by Ben Boswell
I also didn’t know if she would actually allow me to do it. I’d lost track of how many times she’d told me it was all up to me. That I could end it whenever I wanted. But the truth was, I didn’t really believe it. I didn’t really believe that when push came to shove, she’d really honor my wishes. After all, she was completely open to him. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass, all available for his pleasure. She submissively allowed herself to be bound, gagged, tormented. There was nothing she denied him, so why would she deny him everything just because I said so?
I could live with it. I had no choice. If only he could just content himself with her. What was wrong with him that that wasn’t enough. Her beautiful face and her perfect breasts.
Why did he need more?
“Bill?”
I was having trouble forming words.
“Let’s start with the sex club,” she suggested. “What bothers you about that?”
“I just…. I’d prefer you didn’t….”
Weak. Weak. Weak.
“What if we just watched? Or what if we just went so other people could watch Mike and me fucking? Would that be okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you don’t want him leading me around with a leash and letting strangers have me,” she asked.
Why was that even an issue. Why would she enjoy it? I knew that was the wrong question to ask. That was a rabbit hole.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“No, I don’t want you to do that.”
She nodded. “Okay, well, then what if he invites some friends of his over to his place, would that be --”
“No…. It’s not about the leash, and it’s not about the club.”
“So what is it about?”
I couldn’t set rules on Mike. He’d find ways around any limits I could imagine. Not because he was so smart and creative, but obviously because he liked the idea of fucking with us. Of fucking with me. He was interjecting himself into our relationship, and that’s what I couldn’t accept. I braced myself for a fight.
“I don’t want you to see Mike anymore.”
She nodded. “Okay. I can live with that.”
I was relieved. Maybe a little disappointed. Scared too, at some level, that she was just saying what she thought I wanted to hear.
“I can live with that,” she repeated. “But can you give me a reason?”
I shook my head, but even as I did, an answer formed. Not quite an honest answer, but as close as I was willing to say out loud. “Because I don’t like how he gets into your head.”
“Interesting, Bill. So you don’t mind men getting into… my mouth… my pussy… or my ass… but you draw the line at my head.”
I didn’t reply.
She didn’t speak or otherwise react for a long while. She was hoping I’d step into the silence, but I had said it as well as I could. It was now up to her whether she wanted to accept it.
Finally, she nodded. Another pause. A smile and then, “Well, that still leaves open the question of the Uber driver. He definitely didn’t get inside my head. I don’t even know his name, but --”
“Juan.”
She smiled. “Oh, good, thank you. So, what do you think he got into?”
I thought of the options she’d laid out. And I also realized what would happen next. “Your mouth.”
“Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner. He was uncut,” she said. “Only my second uncircumcised penis. I don’t think I’ve ever really quite mastered the nuances there. Maybe I need more practice?”
I shuddered. She giggled.
“Not that… Juan, was it?”
I nodded.
“Not that Juan really cared. He just wanted to fuck my face.”
She leaned forward again, and I didn’t stop her this time. She swallowed me deep into her mouth. I grabbed the back of her head and held her in place. She moaned around my prick. I gasped and came hard, down her throat like I’d imagined doing earlier, like Juan had done. She swallowed me with practiced ease.
She rose up off me. I pulled her into my arms. We didn’t kiss, but I could see smell her breath, hot, moist, musky.
“Are we okay?” I asked.
She answered by tenderly running her fingers through my hair. Yes, Baby, we’ll be just fine.
CHAPTER NINE
I had asserted myself. It felt good.
We slowly transitioned into making love. No Mike. No Brian. No Juan. Just the two of us. I helped her out of her PJs and spent an eternity worshipping her gorgeous body.
Even after all these years together, I still find new things to love about her. Or maybe I’m rediscovering them. That night, her chest intrigued me. We kissed softly, tenderly, my hand wedged between her ribs and her boobs. I could feel her breathing, the faint thud of her heartbeat, the weight of her heavy breasts on the back of my hand. I moved down, sucking her nipples in my mouth, running my tongue across the bumpy flesh of her areolas.
As I licked her tits, I let my hand drift down over her flat belly, making small circles with my fingertips as I moved toward her shaved slit. She moaned softly as I found her wetness. I gently explored her silky folds, relishing the way my touch made her sigh and her stomach muscles tense.
I pressed a finger inside her. She was tight. Hot. Excited. I went in deeper. Her hand cupped mine, not to stop me, and not to urge me on, but rather in quiet reassurance that she liked what I was doing. I withdrew my finger, slowly, slowly, letting its length slide across her swollen clit. She shuddered and then moaned again as my fingertip pressed on her sensitive nub, feeling the harder ridge of her hood. I entered her again and repeated the process, two, then three times, until with a delicious little mewl, I felt her pussy clench repeatedly on my digit.
She pulled off my t-shirt and pressed me onto my back. She went down on me, her long, blond locks trailing against my chest and my belly. Ticklish, but at same time, erotic as hell.
She wasn’t whore Terri, but rather wife Terri at first. She didn’t swallow me whole or slobber all over me or gag herself with my prick. Instead, she kissed and licked the length of my cock, softly suckled the head, her hands stroking my shaft and balls.
“That’s nice,” I sighed.
She looked back over her shoulder, her smile showing even in her eyes. She blew me a kiss and then returned her attention to my prick. Slowly, she worked it deeper into her mouth, her tongue becoming more playful. I moaned.
She edged her body closer to mine. I took the hint and reached out to ease her up over my torso so that her pussy was at my mouth. She swallowed me deep, and I craned my neck to lap at her soaking, wet pussy.
Her thighs quivered as I sucked on her clit. Her hard nipples rubbed against my stomach. She bobbed up and down on my cock faster and faster, and I could feel her spit begin to dribble down onto my balls. I realized I was involuntarily thrusting upward into her mouth, but at the same time I noticed she was pumping her hips, smearing her pussy against my face. We were close, both of us.
She lifted her head up and gasped at me. “I want you inside me.”
I was happy to oblige. We disentangled a bit awkwardly. I’m not sure there is really a graceful way to get out of a 69. She giggled as my forearm smooshed her nose, but then she spun around and draped herself over me. My cock was trapped between our bodies, and I could feel the wetness of her snatch against my shaft.
She kissed me hard. I could taste something of myself on her tongue, though she probably got more of herself in the bargain. Without breaking our embrace, she shifted and my prick slid up into her steamy snatch. I was already close, and I almost lost it, but managed to calm myself.
I roamed my hands over her sultry body as she began to move on top of me. I loved the way she slowly rolled her hips, slipping my cock in and out of her almost completely, so that at the apex just the head was still in the grip of her tight pussy. And then a slow, luxuriant reinsertion that culminated with my entire shaft engulfed with her hot wetness.
/> Her eyes were closed in concentration. She rose up on her arms, and I watched in awe as her big tits swayed with her movements. Faster, faster. She gasped, and then I felt her pussy spasm, and I matched her climax with my own.
***
My self-satisfaction didn’t survive the night. I awoke anxious, and as I probed my thoughts it occurred to me that what I’d seen as a big victory was actually just a case of pushing on an open door.
Terri, I realized, had already decided to end it with Mike. He was too pushy, too demanding. The stunt with the mock rape had turned her on, but also creeped her out.
That was the point of her sex-a-thon with him after. Part of it was testing herself. If she could take everything he could throw at her and still walk away whole, she didn’t need him. Part of it, too, was that she got it all out of her system.
She’d done the same thing with Chucky, all those years ago, when she’d first left him for me. It was her way of saying goodbye to men who got under her skin.
For a few hours I thought I was in control. I now realized I still wasn’t.
Even still, all of this remained theoretical for now.
The weekend passed normally. A quiet Sunday. Spring cleaning and dinner with the kids. Another day that looked to anyone observing from outside like a quiet weekend in suburbia.
We didn’t make love on Sunday night. We watched TV. We read in bed. We fell asleep with our butts touching. Just a reassuring bit of contact. Somehow that seemed important, as if no matter how far apart we drifted at times, there was always that residual connection that would keep us together. I don’t know why I imbued it with that much meaning. It was probably just wishful thinking.
***
The next morning was my day to go in early. I’d have the kids in the afternoon. I rose without waking Terri and took a quick shower.
I should have just dressed and gone, but I couldn’t help myself and before leaving the bedroom I peered into her closet to see what clothes she’d laid out. It was a regular outfit, patterned tan and black silk blouse, and a suede skirt. Sexy, but I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash had I not noticed that draped over the top of the skirt, she’d chosen a pair of sheer, tan, thigh-high stockings, and matching g-string panties.
I froze. I considered waking her. Confronting her over her plans. And maybe that’s what she was counting on.
Friday night she’d been nearly raped and then fucked the shit out of Mike. Saturday we’d hashed it out and she’d agreed to stop seeing him. Now, here comes Monday, and she was either reneging on our deal or already planning to see Brian again, or worse, find another man to replace Mike.
The problem was… that was okay. Or at least not prohibited. I seethed momentarily at the fact that she’d pushed me into making that edict about Mike. I knew she’d resent me for it at some point, even if she wanted the same thing. That was my whole point in refusing to be the bad guy. She had to decide things for herself.
Aside from Mike, our deal was still the same as before, so I had no real grounds to object to her thigh-highs and g-string… nor to whomever she invited to sample her surely freshly shaved and juicy cunt. Other than Mike… and I guess Chucky… she could fuck whomever she wanted. That was crazy enough as it was, that somehow we’d proceeded far enough down the garden path that all of this was reasonable, but there was something particularly galling in the fact that she seemed ready to go back to the well so soon after the agitation of the weekend.
***
I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, but I resisted the urge to call or text. Even when she came home a bit later than usual, smiling a bit broader than usual, her hair a bit more disheveled than usual, I didn’t take her aside and say anything.
Instead I waited, as usual, for the kids to be down. She reappeared, still in her work skirt and blouse.
“So who was it today?” I asked.
I was trying to sound disinterested, cool, calm, nonchalant. No big deal if my old lady is fucking another dude. Whatevs.
It came out anything but. Needy. Accusatory. Demanding.
She smiled sweetly. “Brian. I like a dirty, little quickie on a Monday to get my week off to a good start.”
“Quickie, huh?”
“Well, not that quick, maybe. But with him, even a zippy fuck goes a long way.”
I imagined his huge tool pounding into my wife’s tight, little pussy. Just like she’d hoped I would.
“I bet.”
She pursed her lips as if in thought, though she couldn’t prevent the corners of her mouth from curling upward into a grin. “How did you know?”
“I noticed your thigh-highs and panties,” I replied.
“Noticed, huh?”
I didn’t reply.
“I like the way the stockings look when I have my legs over his shoulders. And the g-string is very practical. Just move it aside and voila.” She giggled. “On the other hand, they’re too skimpy to really hold in a heavy load, and Brian does come a gallon.”
She yanked up her skirt. I couldn’t help but stare. The barely-there fabric of her panties was soaking wet, and her thighs glistened.
“I even cleaned up,” she said. “But he comes so hard and so deep that it is the gift that keeps on giving.”
“You’re tormenting me.”
“I am doing nothing of the sort,” she replied. “Just the facts, man, just the facts.”
“Ma’am,” I corrected.
“I’m updating it. Anyway, surely you want to be kept apprised of who I fucked and when, don’t you?”
I groaned.
“What, Bill? I mean, especially now that you’ve banned me from seeing Mike, how else am I going to get my fix for dirty, dangerous men? Especially now that you’ve gotten me to talk about my shocking, formative experiences, you must realize that I am a slave to my desires.”
“You’re mocking me,” I noted.
She shrugged.
“And yet,” I added, “here you are, leaking another man’s come.”
“Yes, it is quite the paradox, isn’t it?” She paused. “Anyway, I’ll let you muse on that. I think I’m going to go soak in the tub with a glass of wine.”
She lowered her skirt and swirled out of the room. I’m not sure she actually made a dramatic exit, though it felt that way. At this point, almost every interaction with my wife seemed somehow fraught.
I finished cleaning up from dinner, and then followed her upstairs. I crept into our bedroom and sat down heavily on the bed. I could hear her sloshing around in the tub in our bathroom through the half-open door.
I just wanted to go in and talk to her, but none of our conversations proceeded as I expected, and so I was torn. Sit stewing with my own neuroses alone, or try yet again to talk to her? I opted finally for the latter. As painful as it was to know I couldn’t seem to satisfy her, it was worse to give in to the sensation of distance growing between us. So, once more unto the breach.
She looked up as I entered, putting down her paperback thriller, and taking a sip of her red wine. As always, she knocked me on my ass. Why is that? I’d seen her naked a million times, had sex with her almost as many, and yet she still often took my breath away.
I don’t know what it was this time. Her hair was up in a sloppy bun that exaggerated the long, slender lines of her neck. Her breasts crested above the water, highlighting their swells and curves. She had one leg up out of the water, her adorable, painted toes curling around the water spout, her inner thigh glistening.
God, you’re so beautiful.
“What if the kids walked in?” I grunted.
She laughed. “I’d tell them to go back to bed. All they would see is Mommy taking a bath. Only you see a dirty whore flaunting herself.”
“That’s what Brian would see too.”
“No. All he’d see is the back of my head as I bobbed up and down on his huge cock.”
I groaned. She laughed.
“You asked for it,” she noted.
“I did,” I ad
mitted. I hesitated. “Did you really see him today?”
She nodded. “I did. Should I not have?”
“I’m not --”
“The boss of me,” she finished my sentence. “Right. Got it. As long as we’re on the same page.”
“We are,” I confirmed.
I remained there silent. She watched me for several long moments, and then took another sip of wine.
“We talked about me getting another tattoo,” she said.
“What?”
“Mmmm. I swear, when he talks about getting me more ink, he gets even harder and bigger than usual.”
“You can feel the difference?”
She nodded. “Oh yeah. When a guy is really, really hard, it’s almost scary. Just feels like he’s going to go right through you and come out the other side.”
“That sounds painful.”
“It is just a sensation. I can’t really explain it. Of course, it’s all in my head, but in a good way. That’s okay, you know.”
“If you say so.”
She smirked. “Where should I get it? Up here?” she asked, as she traced a fingertip up her inner thigh.
“How about on your lower back?” I suggested.
She laughed. “You can’t resist, can you?”
“What?”
“You want me to get a tramp stamp. Why? So you can feel better about all of this?”
“How would that work?” I asked.
“Because you desperately want to put me in a box. You want to scrawl the word whore on my forehead so that it will absolve you of any responsibility.”
“The only person who wants to write anything on you is your boyfriend.”
She shook her head in a gesture of resigned bemusement.
