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Forsake Your Vows 4
🕑 Added 2022-09-12 21:00:02 +0000 UTCQuietly now, as if not to give away her guilty actions, Mary Jane caressed her tits, feeling fully the hungry fire that was burning her pussy. She slowly gave herself over to the sense of urgency inside her, her need spreading like a fire in the dry season until Eddie’s voice came back to her, stronger than ever.
Let me take care of that sweet pussy… I want to, so much more than you can ever know…
They were in bed, her glistening pussy tightly clutching his lunging prick, like wet lips sucking avidly at some sweet candy. The bed shook with their passionate rutting, the ever-increasing pace of the sex banging the headboard against the wall as they spiraled, up and up, into mutually satisfying orgasms.
In reality, Mary Jane’s hand increased its frantic caressing of her breasts, as though to keep time with the swelling pulse she felt inside them as they rose and fell rapidly. Her other hand went down, drawn between her opening legs, and gently rubbed her quivering labia until she was all but overwhelmed by the rushing throb inside her. Her middle finger slipped across her stiffly trembling clit and made her gasp with total abandon, thrash naked on the bed.
Mary Jane was totally enslaved to the shameless desires she felt. She sent her touch faster and faster to her hotly seething sex, her mind a torrent of manhood: male bodies, masculine arms, mouth, cock. Nothing existed to her save her dream lover and herself as they filled her imagination with such passion it had to spill over into the real world…
Both her hands rushed over her body as if out of control, fingertips a sort of physical tingle running across her flat, ivory belly—attracted again and again to the crimson vee of her pubic down. Mary Jane moaned as she clenched her quivering thighs together, trembling with the pressure on her most sensitive parts, then forced her legs apart to expose her warm pussy to the naked air and, then, to her questing fingers.
They spread her engorged lips slowly, with as much care as she could muster, as though MJ herself was afraid of the sensations she might reap if she went too hastily. She opened herself up until the glistening cleft was absolutely bared, then drove her middle finger into the wet opening with its thrumming beat of lust, stroking her labia and clit with mindless need.
It wasn’t enough. Not when she knew how good the thickness of Peter’s huge prick felt; her middle finger alone couldn’t duplicate that sensation. Immediately, she thrust another finger into her needy sex… and then a third. Her three fingers entered and exited her softly sucking pussy, their tempo driving a low and purring moan from Mary Jane’s contorting lips.
“Aaaahhhh…!” Mary Jane cooed as she lewdly fed her fingers to her throbbing cunt, wetly separating her folds and then feeling them crash back onto her masturbating digits in ecstatic convulsions. She wildly danced her fingers with the out of control pleasure inside her.
The sounds of her own moans flowed as rapidly as the sensations made by her own touch. Her breathing became ragged. Mary Jane was being swept along, possessed with lascivious delight that was all the more powerful for being absent from her for so long. Her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth were tightly clenched as her own fingers gave her the uncontrolled pleasure she would’ve expected from a dominating lover.
She couldn’t control herself, neither in giving or receiving. Her driving fingers drove animalistic grunts and groans from deep in her throat. They sank into her throbbing sex, the wet sucks of her cunt almost as loud as the sounds of long unfelt pleasure which curled her lips. Her face reddened and her body flushed, all of her straining for this eagerly awaited orgasm. Mary Jane panted in frustration for each second it eluded her, while her hands drove harder and harder, the feeling penetrating deeper and deeper.
Suddenly her eyes popped open, not to see, but merely because she could no longer bear the fantasy that had risen so immensely in the darkness of her imagination. Instead, she stared blankly at reality as the first thrums of her climax suffused her… the pleasure felt like it had been waiting inside her for months.
Her eyes grew glassy, then rolled up in her head. Her muscles tightened convulsingly and she moaned again as she arched her hips to deliver her ravenous little pussy to her fingers. Her breath shuddered out of her and she felt a crazed spasm break across her tensing, jittering belly.
“AAAAHHH!” Mary Jane wailed, arching back and not allowing herself to think of whose image it was that was bringing on her orgasm, only that it was happening. She felt a strong, surging release and the wetness that had been inside her cunt was now everywhere, flowing to wet as if in loving response her pleasuring hands.
As her orgasm ebbed, Mary Jane’s firm ass settled back onto the mattress. She lay still, her chest heaving with the power of her release. Her eyes drifted shut, a far cry from how tightly they’d been closed as she pursued her climax. Sanity slowly returned to her, erasing the powerful feeling of Eddie’s presence that she hated to admit had come with her rapture. And in place of that comforting fantasy came frustration and bitterness.
Tears welled in her eyes. To think that she had to settle for a daydream when she’d married a man she knew could give her what she wanted. No, she wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done. She seethed with anger—a rage that mounted with each passing second.
Something was going to be done and done quickly. She’d married Peter to support him, to be his friend, but not at the cost of her receiving his love, his support. If she’d wanted to rely on her own hand for sexual fulfillment, she would’ve stayed single.
I don’t know what to think, she mused. She didn’t mind sharing Peter with the city, with little Annie, even with Felicia—but only as a partner. She didn’t mind him half-fucking her because his thoughts and energy were drawn elsewhere. What maddened her was the lack of concern Peter seemed to hold for her. How could he be so single-minded as to not see that she was unsatisfied? Even Eddie seemed to have the consideration to care about what she was going through!
She laid there in her tousled bed for a long time, allowing her bitterness at her husband to go unsuppressed and letting her love for him rest a while. He’d been so good to her once; why couldn’t he be that way again? All he had to do was—
Then Mary Jane realized the problem. Of course. It was obvious. Every time Peter fucked her, she made a big production of how satisfied she was and how much she was enjoying herself. How could he know he wasn’t getting her off if she lied to him that there were no problems in their love life? Even Peter had to know there was a problem before he did something about it. As long as he believed everything was fine, he would only keep giving her what he thought she wanted.
If there was any blame to be assigned, it was with her for letting the situation go on and on while her resentment only mounted. She should’ve faced this head-on, and long ago. If she had, she might’ve been stewing in her usual Peter-supplied contentment right now.
That thought sent MJ through any misgivings. She got out of bed and started dressing. It was all absolutely out of hand. When she had to think about Eddie Brock to satisfy herself, things had gone way too far. She loved Peter and she knew he loved her. Love meant trust and understanding. It wasn’t only her right, it was her obligation to tell Peter things needed to change, even if it hurt him to hear it. He wouldn’t like her to suffer in silence any more than she did, perhaps less. And if she didn’t, Mary Jane knew her frustration would eventually explode. She didn’t want that.
She wanted her husband back.
***
As she was planning how to talk to Peter so as best to spare his feelings, because she knew how neurotic her husband could get, Mary Jane went back to training with Eddie. Her mind was in turmoil, worried what would happen when she finally confronted Peter. And she also sensed that there was more… that there was some larger meaning to her holding back with him, like she wanted to hang on to her resentment, but of course that made no sense.
She was so conflicted that more than once, she didn’t listen while Eddie was saying something and he had to repeat himself.
“What are you wearing under those baggy clothes?” Eddie asked again, referring to the sweatpants and hoodie she had on, as she would when jogging, to avoid getting paparazzi photos almost literally up her ass.
Not that she’d had to worry about paparazzi in a while…
Mary Jane shot him a look.
“Answer me,” Eddie repeated, speaking so gently that it was obvious he wasn’t hitting on her, it was just an honest question.
She took a deep breath before giving in to his inquiry: “Sports bra and leggings.”
“Pretty much what you’d wear on the job. Skintight? Streamlined? Not much to grab onto?”
“Yeah,” Mary Jane agreed.
“So why are you training in this instead of that?”
Mary Jane considered the question. There was every chance that Eddie just wanted to see her in the skimpy undergarments she’d selected to train in, but he had a point. What was the point of her endlessly drilling, honing her reaction time, learning everything there was to know about her body and her abilities—if, in the end, she was keeping the real thing at arm’s length?
And out of modesty? She knew Eddie. He was a creep, sure, or at least he’d had moments of being a creep, but he wasn’t going to assault her just because he could see a little more of her skin than usual. And she wouldn’t cheat on Peter, just because she had on something a little skimpy around a man who would appreciate it. So what was the big deal? Nothing. She trusted Peter with Felicia—as far as Mary Jane was concerned, he was obliged to trust her with Eddie.
She skinned off her hoodie and stepped out of her sweatpants. Underneath, her leggings adhered tight as a second skin to her slender, chiseled legs. Her sports bra held her sizable breasts still and small against her chest, but there wasn’t much hiding their bulk. The sheer heft quivered in tension, waiting to burst out the moment she undid the catch.
Eddie looked at her and looked away. Mary Jane felt the warmth of his gaze like the sun; perhaps it was easier to feel without so many cumbersome garments in the way. He only sampled the sight of her—no great taste, never lingering so much that Mary Jane’s notice of his attention tipped over into indignation. But it was always something that made itself known to her, neither pleasant nor unpleasant.
Mary Jane almost always felt beautiful. That was her charm—her confidence. But she was so used to Peter’s repetitive, obligatory appreciation of her looks that she didn’t feel special. Eddie cured her of that. With his constant, hapless looking at her, she felt like a temptress. She knew, when she got home, that Peter would finally find her as alluring as she felt.
