The title said: MY WIFE IS A LESBIAN. A busty brunette sat on a settee between two blondes. She was not spectacularly beautiful. But, because she wore a short dress with no panties and had her legs wide open, there was something that made her appearance sexually exciting.
I squirmed against the settee.
Carol chuckled. ‘Home-made porn,’ she grinned knowledgably. ‘Your husband is a true connoisseur.’
I didn’t know if Carol was being sarcastic or if it was a genuine compliment. The word that had stuck in my mind was home-made. ‘Are you saying Philip made this himself?’ I screeched hotly. The background did look uncomfortably familiar. The accents sounded disturbingly local and, although I didn’t recognise any of the women on screen, I had the vague idea that I might have seen some of them before.
Carol laughed again and told me not to be so excitable. She explained the movie was low-budget (the constant buzz on the soundtrack had told me as much) and nothing more than the output of some opportunist with a camcorder, some decent editing software on his PC, and an obliging woman or two at his disposal. I said, aside from having access to obliging women, she could have been describing Philip.
Carol shushed me and insisted we watch the film.
The movie started with stilted dialogue between the blondes and the brunette. The premise of the story seemed to be that the brunette was married but had always wanted to have sex with a woman. The blondes were there to help her achieve that ambition. I sniffed with disdain, horrified by the open way the characters discussed their sexual requirements, and appalled to see one blonde stroking the brunette’s thigh while the other gave her a gratuitous French kiss. Bare boobs were soon exposed. All the breasts were silicone-enhanced and looked like oversized beach balls decorated with horribly large nipples. Before the DVD had gone four full minutes into the movie all three women were naked. They showed off their surgically reconstructed bodies and a disturbing absence of pubic hair. They kissed. They licked. They touched, fingered, stroked and moaned. I watched bright pink vaginas being lapped by dark purple tongues. The flesh looked wet and perversely inviting. It had never crossed my mind to think about having sex with a woman before but, as I watched Philip’s movie, I found myself yearning to know what the experience was like. The blondes devoured the helpless brunette, feasting on her breasts, lapping at her pussy, and pushing their fingers eagerly between her labia.
I watched, sweating with embarrassment and unexpected excitement.
After fifteen minutes, the camera, thankfully, broke away from the action. The three central characters had screamed themselves to climaxes that sounded pathetically overacted and enviously enjoyable. When the film resumed the blondes wore plastic penises. The sight was so unexpected and horrifying I almost burst into hysterical laughter. I choked on my giggles when I realised what they were going to do to the sweat-plastered brunette they had already devoured.
‘This is obscene,’ I whispered.
Carol glanced at me and tut-tutted. ‘You’re not watching it properly,’ she complained. She grabbed my right hand, placed it on the settee between my legs, and pushed it back until the ball of my thumb touched the crotch of my jeans. It wasn’t until she told me to sit forwards, and I felt my pussy being squashed against my arm, that I was struck by a flourish of sensation. It was so strong and unexpected I squealed as I pulled my hand away.
‘Carol!’ I gasped.
She tut-tutted again, put my wrist back in place and told me to sit that way through the remainder of the movie. ‘That’s how a lady should watch a porn flick,’ she explained. She made the declaration as though this was a common lesson of deportment taught in finishing school.
And, because I’d always depended on her advice, I sat that way for the remainder of the film. Each time I rocked forwards I could feel the mouth of my vagina being squashed by my wrist. Admittedly, the hard seam of my jeans was in the way, as well as the thin veneer of my panties. But there was no mistaking the sensation of being coarsely caressed. And, although the stimulation wasn’t quite what I needed, it was enough to heighten my arousal.
Only once, while the film was on, did I dare to glance at Carol. She sat in the same position she had made me assume and rocked gently back and forth. Her attention was divided somewhere between the movie and her own personal pleasure. The satisfied grin on her lips was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying. I was shocked to realise that my best female friend and I were sitting on our settee, quietly rubbing at our private parts as we watched my husband’s porn. But that horror didn’t stop me from following Carol’s example and rocking my hips more assertively.
By the time My Wife is a Lesbian had finished I was sweating and flustered. My anger at the discovery of Philip’s porn was muted by a heady arousal that needed satisfying by more than just the weight of my wrist. The inside of my pants was obscenely moist. I could feel the shape of my vulva and knew the flesh would be sticky and warm to the touch. The thought made me want to shiver. Trying not to show how I had been affected, I snapped irritably at Carol, ‘That was disgusting.’
She nodded agreement. ‘The focus was off in a couple of shots. And that audio track could have given me a migraine with its constant buzzing.’
‘No,’ I said indignantly. ‘It was a disgusting piece of filth.’
‘It turned you on, didn’t it?’
I flushed angrily and then lowered my gaze. I was on the verge of arguing that it had done no such thing but I knew the words would have been lies. I hadn’t enjoyed the movie but I couldn’t argue against the liquid heat that now sat between my legs. I trembled with all the sensations that usually indicated I was aroused. My breasts felt swollen and full and they ached from the tension in my nipples. My sex lips bristled as though they carried a small electrical current. It hadn’t escaped my notice that Carol’s colour was unusually high and her smile had inched a little wider than was usual. Again, I was unsettled to think we were two women, alone in the house, and both buzzing with a fever of arousal. After the lurid events that had occurred in the film I felt as though I was stepping into a world I didn’t know or understand.
‘Didn’t it?’ Carol coaxed. ‘It turned you on, didn’t it?’
It was easier not to answer Carol’s question. ‘I don’t know which hurts worse,’ I began. ‘The fact that Philip watches this sort of filth. Or the fact that he kept it secret from me.’
‘Are you going to confront him?’
I pictured the embarrassment of that conversation and cringed from the concept. ‘I couldn’t!’
‘Are you just going to pretend you never saw it?’
‘That’s the cowardly option,’ I whispered. I thought it sounded preferable to any other. Aloud I said, ‘I can’t do that, can I?’
She studied me coolly. ‘Then, what are you going to do?’
‘What can I do?’
‘I know how you could get back at him.’ Carol stood up with sudden eagerness. ‘Imagine the scene: you’ve gone to bed; Philip is alone down here, erection in one hand, tissue paper in the other, and the DVD onscreen.’
I shuddered at the image. It felt tawdry enough that Carol and I had both become so excited by the hateful film. It was disgusting to think of Philip sitting on the same settee with all the accoutrements he needed for masturbation.
‘He starts to stroke himself …’
She gestured with her wrist gliding back and forth.
‘Carol!’ I cried.
‘… he glances at the screen …’
‘I don’t like the sound of this idea.’
‘… and, instead of seeing those silicon blondes and that dippy brunette, he finds he’s watching us!’
I stared at her in amazement. If I said anything I can’t remember what it was. The idea was so shocking it was like a slap across the face and it left me without words.
‘You said yourself that Philip’s got all the necessary recording equipment,’ Carol said quickly. ‘And, if he didn’t have, we could use the stuff
from my home. I know you’re pretty handy with DVD software. We could act out our own lesbian movie for him and …’
‘No.’ I intended the word to come out and put an end to her suggestion. Instead it sounded like I was considering the idea. My head was filled with images of Carol and me naked, embracing, touching, stroking, kissing and licking. The room was incredibly warm and I had caught the scent of my own excited musk. Now I wondered if that earthy perfume might also be coming from Carol. A twisted part of my curiosity wondered how it might taste. I wanted to sob with revulsion at my own lurid train of thought.
‘What would Philip think if he saw your face buried in my pussy?’
I gasped and placed a hand over my mouth. It was almost as though she had read my thoughts. Indignantly, I shook my head.
‘What would Philip do if he saw me ride you with a strap-on? Do you think he’d stroke harder? Do you think he’d finish himself off before asking you what the frig you were doing as the star of a porn flick?’
My stomach churned. I wasn’t thinking of Philip’s responses. I was only thinking that I wanted to try all those things she had suggested.
‘Wouldn’t it be the perfect payback?’ Carol murmured. Her words had taken on a hypnotic quality.
‘Remember the sense of hurt and betrayal you felt when you found that DVD? Don’t you think Philip would feel something similar, and maybe understand what he put you through?’
‘I couldn’t,’ I whispered.
But in the back of my mind I had already made a different decision.
She continued as though I hadn’t spoken. ‘Philip would be forced to confront you. He’d want to know what you were doing in a porn movie. You’d be able to take the argument away from him and ask him why he was watching porn without including you.’
‘And you think we could really make one?’ I asked, still not admitting that I’d come to a decision.
Carol’s grin was triumphant. ‘Set up the camera. I’ll pop back home and grab a couple of props.’
In less than an hour we were ready to start making the film. Carol and I were both dressed in bra, panties and hold-up stockings. I wore black and she wore red. We’d applied make-up, set up the camera so the view it captured was visible on the TV screen, and we were ready to start.
We sat facing each other on the settee – uncomfortably close with our lingerie-clad bodies touching. Carol operated the camcorder with a remote control and, when she pressed the button to record, I asked her if we had a script. She laughed, placed a hand on the back of my neck, and whispered, ‘I don’t think we need to spoil this movie with words.’
And then she lowered her face over mine.
The kiss was exhilarating.
Her tongue plunged into my mouth, teasing and tasting me, and suggesting a greater intimacy that we both knew would soon be ours. Feeling stilted and awkward, constantly aware of the camera’s eye, I tried to caress her body as we kissed. The movements felt halting and ungainly at first. Yet, as I found myself stroking her breasts, her hips and then her thighs, I began to feel more comfortable.
‘Just relax and enjoy it,’ Carol whispered. It sounded like good advice.
Carol moved her kiss from my mouth down to my breast. She was positioned so that the camera could see exactly what we were doing. On the TV screen her leg rubbed against mine. The image didn’t relay the fantastic sensation of having stockings rub together, but I could see it captured my response. My mouth gaped open. My eyes were wide with shock. When she eased the bra strap from my shoulder, exposed my right breast to the camera and then cooed appreciatively at the sight of the rounded orb, I watched the incident onscreen and was slapped by a thrill of excitement. When she lowered her lips to the nipple, sucking, nibbling and provoking so many incendiary responses, I stopped watching the TV and concentrated on what was happening between us.
The sensations were fantastic.
She had set out markers before we began. Neither of us was meant to stray from between the goalposts of two strategically placed scatter cushions, otherwise the camera wouldn’t catch all the action. Occasionally Carol muttered for us to stop, adjusted the camera’s angle, its height or the zoom. But, for the majority of the afternoon, the camera was a forgotten voyeur as we became acquainted with the important task of making our own porn movie.
And, all the time, I was thinking: I’m having sex with a woman.
The thought melted the walls of my pussy.
Carol sucked against my nipples until I begged her to do more. My fingers had pushed against the crotch of her scarlet panties, exploring the shape of her vulva and fingering the labia through the thin denier of the gusset. Her pussy was warm and damp and she rubbed it against my hand like the most shameless of the blondes from Philip’s DVD. She finally broke her mouth away from my breasts. I gasped, partly with relief and partly with frustration. I squealed when she moved her mouth down to my pussy.
For the first hour of our filmmaking Carol worshipped me with her lips, fingers and tongue. I struggled not to climax as she licked and touched me but, eventually, that seemed like a fruitless waste of energies. Whatever part of me still insisted I was wrong for having sex with a woman had finally accepted that I wasn’t going to heed its advice.
The orgasms came in a screaming rush. I shrieked, shook, quivered and groaned. Afterwards, Carol said they would look sensational on camera.
But then it was my turn to work on her. And, although I was hesitant at first, I quickly got into the action of kissing her, stroking her and then suckling against her breasts. I had never thought tonguing a nipple could be as rewarding for the person doing the tonguing, but there was a genuine thrill of pleasure when I took her breast in my mouth. That arousal only became stronger when I found my nose buried against her pussy lips while my tongue stroked at the salty flesh of her sex. She tasted so exciting – a flavour that defied description – and the thrill I achieved from lapping her to climax was almost enough to inspire another burst of pleasure in my own body. Eventually, when she was sweating and weary from the sex and I was gasping for more, Carol pushed me away and told me we ought to start filming the second scene.
I don’t know how much longer we would have spent making the film. I suppose there was a danger our movie-making could have continued until after Philip had returned from work and spoilt the surprise we were planning. Fortunately, the end of the filming was decided for us as we were completing the second scene.
I was on my hands and knees staring at the carpet. Carol was behind me, riding in and out of my pussy with her strap-on dildo. She handled the length more skilfully than Philip handled his penis and, even though this was the second time she had ridden me, I found myself responding to her as though it had been the first.
Carol explained that we had to do the scene twice: once with the camera behind us, and once with the camera in front. She added, unnecessarily, that this would allow us to edit the two scenes shot with one camera to look like one scene shot with two. I digested the information without thinking about it, more anxious to get on with having her pound those ten inches into my pussy. My clitoris was sore from having too much tonguing and the insides of my pussy ached to be penetrated. I didn’t know why Carol possessed a strap-on: I only wanted her to fill me and ride me hard.
I admit that I was trying to make my responses a little theatrical for the benefit of the movie. My cries were exaggerated and I rolled my eyes in excessive gestures of ecstasy. But, being honest, Carol rode me so well, I would have been groaning and moaning even if we were trying to keep our liaison quiet.
My pussy was stretched by her dildo. Carol’s hands rested firmly on my hips. She muttered some glib dialogue about me being a horny little bitch who was desperate for her cock. I concurred and told her that was exactly what I was. Carol pushed hard into me and screamed as though she was in the throes of her own climax. The sound of that cry, and the force of her penetration, were enough to give me an orgasm. It was a release that should have had me quive
ring on the floor for an hour afterwards.
But, as I came, I saw the spider. It crept across the floor, less than twelve inches away from my hand.
By the time I’d finished screaming and Carol had disposed of the hairy intruder, we both realised it was time to stop filming and transform the camcorder footage into our own pornographic movie. The editing turned out to be almost as much fun as the filming. Once it was complete, Carol and I sat clothed on the settee, watching the finished result with our wrists jammed firmly between our legs. I don’t know if our remake was better than the original, but I do know that I reached orgasm once while we were watching and I’m fairly sure that Carol climaxed twice.
She kissed me farewell before leaving, and said she had to know what Philip thought of our foray into sexploitation. I promised that, as soon as he had seen it, she would be the first and only other person to know about his reaction.
But, after three days, and with Philip making no mention of the movie, I felt forced to bring up the subject myself. He’d clearly found a new hiding place for the DVD but I had no idea whether or not he’d viewed it, or where it was now concealed. I innocently asked if he’d seen the disc that had been stuffed down the side of the settee. I explained that I’d noticed it earlier in the week, meant to tidy it away, but never got round to it. He laughed, and seemed a little embarrassed when he said it was a porn film.
‘Carol’s husband lends them to me,’ he explained.
‘And I don’t have the heart to tell him that we don’t watch that sort of thing.’
I flushed and tried not to sound too panicked. ‘So where is it now?’
He shrugged. ‘I gave it back to him yesterday,’ he explained. ‘So it’s either back in his private collection or he’s lent it out to some other sad wanker who needs that sort of stimulation.’ Cocking an eyebrow, he added, ‘Why do you ask? You don’t think we should watch one of those films together, do you?’
Nexus Confessions: Volume Three Page 17
