Have you ever woken up in the morning and thought to yourself, "What the fuck did I DO last night!?" In this case, it was more along the lines of "WHO the fuck did I do last night!?!" I had that thought last Saturday, wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked around the room. Hung over, I told myself to quit yelling inside my own head. Maybe it was just one too many shots of tequila and an overactive imagination. Nope -- I was still in Room 1215 of the Washington, DC Downtown Marriott.
I looked under the covers and discovered I had nothing on. I distinctly remembered putting pajamas on last night. Upon further examination, I discovered that there was bright red lipstick smeared on my cock. Apparently, I had a great time the night before. Then the fog inside my head began to lift and the events of the previous night began to work their way back into my brain. As the memories flooded my swollen head, all I could think was "FUCK. I am SOOOOOO fucked!" It was going to be a looooooong day.
I suppose I ought to back up a bit and tell you how I came to this totally hung over state in a hotel room a stone's throw from the White House. It was all Emily's fault. Although I am quite certain most people would blame me.
My name is John. I am 32 years old, married, with two kids. I am 5'10", weigh 165 pounds, with curly, blonde hair and green eyes. I am a professional tenor and voice teacher in Richmond, Virginia. By day, I teach housewives and the occasional home school student who wants to learn how to sing. After normal school hours, I work with middle and high school students who want to study (or THINK they might want to) voice as a college major. I have an excellent reputation for preparing high school students to participate in scholarship auditions and competitions.
Emily is my star student. She is a senior at one of the local high schools. She waltzed into my studio as a 15 year-old sophomore and sang beautifully. Em was a raw talent, who loved music more than breathing. A little slip of a girl, Em stood 5'0" and weighed right at 100 pounds. She had pretty brown eyes and thick, pouty lips.
Her mother Brenda explained to me that while she would love for me to teach Emily, her pending divorce had left her in a tough financial situation, and $200 a month was just more than they could really afford. In fact, after staying home since the age of 20 to raise Em, Brenda was looking for a job for the first time in her life. Brenda seemed like a nice lady in a tough spot. It was late February, and all she really wanted was for her daughter to be ready for an audition in March and state solo and ensemble contest in April. I agreed to teach Em for free if Brenda would help me out at the studio. I needed a part-time administrative assistant in the worst way, but didn't have enough work to justify hiring someone for more than about five hours a week. Brenda jumped at the chance.
Brenda was 5'3", with curly, blonde, shoulder length hair. She had a nice body for a 35 year-old mother of three, and pretty brown eyes. She would have passed for seriously hot except for the sadness that her divorce had brought into her life. She turned out to be incredibly helpful, and my business grew as a result of her freeing me up from administrative duties to concentrate on doing what I enjoyed most - namely singing and teaching. By the end of Emily's junior year, I was not only teaching her for free, but was paying her mother a decent, living wage.
Musically, things could not have been going better. Emily placed a respectable third at the state solo contest her sophomore year, and easily got into the top show choir and chamber ensemble at her school. She starred in the high school's production of "Annie Get Your Gun" her junior year and was named the outstanding singer at the state contest that year. We were primed for a great run at several music scholarships her senior year.
Last September, Brenda showed me the flyer for a contest she really wanted Emily to win. It was at Georgetown University, which was where Emily had decided she wanted to study. Georgetown runs about $30,000 a year, and Emily's dad had not been real faithful to the divorce decree. The contest had two purposes. First, it was an audition for the performing arts school at Georgetown. Second, the contest was endowed to pay for a full, four years of tuition and fees at the prestigious, Washington, DC campus. For a girl like Em, it was truly the opportunity of a lifetime.
We entered Emily in the contest and began preparing furiously. The contest was to be held the week before Christmas, and we had to have a full repertoire ready. I bumped up the difficulty level of Emily's music, and pushed her even harder in her lessons, accepting nothing less than perfection in her rhythmic accuracy, diction, tone quality and intonation. One night in late November, she almost broke down, saying "I can't DO this! The notes are too high for too long!" I assured her she could, and we went back to work on "The Queen of the Night" from Mozart's The Magic Flute. While that aria was beyond almost all high school (and undergrad) students, I knew that if she could just FINISH "Queen of the Night" cleanly in the final, she WOULD win the competition. I told her that the competition was going to be incredible with some 18 year-old going home with a $125,000 scholarship. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, smiled and said, "Well, all right then." We went back to work.
The studio Christmas party was at our house the Saturday night before the big contest at Georgetown. My wife Christy was (as usual) the perfect hostess. Christy is about 5'6", weighs 115, has long, flowing, thick black hair, amazing legs, and a PERFECT set of 36C breasts. She teaches theatre, and has a thousand watt smile.
The party was a nice buffet with an open bar for the adults and all the soda and tea those underage could handle. We sang Christmas carols, had a gag gift exchange, and just hung out. Dressed in a beautiful spaghetti strap, red cocktail dress and matching heels, Christy took fabulous care of our guests and flirted shamelessly with a couple of the hot dads and husbands. I even noticed her taking Emily's father on a guided tour of our home. She led him upstairs and we didn't see them for a few minutes. Em sang her contest repertoire to end the evening, and finished with "the Queen of the Night." It was good. Not where we wanted it to be, but very good.
I looked around to see her parents' reaction. Brenda was beaming, but Mike was not in the room. I looked over at the staircase and saw Mike and Christy stepping down on to the landing. Christy's face was flush, and Mike (who hadn't even been in the room for his oldest daughter's performance, was beaming from ear to ear. I new that particular grin. I usually had it plastered to my own face for a couple of days after my usually prudish bride deigned to give me a blow job. She did NOT do it nearly often enough for my liking, but when she did, she had oral skills that would make a seasoned professional whore blush. Seeing that grin on Mike's face made my blood boil. I stood there and seethed, all the while showing our guests out. Mike had the audacity to say, "Thanks for the invitation John. It was worth coming just to meet your lovely wife." With that, he kissed Christy on the cheek and was out the door.
When the last guest had left and we were finally alone, I let my wife of 12 years have it with both barrels. I confronted her about Mike's lengthy tour and she denied it. I pressed some more and she admitted to giving him a blow job. "I'm sorry honey. I had just had a little too much to drink, and he had this way of wording things that just made it sound like a good idea."
"Where did you do him?" I asked.
"Our walk in closet."
"Let's go there right now."
"Okay. But don't be too mad at me. It's never happened before, and I promise it won't happen again," Christy whimpered.
I took Christy to the closet and said, "You would dare suck another man's cock ten feet from our bed when you hardly ever suck mine?"
"I'm sorry."
"Not sorry enough"
I pulled her to the bed, sat down and through her over my knee. As I mentioned before, Christy was a prude (or so I thought) and our love life had been VERY vanilla. I was so mad I lifted up her skirt and began to spank her hard with my hand.
"You're hurting me," she cried.
"Good. You deserve it," I replied. "And now, you are going to get on your knees and beg my cock for forgiveness.
"The hell I am."
"Yes, you will or I will tell all our friends about you being a whore in our own home. Did you swallow him? I didn't notice anything on the carpet in the closet."
"No."
"Liar. You never deign to swallow mine -- WHEN you are gracious enough to even give me a blow job."
"All right. I swallowed, he didn't really give me a choice. He held my head in place when he came. It was awful"
"I don't think even YOU believe that."
