The Doggie Bag

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Alex Grey

The Doggie Bag (2021) by The Wread Aitch

Thanks to HTH_Pooka for the attention to detail that it took to edit this story and question the value of certain words. Every remaining error in the text belongs to me. Mostly, because I have a tendency to keep changing things as I go along.

This is a standalone story that contains a married cuckquean as well as light scat and urine references. If those things might upset you, do not read further.

The Doggie Bag (2021) by The Wread Aitch

The cooking and cleaning were done and the children that they loved, exhausted by a long Saturday loaded with activities and an evening’s worth of streams and microwave popcorn, had eventually trundled off to sleep. She was finally able to concentrate a little bit of her energy upon her upcoming Saturday evening basement session. It was something she had been thinking about all week long, getting a little hornier each weekday until this day which she had spent almost irritated by impatient desire.

There was no time for a quick shower even had she wanted one. Josh had texted that he would be home in ten minutes.

So, instead of fresh-showered cleanliness for her husband’s arrival, she grabbed the basement vibrator out of her nightstand and made her way thru the kitchen and down the stairs and into the small quiet “guest” bedroom that she had apportioned from the basement space reserved for entertaining and for children’s activities.

This purple and white rubbery vibrator smelt mostly of silicone; always a disappointment. She sat upon the full-size bed and pulled her tired polyester socks off. Her feet were damp from a full weekend day of momming and there were still a dozen little things crowding tomorrow’s agenda. She flexed her freed toes appreciatively. While she supposed that she had a little bit of a foot fetish, Josh did not share her interest. A pity really. She pulled her right foot up onto her lap and then brought her face down to meet it. Her big toe went comfortingly into her mouth and the salty taste reassured her just as the funky smell of her foot wafted to her nostrils. Despite her size, she could still do that at least.

After several minutes of gentle sucking and a tongue bath for each of her precious right little piggies, she reversed the process and gave her left foot separate but equal treatment; idly feeling her striated belly folds bunching while she played. She could feel herself relaxing and getting excited at the same time. She stood and quickly doffed her grey sweats and pulled her mom-shirt over her head. She folded her pants and top neatly and added her bra to the mix; leaving her standing in her white satin underpants. Although she was alone, she felt horribly exposed standing almost naked in these sensible white panties which felt a bit humid and always too tight around her generous hips. She sat back down on the quilted blanket to pull her underwear off. For some reason, she could take her pants off standing up, but she always preferred to sit down to pull her panties off. It was just safer that way. She raised the crotch of her underwear to her face and inhaled the full measure of herself, including her fresh excitement. She smelled really good. She tossed the pair towards her stacked clothes and was displeased to see that they landed with the crotch facing up. And since they were fairly old underwear, the gusset wasn’t sparkling white any longer.

Well, she didn’t want Josh to see that, so she got up and padded over to the chair to bury her underwear under the rest of her clothing.

Quickly back under the covers, she spread her short heavy legs and fingered herself idly thinking of Josh, who would be returning shortly.

Married for fifteen years now, they had met and fallen in love when she had stood five feet two in her stocking feet and would spin around 105 pounds, give or take. Fresh out of separate colleges and new to being Project Managers in the automotive industry; their relationship bloomed along with their careers.

For his part, Josh hadn’t been as good looking at twenty-three as he was now. He hadn’t grown into his adulting face yet and his teeth hadn’t all decided to present a dazzling united front all on their own yet. Even his hair had been more unruly and tousled than it was now. Not to say he hadn’t had his natural grace. And Josh was as kind and nice a guy as any parent would ever want their daughter to meet. And a natural smile that melted hearts.

Josh had taken to the corporate world like a duck to water. He shined on every work committee, both as a team member and inevitably as the face of the group. He got bigger and more varied assignments than anyone in the year they had started and he flourished; building contacts and climbing payscale ladders at a rate that assured her before they even married that they would probably be buying their third new home in an exclusive subdivision before their storybook children ever started at the perfect public high school.

For her part, she had project-managed escort bursa at an acceptable pace right up until they had been married (huge wedding and everyone so gorgeous) and the babies had started showing up. All of a sudden, it was quite apparent to her that she would function best in the future as nurturer and homemaker while Josh continued his corporate ascent. So she had left the rapid pace and varied directions of the business world to concentrate her attention on her husband, children, and home. In any order that you chose. Done, done, and done.

But honestly now, physical Josh was really something to experience. A loving husband and an involved father, he looked like he had just stepped off the splash screen of a men’s modeling website. He sported an unstudied mop of brown hair with natural golden highlights, His face was chiseled without an ounce of sag and his teeth flashed the warm smile that radiated from his pale blue eyes. And each of their kids had a measure of his beauty in their features.

He stood only six feet and weighed an unconscious 180 pounds. The kind of unicorn zaddy with the six-pack abs who runs on Sundays and who isn’t sore on Monday. Several times a week out in public, she would catch many a female and often a man just studying Josh’s features intently. For good measure, throw in some sculpted legs and calves to die for and an eight-inch scimitar penis that retained the curvature of a much younger man.

Meanwhile, in this comfortable bed, she knew she was compressing that hybrid mattress at a rate of one hundred and sixty-two pounds of pressure and that number never seemed to vary much. To her critical eye, her hips and belly had white shark bite scars and her belly button was now just a sad and pouty shadowy triangle that attracted lint. She had to pull her belly up a little bit to trim her bush correctly and that was never a good thing. No one ever wanted to see that in an adult video, she knew.

At a certain point, she had realized that she was no longer living up to her part of the marriage bargain. A king like Josh deserved a physically alluring queen and she felt she couldn’t be that for him anymore.

Josh claimed (and she truly believed him, despite all actions to the contrary) that their sex life was all he needed. But she found that over the past few years she had become unable to achieve any kind of orgasm during sex with her husband. She felt the disparity between their two bodies keenly and it weighed heavily on her. Running thoughts consumed and sidetracked her during any type of sex play and there it was: not a single orgasm. But later, in bed, she would imagine Josh with another woman. A woman of appropriate beauty for him. A woman that could keep up with him and who deserved to be seen on his arm. A woman more deserving of her husband’s physical attention. When she imagined Josh and another woman having sex, she would quickly slip down to the basement guest room for a quick jilling session that never failed to end in an earth-shattering orgasm, followed by minutes of quiet after-play. Sometimes she might even squirt a teaspoon or so of fluid, though those orgasms weren’t necessarily better–merely different.

So, one night, after certain deliberations, she gave her unwilling and incredulous husband a halting confession and explanation as well as a hall pass to have sex with other women. Josh kind of flipped out when she made the offer and she had to quiet his astonished questions just to tell him the rest of the story. The part where he needed to come home and humiliate her. He needed to make her aware of the difference between the woman he had fucked and the woman he was married to now. That was all part of her fantasy. That was what she wanted him to do.

He hadn’t ever seen it coming. He was also stunned to hear that her ability to orgasm with him had ended. He did declare that she was depressed and she easily conceded the point. While she now received counseling, she remained adamant that she wanted her husband to play around. And tell her about it. While she collected material for her masturbatory fantasies. All the while never mentioning a word of it to her therapist. She’d take that shit to the grave.

Josh resisted admirably, thinking it was just another fetish she had, like the smells she liked, or her foot fetish. Or the fact that she didn’t mind playing with her pee or his for that matter. None of those things ever moved the dial for Josh. She really didn’t think he had a fetish.

But she was persistent, begging him to go along with her vision. Orgasms for both of them; just not necessarily at the same time. Or the same place. Or for the same reason.

Josh went thru all the stages of grief for his old marriage relationship, the first being Denial. During Denial, Josh made tender love to her without any satisfying result on her part. The same went for impromptu or special sex, such as with the piss and the feet. Urine flying everywhere it seemed and that one impromptu occasion where g├Âr├╝kle escort Josh’s big toe ended up lodged in her behind. And all the rimming. Exciting and all and she loved every session. She could get maybe eighty percent of the way to an orgasm, but couldn’t finish. It was just a waste of time for her to copulate with the sexiest man she (and most of her friends) had ever known.

For his part, Josh slowly realized the enormity and complexity of their problem and got angry.

During Anger came the arguments, both rational and irrational; planned and unplanned; where her husband swore that her body changes meant nothing to him and never had. He told her that any woman who had delivered three children (‘vaginally’, he always stressed) might be entitled to “a little leeway” with regard to a weight problem or a few stretch marks or a pair of saddlebags, blah, blah, blah. Josh wasn’t stupid and his impassioned arguments were pretty persuasive. Especially, when he provided attentive foreplay while he orated. But none of those arguments provided orgasmic relief. The only relief she felt was when her husband moved on from Anger into Bargaining.

Bargaining for Josh entailed attempts to gain some power and influence in the direction this “experiment” would go. He bargained for a short trial period and he bargained for a “voice in the process” and for an equal vote. He bargained for rules and mentioned a “creative role”.

Being a former corporate person, she truly admired his elegance and his friendly mutual logic and she almost crumbled. But in the end, she made sure Josh realized that they didn’t have a solution better than his cooperation and she expected that cooperation for free if he loved her as much as he said he did. She didn’t believe herself when she said it, but she saw the hurt in his eyes. He gave up bargaining and launched into depression.

Fortunately, for her plan, Josh had compartmentalized Depression to the sexual area of his life. His work and their shared home life remained rewarding and fulfilling and she did for him and their family with obvious love. She allowed Josh some space but she kept the lines of communication open. And after a suitable period of grieving for his lost sexual relationship, she told her husband the lie that would galvanize him.

In bed one night, she gently told her husband about her new inability to reach orgasm through masturbation. She explained how she had tried and failed several times. She reminded him that he was the only one who could start a fix to their problem. She watched him review his limited options and cast about for any other solution before he accepted the pact which called for him to have sex outside of marriage and relate the details to her for her sexual humiliation and benefit. Josh didn’t want to see her sexual life damaged. He crumbled.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Well, just one other thing. Josh took his infidelities and her degradation seriously. He excelled. He was born to do it. Startlingly so.

She heard the quiet chirps of the alarm panel as someone came into the kitchen upstairs. Josh was home.

She heard her handsome man rummaging in the kitchen as though she wasn’t his first priority. She waited impatiently though until she suddenly heard his cat-like footsteps down the carpeted basement stairs. As she watched, her model-quality mate strode thru the open doorway of the secluded little bedroom. The lightest touch of his cologne and that malty, barley stink that she always associated with beer wafted right thru with him; all the more noticeable because she herself hadn’t been drinking. That kind of smell. He wore it well though. Josh was still in his casual wear; a set of jeans that were born to hang on his hips and a white button shirt. Even with an undershirt, his abdominal muscles suggested themselves. He carried the smallest and tallest, whitest, folded paper bag in his right hand. He looked at the expensive watch on his left wrist and then regarded her with a patently sorrowful expression. He was nothing if not an actor.

“Well. What have we here?” He casually approached her little bed, and then negligently tossed the white bag next to her head; the bag almost grazing her forehead as it whizzed past her face to bang off the headboard and land on the mattress. She gasped. He smirked as he observed her ministering to herself with two hands under the covers; the left one holding her lips a bit open while she plied the plucky hand-sized vibe across her crevice. Not time for the clit, yet. Goodness, gracious. Nobody had a better smirk than Josh.

He started right in. He pulled the desk chair from the tiny workstation across the room and dragged it to a position immediately above her head. He sat down and leaned in to address her from just a foot away.

“So, listen. I got a text from Jessica–that little blonde waitress I fuck?” She gasped aloud at the mention of Jessica. It made her belly feel all fluttery. She quickly nodded. Jessica bursa escort bayan was a bit of a repeat–a twenty-something blonde who worked at Picasso’s, the generation-spanning top-shelf restaurant on Plesan River Drive. He had told her about Jess once before. Tight little spinner, that Jessica.

“She said if I stopped in on her 10 pm break, she’d make it worth my while. So I came in. And I came in Jessica.”

“Inside the bar?” she whispered. “Where she works?”

“Yes-inside Jessica’, inside the employee’s bathroom at the back of the kitchen,” Josh qualified. He lapsed into silence for a short spell. The only sound was her elevated respirations and the muted buzz of the vibrator. It was time to buzz the clit a little.

“The place was packed. She said she still had seven tables. There was still a line at the door. I parked around back. That’s how Jess let me in.”

She imagined her husband and that little pony-tailed wisp crammed into some tiny restaurant kitchen bathroom while the sounds of a busy restaurant kitchen clashed outside. My Goodness, this bed was deliciously comfortable so she raised and spread her short, thick legs.

“Listen: she rushes me into the back of the restaurant and she’s yelling over her shoulder to anyone that cares that she is on her break and a couple of people yell back that they don’t care and she practically throws us in this tiny bathroom and slams the door so hard that the aluminum ceiling squares are popping and rattling from the overpressure. Me? I don’t know what the fuck is going on, really. It’s like I’m in danger and she’s rushing me to safety. It was great.” He laughed out loud; his clear genuine tones of amusement at his own first recall. Like the events were still new to him, too.

Josh suddenly straightened and stood up. “I’m so sorry, dearest. Where are my manners? I’m just rambling on about myself and forgetting all about your needs.” Josh leaned over her and reclaimed the white bag that had just missed striking her. He held the neatly folded rectangular bag in the palm of his left hand and rustled around with his right hand buried in the bag, making her wish he would shut the bedroom door. But he would never shut the door. She didn’t even ask him anymore, because he would just smile and shake his head. It always added to her thrill and excited her in another way.

“I just remembered that I brought you some breadsticks from the restaurant.”

With a theatrical flourish, he produced what she slowly came to identify as five or six short, browned, breadsticks that had been banded with two small pink plastic rubber bands. Together, these banded breadsticks made a crude cylinder about four inches in length and over three inches in diameter. Maybe the size of a diet soda can. These were the famous Picasso’s unseeded (thankfully) hard breadsticks. She and the kids always preferred the Picasso’s cheese bread and garlic knots to these firm-toothed offerings. And as Josh offered them grandly to her, she could see that the normally crisp edges at the perimeter of this bread can dildo had been somehow filed smooth and rounded off. And something white and crumbly had been slathered over the leading edges.

“Coconut oil,” Josh announced by way of explanation. He had rubbed the breadsticks with coconut oil–a white solid at room temperature with lubricant properties as it melted at anything more than room temperature. He held his present out to her and she raised her left hand from under the blanket and sheet to sheepishly accept it. She didn’t need further instructions. Under the covers, she carefully held herself apart and began to urge the mass into herself. It took quite a bit of fiddling and reorienting before the combined body heat from her hands and her wet maw allowed the breadsticks to slide into her cavity. Even then, she wouldn’t be able to fuck herself with them. They were very filling. And a blob of coconut oil had fallen onto her tummy and melting. It was all very exciting really. When she finally felt that his thoughtfulness had been fully seated inside her, she turned her sheepish gaze to her husband, seated at her head. He was holding out an orphan of a lubed breadstick.

“Oops. This is all ass-backwards. I should have had you put this little guy in your back-oven before you ever loaded up on breadsticks. Anyway…”

Okay. She hadn’t seen that coming. She accepted the piece of hardened breadplug without comment and rolled over on her right side. With her left hand, she unerringly located her large pink-hued and somehow always shiny anus. She could feel that her butthole had been pulled out of round by the package in her pussy and that it didn’t want to yield itself easily. But she finally found purchase and advanced the invader firmly but reluctantly up her backside; reveling in the harsh reverse pressure; groaning all the while, until only an inch remained outside of her. With over three thick inches of a Picasso’s breadstick fully seated in her rectum, she returned gingerly to her former position on her back with her legs raised and spread and her feet planted on the mattress. She felt deliciously full and the anal intruder was occupying her attention as she experimentally rolled her full ass just a tiny bit to either side.

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