my computer and somehow ferreted out that encrypted file.

Martha: “Wow, I have to watch you 24/7. If you didn’t look so good on my elbow at parties, I would have had you dry-gulched out in West Texas somewhere. You are always trying to figure out how to cheat on our loving marriage. Well, hate to rain on your parade but these plans are toast. The workout club for overage, overweight ladies, as well as the tearoom for little old ladies, will stay as is. I will visit them regularly. If you so much as hire any female under 40, I will have you snipped, your balls served as prairie oysters to the caballeros.”

Well, that was that. I was beaten, fair and square. Martha had won: THIS ROUND.

I was pretty well done, except for one thing. Martha was a person of habit. She kept an incredibly regular schedule. Given that, I knew that she could only check on me during her free time on that schedule. So, I had something finally: I had time blocks where I knew I was totally free of said no-neck monster.

The next day, I helped the undocumented employees (Martha loved them; they were inexpensive, this was Texas, and she was hyper-cheap) at the tearoom set-up the kitchen for the workday. Then, I went to BLOB. I had wrung one concession from Martha, changing BLOB to BABE (Bunzing’s Attractive Babes Excel.) I looked out onto the floor. There was the usual herd of overweight, no-neck types, a who’s who of Bunzing’s Martha look-alikes. After seeing all I could stomach, I went back to the office. I normally closed the door (so I could quietly sob.) Since the thundering herd of women there disliked the attention of men (or so they said…), I had never been summoned from my office redoubt. That day, I heard a knock. Opening it, I saw this stubby woman, five foot one, 220 pounds, in great shape if you had no concept of what women are supposed to look like.

Squat lady: “This is intolerable. You advertise that this is a place where any woman can come and not feel self-conscious, right??’

Me: “Yes, yes…no mirrors, no windows, and no men. So what’s the problem?”

Squat lady: “Well, you have that ad for 30 day trial memberships, and today this refugee from a Las Vegas chorus line is strutting her stuff, making us full-figured gals feel self-conscious. Either she goes or we go! Now get out here!”

I went out; as my eyes passed over the endless stretch of pink workout mats, I saw nothing but the usual herd of water buffaloes. Then, I saw her…Kay was her name; a mature blonde of 50 years. Statuesque, she DID look like a Vegas show girl though, at 50, she was a bit young. I discretely went up to her and brought her back to my office. The other wildebeests actually applauded, as if I had arrested a felon from their midst.

Me: “Hi, and your name is?”

Kay: “Kay; it’s short for Kay. I thought that you had a free 30 day trial offer. Is there some sort of problem?”

Me: “To be honest, the problem isn’t you, it’s the other women. You are clearly in, ummm, better shape than those other ‘women’. They come here to pretend to work out, then go to the food court at the mall and spend the rest of the day. You appear to actually diet and workout as a way of life. That depresses them. Look, it’s clear I can’t let you go back out on the floor. It’s equally clear that you have the right to be here, that ad-offer, etc. So, let’s have a compromise. You can work out in this office, if it’s alright. By tomorrow, I will get one of those mats; you will have music, a full length mirror, and champagne. How does that sound?”

I held my breath. She could go for the deal or threaten to sue unless she was allowed the full facility. To my relief, she just smiled, sauntered over to me and kissed me full on the lips. As that famous soccer announcer might say: “GOALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!”

That same day, like clockwork, Martha poked her head into the place. To her relief and delight, there was the usual waterhole’s worth of hippopotami working out. Not one of them had a chin or a recognizable figure. It was quite re-assuring to my no-neck monster wife. She came to the office and asked about the workout mat in my quarters. I told her that I got bored and wanted to work out myself once in awhile. I couldn’t very well go out and join the man-haters, so I was stuck in my office. Martha bought the explanation, smiling to herself about my confinement in this ten by fifteen foot prison.

Kay was due to start her regimen the next week. That was perfect as I could test Martha’s reliability and punctuality. As I thought, she would visit with atomic clock precision. I knew the ‘windows’ of safety and scheduled Kay’s visits accordingly.

The office had a back door which allowed her to park next to me and come and go unseen by the equine guests in the main room. Kay arrived in a beautiful Dior dress, carrying her workout roll-up bag. She changed in the one bathroom in the office and came out. I had champagne on a tray, ready to serve, the music already going (Kenny G). I almost spilled the bubbly when I saw her. I always laughed when I heard that ’50’ was the new ’40’, but she looked like ’30’. She was five foot six, 120 lbs.; I estimated she was 36D-25-37. Her hair was blonde, but tinged with generous amounts of gray too. If you ever saw the old ‘Bodyshaping’ workout shows, she was the spitting image of the incredible over-50 model (Jean) on the show.

Kay was wearing a skin-tight, white leotard that was as thin as the outer skin of an onion. I’m not exaggerating that I could see the freckles on her body. Her nipples were large and erect. They looked like the small corks in some brands of wine. Each wonderful bump around those protruding popping nipples was discernible. As to her ‘other point of interest’, she was definitely old school about her enticing triangle. The forest of beaver fluff was prominent; the molecular thin leotard allowed me to see individual blonde hairs of that incredibly inviting forest. God how I longed to place a much larger and harder log upon that forest and rub it backwards and forwards until a deluge of ‘white rain’ was emitted to drench her forest in goo.

Checking the clock on the wall, I had two hours before Martha’s visit. The music on the CD whispered as Kay worked out. As she warmed up, the leotard changed from thin but opaque to thin and transparent. She could see that I was pretending to work at the desk but had a big pup tent that had arisen during her yoga work.

Kay: “Would you like to join me during my workout?”

Me: “I’d love to. It might take a few minutes, though. I seem to have a swelling that has to go down.”

Kay: “I can see that swelling; it’s big….and gorgeous. Why don’t you let me worry about it; who knows, maybe I can get that swelling to go down. I had a knee that had a swelling; I just had to drain the fluid. Maybe all you need for that swelling is to drain the fluid.”

How coquettish of her! My biggest problem was to keep an eye on the clock (I actually set an alarm for 20 minutes’ warning before Martha was due) and to figure out how in the world to remove a leotard. It turns out, it was two pieces, both removed from the waist up or down accordingly. Soon, a 30 year old horny guy (your loyal narrator) and an unbelievably well-preserved 50 year old babe (Kay) were going at it hammer and tongs. That mat on the floor was perfect for unreserved and all-out sex. She was 20 years my senior but could out-fuck anyone I’d ever seen and outlast me.

We went ‘around the world’, but she insisted that I had the honors for the last act. Mounting her for the missionary climax, I inserted my ten inch prong into her slot. I didn’t need an extra boost, but I dragged my sensitive member back and forth across the crinkly forest of curled blond hair—that blessed beaver muff. It was so intoxicating; I actually felt sorry for the modern women with their tendency to clear-cut that area. Once I had reached super-hardness, I had her guide it in. My oversized and crude uncut cockhead tapped against her clitoris and dragged to and fro across the tingling lips of her pussy. Then, I took the plunge. Like hearing the claxons wailing in ‘Das Boot’, my submarine was diving into the unknown depths of this gorgeous creature.

She later told me that she could feel each serrated skin ending surrounding my cockhead as it was dragged across the hypersensitive tissues of her vaginal walls. When I finally was all the way in, I had more cock in reserve. She kept muttering “so big…so f-cking big!” as I hit the backwall and then slid sideways until butting up against my target. I had sensed that she had already come maybe three times.

I knew her breathing now and as she held her breath for a last orgasm, I joined her. With Blue Angel precision, we came together. As she moaned in ecstasy, tightening her hold on my babymaker inside her, my cock swelled. My testes, inflated to the size of avocadoes, pulled tightly against me. My entire body down there clenched and unclenched six times as I pumped gobs of life-giving seed into her fertile depths. My cum was once tested out as 96% pure sperm; it now dripped out of her well-fucked cunt.

This went on for months. I would time Kay’s appearance in my office for Martha’s schedule. We would fuck our brains out. Some things that should have been as clear as day didn’t percolate into my dime store brain.

1.Kay seemed to be gaining weight for some reason.

2.Her breasts were also enlarging; they had been perfect; now they were perfect but getting huge.

3.Her nipples were constantly erect.

4.Her belly was becoming…what’s the word: swollen?

Gee, perhaps she was pregnant? Here was this beautiful mature matron, obviously pregnant and almost as obviously pregnant due to me. One day, Kay sat on the chair having champagne with me (I never had the heart to tell her that mine was apple juice…I never drank and if I did, I would never drink champagne.) Who should saunter in but Martha. One of the herd of wildebeests in the main room was a friend of Martha and told her that she thought some hanky-panky might be going on in the office. So, Martha showed up unexpectedly. She found nothing, except for me having a drink with a pregnant woman.

Martha: “And who is this broad?” [She actually realized she knew her.]

Me: “This LADY is Kay. The only reason that she’s back here is that the herd of water buffalo out there didn’t want her around.”

Martha: “Yes, I heard that from my friend Fran, the slightly overweight redhead.” [Slightly? She was a good 220 lbs. easy; she could be an effective fullback on any NFL team.]

Martha: “My, my, you are as big as the women out there. I wonder why they didn’t want you among them? Could it be that this size isn’t from camping out at Chick-fil-A or Fannie Farmer?”

To Kay’s surprise and mine, Martha went up to her and ripped open that leotard. She stared into Kay’s eyes, but all the while massaged the thumb sized nipples that were constantly erect and throbbing on Kay’s perfect boobs. My homely wife kept up the pace as she now lectured her enemy.

Martha: “You know, you don’t look like one of my diet-challenged friends. You look like one of those lucky sluts who just shed pounds without dieting. My type always hated you sexpots. It’s just that…OH MY GOD, THERE’S MILK!!!”

She had been massaging the nipples relentlessly. Now, finally, rivulets of warm, sweet breastmilk first oozed and then sprayed out. Martha attached a hungry mouth and suckled voraciously. She finished one breast and then the other. God help me, as I heard her noisily drinking, I got red hot. Then, just as suddenly, she wiped her mouth as if it never happened.

Martha: “As you see, my interest is in that big belly. She’s obviously not fat; she’s in great shape. That belly is a baby bump. So, the mystery is: how did that happen. I know Kay and her husband, like Fran does. She said that the common gossip at church charity doings was that Kay’s hubby couldn’t ‘get it done’ anymore at 62. The hags at the cake sale wondered if she was going to find a new stud. Well, I guess she DID. And not just with anyone: she got back at me, her life-long enemy, by stealing my husband. Worse, she got him to bring a child into this cruel world…his seed into her. We had a bet back on the school playgrounds about who would win in life. I had won, only now to see I had lost it all.”

I had no idea that I had stumbled into a lifelong ‘battle royal’ between two lifelong enemies. By marrying one but then being stolen by the other, I had clearly established a winner and loser. It would be nice to say that I immediately ran home and tried to cheer up my no-neck monster wife. Well, no, I did nothing of the sort. I took my time getting home. When I got there, I had to call 9-1-1. Dear Martha had taken eleven of her sleeping pill prescription and was quite out of it. They told me if I had gone straight home, they could easily have saved her, but with the hours of delay, it was far too late. I wish, I really wish, I could say I was sad, but…

Martha by no means had her parents’ estate in her control, as they both were still living. Nonetheless, her own estate was $3million. Though her parents were extremely suspicious of me, the coroner’s findings were as clear as black and white.

I also inherited those two businesses. In honor of my dear departed wife, the tearoom was converted into ‘Martha’s Topless T-and-A Room’. The workout place was still called BABE, but I finally got to install those mirrors. As I expected, the herd of grazing water buffalo moved to the next watering hole; I then recruited local college babes and had some real foxes sweating to the new ‘oldies’. Just as before, Kay and I would hide ourselves back in the office.

She had asked me what to do about the baby. I told her to give birth…she had to keep my baby. As to her useless hubby, I figured out our campaign. Kay would warn him that she could go to the next cake sale and tell the truth (that she cheated on him and had a baby while in wedlock.) Of course, she could tell the hags that he had done the honors and was still quite the man. It was his choice. Well…IT WORKED! She said she never saw such a proud look on his old kisser! He was going to be a proud ‘papa’ at his advanced age. Well, that was our story and we would stick to it.

Kay was 50 when we first started our little relationship. I could afford to tour the world and hunt down the hottest gold-diggers, but I actually loved Kay. So, we kept up the charade for five more years. By then, we had used up all of her reproductive years. We had five children, all of which were attributed to her proud-as-punch hubby. One night, as he happily heard the bawling of ‘his’ throng of children in the mansion, he left this ‘veil of tears’ at the age of 67.

Now I could move into the home with Kay and our five children. If I was a gold-digger myself, a gigolo, a ‘tramp’ if you will, I had done well. I had $3million from my years of suffering with Martha, and now stood to gain $20million with Kay. Unlike Martha, however, I enjoyed the time with the beautiful and loving Kay, as well as our perfect little family of seven.

As this was almost a fairy tale, it would only make sense that it had a fairy tale ending.

Over the course of all this time, I had forgotten my two amigas de amor south-of-the-border: Lupita and her mom. After Kay passed on, I was left high and dry, having to struggle on with only a mansion, $23million, and a handful of children to raise (five). It then occurred to me that I might have a final chapter to this story just sitting and waiting for me.

I contacted the hotel where I had had that fateful honeymoon with Martha. Sure enough, Lupita was still working there as was her mother. They both now listed one child on their employee cards; both of the kids had an anglo name (i.e. my name). I spoke to them (thank goodness their English had improved, unlike my Spanish). Well, to make a long story short, I took my money and five kids and moved to Mexico. Instead of a nice home in Texas, we got an entire hacienda, including a nice herd of longhorn cattle.

Well, our digs were pretty nice. The seven kids were in a separate building, attended to by two aunts. Lupita and her mom shared the master bedroom with yours truly. Those two, fit as Olympic gymnasts from years of hard work, would be two parts of the best ménage-a-trois in history. We were all in good shape, and none of us would tire out until we had all gotten off. You can’t imagine how proud I felt after we finished and I got off the communal bed. There were two of the hottest Latinas that ever shook a booty, both of them dripping huge creampies from their still fertile cunts. Our big new digs had room for as many as fifteen ‘guests’; we already had seven children, so it was only fitting that we added eight more just to avoid having unused rooms. It was tough work, but someone had to do it. Best of all, with the kids being cared for in the separate building, the three of us could dispense with clothing all week-end. Talk about a man’s cave…I could watch ESPN to my heart’s content, with snacks served by naked Latina wenches. And, when the whim struck me, I could just pull one of them down, pump them for all they were worth, and make a heavy contribution to their deepest, warmest, recesses.

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