Erotic fiction and short sex stories

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The Threesome Chronicles Ch. 04: Mary Evans

Mary Meets Morgan

Then, when all was jilled off and done, the tears would flow, and flow, and flow. Micah would eventually come to bed, quietly slipping between the sheets next to me, but never quite touching. He never heard my tears, and I would drift into sleep with my cheeks against my pillow, dampened by desperation and defeat.

At times I would swear an oath to my determination to rise out of my morass, but found myself waking to no clue as to how it could be accomplished. And thus, I continued my life of quiet desperation.

But I had done something. It was just a matter of fitting into it.

I bought the swimsuit... the same swimsuit that Brynn and Jules had tried on with such hopeful expectations. The largest suit in that style was a size 6. I was a size 10. That meant I would have to lose weight and tone up to fit into something not really made for me. I'm not sure exactly why I did it, but I did.

"Maybe," I thought, "if I could just do enough to wake him out of his torpor and look at me sexually again, I might be able to revive what we had lost."

At least it was worth a try.

What I lacked though was a plan.

First, I had to change my diet; not just eat less, but totally change the way I thought about food. Second, I had to exercise, and not just taking an evening walk around the block. I signed up at the local YMCA, which offered everything from yoga to zumba. I had to make myself skinny and fit, and I couldn't let anything or anyone stop me. It was my life at stake. All or nothing, and nothing is what I had right now.

I announced to the family the next night at dinner that I was becoming a 'salad, vegetable, and fruit girl,' no more meat, cookies, fats, or, most astounding, cookies-and-cream ice cream for me. My son Beebee looked at me like his mom had been taken and replaced by some alien being from outer space. Micah smiled and rolled his eyes while he thought I wasn't looking. Jules gave me a thumbs up, not yet comprehending the intensity to which I was committing myself. It was late March, and I had April, May, and June (3 months) to become the woman of Micah's dreams, that is, if he still dreamed of women anymore.

The first few days of my new life were painful and punishing. After the first day, I decided that I would not be compulsive about standing on the scale overmuch. In fact, I put the scale away for a week, concentrating solely on exercise and diet. By day three, my body was screaming for meat and ice cream. I was strained both physically and mentally. My muscles, my stomach, and my brain were all rebelling against me. I was filled with doubt every minute of the day, and I crawled into bed sore and exhausted, unable to keep my eyes open more than a few seconds after my head touched the pillow.

Add to all of this my obligations to my family. My son's football practices, my daughter's cheerleading practices, cooking, laundry, paying bills. Everything became a constant struggle, overwhelming and hopeless. But I knew the scale would be my reward at the end of the week.

Then came Saturday morning... the end of week one. It was a crazy morning. That night there was a football game. I, bleary-eyed, fixed breakfast first for Micah, who had to meet someone at the airport, then for Beebee, who was spending the day with a friend on the team, and Jules who had to be at a special cheerleading practice, as it was homecoming.

When I dropped Jules off, I saw a few friends from my cheerleading days, in town for homecoming. They seemed happy. It made me wonder if I was alone in my situation and frustration. With my initial exercising adrenalin gone, my sadness and desperation returned with a vengeance. I couldn't wait to get home from dropping Jules off, pulling out the scale, and seeing the results of my hard work.

I tentatively pulled the scale out from under the bedsheets in the linen closet. I was hoping for a twelve to fifteen pound difference, but I decided I'd be happy with ten, if it was as meager as that. I gingerly stepped upon the weighing plate. I couldn't believe my eyes... TWO!

My expectations and dreams came crashing down around me. I knew the moment I stepped off the scale how foolish I had been. I drove by the grocery store on the way to pick up Jules and Brynn, who was spending the afternoon with us. I hardly spoke, but luckily, due to their constant chatter, it wasn't noticed. We got home and the two girls were still giggling and chattering away like magpies as they ran up the stairs to change. I watched them as they climbed, envious of their tight, muscular toned hams and incredibly cute bottoms.

"My life was hopeless!" a voice within me intoned.

I plopped my fat behind down at the dining room table, pulling out the half gallon tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream I had just bought at the store. My fingers jangled through the silverware, withdrawing a large soupspoon, and with it I dug in. I ate with my forehead supported by my left hand as I shovelled the ice cream into my mouth. My eyes were pooling with tears I couldn't hold back. If a classical Greek sculptor were to create an image in stone and name it DEFEAT, it would be me at that moment.

"Are you ok, Mom?" I heard Jules' voice come from out of nowhere.

I looked up from my binge, and tears dribbled helplessly down my cheeks. I stared at Jules, with Brynn standing right behind her. Both were staring at me curiously. I was at the end of my rope, no weight loss, sexless, frustrated, and old. I didn't care if what I said was appropriate or not. I just had to unburden on someone. In a moment of total desperation, I burst out screaming my complaint to the apathetic world around me.

"Hell no! I'm not ok. Other women my age are still having babies and screwing like rabbits. I haven't had a decent fuck in over five years. I'm fat. I'm frustrated as hell. My husband doesn't even look at me anymore. My cunt aches for a cock to fill it, but I lie around like a discarded whore, wondering why I just don't go to a fucking bar and pick up the first guy who looks up my skirt. Two motherfucking pounds! Shit! I'm a fucking failure if I can't lose even two pounds in a week. It'll never fit and I will never fuck again!"

Jules looked at me in stunned disbelief. The shock of the words and intimate revelations regarding her parents brought an instant cascade of tears to her eyes. She ran from the room. I heard her door slam upstairs. That left Brynn and me. I knew my tirade had royally fucked things up, which gave me more reason to admit that I was a worthless wife and mother.

"Don't worry about her, Mrs. Evans," Brynn volunteered, seemingly the only one there unaffected by my fucking tirade. "I'll talk with her and she'll be ok."

I stared at her, tear-streaked, with a mouth full of ice cream. She was cool as a cucumber. As if reading my mind, she offered an explanation.

"My parents divorced three years ago. I've been through this when I was just about Jules' age. I'm more worried about you. After high school I intend to study physical therapy. In fact, I've already attended classes at the community college. Your lack of weight loss is not what you think. You're converting fat to muscle, and muscle weighs more than fat. You should celebrate that conversion, but not by binging on ice cream.

"Tomorrow," she continued, "talk to Morgan at the YMCA. Here's the extension to connect you when you get there. I'm sure things will become much clearer when you two meet."

With that she bounded back upstairs. I followed her perfectly toned ass, slightly revealed by her short shorts, and hope began to percolate once more deep inside of me. She made perfect sense, and I felt encouraged by what she said. I got up and threw the spoon into the sink on my way to the door. Outside, I began walking, tossing the ice cream into the dumpster behind the convenience store at the end of the street. I walked for a while then began running. Jules? I'd straighten things out with her when I returned. My husband? He wouldn't have a chance if... no... when I reached my goal.

I walked into my house rejuvenated, sweaty, renewed in my purpose. I pulled off my t-shirt on the way to the shower, and sporting only sports bra and shorts, I passed Jules' room. She was sitting on her bed with a worried look in her eyes, still talking with Brynn. Despite my foolish embarrassment over my previous announcement, I realized my obligations as a mother. I sidled into the room and sat at the end of the bed.

"Jules," I began my apology, "I'm really sorry for what I said. You are only fourteen and I was wrong to speak of such things. Just know that your Father and I love each other very much, and on that you can depend forever. It's just that..."

"It's ok, Mom," she intruded into my moment of hesitation, "I'm grown up enough to know that into everyone's life a little rain must fall. I know what you are facing, and I'm proud of you. Sorry for acting so childish back there. Things just kinda caught me by surprise. Brynn and I have been talking and have deicided we will be there for you every step of the way. When the rain falls we will do our best to be your umbrella, and we'll all get through this together."

"But I can't let you do that," I retorted. "This is my problem, not yours."

"No, Mrs. Evans," Brynn argued. "This is as much Jules' problem as yours. She has a duty to her family just as much as you. I've been through this. If I could go back a few years, I would have done anything to keep my family together."

"But what can the two of you do?"

"Oh, Brynn and I have come up with a few ideas, Mom, but we want them to be a surprise."

I have come to believe there is a bond between mother and daughter that sometimes, especially in moments of crises, transcends age and relationship. I knew that through my crisis, Jules, with Brynn's help, was there for me, just as I would be there for her in the many crises that a young woman would have to survive to become a mature adult in the world.

Monday came and I was up early and ready to step into the Y when they first opened their doors. I signed in and asked the receptionist to connect me to Morgan, and we arranged to meet in the weight room as soon as I had changed into my gym clothes. Imagine my surprise when Morgan turned out to be a woman. Not that I hadn't met women named Morgan before, it was just that I was expecting, maybe even hoping, that this one would be a male.

We shook hands and began to talk, but she noticed I was rather reluctant to tell all to a stranger, especially since others had arrived and were milling around the weights. She invited me into her makeshift office/dressing room, and we sat down with some hot, relaxing herbal tea. I must say, Morgan had a way about her that put me instantly at ease. We talked for a long time until she finally sat back and cut to the chase, so to speak.

"Why are you putting yourself through all this?" she inquired.

"I... I just want to be stronger and healthier," I answered, trying my best to sound convincing.

"Bullshit!" she retorted. "Who are you trying to impress? And do you seriously think it will work?"

"My husband, and I haven't the faintest idea," was my answer to her two questions.

"Well," she snickered, "at least you're honest. And I'll be honest with you in return. Brynn and your daughter, Jules, called me over the weekend, and told me what you had told them. It's ok! Don't blush. I have only one question. What is it, exactly, you are trying to fit into?"

I blushed an even deeper red as I reached into my tote bag and pulled out the tiny excuse for a swim suit. The entire thing, folded up, fit into the palm of my hand. I dropped it onto her desk, waiting for some kind of humorous retort. I was thinking, at this point, that I was glad Morgan turned out to be a female. I don't think I could have gathered the gumption to expose my ridiculous dreams to a man.

She fingered the suit, examining it closely, looking up at me every few seconds as if assessing the possibilities.

"Do you trust me, Mary?" she asked, "because this will take everything in your power to accomplish. We are going to be working very specifically on shapes, diets, and muscles in very intimate circumstances, almost as though I were a second skin at times. I need to know if you are in for the distance. Otherwise I'm afraid we'll both be wasting our time."

This caused some hesitation on my part, but as I was 'in for a penny... in for a pound,' I saw no reason to object.

"Yes," I said, "I trust you completely."

"Good," she continued, "now take your clothes off."

"What?" I replied, rather taken by surprise.

"Clothes off already. Gotta take some notes."

I took my clothes off until I was standing in only my panties.

"White cotton?" she asked, rhetorically. "Off with 'em."

I pulled them down, feeling her eyes analyzing every nook and cranny. I blushed, turning my skin a hot, playful, seductive hue. Something in the way she stared at me gave me goosebumps. I was beginning to wonder if it was a sexual impulse I was feeling as she surveyed me intimately. I had never felt anything like this in the presence of another woman. It puzzled me in a way I was at a loss to explain.

She ran her hands along my sides, across my stomach and lower abdomen, weighing my breasts in her cupped palm, pinching the excess fat on my butt, taking notes here and there. I pressed my thighs together as my crotch moistened. It was bad enough that my nipples were betraying my aroused state.

Morgan sat down and asked me to dress, which I was more than happy to oblige. She picked up the bikini thong and looked at me, her eyes daring me to prevaricate.

"Tell me, Mary, what you were feeling when you bought this?"

"Well," I began, "let me think..."

"Nix that!" she interrupted. "Thinking is forbidden for the next few moments. You are standing in the store, looking at a rack of decent one-piece, cover-up-my-butt bathing suits, and suddenly you decide to buy this. Let go of your mind. I don't care what you say. Just let it flow. Most of us spend far too much time justifying the things we do, afraid to admit our real reasons for doing them, either because they are morally wrong and unacceptable, or we are afraid to bring our doubts and shortcomings out into the open."

This was a new way of approaching the matter that had been the cause of misery and shame for years now. Like a dam bursting, I followed her advice, and began to pour out my feelings, fears, and doubts.

"I want to love and be loved again... no, not only that... I want to fuck and be fucked again. I want my husband to get a hard on just by looking at me. I want to be hot! I want to arouse him in ways hitherto unexplored. I want him to want me, to want his cock in my mouth, my pussy, and even my ass, if that's what it will take.

"I don't see my body engendering any desire in my husband, but maybe if I had the body of young girl, which is what I was when we first met and fucked in college, maybe, just maybe, he would want to look up from his damn laptop, and fuck me. Is that too much to wish for?"

Morgan looked at me for a breathless moment, and smiled.

"You may just have what it takes, and no, I don't think that is too much to wish for. The problem is, it's clear what you want. Now, what does your husband want?"

"He doesn't want me, obviously."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she countered. "We need to find out what's going on in that brain of his."

"And how can we possibly do that?" I asked.

"It's not as hard as one might think," she responded. "They say that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach? I would venture to say a way to a man's mind is through his laptop."

"I don't understand."

"Get with it, Mary. The world has changed in the past few years. Porn is ubiquitous... everywhere. Men can't stay away from it, and if you are cunning, you will find where he has been and with whom he has chatted. Then and only then, will you be able to know his intimate desires and act on them."

Something seemed dishonest about looking into his private laptop and spying on him in such a manner, but then, if it was true, wasn't looking at porn behind my back dishonest? And what might I find? Would it actually make things better, or would it open a veritable Pandora's box of troubles. Morgan could see my hesitancy.

"Don't overthink it, Mary. You know what you need to do."

She was right. I knew what I needed to do. I not only needed to tone up and lose weight. I needed to relearn my husband, understand his desires. In essence, I needed to know what I had to do to make his dick so hard that he couldn't be satisfied with anything less than cumming in me... or on me.

From that moment forward, Morgan became not only my personal trainer, she became my thinking machine, my clarifier, the one who simplified my thoughts when my head became overwhelmed with contradictions and complications.

I liked Morgan. I'm not sure what appealed to me, but I always felt she could be trusted. I liked the way she thought, the way she looked, the way she moved. She always wore the same outfit to the gym... a one-piece swimsuit with the hips cut very high, so that you could see her hips rising from her baggy sweatpants which she always wore so low that they looked as if any moment they could fall to her ankles. She always had a smile. I had lost my ability to smile like that. I felt like she had the key to teach me to smile again.

My first day with her was spent lifting weights, zumba, lifting weights again, yoga, swimming, then another session in private, involving me completely stripping, while she instructed me with voice and touch, which specific muscles we were going to firm up and how it would be accomplished. She was explicit and unmistakably clear with her instructions. Once again, I had a reaction to her touch that I couldn't explain, tightening my thighs as not to reveal the wetness in between my legs.

After a couple of weeks, I began to finally notice a change, not actually in weight, but in waist size as well as attitude. Morgan never let up, guiding me through a regimen of exercise and diet that was both enlightening and invigorating. At home I wore clothes that covered up my physical changes. I intended for the change to be immediate and impressive when the right moment presented itself.

It was also about this time that my husband had an all-day shmoozing and boozing recruitment/entertainment outing with a prospective foreign client, leaving his computer on the desk in his office at home. Finally! I rushed with it to Morgan, who cracked her knuckles and sat down to explore its hidden depths. She didn't have to search far. Obviously, Micah never thought I'd look, because we were able to find several folders in the documents and pictures start menu tab that gave us just the information we wanted.

One folder was filled with videos and pics he had downloaded having to do solely with threesomes involving two men and one female. I would estimate there were about two hundred pictures and thirty videos. A second folder was full of threesomes also, but this time two girls and a man. The girls were all young and petite, and the men were all about Micah's age and size. I counted approximately three hundred fifty pictures and twenty-five videos. The third and final folder seemed an odd assortment of themes quite random: father/daughter videos, female masturbation, anal, and some shemale themes.

"Bingo!" Morgan cried. "This is absolutely delicious!"Mary Meets Morgan

Then, when all was jilled off and done, the tears would flow, and flow, and flow. Micah would eventually come to bed, quietly slipping between the sheets next to me, but never quite touching. He never heard my tears, and I would drift into sleep with my cheeks against my pillow, dampened by desperation and defeat.

At times I would swear an oath to my determination to rise out of my morass, but found myself waking to no clue as to how it could be accomplished. And thus, I continued my life of quiet desperation.

But I had done something. It was just a matter of fitting into it.

I bought the swimsuit... the same swimsuit that Brynn and Jules had tried on with such hopeful expectations. The largest suit in that style was a size 6. I was a size 10. That meant I would have to lose weight and tone up to fit into something not really made for me. I'm not sure exactly why I did it, but I did.

"Maybe," I thought, "if I could just do enough to wake him out of his torpor and look at me sexually again, I might be able to revive what we had lost."

At least it was worth a try.

What I lacked though was a plan.

First, I had to change my diet; not just eat less, but totally change the way I thought about food. Second, I had to exercise, and not just taking an evening walk around the block. I signed up at the local YMCA, which offered everything from yoga to zumba. I had to make myself skinny and fit, and I couldn't let anything or anyone stop me. It was my life at stake. All or nothing, and nothing is what I had right now.

I announced to the family the next night at dinner that I was becoming a 'salad, vegetable, and fruit girl,' no more meat, cookies, fats, or, most astounding, cookies-and-cream ice cream for me. My son Beebee looked at me like his mom had been taken and replaced by some alien being from outer space. Micah smiled and rolled his eyes while he thought I wasn't looking. Jules gave me a thumbs up, not yet comprehending the intensity to which I was committing myself. It was late March, and I had April, May, and June (3 months) to become the woman of Micah's dreams, that is, if he still dreamed of women anymore.

The first few days of my new life were painful and punishing. After the first day, I decided that I would not be compulsive about standing on the scale overmuch. In fact, I put the scale away for a week, concentrating solely on exercise and diet. By day three, my body was screaming for meat and ice cream. I was strained both physically and mentally. My muscles, my stomach, and my brain were all rebelling against me. I was filled with doubt every minute of the day, and I crawled into bed sore and exhausted, unable to keep my eyes open more than a few seconds after my head touched the pillow.

Add to all of this my obligations to my family. My son's football practices, my daughter's cheerleading practices, cooking, laundry, paying bills. Everything became a constant struggle, overwhelming and hopeless. But I knew the scale would be my reward at the end of the week.

Then came Saturday morning... the end of week one. It was a crazy morning. That night there was a football game. I, bleary-eyed, fixed breakfast first for Micah, who had to meet someone at the airport, then for Beebee, who was spending the day with a friend on the team, and Jules who had to be at a special cheerleading practice, as it was homecoming.

When I dropped Jules off, I saw a few friends from my cheerleading days, in town for homecoming. They seemed happy. It made me wonder if I was alone in my situation and frustration. With my initial exercising adrenalin gone, my sadness and desperation returned with a vengeance. I couldn't wait to get home from dropping Jules off, pulling out the scale, and seeing the results of my hard work.

I tentatively pulled the scale out from under the bedsheets in the linen closet. I was hoping for a twelve to fifteen pound difference, but I decided I'd be happy with ten, if it was as meager as that. I gingerly stepped upon the weighing plate. I couldn't believe my eyes... TWO!

My expectations and dreams came crashing down around me. I knew the moment I stepped off the scale how foolish I had been. I drove by the grocery store on the way to pick up Jules and Brynn, who was spending the afternoon with us. I hardly spoke, but luckily, due to their constant chatter, it wasn't noticed. We got home and the two girls were still giggling and chattering away like magpies as they ran up the stairs to change. I watched them as they climbed, envious of their tight, muscular toned hams and incredibly cute bottoms.

"My life was hopeless!" a voice within me intoned.

I plopped my fat behind down at the dining room table, pulling out the half gallon tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream I had just bought at the store. My fingers jangled through the silverware, withdrawing a large soupspoon, and with it I dug in. I ate with my forehead supported by my left hand as I shovelled the ice cream into my mouth. My eyes were pooling with tears I couldn't hold back. If a classical Greek sculptor were to create an image in stone and name it DEFEAT, it would be me at that moment.

"Are you ok, Mom?" I heard Jules' voice come from out of nowhere.

I looked up from my binge, and tears dribbled helplessly down my cheeks. I stared at Jules, with Brynn standing right behind her. Both were staring at me curiously. I was at the end of my rope, no weight loss, sexless, frustrated, and old. I didn't care if what I said was appropriate or not. I just had to unburden on someone. In a moment of total desperation, I burst out screaming my complaint to the apathetic world around me.

"Hell no! I'm not ok. Other women my age are still having babies and screwing like rabbits. I haven't had a decent fuck in over five years. I'm fat. I'm frustrated as hell. My husband doesn't even look at me anymore. My cunt aches for a cock to fill it, but I lie around like a discarded whore, wondering why I just don't go to a fucking bar and pick up the first guy who looks up my skirt. Two motherfucking pounds! Shit! I'm a fucking failure if I can't lose even two pounds in a week. It'll never fit and I will never fuck again!"

Jules looked at me in stunned disbelief. The shock of the words and intimate revelations regarding her parents brought an instant cascade of tears to her eyes. She ran from the room. I heard her door slam upstairs. That left Brynn and me. I knew my tirade had royally fucked things up, which gave me more reason to admit that I was a worthless wife and mother.

"Don't worry about her, Mrs. Evans," Brynn volunteered, seemingly the only one there unaffected by my fucking tirade. "I'll talk with her and she'll be ok."

I stared at her, tear-streaked, with a mouth full of ice cream. She was cool as a cucumber. As if reading my mind, she offered an explanation.

"My parents divorced three years ago. I've been through this when I was just about Jules' age. I'm more worried about you. After high school I intend to study physical therapy. In fact, I've already attended classes at the community college. Your lack of weight loss is not what you think. You're converting fat to muscle, and muscle weighs more than fat. You should celebrate that conversion, but not by binging on ice cream.

"Tomorrow," she continued, "talk to Morgan at the YMCA. Here's the extension to connect you when you get there. I'm sure things will become much clearer when you two meet."

With that she bounded back upstairs. I followed her perfectly toned ass, slightly revealed by her short shorts, and hope began to percolate once more deep inside of me. She made perfect sense, and I felt encouraged by what she said. I got up and threw the spoon into the sink on my way to the door. Outside, I began walking, tossing the ice cream into the dumpster behind the convenience store at the end of the street. I walked for a while then began running. Jules? I'd straighten things out with her when I returned. My husband? He wouldn't have a chance if... no... when I reached my goal.

I walked into my house rejuvenated, sweaty, renewed in my purpose. I pulled off my t-shirt on the way to the shower, and sporting only sports bra and shorts, I passed Jules' room. She was sitting on her bed with a worried look in her eyes, still talking with Brynn. Despite my foolish embarrassment over my previous announcement, I realized my obligations as a mother. I sidled into the room and sat at the end of the bed.

"Jules," I began my apology, "I'm really sorry for what I said. You are only fourteen and I was wrong to speak of such things. Just know that your Father and I love each other very much, and on that you can depend forever. It's just that..."

"It's ok, Mom," she intruded into my moment of hesitation, "I'm grown up enough to know that into everyone's life a little rain must fall. I know what you are facing, and I'm proud of you. Sorry for acting so childish back there. Things just kinda caught me by surprise. Brynn and I have been talking and have deicided we will be there for you every step of the way. When the rain falls we will do our best to be your umbrella, and we'll all get through this together."

"But I can't let you do that," I retorted. "This is my problem, not yours."

"No, Mrs. Evans," Brynn argued. "This is as much Jules' problem as yours. She has a duty to her family just as much as you. I've been through this. If I could go back a few years, I would have done anything to keep my family together."

"But what can the two of you do?"

"Oh, Brynn and I have come up with a few ideas, Mom, but we want them to be a surprise."

I have come to believe there is a bond between mother and daughter that sometimes, especially in moments of crises, transcends age and relationship. I knew that through my crisis, Jules, with Brynn's help, was there for me, just as I would be there for her in the many crises that a young woman would have to survive to become a mature adult in the world.

Monday came and I was up early and ready to step into the Y when they first opened their doors. I signed in and asked the receptionist to connect me to Morgan, and we arranged to meet in the weight room as soon as I had changed into my gym clothes. Imagine my surprise when Morgan turned out to be a woman. Not that I hadn't met women named Morgan before, it was just that I was expecting, maybe even hoping, that this one would be a male.

We shook hands and began to talk, but she noticed I was rather reluctant to tell all to a stranger, especially since others had arrived and were milling around the weights. She invited me into her makeshift office/dressing room, and we sat down with some hot, relaxing herbal tea. I must say, Morgan had a way about her that put me instantly at ease. We talked for a long time until she finally sat back and cut to the chase, so to speak.

"Why are you putting yourself through all this?" she inquired.

"I... I just want to be stronger and healthier," I answered, trying my best to sound convincing.

"Bullshit!" she retorted. "Who are you trying to impress? And do you seriously think it will work?"

"My husband, and I haven't the faintest idea," was my answer to her two questions.

"Well," she snickered, "at least you're honest. And I'll be honest with you in return. Brynn and your daughter, Jules, called me over the weekend, and told me what you had told them. It's ok! Don't blush. I have only one question. What is it, exactly, you are trying to fit into?"

I blushed an even deeper red as I reached into my tote bag and pulled out the tiny excuse for a swim suit. The entire thing, folded up, fit into the palm of my hand. I dropped it onto her desk, waiting for some kind of humorous retort. I was thinking, at this point, that I was glad Morgan turned out to be a female. I don't think I could have gathered the gumption to expose my ridiculous dreams to a man.

She fingered the suit, examining it closely, looking up at me every few seconds as if assessing the possibilities.

"Do you trust me, Mary?" she asked, "because this will take everything in your power to accomplish. We are going to be working very specifically on shapes, diets, and muscles in very intimate circumstances, almost as though I were a second skin at times. I need to know if you are in for the distance. Otherwise I'm afraid we'll both be wasting our time."

This caused some hesitation on my part, but as I was 'in for a penny... in for a pound,' I saw no reason to object.

"Yes," I said, "I trust you completely."

"Good," she continued, "now take your clothes off."

"What?" I replied, rather taken by surprise.

"Clothes off already. Gotta take some notes."

I took my clothes off until I was standing in only my panties.

"White cotton?" she asked, rhetorically. "Off with 'em."

I pulled them down, feeling her eyes analyzing every nook and cranny. I blushed, turning my skin a hot, playful, seductive hue. Something in the way she stared at me gave me goosebumps. I was beginning to wonder if it was a sexual impulse I was feeling as she surveyed me intimately. I had never felt anything like this in the presence of another woman. It puzzled me in a way I was at a loss to explain.

She ran her hands along my sides, across my stomach and lower abdomen, weighing my breasts in her cupped palm, pinching the excess fat on my butt, taking notes here and there. I pressed my thighs together as my crotch moistened. It was bad enough that my nipples were betraying my aroused state.

Morgan sat down and asked me to dress, which I was more than happy to oblige. She picked up the bikini thong and looked at me, her eyes daring me to prevaricate.

"Tell me, Mary, what you were feeling when you bought this?"

"Well," I began, "let me think..."

"Nix that!" she interrupted. "Thinking is forbidden for the next few moments. You are standing in the store, looking at a rack of decent one-piece, cover-up-my-butt bathing suits, and suddenly you decide to buy this. Let go of your mind. I don't care what you say. Just let it flow. Most of us spend far too much time justifying the things we do, afraid to admit our real reasons for doing them, either because they are morally wrong and unacceptable, or we are afraid to bring our doubts and shortcomings out into the open."

This was a new way of approaching the matter that had been the cause of misery and shame for years now. Like a dam bursting, I followed her advice, and began to pour out my feelings, fears, and doubts.

"I want to love and be loved again... no, not only that... I want to fuck and be fucked again. I want my husband to get a hard on just by looking at me. I want to be hot! I want to arouse him in ways hitherto unexplored. I want him to want me, to want his cock in my mouth, my pussy, and even my ass, if that's what it will take.

"I don't see my body engendering any desire in my husband, but maybe if I had the body of young girl, which is what I was when we first met and fucked in college, maybe, just maybe, he would want to look up from his damn laptop, and fuck me. Is that too much to wish for?"

Morgan looked at me for a breathless moment, and smiled.

"You may just have what it takes, and no, I don't think that is too much to wish for. The problem is, it's clear what you want. Now, what does your husband want?"

"He doesn't want me, obviously."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she countered. "We need to find out what's going on in that brain of his."

"And how can we possibly do that?" I asked.

"It's not as hard as one might think," she responded. "They say that a way to a man's heart is through his stomach? I would venture to say a way to a man's mind is through his laptop."

"I don't understand."

"Get with it, Mary. The world has changed in the past few years. Porn is ubiquitous... everywhere. Men can't stay away from it, and if you are cunning, you will find where he has been and with whom he has chatted. Then and only then, will you be able to know his intimate desires and act on them."

Something seemed dishonest about looking into his private laptop and spying on him in such a manner, but then, if it was true, wasn't looking at porn behind my back dishonest? And what might I find? Would it actually make things better, or would it open a veritable Pandora's box of troubles. Morgan could see my hesitancy.

"Don't overthink it, Mary. You know what you need to do."

She was right. I knew what I needed to do. I not only needed to tone up and lose weight. I needed to relearn my husband, understand his desires. In essence, I needed to know what I had to do to make his dick so hard that he couldn't be satisfied with anything less than cumming in me... or on me.

From that moment forward, Morgan became not only my personal trainer, she became my thinking machine, my clarifier, the one who simplified my thoughts when my head became overwhelmed with contradictions and complications.

I liked Morgan. I'm not sure what appealed to me, but I always felt she could be trusted. I liked the way she thought, the way she looked, the way she moved. She always wore the same outfit to the gym... a one-piece swimsuit with the hips cut very high, so that you could see her hips rising from her baggy sweatpants which she always wore so low that they looked as if any moment they could fall to her ankles. She always had a smile. I had lost my ability to smile like that. I felt like she had the key to teach me to smile again.

My first day with her was spent lifting weights, zumba, lifting weights again, yoga, swimming, then another session in private, involving me completely stripping, while she instructed me with voice and touch, which specific muscles we were going to firm up and how it would be accomplished. She was explicit and unmistakably clear with her instructions. Once again, I had a reaction to her touch that I couldn't explain, tightening my thighs as not to reveal the wetness in between my legs.

After a couple of weeks, I began to finally notice a change, not actually in weight, but in waist size as well as attitude. Morgan never let up, guiding me through a regimen of exercise and diet that was both enlightening and invigorating. At home I wore clothes that covered up my physical changes. I intended for the change to be immediate and impressive when the right moment presented itself.

It was also about this time that my husband had an all-day shmoozing and boozing recruitment/entertainment outing with a prospective foreign client, leaving his computer on the desk in his office at home. Finally! I rushed with it to Morgan, who cracked her knuckles and sat down to explore its hidden depths. She didn't have to search far. Obviously, Micah never thought I'd look, because we were able to find several folders in the documents and pictures start menu tab that gave us just the information we wanted.

One folder was filled with videos and pics he had downloaded having to do solely with threesomes involving two men and one female. I would estimate there were about two hundred pictures and thirty videos. A second folder was full of threesomes also, but this time two girls and a man. The girls were all young and petite, and the men were all about Micah's age and size. I counted approximately three hundred fifty pictures and twenty-five videos. The third and final folder seemed an odd assortment of themes quite random: father/daughter videos, female masturbation, anal, and some shemale themes.

"Bingo!" Morgan cried. "This is absolutely delicious!"

evans   threesome   mary   the   chronicles  

Apr 30, 2018 in anal

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