by Blaise Quin
I think any other woman might have asked, What do you want me to say? And if Emily had asked me that, I might not have known how to answer. I thought I wanted the truth, but I wasn’t sure.
That wasn’t the woman I had married.
Or perhaps I had, yet because we had grown, because it was not only Emily changing, but me as well, she said, “It was.”
“Tell me,” I urged, suddenly wanting to know details.
“You were there, you saw.”
I used my hands on her ass to pull her closer, then relaxed my muscles, creating a gentle rhythm. “I want to hear you say it.”
When she spoke her voice held a hint of hesitation, like she was afraid of hurting my feelings. To her great credit, she looked me right in the eye. Finally she said, very quietly, “It was amazing.”
I expected that, but hearing her say the words, especially as I was inside her, was a shock. Yet I couldn’t get enough.
“What was?”
After a few seconds she said, “All of it. What he did. How he did it. I—he was a little—not rough, but demanding.” Her eyes darted away, then back. “I never thought I would have liked that.”
“Do you want me to be like that?”
“Never. It wouldn’t be you. I love you just the way you are.”
“But you liked it from him?”
“It was the—whole experience. Getting ready. Even picking out the dress. The way he—took me. And you being there.”
“Are you still glad about that?”
“I couldn’t have done it without you being there. Even so, I almost stopped.”
That surprised me. “Really?”
“Yes. Did you want me to?”
I rocked back and forth with her a few times before replying. “Yes and no. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it’s the only answer I have.”
Emily smiled and kissed me, a brush against my lips. “I understand completely. That’s how I felt too. I wanted you to stop me, and yet I didn’t want you to.”
We were silent for a few moments, the only sound in the room the shifting of the bed, the gentle swish of the sheet as we mated.
“You could have kept going,” I said. “With him. Done it again.”
She shook her head, but I swore I felt her shudder.
“No, I wanted to be with you.”
I believed her, but her body was sending another signal, maybe one beyond her control. My cock, gliding in and out of her wetness, swelled, perhaps sending me a signal as well. “Maybe next time,” I whispered.
Her eyes snapped open, unsure, and before she had a chance to say anything, before I had a chance to second guess myself, I said, “You kind of promised him you would.”
Actually, what Dwayne had said was that he wanted to fuck her without a condom.
“It wasn’t a real promise,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t so sure herself.
“He was big, wasn’t he.”
And now her shudder was unmistakable. Her eyes closed, her lips squeezed together.
“Did you like having him in your mouth?” I prodded.
She gave me the slightest nod. I put my lips over hers and breathed, “Show me how wide you had to open your mouth to take him.”
Her lips opened over mine, enveloping my entire mouth. I drove my tongue out, but instead of sucking on it she just stretched her mouth wider. Like my cock in her now, she probably couldn’t even feel my tongue in her mouth.
I pulled back my face, catching a quick glimpse of her stretched cheeks, her awed expression, her remembrance of the huge dick in her mouth.
I grabbed her ass harder, increasing the speed of my strokes in her. “Did you like having him in your pussy?”
Her internal muscles grabbed at me, my cock responding, and now I knew with certainty not only how she felt, but how I did. Again she seemed to read my mind.
With her eyes half closed she asked, “Did you like seeing him in me?”
“I did.” Admitting the truth to her, to myself.
“You touched yourself, didn’t you?”
“You know I did.”
“Show me,” she said.
I started to pull out, but she grabbed my hand and guided it to my cock. “Stay in me.”
I slipped out a few inches, and with her hand on mine I began to jerk myself off while still inside her. My wrist slapped against her belly with each stroke.
“I like that,” she whispered. “Is that what you did?”
“Yes. I touched myself. While I watched you. Just like we had talked about.”
““I wish I could have seen you.”
I’m sure she meant that now, but at the time, she seemed pretty occupied with Dwayne.
“Maybe next time,” I said.
And now her eyes closed fully, and I was sure of what she was thinking about. Watching me jerk off while with Dwayne again, maybe while giving him a blowjob, letting him come in her mouth. Or maybe while he was fucking her, unprotected, coming in her pussy.
I groaned, unbelievably and stunningly aroused at the thought. Dwayne’s comment haunting me, my having to use a condom, never having finished inside my own wife. Even now, jerking off into a condom while in her, while she was perhaps thinking about Dwayne shooting his seed into her.
Emily’s legs wrapped around me, a frustrated squirming, trying to get closer, perhaps trying to recapture the wide open stretching that Dwayne had given her. It would be impossible for her to get it in this position. Or any position from me.
Her fingers pushed between us. My hand wacked the back of her wrist as she did her own jerking off, her hand racing up and down, our strokes furiously matching, then racing, speeding along to our own inner thoughts.
“Do it,” she hissed. “Oh, please, give it to me!”
I didn’t know if she was talking to the man in her bed or the man in her head, but her words set me off, my cock swelling, shooting, a release both incredibly gratifying, and yet, because of the latex barrier, completely ineffectual.
Emily didn’t seem to mind, or care. Her orgasm powered her hips, threatening to break my wrist, her fingers slipping out, pushing my hand away, so she could get her body as close as possible.
So she could get every drop of whoever’s cum she was dreaming about.
At the gym, Emily made sure she was on the women’s side of the weight room. Not that she was afraid of running into Damian, not now. Yes, she might be aroused by him, she might have to fight her own desires, but she now understood what they were.
And how they could be satisfied.
The old Emily, the one who had been awed and cowed by Damian the last time she had seen him, was only half of who she was now. Damian could still intimidate that woman. Yet now she was a woman who watched porn, who checked out other men to see if they’d be good fantasy material.
To see if they’d be good lover material.
Damian could still be in her fantasies, but she wouldn’t sleep with her husband’s boss.
Or perhaps anyone else. Her evening with Dwayne had been incredible. She still hadn’t believed she had done it. And yet, it had been the natural, almost unavoidable next step on the path she had taken—the path she and Justin had taken. She never would have done it without him. Without him knowing, without him being there.
For some reason, with his involvement, it hadn’t seemed like cheating at all.
She picked up a dumbbell and knelt over a bench, doing tricep kickbacks, exactly as Damian had shown her. Her arms were toned, tight, an external indication of the new Emily.
She remembered how Damian had bent over her in this very gym, had pressed his manhood into her. She’d been so stunned, yet so aroused. At the time her reaction had confused her, saddened her, making her think there was something wrong with her.
Now she still wrestled with the confusion, with the concern that she was twisted. If she hadn’t been with Justin, she might have freaked out. But seeing how Justin had responded, and seeing how much closer they had become
, had provided a balance, a way for her to not jump to the conclusion that she was mixed up inside.
She felt the burn start in her arm. Muscles tired out when you used them too much. She wondered if that would be the same for sex; do it too much and you’d get tired of it.
Or maybe it was the other way around, you’d just want more, needing to take it to a higher level. Addicted, like to a drug.
She switched to the other arm. Her movements were free and easy, the arm not yet tired. Maybe that’s what she would do, change to another fantasy.
Or another man.
She closed her eyes as she moved her arm up and down, losing herself in the idea. Going from man to man, keeping her fantasy alive. She didn’t have to do it for real, just in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could do it for real again anyway. If the second time wasn’t as good, it would be such a letdown. Perhaps it was better that the first time had been perfect. Not just for her, but for Justin.
Justin.
She’d sensed his own inner conflict. He was bothered, it seemed, less by what she had done, but at his own reaction. That hadn’t been what she had at first worried about; her anxiety had been about him thinking less of her, affecting their marriage. Instead, she sensed his turmoil was exactly like hers: aroused, and yet bothered by being aroused. Two competing emotions, a mental anguish versus a physical need.
The physical need had won out, for both of them.
Justin liked to watch. It turned him on, yet it turned him off. He wanted to see her arousal—Emily truly believed that—he wanted to see her pleasure. Yet he had to be bothered by the fact that he didn’t think he could give her the same pleasure himself.
She couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if the roles were reversed. If Justin could only achieve a certain height of ecstasy with another woman.
She’d want to let him have such an experience, she’d want to help him achieve it. But she didn’t think she could watch.
Or not watch, knowing he was with another woman.
Yet there was no doubt that watching ultimately turned Justin on. She’d seen it in their bed, when they had made the porn tape. Perhaps it was as he explained, it was all about the unexpected juxtaposition of her acts, the traditional wife doing the unthinkable. Maybe if she’d been a loose harlot it wouldn’t have turned him on at all.
She switched back to the original arm. Dwayne. Maybe she would do it with him again, one more time. She’d take him in her mouth, matching her strokes to Justin’s, and see if she could make them come at the same time, Dwayne with her mouth, Justin by the sight of her.
Justin said had been looking at her when she was with Dwayne, but she hadn’t been looking at Justin, not after it got going. She should have been, but she hadn’t. That bothered her still, how she had so quickly become subsumed by the experience of being with Dwayne.
She needed to make that up to Justin.
She was breathing hard, her strokes too fast. She forced herself to slow down, to make it last.
Just as she would if she were sucking Dwayne’s cock in front of Justin.
“Justin? Another beer?”
I looked up at Tom. “Sure, sure.” I’d barely touched my first one, too lost in my thoughts.
I should have been having a good time. Friday night, out with my buddies from work. The usual place, just relaxing, our transition from hard work to home life.
Instead, I was in a funk, not able to focus on even a simple task like having a beer. I held up the bottle, the condensation running over my fingers. The bottle was a simple reality. Open it up, and you knew what to expect. Just beer. It might be a different brand, it might be lager or ale, but it was always beer.
Yet other openings weren’t so simple. Emily and I had opened something less solid than a bottle, we’d opened themselves to an experience. A first time taste. Although it had been an exciting experience at the time, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it now. Or rather, I wasn’t sure if I was remembering it correctly. Could it really have been that good?
Would I need to try it again to find out?
I took a long pull on the beer. Slightly warm, not as good as it should be. Would another taste of that other experience be just like that? Less satisfying?
I put the bottle back on the table. Set aside, but still staring me in the face. Not easily forgotten.
That bottle could be taken away, recycled, melted down and lost forever. Yet I’d never be able to forget the other experience, even if I wanted to.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to erase it from my memory or freeze it in place, so I could replay it over and over.
I’d started all this, with my selfish desire to get Emily to be a little more experimental in bed. Not crazy experimental, just different from missionary position sex with the lights off. That she’d been willing to go far beyond that I couldn’t have foreseen, but it wasn’t her fault, it was mine. She’d been happy with the way things were.
And, stunningly, still seemed happy after what we’d done.
Sure, I knew she was dealing with her own misgivings. We’d talked a little about them. But I hadn’t really shared the extent of mine—not because I was hiding them from her, but mostly because I wasn’t so sure myself how I felt. I knew if I blurted out any second thoughts she’d be devastated.
I needed to let some time go by, see how things felt.
We’d had sex almost every day since that night. The old fashioned kind, our kind. Slow, loving, in the dark sex. Condom sex. A little oral just once, a prelude. No dirty talk, no reminding her of her fantasies, or of mine. No mention of Dwayne.
And yet, in the darkness, I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking, who she was thinking of. Obviously she couldn’t feel me inside her like she had felt Dwayne. But for just a moment, as I kissed her in the dark, as I touched her breast, at the moment I was about to enter her, was she thinking about him? Or some other man?
I wanted to ask her. I was afraid to ask her.
Before we went down the path, we’d discussed what would happen if we tried it, and it didn’t work. Whether we’d be able to go back to where we had been. We’d even talked about not going ahead, and whether we’d always wonder.
What we hadn’t talked about was what would happen if it had exceeded our wildest expectations.
Especially hers.
Now I wasn’t sure if I wanted things to go back to where they were, or wanted to keep going.
In my rational, thinking times, like right now, I leaned toward erasing it all. The bucket list. Buying Emily the sexy outfit. Noticing other men leer at her. Watching the porn. Learning we both were aroused at the idea of her with another man. Dwayne. Erase it all, return to the clean sheet of our staid sex life.
And yet, when we were in bed together, when I was in her, so help me, I thought about all those things. I pictured her in another bed, with another man, her legs wrapped around him. Me watching in the corner.
Or not there at all.
Even with our nightly sex, I’d masturbated almost every day. Sometimes early in the morning when Emily was in the shower. Once when she’d left for work before me. Once, so help me, in the men’s room at the office.
Each time, fantasizing about Emily with another man. Giving him a blow job. Fucking him.
Letting him come in her.
I might have gone off on another mental masturbation right then if Tom hadn’t come back with the beers. Two of my co-workers were with him, guys I’d known forever.
“Earth to Justin,” said Jack. “You look like you’re someplace else.”
I shook off my crazy thoughts. “Nah, just thinking.”
“Time to drink, not think,” said Sean.
I tipped my beer, looking at them with a new eye. I’d seen these guys almost every day for years. Just guys. Jack was on the slim side, longish straight hair with a mustache. Thirty three, if I remembered correctly. He was married, had an attractive wife, a tall brunette. Sean was an ex marine, out of the military for five years
but still with the physique. Short cropped hair, a tattoo on his arm of his platoon insignia.
Both good looking men, I guessed. I mean, I’d never looked at them as other than co-workers and drinking buddies, guys to go to a football game with.
Now I wondered: would Emily be attracted to them? Would she want to sleep with them? Maybe not them specifically. But men like them?
I knew she had fantasized about black men. But not just black men.
If we were to do it again, would it be with Dwayne? Or would she want to be with someone else?
Would this be my role, to find the man to sleep with her?
I took another hit on my beer, using the motion to hide my look around the bar. Normally I’d be checking out the women. Though I’d never strayed from Emily, I admit I often looked. Especially back before everything changed.
Now I was looking at the men. Looking for a man who might fuck my wife.
Emily carried her tray from the serving line to her usual table in the office cafeteria. She was early. She had a meeting at one and needed to do some preparation, so she wanted to get a bite to eat first.
As she had the last few days, she peered nervously at everyone in the cafeteria, just as she had in the corridors. Did they suspect? Did she look different, sound different?
Could they tell she had slept with another man?
She’d been very careful about her choice of clothes, her hair, her makeup. Everything the same. Yet she felt so different, surely her body or expressions would give off some hint of her secret.
No one had said a word, no one had acted differently. Was it this easy to keep another side of yourself from the world? Just dress the same way, talk the same way, and no one would notice?
Two of her friends entered the cafeteria, getting in line. Emily half waved, but they didn’t wave back. Hadn’t they seen her? Or were they ignoring her, disgusted to be associated with such a wanton woman?
