Topic: Lifes a Life's a Bitch By A. G. Thomas I guess it would be fairer to say that I sensed more then actually knew that my wife was cheating on me. It wasn't anything like sudden long hours, or absenting our home under the guise of returning to the hospital after her regular shift had ended or on her days off. Neither was it the sometimes late night calls and her tiredness when hours later she would return home. All of that I had accepted when we'd gotten married. You see my wife is a Nurse Practitioner. A very good one if I might pass along the judgment of those more suited to make that call then I am. People such as the LPN's and RN's who work directly under her. Even Mr. Lathum who is the head of St. Marks' EMS where my wife occasionally fills in talked glowingly of her. He had brought her home one day about five weeks ago after she had pulled a twelve hour shift at his facility. Better to be a taxi service then to have such a beautiful and remarkable woman such as my wife injured in an auto accident because she was to tired to drive. Besides he'd wanted to meet the husband of such an outstanding woman. All this he had said to me over a hurried cup of coffee before I had left for work.
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He had continued to talk glowingly of her as we had walked from the house and to his car which was parked at the curb. He hadn't moved as I had backed out of the drive and alongside him. He had forgotten his briefcase and there were papers in it that he needed but was undecided about entering my home without me present. I had laughed telling him not to worry about it before pulling away. In my rearview mirror I had seen my wife open the door even before he was halfway up the walk. For the last couple of weeks this feeling that things weren't as they should be gnawed at me insatiably. But in the last few days the feeling had grown to the point that I feared that if I wasn't imaging her infidelity I was going mad. When I tried to broach the subject she passed her listlessness off as job stress. When I refused to accept that she accused me of making a mountain out of a mole hill. Everything was fine, I needn't worry myself, and no she wasn't having an affair she'd screamed before storming off. But everything wasn't fine. We hadn't made love in better then three weeks. So no other then that I had nothing to base my feeling on, especially after her assurances that she wasn't cheating on me. Her statement had been a relief to me for as much as I hate to admit it I had thought such. In fact the person who had popped into my head at the thought of an extra martial affair had been Mr.
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Lathum. But just as quickly I had dismissed him as a suspect for two reasons. The first was that he was far from a handsome man, and the second was that he was a negro. If my wife were having an affair it certainly wouldn't be with a fat ugly negro. Still I couldn't shake the feeling that she was being unfaithful and it tore me up not being able to identify why I was gripped with it. I watched silently as she closed the door behind her after having given me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek along with telling me not to wait up. The thought crossed my mind that I should follow her; that I should make sure that she was indeed going to St. Marks' as she had informed me. Instead of doing as I was tempted though what I did do was walk to the liquor cabinet and fix myself another Godfather. Two and then three more, and with each successive drink they became stronger until instead of 1 1/2 oz of Scotch I was mixing 3 oz's with 1/2 oz of Amaretto. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew the TV screen was a bunch of static. For a moment I lay there on the couch straining my ears for what had awakened me but I didn't hear so much as a squeak. Had it been my imagination? Sitting up I cocked my head in the direction of the front door before moving my attention to the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. Nothing, not a sound. Even as I strained both sight and ears to pick up the slightest sound or flicker of movement a chill hit the back of my neck making the fine hairs there stand on end.
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Why couldn't I shake this sense of foreboding that hung over me like a pall I wondered as the grandfather clock chimed three times. Slowly raising from the couch I turned toward the stairs but at the last second and with hesitant steps shifted direction. It was as if something were pulling me toward the front door and I could do nothing to prevent it. It was as I reached out for the door handle that in the dim light from the TV I saw what appeared to be a large manilla envelope that because of its thickness was stuck in the mail slot. Through the fog of sleep and drink clouding my brain I tried to recall if it had been there when I had gotten home and had just not bothered with it. Surely if it had been I would have noticed it, wouldn't I have? Was it possible that this was what had awakened me? My sudden remembering of such a thick envelope protruding from the mail slot, or was it as I strongly began to suspect the possible late delivery of such. If it were the late delivery who had delivered it? With trembling fingers and a terrible sense of dread I reached for and gave the envelope a tug. I couldn't free it, it was simply to thick. Whoever had tried to stuff it through the mail slot had botched the job for the contents had shifted. Opening the door I again pulled at the manilla envelope and this time it slipped easily from the slot. For several long madly pounding heartbeats I stood there looking out into the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of the mystery person who had delivered the envelope.
No such luck. Closing the door I turned again toward the stairs with the intent of checking on my wife but not before carelessly tossing the package in the direction of the hallway table. Carefully tip toeing into the bedroom so as not to wake her I slipped from my clothes and beneath the covers. It was then that I discovered that she wasn't in bed.
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Surely she wasn't still at the hospital, but where else could she possibly be! Must have been one hell of an emergency to keep her there for better then seven hours I mused. Well the good thing about it was that just as so often in the past the added hours would increase our bank deposit. That is unless she took extra time off, which she very seldom did. Rolling over I closed my eyes and a minute later I was asleep. At 6:15 when the alarm went off she still wasn't in bed. Again the feeling of dread that I had felt hours earlier overcame me. With the thought that I would stop by the hospital on the way into work to check on her running through my head I climbed from the bed and shuffled toward the bathroom. Thirty eight minutes later freshly shaved, showered and dressed I headed downstairs. Picking my keys up from the hallway table were I had dropped them the night before the toe of my shoe hit the thick manilla envelope that had wound up on the floor instead of the table. For a moment I stood looking down at it before stooping and picking it up. Was it important? Should I have opened it hours earlier and since I hadn't, should I do so now? The surface was blank. There was no indication as to whether the envelope was meant for me or my wife, yet I instinctively knew that it was me that was meant to be the recipient. Glancing at my watch I saw that if I delayed even another minute to investigate the contents I wouldn't be able to stop by the hospital to check on my wife. That is of course unless I wanted to be late for work. Placing the envelope on the small table I started to turn but for some reason my fingers wouldn't relinquish their hold.
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I can always call her from the office I silently mumbled as I broke the seal. Tipping the envelope upside down I poured the contents atop the small table. Most but not all of what was inside fluttered to the floor like Autumn leaves from a tree. In disbelief and shock I stared down at the photographs that hadn't fallen to the floor. Forgetting the photo's that had fallen to the floor and pushing aside the two DVD cases I reached out and turned over the few that hadn't landed right side up. For long immeasurable minutes I stood there trying to believe that what I was looking at wasn't real. It couldn't be real. My wife loved me. She would never do such as what was depicted on the glossy paper. This was all a figment of my imagination. I was still asleep and having a highly erotic dream. With fingers trembling as if I had palsy I picked up and dropped a dozen or so photos before picking up one of the DVD cases. The front cover had a full length picture of my wife standing in what must have been five inch stiletto pumps wearing nothing but a garter belt and stockings. In the background was what appeared to be a hospital bed and standing around it in various stages of undress were perhaps fifteen negro's. Across the top In 3/4 inch bold letters was GANGBANG NURSE #1.
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Dropping it to the table I picked up the other. The back cover was face up and there were maybe a dozen 1 X 1 snapshots of my wife being fucked in every position imaginable. Sometimes by as many as three negro's simultaneously. Turning it over I expected to see the title GANGBANG NURSE #2 but I was mistaken. Instead, and in just as high and in as bold as letters as the other had been, was BREEDING of a NURSE. The picture appeared to have been taken in a ghetto tenement. My wife was wearing a skimpy little nurses uniform which looked more like one of those costumes that you can purchase from such web sites as 3 Wishes. Her outfit was completely open leaving little doubt that but for bare skin nothing else was beneath the skimpy outfit. She was straddling a black man and about her was a forest of dark legs and cock's and she was looking directly into the camera smiling broadly. Along the bottom in smaller letters just as had been the case with the other video was simply the notation Starring Sandra Bishop.
No where, neither on the front or anywhere on the back was there any mention of who the men were. On the back cover along the bottom in very small letters there was an invitation to visit her web site http://www. NastyNurse. com. Dropping the DVD case back onto the table I looked down at the fifty or so photo's scattered about my feet.
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Bending down I picked up and along with all those still on the table I neatly stacked the photo's face up before placing them alongside the video cases. Numb I gathered up the whole collection and on wooden legs staggered toward the living room. For long minutes I sat looking at the large screen plasma TV. Slowly with shaking fingers I opened BREEDING of a NURSE. Taking the professional looking DVD out I placed it in the player and turned both it and the TV on. The video started with what looked like an ambulance pulling up in front of a run down tenement house and my wife along with her driver getting out. As they entered the building they were surrounded by a dozen or so rough looking blacks. The man was dragged into an apartment and tied to a chair while my wife with a dozen hands pawing at her was led in behind him. Over the next three hours and twenty minutes or so I watched as my wife willingly, even eagerly, fucked not only the fourteen negro's who had first confronted her but at least another score besides. Disbelievingly I watched as cock's, in three cases nearly twelve inches in length and almost as big around as a coke can, drilled her every hole. Not only were cock's shoved into her cunt but also into her mouth and asshole. Most of the time she was servicing two cock's simultaneously, but in several cases every orifice of her petite white body was stuffed with hard dark cock. In between the times that she wasn't being simultaneously fucked she was sucking cock. In most cases it was to make the negro's hard again. Of the nearly score of cock's that rhythmically, sometimes forcefully, sawed between her lips, she deep throated at least a dozen of them.
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Five of which were every bit of nine inches in length and two and a half maybe three inches around. The majority of the time the only sound that could be heard, other then the slapping of naked flesh against naked flesh, were wheezes, sputters, gasps, moans and animalistic grunts as in pairs and sometimes in groups of three the negro's had their way with her. Yet there were times when she could be plainly heard pleading to be fucked, to be bred. On more then one occasion she even begged them to fill her white whore cunt with nigger cum and give her a baby. As the screen went black I sat silently for several long minutes before picking up the photographs. Going through the photo's one by one I could hardly believe what I was looking at. Somehow in my mind viewing her and sometimes as many as five negro's frozen images was more perverted then what I had just sat through. I knew that I shouldn't be aroused, that I shouldn't let a video and a bunch of photo's of my wife fucking and sucking dozens of negro's excite me but I couldn't help it. The pain in my groin was testament to the fact that my cock was the hardest that it had ever been. Unzipping my pants I pulled out what until that day I had believed was all the cock that my wife ever needed. As my hand moved faster and faster up and down my better then five inch cock I must have looked at maybe a half dozen photo's. Not until I came to one where she was sitting on the floor, her mouth open and so full of cum it was almost level with her perfect teeth did I feel relief. In the photo, beside her mouth being full of cum, thick globs of the stuff covered her face and matted her hair. Even her chest was splattered with thick strings of spunk and I couldn't help but wonder as my hand flew up and down my cock just how many negro's had come on her. Breathing heavily I dropped the photo and picked up another.
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In it she was wearing a stylish yet sexy skirt and blouse, just as she usually did when working. But in this case her blouse was open exposing her breast and the skirt itself was about her waist. She was sitting on a negro's lap facing the camera and she was laying back against him so that you could clearly see his cock buried in her asshole. In addition she was sucking the cock of another negro while her hand was gripping the cock of yet a third. There were others of her in her usual business dress, but in each case her skirt was about her waist and a negro was driving his cock into either her cunt or asshole. Of all the photo's that I looked at, and I looked at all sixty eight of them, none pertained to the video I had just watched though quite a few depicted scenes very much along the same line. With my spent cock still hanging limply from my cum stained suit pants I slowly rose and walked to the bar. Instead of mixing myself a drink though I simply grabbed up a bottle of Scotch. our sister forum www. bluestories. com.