Envy.

As the door shut, I realized it wasn't being a housewife that was so unsatisfying. It was the loneliness. My name is Evelyn I am a living cliché: the lonely housewife.

It isn't such a bad thing when my spouses are in from work and the three children home from school. The empty feeling only comes once the kids close the door on the way to bus stop. Sometimes I walk with them, but they complain, saying it is embarrassing. My husband, Martel, says I need to give them space to grow and become independent. But he isn't lonely; he fills his days with work then comes home and takes the lion's share of the twin's attention and affection.

The youngest daughter, Giselle is different from the twins though, like night and day they are. Whereas Lena and Leon, are both skinny bright-eyed and happy-go-lucky, Giselle bears little resemblance to either of them, she is a plump and broody sort, frequently excluded by her older siblings, if not for her age then for her personality. Thereza, my wife, says her mother was the same way.

And it made sense: Giselle resembled her maternal grandmother so much in appearance, why not in disposition as well?

But recalling Giselle's parentage is a sore point I take pains to avoid, because it reminds me of my failures. Naturally Martel and Thereza are too considerate to ever so much as insinuate that, but I can feel it. The void left unfilled, the dreams deferred, a burning sense of inadequacy that gnaws at my soul and brings the loneliness crushing down upon me. If I don't check these harmful emotions, they'll take root and lead to darker places.

They've led there before.

***

Once we were married, I'd immediately dumped my birth control and announced my intention to get pregnant as soon as possible. Martel and Thereza were both ambivalent, not really being comfortable as much with each other as they were with me. But they both loved me more than anything, letting me lead the charge, so the last few nights of our honeymoon were spent "making a sandwich." Thereza on the bottom, taking advantage of her flexible gymnastics-honed body with her ankles up by her ears as I fucked her like a rabbit in heat, Martel pressed against my back, pounding my fertile pussy like a madman from behind. I remember the feeling of his huge hands yanking my hair back as he drained his nuts inside me, with Thereza kneading and massaging my big floppy breasts at the same time and both of my new spouses whispering sweet nothings and nasty fantasies as we lay exhausted in bed together.

Things continued like that. We tried for months to conceive, with Martel fucking the absolute shit out of me on my fertile days but nothing took. It didn't put the rest of our sex life on hold though, and gradually Thereza got lazy about taking her birth control, I got lazy about remembering her safe days and our initial batch of condoms expired with Martel being too lazy to get more. Given time, routine condom mishaps and a mixed-up schedule later, the predictable happened.

It had been a wild night, all of us slightly drunk as we stumbled up the stairs to posh, upscale apartment (paid for by all three of us being employed) after attending an outdoor concert. My hands were all over Thereza's cinnamon brown pixie cut hair, pulling her into a wet, passionate kiss; my tongue playing Columbus to her mouth's New World. She reached into my dress and brought my fat tits out, breaking the kiss only to take my nipple into her mouth, uncaring that we were still feet away from our apartment's door. Martel had gone ahead and held it open, watching with considerable interest, with Thereza refusing to stop tasting my breasts as we moved.

Somehow we made it inside, slamming the door shut behind us, and Thereza looked up at me, "I wanna you tooo leeck my poosy..." her Portuguese accent really coming out strong due to inebriation.

I shook my head, taking her cheeks into my hands and pushing her down onto the couch, speaking firmly in spite of my giggles, "Nuh-uh! I'mma fuck ya! And then I'mma get fucked by mah husband. And then... maybe I'll eat ya!"

Martel's hands hiked up my dress and pulled my panties down for me, while I focused on sliding Thereza's shorts off and she divested herself of the tight halter top she'd worn. She raised her legs straight up with a smile and I brought the shorts up and over her ankles, throwing them across the room before I kissed her ankle and started licking down her leg. Her body was a work of art: tall and toned, luxuriously long legs, unblemished skin the color of peanut butter, petite breasts topped by perky dark brown nipples that stood stiff in the cool air of our apartment and the tightest, hottest, wettest pussy I'd ever been inside. And she had the face to match: large, light brown eyes that made her look like the most innocent thing; soft, kissable lips; ears that stuck out in the cutest way.

"Fack me, you blonde beetch!"

I loved every inch of Thereza. And I made sure she knew it by plunging inside her as I'd finished putting on the condom Martel handed me, my pecker squeezing inside with a wet noise as we moaned together. In return, Thereza loved every inch of me: my long honey blonde hair; my green eyes; my big boobs; my pale skin; even my little pecker, barely making four inches on a good day. I knew I'd lucked out, going ball's deep inside her and crying out at the snugness. Of course, our loving husband refused to be merely an observer and took the opportunity to take my chin in his huge hand, turning my head and placing his thick six inch manhood on my tongue. He didn't need to tell me what to do, I wanted to do it.

Once I had a handle on Martel's dick, I started fucking Thereza with rapid, short strokes, "like a coelho," she laughingly described it one time. And it was true, with my diminutive penis, I could hardly long-stroke her snatch the way Martel did with mine. But she'd never complained, never made me feel inadequate.

With her, I felt like a master fucksmith, the splatter of juices between us sounding like wet rag slapping against skin, my lips stretched and moaning around Martel's fat dick as I felt my balls tense up and my pussy drip. Thereza was letting out a long, breathless cry, its pitch modulated by my hurried thrusts. Against the complaints of my muscles, I sped up, feeling my orgasm approaching, her feel pussy taking on an enhanced pleasure, almost like when you wear sun glasses all day and how much brighter everything sees when you take them off.

I opened my mouth and let my husband slip from my lips, gasping, "Oh fuck! Tere! I'm cummin' baby, I'm cummin'! Here it comes, here it comes! Fuuuuuck!"

Every muscle tightened at once, a long rope hosing into the condom. Or at least, that was what should have happened. It was only after I'd caught my breath, sucked on Martel a bit more before watching him fuck Thereza himself and then got up off the couch that I noticed there was no condom around my now limp member. No biggie, I'm pretty small so it sometimes would fall off on its own. But looking closer, I noticed the ring was still around the base of my shaft, barely hanging on, but definitely on its lonesome. "Goddammit... hey Tere, the fucking condom broke again."

Martel was just pulling out of her, having cum only a minute or so before and spoke up right after me, "Shit... so did mine."

Thereza was lying back on the couch, hands on her face, "I'll deal with it later... just... let me sleep for a few minutes..."

I reluctantly agreed. Martel and I argued for a few minutes when I picked up the packages and noticed that both were expired, as were all the condoms we had on-hand. He promised to get more. But that didn't matter. Thereza slept most of the night and by morning had completely forgotten about it, letting nature take its course.

After finding out Thereza was pregnant, I felt horrible thinking I'd dumped my ambitions onto her, only as a burden instead of a blessing. As her belly swelled to ridiculous size and the presence of twins confirmed by ultrasound, blessing turned into envy. After their birth, when it was clear that Martel was the father of both the twins, it became bitterness. Then, after a few years of desperately trying to conceive, when Thereza again accidentally became pregnant with Giselle, it was outright bitter jealousy.

She complained incessantly about the pregnancy; how it was affecting her athletic figure, how she felt too awkward to keep up her jogging and swimming, how she had to cancel meetings and restrict the amount of overtime to fit in doctor's appointments. Not to my face, no. She'd never do such a thing. But she and Martel had gotten into the habit of spending time together – without me – in his study. At first I listened by the door, but I knew it was too unsubtle and I'd eventually be caught. Instead I became Evelyn, P.I. by simple expedient of taking the twins' baby monitor (they were two years old at the time) and putting it under Martel's desk, wedged between the wall and the wooded frame.

Listening to them from the master bedroom – OUR master bedroom! – broke my heart at times, but I couldn't stop myself. It also confirmed something I'd long suspected: they were both fucking behind my back. I'd slip away from the children while they watched a movie or played video, consciously avoiding heading towards Martel's study and instead going down the opposite hall, holing myself up in the master bedroom and listening to them fuck. Thereza made sounds I'd never known she could make, while Martel gave it to her as hard as she could take it and then some. She loved his fat dick, loved to ride it, to suck on it and (if I'd heard correctly) she even let him fuck her in the ass, which was something she'd never let me do in all the years we'd been together.

If I didn't know Thereza was such a career woman, I'd have suspected that her second pregnancy was no accident.

Furthermore, I found myself jealous of Martel's dick, its girth, its hardness, its length, everything about it. I'd beat my dick and finger my pussy furiously while thinking about biting it or squeezing his balls to the point of pain, laughing and cumming as he cried out. It certainly wasn't a healthy fantasy to have with a person to whom you slept next, but I had no one to talk with about this. My therapy involved keeping busy with housework, long showers and other distractions...

***

While standing in the almost scalding hot spray, hands running through my thick tangle of blonde hair, I try to keep myself on an even keel by thinking of the good things. The way Martel sits down at the table and plays out his role of fatherly entertainer, pulling minor pranks on the children and telling outrageous tales that Lena and Leon found as improbable as they were hilarious. The way Thereza sits down and stoops over the table to silently check her smartphone and fire off missives and directives, trying to contain one self-inflicted office emergency or another. She stops occasionally scold the children for their crass table manners. How Giselle eats quietly at first, her little hands shoveling food into her mouth and only gradually gathers her courage to say something while her brother and sister practically bounce out of their seats, mouths running at a hundred miles an hour.

Thinking it through, I can't say that we are an unhappy family.

I can only say I am an unhappy woman.

I exhale slowly as the water begins to cool, having spent far too much time in the shower. The dark emotional cloud has been blown from over my head by the wind of relaxation and mediation, but it still lingers on the horizon. I'm used to it though, only the loneliness dampens my spirits as I towel off, humming to myself as I wrap up (I don't know why; there is no one else home) and dress myself in comfortable sweatpants and a t-shirt, refusing to look at myself in the mirror. I hate seeing the slight curves of my weight, especially compared to Thereza.

Walking into the living room, with its carefully sophisticated décor and the far wall dominated by a massive television, I felt the crush of loneliness hit me again, in spite of my attempts to keep it at bay. Out of sheer habit, I examined the furniture and floors for dust; if I spotted even one speck, I'd practically race to get the cleaning supplies, throwing myself into her role as housewife and cleaning up a storm to keep myself from thinking too much. But ultimately, cleaning my way through my emotional issues is self-defeating: the worse I feel, the harder I cleaned but the less there would be to clean later.

Instead I sit down on the couch and pick up the remote, turning on the television and idly flipping through channels. I hadn't wanted this, the solitary hours spent in my home. What I'd imagined had been so much better than endless episodes daytime television to kill the hours before my family would return. I keep cycling through the channels, reflecting bitterly on the irony of hundreds of choices and yet nothing I want to watch. Eventually, I give up and bring up Netflix, hoping to find a recommendation that could hold my interest at least... unfortunately, having taken it upon myself to get movies and shows for the kids, that was no longer a workable option. Everything it offered was geared to audience 3-12 years old and I sigh before throwing my head back and turning the TV off in frustration.

After looking over the glass work on the shelves for signs of smudges, I simply close my eyes, letting my mind wander back to happier times...

***

I was a wild child in my high school and college days: partying and drinking every weekend without a care in the world. I'd taken the world by storm in an effort to experience everything life had to offer and sow my wild oats before settling down. And how wild my oats had been. Everyone near my age was fair game as far as I was concerned, man or woman. I was so bad it got to the point where my friends actively prevented their siblings from being alone with me (Paula's brother enjoyed Evelyn's dick even more than his sister did) and eventually went beyond that that by installing a social firewall to hide their significant others (Denny had taken months to forgive me for getting a blowjob from his girlfriend) because they knew I was nearly insatiable when drunk and only marginally better sober.

I remembered Paula's brother – what was his name again? – for some reason. He was a handsome, dark-haired and quiet-type of guy who I'd actually been too embarrassed to approach earlier in the evening that I met him I had a pimple smack-dab on the center of my forehead. Well, a few Irish Car Bombs later, that pimple seemed like much less of a big deal and I'd only wasted about a dozen words seducing him before I pushed him into the empty garage of their house, "You wanna play a game?"

I was quite certain I was slurring my words at the time because he didn't understand at first, raising his eyebrows with an unspoken question. I just giggled and put my hands on his belt, tugging him closer, "A game! You know, like... Big Dick, Little Dick!"

Next to my big, bouncy tits, my sparkling green eyes were my best weapon of mass seduction. A little bit of batting my lashes and staring into his eyes and he was putty in my hands, acquiescing with a short nod. I leaned close, inappropriately close, my lips millimeters from his ear, "Do you know how to play it?"

A slow shake of his head, which I'd expected, and it was on. "Well! I'm gonna show you mine, and you're gonna show me yours," I reached down and grabbed his package through the jeans he was wearing, "And if I'm bigger, I'm gonna fuck ya... but if you're bigger... you get to take my dick up your ass. OK?"

It was a classic "heads I win, tails you lose," setup but boys were never paying that much attention when it came to their dicks and so the dark-haired boy nodded with misunderstanding. I smiled, stepped back and lifted up my tight green dress, tugging the yellow panties that contained my little pecker aside and fished it out. She was decidedly small and flaccid but I merely gave a cute demurral, pleading with him, "Nooo... not yet, doesn't count! You have to let me get ready first!"

He didn't stop me, so I spit on my hand and gripped my winky with three fingers and my thumb, all that would physically fit on my modest pink length. I kept my dress up with my other hand, cooing and sighing as my fingers worked back and forth, the leftover pinky giving the ridiculous impression of a "classy" jerkoff session. "I'm almost... almost ready... yeah... there she is... there she is. OK, I'm ready!"

I let go and allowed my pecker to stand alone, extending to its full length of just under four inches. I remembered Paula's brother (she really could not remember his name at all) raised an eyebrow incredulously, then suppressed a half-laugh before he let me pull his meat from his pants... a wonderfully sculpted specimen of manhood, curved to the left with the tip just barely winking past the foreskin. I put my hand to my mouth in mock horror, "Ooooh, that's really big..."

After reiterating the terms and conditions he'd definitely protested the rigged game, but I wasn't a bad person per se. I explained that I just had needs, needs that included at the time getting my finger-sized womanhood in his tight asshole. Of course, I could handle a bit of delayed gratification and so he let me go down on him first, teasing and tonguing the meaty shaft before going lower and gulping on his balls, slathering both of them in drool as my lips and mouth worked to suck the sperm straight out of his sac while I stroked him at the same time. He was moaning loudly, utterly unconcerned with anyone walking into the garage and only got louder when I slipped a wet finger up his butt.

His pucker was incredibly tight so I had trouble getting very deep, settling instead getting up to my second knuckle and curling my finger down, then jerking back a few times. His butt seized up tighter than a dog biting on a bone and he went off like a rocket, spraying a thick, bitter splash of cum over my head, the trailing edge landing across my face as I tilted my head and looked up at him. His eyes were rolled back and his mouth formed into a silent "O" shape, jerking as I used the opportunity to press my finger deeper before his second shot erupted as powerful as the first and landed on the concrete floor with an audible splat.

The actual fuck I threw him was pretty much anti-climactic: I was young and way too excited for my own good so it lasted all of a dozen pumps before I pulled out and came on his back. We hooked up a few times after that before Paula found out and put her foot down about sleeping with her brother, but it was nice while it lasted.

***

Slouching down on the couch, I bite my lip and think of Paula's nameless brother, my hand wrapped tight around my bantam woody, pulling on it furiously. I remember how tight his ass was, but he was far from the best I'd ever had. The meaningless void of my home is filled with the steady slck, slck, slck of dick being stroked as I run through my mental rolodex of debauchery, trying to bring myself closer to the edge of ecstasy. I reach under my robe and taking a nipple in hand, thinking back to old boyfriends, ex-girlfriends, dismissed lovers, forgotten fuckbuddies, and barely remembered one night stands. The entire procession of sexual partners is running through my head as I pump my hand up and down while pinching and twisting my nipples. I can't count the number or even remember all their faces, but a few stand out. And among them, other than my spouses, one name comes to the forefront: Aubrey.

Just thinking her name tempts me heavily and I bring my stroking to a stop in order to grip the base of my peter and squeeze. It's hard and glistening and – with a bit of pressure – looked decently sized. Letting go of my free hand, I reach over and pick up my phone, lifting my shirt and holding it between my teeth as I move the phone back and forth, trying to fill the frame with my pecker. I snap a picture, review it then snap another and another, trying to get the perfect angle. Eventually, I find it, a keen bead of precum hanging off the tip which is pointed straight up, shiny with spit and possessing that reddened, eager look.