Infirm (Ben Robertson x Devilla Roche)

[Ben Robertson]

We're almost there, I think to myself as I pull off the highway, hands gripping the wheel of my new '62 Buick Special, good thing...I feel lousy. Though I haven't wanted to let it on to my wife, sitting in the passenger seat next to me, it's been a hard trip that seemed much longer than the now-familiar three hours we've actually been on the road.

I don't want to let on that I feel terrible - it's only been a week but I'm already in desperate need of my next treatment - because I know how much she worries. The pain started yesterday, in my bones, but I've been gritting my teeth and trying to keep up appearances on our drive together.

I'm also anxious, and I don't want to let that on either. Anxious for my treatment: though it will help take the pain away, that simple glass of milk they have me drink at the clinic is chcok full of medication, and has been making me feel more and more nauseous these days. After last week's dose I couldn't get back in the car for several hours. I'm glad I have Milly with me today; I may have to ask her to drive home, especially if it's even worse this week.

I'm also anxious about so many other things. I mentioned this is a new car, and it comes with big payments. How am I going to pay it off if I can't work? When I first got sick, when the pain started but they didn't know what to do, there were weeks and weeks where I just couldn't work. And now that I'm on treatments - though I'm still been able to make it into the office most days - I still need to take these increasingly frequent days off to get to the clinic, which is an all-day affair. The agency has been good to me so far - I've been with them for years - but how long will their patience last?

And also, I think to myself, as I pull into the parking garage right down the street from the clinic, flexing my tight fingers over the wheel - am I ever going to get that inch-and-a-half back?

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I know Ben has a lot on his mind lately. I can tell. A wife knows these things. Call it intuition, but I know it bothers him. I love Ben very much. Over the past nine years of our marriage he has been very supportive of my not being able to bear any children for him. Accepting my role as a childless wife has been hard on both of us. There was the bouts of depression, times where I couldn’t get out of bed, and I’d feel sorry for myself. But Ben….dear, dear Ben was my escape from total despair.

Now it’s my turn to be strong for him. To help make him well again. I need to be the ever-loving wife. Through sickness and in health, remember those words Milly? They mean more to me now than the day we were married.

So, here we are on the way to the clinic. Ben in need of another treatment from the doctors. They hope this time it will work. I have been the hopeful, optimistic wife and have kept up a good game face. But, this has been the fourth time that the doctors have changed Ben’s therapy. Everything seems to end in the doctors saying, “We can’t make any promises that it’ll work,” or “the latest information that we have says that we think that this will cure him,” but they just don’t have a clue. All I can do is be there for him.

We’re here finally, and I pull out my lipstick case and reapply more lipstick to my lips, and try to make them look a little fuller. Then I turn to Ben. In an attempt to be as cheerful as I can be I say…
“Darling do you like my lemon-yellow dress? I got it out of the Alden’s Catalog. Isn’t it just pretty as can be? I love the peter pan collar and the double row of buttons on the front.”
…my voice trails off…Ben’s hands are still on the wheel of the car…something’s wrong, I can tell…

I place my white-gloved hand on Ben’s shoulder and look at him empathetically….
“Sweetheart, you look very tense. Are you worried about this new treatment?”

 

[Ben Robertson]

I've pulled the car into a spot in the garage, like I usually do, quite a ways away from any others. I know the chances are slim - here we are out in the country, nothing but farms and this clinic - but I don't want anyone recognizing us. Milly was saying something about her outfit the way dames do, but I barely hear her as my mind is elsewhere. I've turned off the ignition but I can't quite...let go...of the wheel.

"Sweetheart, you look very tense. Are you worried about this new treatment?"

Worried about my treatment?! Worried that this dose will make me even sicker than the last? That the unholy concoction, brewed up in some cow they have here in their lab is going to be no better than the past three - helping my pain for a shorter and shorter time with each go. My bones are shrinking! And the medicine - radiated chemicals that they have to inject into this specially treated cow and then draw out to give to me - is almost as bad as the disease. Good god!

What I don't know if Milly realizes - she's just a gal, bless her - is that these treatments have little chance of 'curing' me. They're just made to make the rest of me keep pace with my shrinking long bones. That's why I have and inch-and-a-half less long bones than four months ago but I'm still alive. She doesn't realize - or doesn't want to realize - that my chances of a "cure" are pretty slim. And, gosh, I don't have the heart to tell her again. I've seen it in the past: she can be...fragile.

But yes I am worried. And I am tense. Very tense. But, like always, I have to be the man here, so I smile and look over at her. She does look nice in her new dress, and I had noticed earlier this morning how well it accentuates her figure in the chest. But I look her in the eyes, still smiling and say "Who, me worried? Naw, I'm right as rain."

 

[Devilla-Roche]

“Benjamin Robertson you cannot fool the woman who loves and adores you as I do,” I say sharply, raising my voice just a tad, “We’ve been married enough years now and I know when something’s bothering you.”

I place my hand gently on his right arm and can see how tense he is. Having no choice, I attempt to remove it. “Now Ben, let go of the wheel.” He looks at me unknowingly, caught in the moment. “Yes, that’s right, let go dear.”

He finally lets go and I tend to him….

Smiling….
“Let me take off your sports coat. You must be overheated I bet.”

I get my arms around his hunched back and remove his coat, making sure his arms cooperate with me….I then fold his tweed sport coat in my arms and place it in the back seat of the car….then I gently push him with my white gloved hand on his chest, so that his back is now firmly resting on the backside of the bench seat….

“And why don’t you let me loosen that tie of yours my dear.”

I loosen his tie very gently as my eyes never leave his...I then let my gloved hand fall downward, following the contour of his body, until it rests on his pants zipper, right where his flaccid cock sits, only a few layers of fabric below....slowly I rub and look at him...I set my shoulders back and allow for my bust to move outward - I know what this does to him…

I keep rubbing, pushing down and feeling the metamorphosis of his cock as it gets longer and harder in no time…

Whispering….
“You just sit and relax my dear. Everything will be allright. You just leave it to me.”

I undo the clasp in his trousers and the sound of a zipper unzipping rips through the air of the interior of the car...I then open the slit in his boxers and pull out his half hard cock...with my white glove still so elegantly on my hand I begin to move it up and down slowly along his thick, wide, shaft...

 

[Ben Robertson]

At first I'm a little surprised. My wife is normally demure but she has moments like this. Now she's pushing me back onto the seat, loosening my tie and then sliding that white gloved hand down my chest until...

Wow, yes.

I have to break her gaze to look around, a little concerned that we might be seen. She's rubbing me through my pants and has that look in her eye. But - I parked out far from the other cars on purpose...we'll probably be okay.

"Oh, Milly..!" I smile, suddenly forgetting my worries as she, turned perfectly to highlight her narrow waist in her bunched dress, sets her shoulders just so to accentuate her torso. I'm quickly half hard, and she has me unzipped, out of my pants.

She pushes her chest out more; I can't help but groan.

Oh, god, she knows how I like it. She knows I like a nice view.

Milly is a well-built gal. Tall - a busty five-foot nine - with a body like a race horse. A real classy chassis. She was a swimmer before she met me, strong shoulders, and has softened nicely in these later years.

And that hand, that clean white glove, it feels nice on my cock...

"G-Gosh, honey," I tell her, obviously ogling her chest as she begins slowly stroking me, "you do look nice in that dress..."

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I smile lovingly as I continue to jerk him off...now I keep my voice lower and make it sound a bit on the sultry side....
"Thanks honey. I knew you'd like it. It makes me feel so pretty. You know how I love to look pretty for my hubby."

I continue to move my hand up and down his shaft at a methodical pace....I can see he is relaxing already....
"There, now I can see how this is doing wonders already. You just sit back and relax. You know how much I love to take care of you."

I continue then....
"Oh silly me I almost forgot."

I stop jerking him off and I grab the blanket from the back...it's our very special blanket, just for these occasions....
"How could I forget, Ben you should have reminded me."

I lay the blanket out, covering most of Ben's body, his chest, legs, and I had it go over my lap too....
"Now where's that hole I made in this blanket." ~searching~ "Ah! There it is." ~I push his now rock hard penis through the hole~ "Now, that's better, no mess, except what will get on my glove, but you know me, I always carry a second pair in my handbag."

With his cock through the blanket, I continue to run my hand up and down his shaft....
"Ben, you do have such a handsome penis. It's one of the reasons why I like to do this for you so much. ~I smile~ Selfish of me I know to say that, but I guess its true."

I continue with my gloved hand...up and down, up and down...faster at times, slower at times...all the while, my back very straight...my neckline viewable - very deep, but no cleavage, but the dress is tight to my figure - very tight - if Ben looks hard enough he'll see the outline of my bra...I look back at him at times...I even purse my lips for him.....

I smile because I see that look on his face, that look of contentment - he's relaxed, and I know its that look right before he comes...I continue and wait for him to finish...

 

[Ben Robertson]

Oh, man. Oh man oh man oh man. Just like always, when she gives me her special hand-jobs, I'm on cloud nine. Even in public places like this - when we get the chance - they relax me, ease my anxiety. I love her gloves, I love her hands. She's got beautiful red hair and big, gorgeous peepers which I can feel gazing right at me but...wow...she's using that look again...her eyes are so intense...

Milly is, for lack of a better word, a very attentive wife. A real homebody of a housewife, she's always found no greater pleasure than just making me happy - almost to a fault. Satisfied that my day was nice, that I feel comfortable. Dinner's on the table, and she's dressed to the nines for me. She knows being a man in 1962 is stressful - bringing home the bacon, being a stand-up guy at work - and she wants to help make my life easier. And she's figured out that there's nothing like a good lay, a hummer, or in times like this, a quick hand-job to relieve some tension. What a gal!

Since my illness started, life has been even more stressful. I have a lot on my mind, and I have to admit Milly's "attentions" have become more frequent and have made things more bearable. She even made this blanket for just this sort of occasion! She seems to take such pleasure in it all - not just the hand-jobs. I think it actually relaxes her, too - making sure I'm relaxed, attending to me instead of thinking about herself or her worries. Back when I met her, through friends at church, she was just getting over a bout of nerves. She fell hard for me, and has been very focused on me since.

...very, very focused.

But it relaxes her, I have to keep telling myself, ministering to my every need. And she does a very good job at it, bless her soul. She's a beaut, a real knockout. I hit the jackpot, landing her. I mentioned the hair, the big gorgeous eyes. The long gams and graceful neck. But it's the rack that I thank my lucky stars for, every chance I get.

And I'm getting the chance as we speak.

Boy she's stacked, I think to myself as I stare at the outline of her bra under her tight, yellow dress, as her white-gloved hand continues to work me. I wonder what bra it is? Is it the new black one from McCrorys downtown? A D-cup like the white Wondermaid I've surreptitiously hidden at home? That one is so nice and soft and silky...

..her hand speeds up a bit...mmmmnnnnhhhggghhhh....she's quickly building me up to a good one...

Staring at her chest is great, it mesmerizes me, and she seems to enjoy me doing it. But it makes me a little self-conscious, eyeballing her tits for too long. She must get sick of it when other guys ogle her - which I'm sure they do - and I feel like half a creep staring too long myself. But her smile is never wider than when I'm just goggling at her rack while she jerks me off. So I indulge her, and myself, and stare until...until it gets closer...that feeling...nnnnnggghhh...big tits...her hand's moving faster now... I feel like I should look up into her eyes...

She puckers, blows me a little kiss, and...nnnnnnggghhh....nnnnggghhh...I close my eyes, tilt my head back against the headrest and....




...oh god that's so good...

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I continue to jerk him off...in some respects in a business like manner, but enjoy doing it nonetheless...he keeps his eyes long enough on my bosom...he sees what I need him to see, he's letting his imagination run wild....finally, in position, his back to the seat, looking up at the roof of the car...I feel that girth of his, the bottom of his shaft enlarges and feels like a rod of sorts - I feel the veins grow, the thicker ones...the hard pulsating...

There's one...I watch as his come shoots out liberally up in the air...before it lands...a second one, it too sending out a good deal of come...some lands on the blanket, some on the steering wheel...a third one...oh my...again on the blanket, some on Ben's lap, other drips of come land on the blanket where his stomach is....then finally, a less intense ejaculation and the rest comes out slowly, like lava from a volcano and sinuously runs down from the head of his penis onto each finger on my glove...it's over....

I look at Ben and my wifely duty is done....I can see that he almost can't even remember what bothered him...

Being the good housewife, I can't help but clean up a good mess....
"All right mister, lets get you cleaned up. Let me take off my gloves and then I'll get to it. I have my knitted handkerchief in my bag."

I remove my gloves, fold them, and place them in a little bag that I carry in my hand bag, just to hold things like this....then I go fish out my lace handkerchief....white and fringed at the end with a scalloped edge...it's so pretty, it can be used as a doily....I then go to work...smiling, very happy to be cleaning up, I am so content looking after Ben...and I love to do what I just did for him, I know how much he appreciates it, his such a wonderful husband...

I clean his penis like other things in my house...I make sure that not a drop is left on him....I make sure I also wipe the steering wheel and then I attend to the blanket covering the two of us...I fold it up and place it in the back seat again....

I smile at Ben and arch my curvaceous body and give him a kiss on his cheek, leaving a faint stain of lipstick on him....then I run, my bare hand through his head....

"There's my honey, nice and relaxed. Now Ben, everything's going to be okay. Let's get you done with this visit and I'll go home and make us an early dinner. A roast maybe? One of your favorites, with some potatoes and carrots. And I'll bake an apple pie. There's nothing like some feel good food to make you feel ~I shrug my shoulders and keep this big smile for him~ well, good. Now how does that sound?"

As I wait for his answer and for us to go to the appointment, I grab a fresh pair of white gloves from my handbag, that's still on my lap...

 

[Ben Robertson]

"Wow..." I breathe, grinning, when finally my vision clears, "baby that was fantastic..!"

Her smile is proud and satisfied, her eyes glimmer with adoration, and I watch as she cleans me up. Part of me is a little embarrassed, but a man has needs and Milly seems more than happy tending to them. She really is quite a gal, wiping her husband's come from the steering wheel one moment and then talking about making him a pot roast in the next.

"Hun you're the most," I tell her sincerely, looking into her face as she puts on fresh gloves. Her eyes deepen and nearly well up with the compliment, the affirmation that she's done good. That she's a good wife. "A pot roast sounds great," I say, putting on my most confident voice and smile, "Now...let's get this done."

She waits for me to hop out - I do my best despite the pain - and open the door for her. Taking her hand I help her out of the car. For a moment - she's wearing some heels - we are almost eye-to-eye, and my smile drops and I feel my brow furrow. It didn't used to be quite this way. She notices, knowing my thoughts, but she also knows better than to say anything.

Deep breath. My smile's back, set firmly. Hers returns too, and we walk arm-in-arm through the garage towards the clinic.

 

[Ben Robertson]

"Hi Mr. Robertson! Hi Mrs. Roberston!" chirps the girl behind the desk, "You both look well today! How do you feel?"

"Doing great Kathy," I reply, gritting my teeth through the pain, needing to sit down soon. I've been to this clinic too many times to count over the last year and by now know not only the staff by name, but their kids and families as well. Milly's been accompanying me for support these last few visits, and smiles politely. "I'm here for cocktail hour!"

"Oh you!" Kathy laughs, waving me off, "I'll let the doctors know you're here and they'll get everything ready for you."

"You're a peach," I reply, and escort Milly to a seat along the wall. We know the drill by now: once the staff knows we've arrived, they go out to extract the milk in the animal lab they have in an outbuilding. I'm not a science-guy but they tell me the medication has a short half-life once it leaves the cow's body so I need to drink it within the hour. Then comes the hard part...


:nine hours later:

"We're sorry but we just can't let you take him home like this, Mrs. Robertson," the doctor is explaining to Milly, as I lay there on the clinic bed, eyes still clamped shut, stomach cramped into knots. "We know it will be getting dark. We know you'll miss dinner. We just gave him another dose of anti-nausea meds, but until he can walk on his own we have to keep him here."

This was the worst one so far. Each treatment has left me uneasy with stomach pain afterwards, but this is lasting far longer than the last - and has been much more intense. It's let up a little over the past couple hours but there's still no way I can get up and walk yet.

I hear Milly pleading politely with the doctor, but I know we'll be here at least until nightfall. The medicine did what it's supposed to: the horrible pain I was feeling as my shrinking, softening long bones were starting to pull themselves away from the rest of my body's tissues is almost entirely gone. The rest of me has started shrinking to keep pace. I measured in at just over 5'11" earlier today; I'm sure I'll be a bit under that next time we check.

The disease is horrible and painful. An extremely rare condition that - in all other cases recorded so far before mine - has been 100% fatal. This new treatment - feeding me medicine through milk that's been produced by a cow with a specially irradiated pituitary gland - is entirely experimental and obviously far from perfect. I don't know anymore, truth be told, if the disease is any worse than the treatment. Not only have I been having to come back here more and more frequently as the disease isn't slowed by the therapy but is actually moving faster, but each treatment is more and more excruciating. How soon will it be that my life is just an endless series of treatments? Immediately trading one type of pain for the other?

The discussion above me, between my wife and doctors, has apparently reached the same topic.

"Mr. Robertson..? Ben..?" Dr. Matthews says, a hand on my shoulder, "Can you-?"

"Yes yes!" I blurt, my eyes popping open, my smile fixing itself across strained cheeks, "I'm fine. Just resting my eyes!"

"Okay," he continues, and I'm painfully aware of the pity in the gazes of all these people in the room, looking down on me under my thin clinic blanket. I hate having Milly - or anyone else - see me like this. "I was just explaining to Mrs. Robertson that the team is going to be spending the next few days hard at work in the lab. We're going to be doing our best to come up with a better option for you. This line of treatment may not be-"

"Okay, I understand, Doc," I manage, giving my best, strongest look of tenacity, "But I think once I'm - uuuunnnnggghhh..."

The staff all exchange worried looks. Milly's hand comes to rest on my arm.

"...through this one..." I breathe, my rigor-mortis smile back again, "...everything will start to turn around..."

Doc Matthews squeezes my shoulder. "We'll talk next week."

 

[Devilla-Roche]

: a few days later, Saturday morning :

I wake up, the alarm clock on my bedside table says 8:07 in the morning...it's Saturday...oh good, the weekend, maybe Ben will want to do something today if he's feeling up to it, hmm....oh yes, and then there's the Mason's Halloween party tonight...I've been working tirelessly on our costumes, me as a witch and Ben as Dracula....I remember when I looked at the pattern book from McCalls down at the Nimble Thimble, I said that's perfect for us...

I look back at Ben and think to myself, I know what he needs, a good breakfast, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and ham....I smile, a man, even in his condition needs a good breakfast...he needs nourishment...vitamins right fron the source...

As I get up, I see myself in my baby blue peignoir in the mirror...I touch my bosom and arch back...am I getting fat? Then I rest my hands on my stomach...with a circling motion I move my right hand over my tummy...wouldn't it be grand if someday I could...maybe they'll come up with an operation that can reverse these horrible things that happen to women...I try not to get to bogged down...it's a good thing I have my medicine...speaking of which....

***************

After taking my medicine and putting on my baby blue satin gown and head on downstairs...I open up the curtains in the kitchen nook and let in the morning light of the day...looks like a wonderful day, not a cloud in the sky...I smile and then get to making breakfast....fresh pancakes with all the trimmings....I get the percolator going and get a full pot of coffee started...by the time I'm through, the table is a perfect Saturday morning breakfast fit for a king and his queen...I do love making breakfast...and I do love my husband Ben very much...after his appointment a few days ago, and the things that the doctor shared with me, well, I think we both can use something that'll make us both feel good...

I finally call up to him from the bottom of the stairs....
"Ben honey!! Time to get up my dear!! Breakfast!! I made your favorite, blueberry pancakes!! Coffee's done too!!

As I make my way back, I open the front door and grab the morning newspaper...not being one into current affairs...I see Jack Kennedy and Jackie are on the front page...she's so beautiful...I just love her clothes, love her style....of course, its Ben's paper, so I roll it up as I make my way back to the kitchen, place the paper on the chair, the way he likes it, then I grab a cup of coffee, and sit down at the table and bask in the glow of the morning sunlight...I do hope he comes down soon...

 

[Ben Robertson]

This is nice. A relaxed Saturday breakfast, and I'm looking forward to a day of yard work. Those leaves won't rake themselves! After two decent days in the office, life seems almost...normal. I tell myself I have it good, trying to ignore those first hints of an ache in my legs. That's where it starts... but it's only been three days...

Between flips of the paper and sips of coffee, I compliment Milly on the pancakes. Typical gal, she's eaten all of three bites before pushing away her plate, telling me she's watching her figure. I tell her not to be batty - I've been watching her figure for her, and that the pancakes have been going to all the right places. She waves me off like a naughty child, but I can see the proud smile behind her coffee mug. I think she's liked the extra attention she's gotten from me, ever since my treatments have started and brought about a little uptick in my...manly needs.

I'd take her again, right here in the kitchen, I think to myself as I watch her hips from behind, washing off my plate at the sink, but I don't want her thinking I'm a total horndog. But I am already looking forward to tonight: Saturday nights she usually gives me a good romp in the bedroom.

Speaking of tonight: the Halloween party. She's been working so hard on those costumes, and I know she wants to show them off. There'll be lots of our neighborhood friends there. I should be looking forward to that, too. It's just that...

"Hey, honey," I start, speaking from behind my paper, "would it kill you if we decided not to go to the Mason's tonight?"

 

[Devilla-Roche]

He doesn't want to go to the party...but, the costumes, I think to myself, I've worked so hard on them, getting the patterns and all the materials, all that sewing with my machine and by hand...they're so perfect...it'd be a shame not to wear them at all...

But then I start to think about what the doctor said to me that Ben would experience more pain and more intervals of tiredness and depression too...he wanted me to be on the lookout for these things...he told me that Ben was being very brave about the whole thing, such a man! Of course, his strength is one of the many reasons I love him...on the other hand, I'm his wife, I'm here to care for him, I actually, don't mind him being so sick, I mean I enjoy caring for him very much...it's...it's just so wonderful for me...oh what am I saying to myself...

Now the trick is to show my concern without letting on too much...I need to make him feel...wait, Millicent Robertson, you are going to be the good wife and be very agreeable....

"No darling, it wouldn't."

I then pull his newspaper down from his face...and then I give a very mischievous smile, my eyes wide...
"Do you mind If I wear my costume around the house tonight? You know how I like to add a few things to my costumes that are, uh-hem, for our eyes only."

 

[Ben Robertson]

"How's my baby?" I hear her say, from across the yard. She's talking, of course, to her hybrid rose bush. I have to hand it to her - they are beautiful, her bushes and hedges. She takes wonderful care of them, and has a great collection of several types of roses that she enters into the Garden Club's show every year. Tea roses, Damask, English Roses - she has a few of each that she tends to like treasured pets. Or, dare I say, like her own children.

I smile, though, watching her for a moment as I take a well-needed break from raking the yard. That's my Milly! Of course she's dressed smartly, even for yardwork: she has her particular housedress that she likes to wear in the garden. Who knows when a neighbor might wave from the street? Her gloves are always nice and clean. And it's adorable how she talks to the roses; I can hear her chatter as she snips and prunes. I push from my head the dark thoughts that creep in, that her motherly attention to her flowers has anything to do with anything more than she's just a gal that loves to garden!

The things that bring her joy are the simple things. She can be so childlike, sometimes. That's just one of the things I love about her. How happy the roses make her. And dressing up. She's so excited about tonight! She spent the morning putting finishing touches on our halloween costumes, which I promised her at breakfast that we could wear in the house as we're giving out candy to trick-or-treaters tonight. She makes our costumes herself from year-to-year, and has quite the collection of them piling up down in the basement. In the past I've been the Lone Ranger, an army general, a doctor. She's been a nurse, a cat, a prison inmate. Apparently, this year, I'm going to be Dracula, and she's keeping hers a secret from me...

 

[Devilla-Roche]

: Later on in the day, about 5 o'clock in the afternoon:

"Oh darling, you look like the best Dracula ever."

...I smile, giddy with excitement...

"Your somewhat scary but not too scary."

...again, just ready to jump up and down...

"Oh, Ben you would have been best costume. I know it."

I then show him mine...the long satin gown, all black, with it's deep, incised cuts at my arms and my legs...the purple taffeta around my waist and my wrists...and the accented gem hanging from my neck...the witches hat, long, crooked, and pointed...the whole ensemble hiding what is underneath...

Then I make one reference about Ben's condition...
"I understand how you've been feeling Ben. But if I can have you for the children and well, you know, for the bedroom tonight, just the two of us, I have quite the surprise."

...We tend to the children in the neighborhood and then sit down to a late dinner around 9 o'clock in the evening....meatloaf and all the trimmings...even a little bit of red wine...the meal is perfect, as is my husband...as he begins to strip out of his costume...I, on the other hand, remain as a witch...when all is done I say to him....

"Don't worry about the dishes Ben, I'll take care of them in the morning."

....I place my arms around his shoulders and do notice I don't have to stretch my arms around his backside the way I used to...I then give him a peck on the lips, pull away and smile...

In a sultry voice...
"Ben darling, why don't you get out of the rest of that costume Mr. Dracula and I will meet you in our boudoir in no time. I have a wonderful surprise for you."

 

[Ben Robertson]

She says it was "just a little bit of wine", but she probably made it through three glasses by the time we turned off the porch light. Unusual for her. Not that she was a small gal, a lightweight, but since starting her medication wine would give her headaches the next day. So she didn't tend to drink much but tonight I think she was already tipsy - becoming more and more giggly and giddy as the evening went by. She fawned over the costumes of neighborhood children, and was - as far as I could tell - oblivious to the admiring glances of their dads.

Milly made for a very...impressive...witch. Tall, red-haired, and undeniably curvy. Definitely a neighborhood attraction, even in her crooked hat and handmade gown. She's learned from a young age, growing up in a difficult household, how to make her own clothes, and knows her body well. She knows how to flatter her figure without looking like a floozy, and she's really outdone herself with this year's costume. I complimented it continually all evening, hoping to keep her mind off the fact that with all the kids we saw tonight, none of them were ours.

The wine, I had to guess, was her way of doing that as well. To keep her mind off things. But as we sat down for dinner and she started up on her fourth glass, I couldn't help but think what else the wine would do. She was looking across the table at me through eyes heavily made-up with dramatic eye shadow, mascara, the works. Her lips were dark with paint. I fluttered, a little shocked by just how beautiful she looks tonight, and I felt myself stirring down below anticipating our time in the bedroom.

Wine has always helped loosen my wife up. Though even just a little makes her feel lousy the next morning, when she does drink...I see a little different side of her. She gets giggly. She gets funny. And the Milly I get in the bedroom is a little more like the Milly I had for that year or so before she started her nerve pills. I love my wife to the ends of the earth, and her pills do help "even her out", but...oh, what the old Milly used to do with me...

...and its a little bit of this Milly I'm hoping will walk in the bedroom door as I sit on the edge of our bed, in my boxers.

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I open up the door slowly...I place one arm on the frame of the doorway and the other hand on my hip...I accentuate my curves by moving my hip out and stand there with my legs together, knees bent, and stand upon my six inch heels...I know how much Ben loves it when I wear these....

In my full sexual glory I give him my sexiest pose in my black lace bustier...it's a gorgeous piece of lingerie....its a one piece, with the built-in bra...the whole things is very lacy, which means see-through...even my areola and nipples can be seen...the top accentuates my boobs making my 'D-cups' appear like 'DD's...midway, the garment is broken by a lace bow and then flares out until it's scalloped edge meets with eight garters - four on each leg...the matching panties are also lacy and show off my red haired muff...I trim it down there, but it's still nice and thick like a piece of fur...the panties are G-string so wait until Ben gets a look at my derriere...with the garter belts, he's going to go crazy....

As a matter of fact, I see quite the tent building up in those boxers already....

The garters lead to black stockings, the thin line in the back run from my heels all the way to the wide welts on the stocking...also with a scalloped edge on the top, the lace scrollwork emanates a sense of sexiness, and with my gorgeous legs in them, Ben will have the time of his life tonight...

I slowly walk my sexiest walk - step by step until I am a few feet in front of him...I then slowly bend, from my hips until my face meets with his...I look at him, smile, raise my eyebrows and place a kiss - barely - on his lips, a very thin **smack** can be heard as I release my lips from his...then I grab hold of his underwear and pull on them, pull them down...Ben moves his body to help in what I need to do...the boxers slip off easily and I pull them down his legs...I then take them off and fling them across the room....I then raise m leg and lightly push Ben from his chest so that he gets the hint to get up in that bed and lie down....

It must be the wine, but I take over and call some of the shots here in the bedroom....
"Okay Count Dracula, let's see if we can't get that wonderful thing of yours inside of this very horny witch."

With that, I smile and slowly turn around to show my derriere toward Ben....undo the garters from the stockings and remove the G-string panties....I bend all the way forward and bring the panties to the floor...then I step out of the panties, slowly stand up, turn around, and see Ben in bed, stroking his long thick cock...real horny now, I want to please him, but I want that cock of his inside of me...I know its the wine but who cares....

I climb on the bed, reach over and dim the lamps and waste no time...I position myself, on top of Ben, straddle his cock and find my way...my pussy is already wet....I guide my labia and latch onto the head of his penis...the feeling is amazing already - it always is....I let out cooing sound, my eyes closed and let the weight of my body do the rest...slowly, I let Ben's girth pass through my labia and his shaft slides right inside of me...I sit there for a moment and come close to Ben's face...kiss him and then do what a wife is supposed to do...make him happy in the bedroom....

But as I start rolling my hips and pulling his cock out of me and back in, I can't help but feel him....gosh it feels so good...I can just do this all night....again, it's the wine making me feel this the way, right?

Ben knows that he can come inside of me...I suppose one good side of not being able to conceive...

 

[Ben Robertson]

The wife sitting next to me in church, in her most conservative Sunday dress, is so different than the Wild Red Witch that was riding me last night. That woman - the one in the heels that made her taller than me even at my full height, the one with the big breasts jiggling in her push-up bustier as she pulled my boxers from me, the one who pushed me onto the bed and mounted me like a wildcat and made me forget the pain in my legs - that woman is a just a memory right now.

But it's a memory I can't stop replaying in my head, over and over. Quiet times like this, listening to our pastor speak, are nice sometimes. I'm not a real religious guy; I come to church more for Milly, who's taken up her faith more in recent years. But moments like this allow me to think about what's important, ruminate on the past week, maybe plan the next. I glance over at her, rapt in attention to the sermon, and think again about last night.

Because wow did she fuck me good.

She was drunk, there's no denying it. She woke with a throbbing head and I had to help her out a bit with breakfast this morning, but oh boy was it worth it! She was drunk - not to the point of slurring her words - but I could see it in the wobble in her walk, and in her eyes.

Those eyes - wowie. Made-up like Jane or Marilyn or Liz Taylor, they were dramatic and when they looked into mine, man, I was putty! And she had her tits up on display for me, just the way she knows I like it. And - I didn't even have to put on a show of trying to get into the man's position, on top of her. She just climbed right on. WOW.

I shift around, trying not to be noticed, sitting here in my pew. No boners in church!

Yep, she humped me good. Face to face for a moment, and then she sat up, on top of me, letting me look at her tall, curvy body. Letting me watch her big, jiggling tits. She's a big gal, strong, and she made me feel it. I'm not quite the man I used to be, my body softened by my illness, and if I weren't so jazzed up at the time I would have told her to be careful. It felt like she could break my bones....but it felt so good!

Between the thought of that and the sight of her, bouncing on me, sliding up and down my cock, I didn't last long. I was a little mortified, in fact, and felt a little like a horny, star-struck teen when I came so quickly. She seemed perfectly pleased, though, content, and after a little cuddling had fallen asleep soundly beside me.

But she woke with a headache, that's for sure! Still smiling, though, and a little embarrassed as to her behavior. I like to tease her at times like this, and she's a sport. I didn't mention how sore I was, but as the morning went on - here we are at church, both in our Sunday best - I became pretty convinced I'll need another treatment tomorrow. What's it been, four days..?

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I attempt to listen to Reverend Downing as I sit in church with Ben in our Sunday best, but I find my mind wandering...I somehow seem guilty, for getting drunk off of all that wine...I know things were wonderful in the bedroom...oh but why was I enjoying Ben inside of me so much...oh Lord, you know if you had given me the ability to conceive, Ben and I would be doing it for "being fruitful and multiplying" as the Good Book says, but in your wisdom I can't...should I feel guilty for that?...and should I feel guilty for the way I looked last night?...the attention I kept getting from the husbands of my friends and neighbors, it made me feel good, real good, to be the object of their deep sexual desires...I gave in to that Lord, I gave into human weakness, maybe that's why I was enjoying Ben in me last night so much...I wanted to enjoy him even more, I wanted to....

Oh stop Millicent Robertson, enough already!

Sitting there, all proper I hear the words of Reverend Downing again, but somehow I start to think of Ben...I turn towards him for a moment and look at him...such a beautiful man...I love him so much...I'd do anything for him...the reverends words are drowned out by my continued thoughts and prayers...now Lord, Ben is going through a lot, he is going through a lot of pain, he is going through a lot of emotion, he is challenged by yet something else in his life...Ben is walking in your valley of the shadow of death and even though he fears no evil and even though he knows you are with him, you are not enough Lord....let me be his rod and his staff...use me oh Lord, in any way you can....let me do something, anything that will bring Ben back from the abyss...I'm not wanting it to be all you Lord, I want to do my part...let me please!! Give me the power and strength to help make Ben whole again...can you please give me that, I beg of you!! Let me be of some help....

Church finally ends...
"Darling, the woman's auxiliary is meeting downstairs in the church basement. I'll get a ride home with Mandy. There's plenty of cold cuts for you to make a sandwich and you can have some of the left over potato salad that I made. I know how much you love to watch that football of yours anyway. You can swear at those ballplayers without me being there. ~I smile~ Now, I'll be back to make dinner, don't you worry. We're having Beef Wellington tonight." ~I smile and give him a kiss on the cheek and wave goodbye with my white gloved hand~

 

[Ben Robertson]

So, after leaving Milly at church, after being in the house of Our Lord and listening to the Pastor speak on living an honest, disciplined life, I come home and do what I normally do when I have the place to myself. I jerk off into one of Milly's bras.

Yep, not proud of it. But there's a particular urgency this fine Sunday morning. Images of Milly on top of me last night continued to wrack my mind all through the church service, and I all but run up the stairs <ow my legs ow my legs ow my legs> to find the white Wondermaid bra I have hidden in my extra briefcase, in the hall closet.

In the bedroom, pants around my ankles, I'm stroking myself into one of its big, silky cups as I rifle through her lingerie drawer, looking for...ah, there it is..the newer one, baby blue, that she uses during "certain times of the month". I hold it, and stare at the tag...36DD....

God, I'd be mortified if Milly found out about the obsession I have with breasts, and with hers in particular. It's...humiliating. Shameful. Infantile. But I think about breasts, big breasts, her big breasts, about what she could do to me...thinking about her big, fleshy, white tits filling these cups...

...clean up is messy, and I feel all of about two inches tall with disgrace.

But soon enough I'm on the couch, eating potato salad and watching the Eagles beat up on the Browns. I had plans to finish up the rest of the leaves outside, but I'm too sore for that. I'd popped several Bayers a half hour ago but they're not touching the pain. It's only been getting worse since this morning and...I face it...I'm going to have to call for another clinic visit...

I have a private line to my doctors so, even it being Sunday, I get in touch and - as Milly's walking in - am setting up an appointment for my next treatment tomorrow.

"Yes, uh huh...yes..." I finish up on the phone with the clinic, and put down the receiver. I explain to Milly what's going on. I have a treatment tomorrow. They told me to be safe and bring an overnight bag...with the way I've been responding, they expect me not to be able to go home the same day. They also ask if Milly can stay over as well, as they have some new treatment options to discuss with us the following day, after I've recovered.

She takes it all well, looking over me with concern. We both take heart with the mention of a "new treatment option", and I put on my bravest face for her. Nonetheless, she insists I sit down on the couch for the rest of the day, and she pampers me with drinks, food, blankets. Everything I need to try to get me to forget the growing aches in my bones.

"Aren't you going to join me?" I ask, early in the evening as she sets my third scotch for the day down in front of me. She defers, waving me off - no wine for her today! She seems to have left her hangover back at church, but doesn't want to bring on another one.

She's always good to me, but is especially attentive today. She makes a nice dinner for us and afterwards goes up to change into pajamas. She wants to get to bed early tonight, be ready for tomorrow.

But what she comes back downstairs wearing is certainly not her flannels...wow! With a little girl pout and a mincing step in pink Marabou heeled slippers, Milly makes her entrance back into the living room in a sheer pink babydoll nightie. She looks at me, bats her lashes a few times, and bends at the knee to lean over and blow me a kiss. Boobs bulge out of her top and before I know it I'm springing off the couch to chase her back towards the stairs.

She giggles as I spank her big, round rear end, which she wags voluptuously at me as I run up the stairs after her. Soon we're in the bedroom and she's giggling again - I can't get these clothes off fast enough! But quickly I have her - ooof! I guess I'm not a young man anymore! - in my arms and lift her onto the bed.

Her girlish giggles and womanly curves had me hard by the time we hit the stairs, and I knew that tonight I had to assert myself: I'm the man. I'm in charge. I'm on top. But, as I'm inside her - thrusting down into her hips with my own, sliding in, sliding out, our faces inches apart as she lays under me, so close I can smell her shampoo - I begin to falter. Though I shut my eyes tight - imagining, fantasizing, picturing - I can feel her eyes on my face, searchingly, adoringly, looking deep into me, loving me. Is it the whiskey? Or that I masturbated earlier? Or my pains? Why can't I....? Oh noooo.....

...I can't stay hard.

 

[Devilla-Roche]

I hear a voice calling after me...

"Milliy! Milly Robertson!!"

I turn around and smile....

It's Reverend Downing coming to speak to me....I stop...Reverend downing is thin, but very tall, maybe 6'3 or 6'4"...he's a good looking man for his age...I think he's in his early 60's, balding head...it is very apparent that he's from British stock, a very regal nose, and has the bluest eyes you'll ever see in a man...he's very personable for a man of the cloth and he does have the ear of our congregation...he's a good man...

"Reverend Downing, is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, fine. Listen Milly, I don't want to hold you up from going to the Woman's Auxiliary, but I wanted to ask about your husband Ben. How's he getting on these days? Is doing all right?" Reverend Downing asked me with what seemed to be grave concern.

I guess I hadn't thought about how the news would affect others in our community. "Well, Reverend, Ben has good days and he has bad days." As I continue to speak and look up at the Reverend I notice that at times his eyes seem to wander away from my face and down to my chest...I guess my dress makes it clear that my bosom is the attention of other men's desires, but the Reverend?? I continue to explain about Ben's condition, then we finally say our goodbyes...as I walk away I can't help but reflect back at what happened...

"Okay Milly,:" I say to myself. "Men have stared at you before. Many, included Ben himself. I know I am a good looking woman, but why am I the attention of their desires? Why me? And the Reverend?" But then I begin to realize that the Reverend is flesh and blood too. He's just a man. God knows he is suppressing his desires.

I keep walking and it continues to gnaw away at me...

"Well, if I can get men of the cloth to have sinful desires about me," I say to myself and then continue, "All these years its happened to me, back in middle school I always had the attention of boys, same in high school. I guess I always knew that it made me quite special. Not every woman has that attention, not to the extent that I have a man's attention." Then I think back to times that I used my good looks, turned on my womanly charms to get the littlest things from a man, including my own husband Ben..."Milly Robertson, you can't have any children, but you can have that subtle control over men. I can just imagine the Reverend thinking such wild things. I should be sickened by that, by why does it give me a sheer sense of empowerment. Hmm, maybe I have to see what it does to Ben. Maybe run a few experiments....I smile, a devious part of me at work...then I think, "It can't hurt anybody.....

 

[Devilla-Roche]

Later in the evening at home....

Experiment # 1...
I come down the stairs in my pink babydoll and my marabou slippers...it's overt, I do realize that, but it garners and immediate action from Ben...he practically dives at me, and I make it a chase all the way into the bedroom with some stops and spanks in between...

Of course, I realize just how desirable I can be to a man...

Now in our bedroom...my babydoll off, my Marabou slippers on the other side of the room, Ben seems to struggle to get me into bed...then he joins me, he on top, he attempts to get hard and have his beautiful thing of his inside me, but I sense that he's having trouble...I can see him struggling...he tries to give me that willing face...maybe there is something that I can do...something that will make all the difference...maybe, I realize...that feeling of womanly empowerment....what my body can do to a man, even if it is my man...

Experiment # 2....I think to myself before saying in a sultry manner...
"Ben, do you want me to be on top?"

 

[Ben Robertson]

Crestfallen, I let out a breath and open my eyes. This has happened too many times before, and she's responded as she always has in the past, with compassion, and with understanding. Understanding of what I need.

Without a word, I nod "yes", and she does what she has always done for me...

 

[Devilla-Roche]

As I maneuver to be on top, I can't help but notice how similar in height, and to a certain degree, size we seem to be...I know its Ben's sickness that is doing this to him, but for a fleeting moment I rather enjoy the thought of being taller than him....I must be crazy to think such things...what wife wants to be taller than her husband? How ridiculous that would look? What would the neighbors think? And, our friends?

Now in position, I lower myself upon him...I let me big bosom come down on Ben's chest and then I slowly drag my boobs across his face...in my sultry voice I say, "There you go Ben, I know how much you love that. I know how much you like to have my soft, dripping boobs on your face. Will that make you hard for us? I bet it will. Maybe this will help too."

I place my arms on either side of his head and scoop him up and pull him into my deep cleavage...my large D's engulf only part of his head, but it is enough to get what he needs...a bit more of me in order to get him hard...it's what I do for my hubby...it pleases him so for me to do this and I know how much he wants to make love to me...after a short while, I lower my haunches and let my vagina find the head of his cock and when it does, I let the rest of my body follow...

Now I pet Ben's head...in a sweet, subtle, mothering tone....
"There you. All better now. ~my body rocks back and forth~That's all it took was to have me on top of you just like you want. ~in and out in and out~ It was a good try Ben to have you on top, but its better this way. ~in and out, in and out~ Besides, you know how much I love you and want to please you. ~in and out in and out~ If this is the way you get hard to make love, than this is the way. And you enjoy my soft bosom in your face."

I continue to rock my body up and down, his cock going in and out of my pussy...I'm here for him...I drag my bosom across his face multiple times and wait for him to come inside of me....

 

[Ben Robertson]

Oh god, she knows what I like. For better or worse, she knows.

I need her on top.

"There you go Ben, I know how much you love that...

She lets me look at her, she knows the sight of her above me is all I need to ignite me, harden me. Her tall body, her long, strong legs, her thick powerful hips. She's aware. Her body is a magnificent thing. It works, it always does. I respond to her above me, I always do. I thicken again, I grow. She coos to me, encouragements and praise. I'm inside her again, she's taking the lead, fucking me. She's proud, and I'm a little humbled...I couldn't stay hard on top, but I'm aroused with her on me. Unspoken between us, but a fact. And the shame only fuels my lust, and she feels me becoming ready. She knows what will finish me off...

"... Maybe this will help too."

Slowly - with hands crawling behind my head - she shows me her breasts. They fill my view, large and white. She lowers them...closer...closer...knowing what I need...she whispers...

"There you. All better now...just like you want..."

Her breasts in my face. She knows.

"It's better this way, hm?" she coos, petting me,

I kiss at her, inhaling her, and quickly I am there, moaning, moaning...she's cooing to me, praising me, encouraging me. This is easy for her, the easiest way to bring me home, it always works..she's telling me yes, baby, yes, and I'm moaning, moaning...and tensing...tensing...

...and coming...

Oh, yes