by Jewel Geffen
How does anybody live in a place like this? It's so vast, I feel like I've been swallowed by some great and terrible beast, or lost in a labyrinth from which I'll never escape. It feels almost haunted, like I'm trapped in a mansion with nobody around but the spirits of the departed.
I wonder if Antoine Moreau ever feels lonely, all by himself in this huge monstrous building.
I'm about to give up and return to the bedroom – assuming I'm even able to find my way back there – when I hear a sound that sends a shiver of trembling excitement right up my spine.
The sound is a moan, a low and sexual feminine moan of physical pleasure. My wife's voice.
She's really doing it! She's having sex with another man!
I stand stock still in the hallway, frozen with indecision and excitement, trying to work out from which direction the sound is coming. I want to find them, but I don't want to stumble in and ruin things. I've ruined enough of my wife's sexual experiences; I won't get in the way of this one. But I don't think it's unfair that I at least be able to gain some ancillary enjoyment of my own from it. That's only fair, isn't it? I mean, she is my wife, after all.
I hear another low groan and start to creep slowly down the hall to where I think the sound is coming from. There's a dark red door standing just open a few paces ahead, silver light spilling out through the crack.
“That feels so good,” Vicky says, and I think that I might just melt with desire.
I swallow hard and take a deep breath, then put my eye to the crack.
I see Antoine's back first. He's standing, striped completely naked. His shoulders and legs are finely honed and rippling with muscle, his ebony skin gleaming and shiny as polished jet. He bends down over a long waist-high table, upon which my naked wife lays face-down, her blonde hair falling like spilled gold over the edge of the narrow table.
Antoine leans down, his powerful hands caressing Vicky's shoulders and pressing downward in a firm motion, then sliding slowly down the length of her spine to her hips. His fingers work skillfully, kneading the flesh expertly as he massages her.
“That really does feel incredible,” my wife moans again.
So... they're not having sex. At least, not just at this moment. That said, they're both naked and touching each other quite intimately. What have I missed, I wonder? I can feel sweat prickling my brow, and my hand slides down to grip my little erection through my trunks.
Antoine makes a soft noise of wordless assent, and presses down again. “Have you considered my offer, Victoria?”
Offer? I press against the wall, trying to breath as quietly as possible as I strain to listen. What sort of offer have they been discussing?
“I... I have,” she says.
“And?”
“I have to talk to him first. I mean, don't get me wrong... I want to. I really really want to, I just... I feel like I need to discuss with him first.”
For a long while the black billionaire is silent. He walks slowly around the table, and I catch out of the corner of my eye the huge shape of his swinging cock for just a moment before he's around the other side of the table. I can feel my eyes opening wide at the sight. It must be at least eight inches long, and it's not even hard! What a monster that thing must be when it's erect. For a moment I think he's going to climb up on the table and mount my wife, grip her buttocks in his huge hands and drive that thing slowly in from behind while she squirms on the table.
For a moment, I almost wish he would.
He doesn't, however, just continues to knead her back. “I understand,” his voice, when he speaks, is smooth, but I can detect a very slight note of disappointment in his tone.
“Thank you,” she says softly, “Believe me, I wish I could just... right now...” Her hand lifts from off the table, and seems poised to reach out and take hold of his huge black member. For a moment, caught up in my arousal, I have the insane urge to rush in and tell her to just go for it. She holds back, however, slowly lowering her hand back to the table.
“Well then,” he says, “in that case, I believe we're nearly finished here.”
She groans. “Just a few more minutes?”
He chuckles. “I suppose a few more minutes wouldn't hurt anything.” He leans in, and slides his hands slowly down the length of her body, from her shoulders all the way down her back and then over the swell of her white buttocks, then down her spread legs. I can see his strong black fingers wrapping around my wife's upper thigh.
I'm shaking all over, my hands trembling. I don't know if I make a sound, or if he just feels me there by some sixth sense, but he looks up, and all of a sudden our eyes meet and we're looking right at one another.
My heart stops beating in my chest. I'm frozen there, gripping the door-frame.
He considers me calmly, showing no surprise, no reaction of any kind, really. It's almost as if he'd expected to see me there, watching them. Very slowly, a smile spreads across his lips, and he gives the slightest nod towards me.
“A few moments more,” he says, “then you'd better go back to bed. It's late, and you'll need your sleep for tomorrow.” I feel almost like he's talking to me. He goes on, “Remember what we discussed. Please do speak with your husband about it in the morning. I'm... quite keen to hear your answer.”
“And I...” my wife moans once more, “am very eager to give it to you...”
I slip back into the hall, heart pounding. I walk back towards my room, my knees quivering like they're made of jelly all of a sudden. What that hell just happened? What's happening to me? Am I dreaming? Is this some kind of... bizarre dream?
That must be it, I think to myself as I stumble back into our room and lay in bed, just a dream.
But if it is a dream then I do not wake. Nor do I sleep; I just lay there clutching the covers under my chin, the image replaying over and over again in my head of that man's hands all over my wife's naked body. After what seems a great while, the door creaks open and Vicky comes silently inside. She's wearing a large fluffy white robe, and she keeps it on as she slips into the bed beside me.
“Honey?” I say softly after a long moment, still motionless, my eyes almost shut.
“Did I wake you?” she asks, all innocence.
“No... where were you?”
She hesitates for just a moment before answering. “There's a sauna downstairs. I couldn't sleep... Antoine offered to let me use it for a while... just to refresh myself.”
“Was he... in there with you?” My throat is bone dry as I force the words out. Is she going to lie to me? Do I actually want the truth?
“Yes,” she says, “but don't worry. We just talked. He rubbed my shoulders.”
So. Not a lie. But not the whole truth, either. Fair enough. I grunt noncommittally and roll over. “Goodnight,” I mumble.
She sits there on the edge of the bed for a long while, and I think she's watching me. What is she thinking? What's going on inside that brain of hers? And in her heart... “Jason?” she asks quietly after a time. “Do you think... we could talk about something?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend that I've fallen back asleep.
“Jason... sweetie?” She touches my shoulder and waits a moment longer, then sighs and lies down beside me. She puts her hand gently on my side and, eventually, her breathing slows, and sleep takes her.
My heart is still beating fast. I don't know if I'm ready to talk about whatever proposal Antoine had for her. I can imagine what it must be, though I'm not yet ready to hear the words. Maybe I won't ever be ready.
But here's the thing: my dick is still rock hard.
I reach down and I wrap my hand around it, and I try to sleep. Like the man said, we have a busy day tomorrow. And who knows what the sunrise will bring.
Chapter Six
I wake up to the feeling of warm clear sunshine on my face and the sounds of twittering birds coming through the open window. For a moment, I just lay there with my eyes shut, just absorbing the stillness of the morning. The co
ol clean scent of the fresh mountain air fills the room, sweeter than any perfume. I think again that it's as if we have wandered into some sort of beautiful dream, paddled through a rift in time and space without knowing it and entered into a far stranger world.
The bed beneath me is exquisitely soft and comfortable. I don't think I've ever woken up feeling so good or so refreshed.
Slowly, it all comes back to me. First the dreams, then the reality.
I dreamed of my wife having sex with other men. Vivid and intense dreams of her body naked and submitting to the pleasures of huge black men with massive cocks and imperial bearings. I wandered through the pathways of my dreams, following her moans and gasps and cries of satisfaction as she was used by them in ways I couldn't have possibly hoped to replicate.
Then I remember what actually happened. Finding her naked on the massage table, making those low sexual sounds as his black hands roamed all over her body... The way our eyes met, mine and his, and, most of all, the way he held me so confidently in his gaze. This is mine, his look had seemed to say. It hadn't seemed like he was challenging or taunting me, only stating an obvious fact, one which neither of us could possibly hope to deny.
She was enthralled by him, that was plain; I'd seen it on her face every time she looked at him during our little tour of the mansion. But did she want him? It seems obvious that she does; that must have been what they'd been discussing the other night. What else could it possibly be?
The question is, where does that leave me?
I open my eyes slowly. The room is bathed in golden morning light as the sunrise spills in through the wide eastern windows. My wife stands in front of the glass, the fluffy white robe shrugged on over her shoulders but left open so that I can see the curve of her breasts poking out and the whisper of fair hair between her thighs. The room looks almost magical, as if everything has taken on a sense of strange unreality. We are in a dream, I find myself thinking.
“Good morning,” she says, not looking at me.
“Morning,” I mumble, fighting back a yawn and failing.
For some time, neither of us speaks. The things I saw and heard the night before are racing through my head. I want to talk about it, but I'm not sure where to start. No doubt she's experiencing a similar feeling.
She turns slightly towards me, still not taking her gaze from the sunrise outside, and I see a steaming cup in her hand, the white mug filled with hot black coffee. Where did she get that, anyway? Has he been here already, only moments ago perhaps?
“Look at this,” she says, and nods out the window which has been holding her attention so completely.
I get clumsily out of bed and come over to stand beside her. I want to wrap my arms around her, maybe even slide my hands over her naked belly and cup her breasts, but I restrain myself – not without some difficulty. I'm unsure still of where we stand. She seems to radiate a kind of ferocious heat, a power too intense to come directly into contact with.
She gestures out the window with her coffee cup, and I look.
The island is spread out below, bathed in the golden light of morning. It looks like a fairy tale world, wild woods and strange stones and secret hollows dotting the landscape. It seems untamed and fierce, and yet welcoming, as if beckoning me on to an adventure of surpassing mystery and excitement.
“Beautiful...” I say, knowing the word is inadequate.
She takes a sip of coffee, then a deep breath, and she crosses one arm beneath her breasts. “Jason, I spoke with Antoine last night. While you were asleep.”
The words had heavily in the air between us, weighty beyond their simple meaning.
“I know,” I say softly, and I wrap my arms around her. My hands slip beneath her robe and curve around the swell of her wide hips, brushing electric against her white skin.
“Do you ever...” she says, uncharacteristically hesitant, “Oh God.” She shakes her head and takes in a long and shuddering breath.
“Let's talk,” I say, holding her close against myself, “it's time. Let's lay all the cards on the table. You want to sleep with him.”
“I want to fuck him,” she says, and the words are bluntly delivered, though not harsh. “It's not... it's not love, Jason. I married you for a reason, and this wouldn't... have to come between that.”
I let go of her and walk slowly across the room. I sit on the edge of the bed. “What are we talking about? Like... an open marriage sort of situation?”
She shrugs. “I don't know... this is all... it's confusing to me, Jason.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling a bit like somebody's just punched me in the stomach, “me too.”
“I don't want to lose you, Jason, but... we can't go on the way we have been. It's not fair to either of us. I hate making you feel like this, I know it's hard for you. But I...”
“You need it,” I say, and it's like there's a weight lifting from my shoulders as I speak. “You need more than I can give.”
She nods a little. “Is that wrong of me? Am I a bad person, Jason?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. No, of course not, Vicky. You... deserve to have this. You shouldn't be forced to live without sex just because I can't give it to you. I'm... I'm not man enough for you. You need somebody who is.”
“You would still be my husband, Jason. Always. It would just be... a fling.”
I look up at her, and she looks so beautiful and erotic that my breath catches in my throat. Her skin is shining with golden light, her face radiant with hope. Her breasts seem held by the light, her nipples soft and delicate in the caress of the warm morning air.
“I think it might actually help us,” she says. “You know, take the pressure off us both.”
“If we're going to do this,” I say, “We're going to have to have some rules.”
“Right, of course,” she says, and comes to sit on the bed beside me. I can hear the eagerness in her voice. She seems almost to vibrate with anticipation. I realize then just how badly she wants this. It's not just a passing interest or a wild fancy, this is something she needs. The thought, for some reason, makes me feel a tingle of delight inside, a quiver of rising need. But not a need to have sex with her myself. It's something else.
“I want to watch,” I say.
Her eyebrows rise. “You... you do?”
“Not every time, maybe, but... yeah, sometimes. Is that a problem?”
She seems to think it over. “It wouldn't bother you? Seeing that?”
“I don't think so... As a matter of fact, well...” I look away, feeling a heat rising on my cheeks as I blush. “I think I might like it...”
She grins. I can hear the mattress shifting beneath her as her weight moves towards me a little. “Oh really?” Her hand comes to rest on my thigh, gradually moving inward. “You'd like to see me get fucked?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice gaining a little confidence as I finally allow myself to admit it, “I wanna see you get fucked.”
Her fingers start playing with the drawstring of my swim trunks. “Okay... I'd like that, actually. I'll have to check with Antoine first, of course, but... I don't want you to feel like I'm trying to exclude you. You're my husband, and I love you. I want this to be good for you too.”
“And you need to use a condom,” I say.
“Of course,” she nods, “that goes without saying. Protection, definitely.”
“And maybe no kissing.” It feels strange to say it, but the thought of her kissing him seems more intimate somehow than them screwing. That's messed up, maybe, but it feels almost... sacred, somehow. Besides that, it's giving me a sort of rush of excitement to be discussing the terms of my wife getting fucked by another man, makes me feel powerful somehow. That's a bit ironic, maybe, given that I'm discussing the terms by which I'm to be made into a cuckold, but I'm past caring about any of that now.
“Right. I'm not in love with him, after all. This is just about sex.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anything else?” she
asks, her fingers tugging slightly at my waistband, loosening my trunks just a little.
“Uh... I don't know.” My mind is starting to go blank; all the blood's starting to flow in another direction, if you take my meaning. “I'll let you know if anything comes up.”
She grins, and slips her hand into my trunks. “Looks like something already is,” she quips, and wraps her fingers around my growing erection.
I just groan and lean my head back.
“It really turns you on that much?” she asks, “Thinking about me... getting fucked?” she emphasis the last word, shaping her tongue and lips luxuriantly around it.
I just groan as she starts to squeeze my dick, sliding her hand up and down slightly.
“You want to watch me take that black cock, don't you?”
“Yeah,” I moan, my voice shaking a little as she touches me.
“You want to see it stretch me open... want to see me get used by him?”
I nod, desperately hard.
She gives me one last little squeeze, then slips her hand back out of my trunks. I open my eyes and see that she's grinning teasingly at me. “You can finish yourself off later,” she says, “when you see it for real.”
Holy shit. This is really happening, isn't it?
My wife stands up, still smiling, and she wraps the fluffy white robe around herself. “Antoine's invited us for breakfast. I think the three of us should talk.”
I swallow hard, and retie the band of my swim trunks with shaking hands. Well then. Here goes nothing.
* * *
Antoine, who seemed to be quite the Renaissance man, had prepared an expansive breakfast in the huge kitchens. He'd laid it out at the bar where we'd had our wine the night before and it was ready when we came down.
“I find I prefer the intimacy of this room,” he explains as he pulls out a seat for Vicky and gestures for me to help myself to the food. “The dining room is designed for large parties. It feels a bit overwhelming when I'm on my own... or with only a few special guests.” He favors Vicky with a smile and serves her.
