She found herself, instead, going to the book Jeremy had shown her.
There were a lot of layers to Leigh – layers she wasn’t fully aware of or in control of, herself. One of those layers of her personality had purchased the book, thinking all along that she was only doing it to be able to read a dirty passage to Jeremy to make the point that men were reading very, very dirty things and imagining his wife in those very dirty scenes. But that same layer of her personality had also been thinking: she could read it now, and have an excuse for having it. An excuse for Jeremy, and an excuse for herself.
So she started to read.
She opened the book on a random page, swiping right to the good stuff, where things began to be dirty:
“Lie down on the bed, Krista.”
Krista's mouth turned up in her amused little smile. She unfolded herself and stretched out backwards like a cat. All of her perfect skin was exposed except for the parts that were lightly frosted by her revealing lingerie. And of course, her blindfolded eyes.
Steve had already started taking off his clothes. His eyes were on my wife, and her lithe figure stretched out beneath him. His eyes moved over her with a familiarity that sickened me. How many times had he thought about this? He took in her ample breasts, her flat abdomen, her endless legs, all as though he were admiring a painting he had seen a million times before. Krista had her mouth parted already, anticipating; the inside of her mouth was cherry-red and shone like it was coated inside with lip gloss.
Steve looked to me as he pushed his boxers down, and on his face he had a cocky grin. It's the grin of a little shithead who is standing right over your wife and about to fuck her. Then he waved at me to get next to her ear, which I had to kneel down to do. Meanwhile he climbed up to the bed, his legs on either side of her already squirming body. He slid his hands over her stomach, under her arms, lifting them over her head.
And Krista? She slipped her long legs around him, stroking his back with her foot.
Did she notice it wasn't me? If she did, she didn't care or miss a beat. She murmured something nonsensical and smiled.
I placed my mouth near to her ear, where it would be if I were Steve now, lying on top of her.
“Not yet,” I said, reading from the script. “I want you to spread your legs for me.”
Krista's mouth opened wider and her pillowy lips made the slightest smile. She opened up her legs, spreading them wide for Steve. He jerked her bra up, sliding it up her arms to her wrists, where he twisted it expertly into a binding.
“Leave you hands up there,” I said, miserable and excited at the same time.
Steve put his hands on either side of Krista's rib cage, his thumbs turned inward to stroke her pink nipples into hard little balls. Krista's red mouth emitted a gasp of pleasure. But he didn't waste any time, he moved down, down her body. He sat back on his heels and surveyed her spread legs and the satin panties between them. I moved with him, and looked at Krista: the satin between her legs was already moist.
Steve reached down and moved the panties aside with one finger, holding them open so that he (and I) could see the bright, wet pink of her pussy, already engorged and craving his touch. He started lightly, placing a fingertip on her clit and stroking it lightly like a feather. Krista sighed and twisted, her hips moving up and down in desire.
Steve parted her petals one by one, feeling each layer of her as though he were testing an expensive silk. He held her skin between his fingers, feeling how soft and wet she was, smiling – surely with the thought of how good it would feel when he slipped his shaft between each of those swollen, soaked lips.
He toyed with her clit, making circles on it with his forefinger while she struggled to stay still enough for him to touch her. Her muscles contracted and twisted beneath her skin, and her breath came in ragged, sexual puffs from her mouth. Then I watched, fascinated and aching with humiliation and pain, my cock so hard it felt like it might split, as Steve dipped his finger into her hole.
It glided into her, she was so wet. I could see her juices glistening on her thighs, dripping down to the bed. Then he put another finger in, and another. And then he sort of clawed upward with his hand inside of her, and she mewled and howled, her legs starting to tremble, her stomach muscles crunched into a tight ball.
Steve pulled his fingers from her body, and lifted them to his face. I could smell her from there, her tangy-sweet pussy that I wanted so badly to taste the thought almost crossed my mind to lick Steve's fingers. He smiled, enjoying, obviously, both my wife and my pain.
Then he stripped the panties away from her, ripping the seam in a single motion. I saw Krista smile, impressed, pleased. Steve reached up and grasped her hands, pulling them free of the bondage of her lacy bra and bringing them down to her legs. He threaded each arm beneath one leg and back up, so that she was holding her legs open, ready for his hungry, conceited mouth to lap at her.
He gave me a look and motioned for me to move to where I could get the best view as he leaned in and tugged at the skin above her clitoris, exposing her hard, throbbing little button. The dark pink membrane that covered her raw flesh was stretched like my cock felt. She writhed beneath him, eager to feel a tongue on her rawest part.
He extended his tongue and toyed with her, lapping with feathery, light, agonizing touches. The sounds Krista was making now were animal and torturous to hear, but I sank into them. She squeaked and growled, panted and whimpered.
Steve went in, and I could not see what he was doing but it must have been terrific. Krista flopped around and screamed, digging her nails into her thighs, biting at her own lip. I could see her orgasm rising up in her, her muscles were stiffening and her legs were trembling so wildly that her stiletto heels were flapping at the ends of her long legs like something in the wake of a boat.
And then he lifted his head.
The howl that came from Krista was an awful sound. Shiny drops of sweat were soaking out of her skin, her hair was damp and she lifted her head. “Don't stop,” she begged. “No, don't stop.”
Steve pointed at the iPad. I knew what he had planned, because by now, of course, I had been reading ahead. I didn't even need to look at the screen.
“That's good. Good girl, beg me. But I want you to beg me a different way. And if you are very, very good, I will make you scream.”
Krista moaned. She made all kinds of dirty, filthy promises. She begged like a whore. When I read the instructions off in a dampened voice, she flipped onto her stomach and grabbed her heels as though she had done this a million times. She was poised on the bed as though in a slutty yoga pose: hand grasping the heels of her shoes behind her, head lifted to cock-height in front of her. She opened her mouth, and it was wet and hungry. She flicked her tongue out, without any bidding, to lick the precum from the tip of Steve's cock.
Surely Krista would know, when this stiff piece of meat entered her mouth, that it wasn't me?
I watched as Steve took his cock and flicked on her obediently extended tongue. My dick ached painfully, thinking of how much I wanted that wet mouth on my own cock.
He looked at me, grinning, as he moved forward just an inch. Now Krista's big, poofy lips closed around the tip of him and she sucked on him like a lollipop. He let her lick and suck away for several minutes, prompting me to praise her. “That's it,” I said. “Good girl.” My cock was so hard it was sending pain through my entire lower body. This heat mixed with the pain of saying these words, praising my wife as she slurped away at the fat end of another man's cock.
Steve worked his fingers into her hair, and grasped it. As though she were a blow-up doll, she opened her mouth nice and wide, with no command at all, and let him slide her face all the way down his shaft.
Krista had never, ever let me do anything like this. I watched as she took the whole thing in her mouth, apparently unaware that it was not me. Down her throat, all the way in.
And then she started making these porn-star noises, like she was eating some meal she
couldn't get enough of. She moved her own head forward when he pulled away with his cock, trying to get more of it into her throat. “Mmmmmmmmmmhhhhh,” she was saying.
Steve tightened his grip on her hair and held her still. He then began to face-fuck her, pulling himself out after a few thrusts. Long threads of saliva connected her distended lips to the tip of his cock, and then fell onto her face sloppily, before he would go back in. From deep in her throat the sounds of absolute submission: choking, gurgling, swallowing sounds. And her sultry, moaning approval. Her mangled yum yum yum. She was eating up all of that cock like it was the best thing anyone had ever put in her mouth.
When he pulled out for the last time, she was smiling like a porn star, spittle dribbling all over her face.
“Get on your hands and knees with your ass to me, now,” I read from the iPad.
Krista turned around like she was a dancer in a strip club, waving her round ass up in the air, arching her back, giving Steve a nice feline stretch.
“Get your head down,” I said, and my voice sounded hungry. I licked my lips, because they were very dry. My cock felt so heavy it might tip me over.
Krista lay her chest down and spread her arms out, grasping the sheets. Her face was turned towards me now, and I could see her cheeks were flushed. Her skin was sticky with her spit and the precum that was gushing from the tip of Steve's cock now. She was a gorgeous mess.
Steve took his hand and fanned it out, and then he dipped each of his fingers in her pussy. She whinnied like a horse and whined, clenching the sheets in her fists.
Then he knelt forward, and licked her, starting at her clit – she squealed – and then up, up, in an agonizingly slow line. I knew where he was going. I wanted to look away but I could not. He trailed his tongue in circles around her dull pink anus…
Scandalized, Leigh closed the window and set her phone face-down on the night table. She leaned away from it, almost like she didn’t want to touch it.
But the words she had read were burning through her mind. She felt a dull ache between her thighs.
What kind of erotica was that? she wondered, very deliberately for the conscious part of her mind.
The unconscious part of her, though, was aroused.
Imagining.
Thinking.
Leigh gave in to her thoughts for a brief moment. Then, remembering where she was, she brushed her stray hair back toward her ear and tucked it under. She smoothed her sundress and started toward the door, phone in hand.
Between her thighs, she could feel that she was slick with excitement. She pushed the thought from her mind, and walked back to the kitchen, where Jeremy was waiting.
“There’s nothing Dmitry can do,” she said.
Which was not untrue, but a little misleading.
She watched her husband’s face, looking for his reaction.
Leigh found herself battling a lot of different emotions.
There was a feeling of guilt – one she had never quite gotten rid of – for having taken the pictures with the men. She hadn’t ever disclosed it to Jeremy, and she had justified to herself by telling herself that he hadn’t asked.
Because he hadn’t.
But Leigh knew this was a silly standard to apply to disclosing the truth: why would Jeremy have thought to ask her about it? She had a pang of guilt as she remembered him saying to her: you’re getting all this money just for taking stock photos? I didn’t know there was such demand for pictures of pretty women in offices.
The door had been open there, for her to correct that mistake, and she hadn’t taken it. That was as good as lying, and she knew it, just like Jeremy knew it now.
In addition to feeling guilty, though, there was a little rush Leigh was feeling. Was it the rush of doing something bad, which she almost never did? Was it the rush of ending up on the cover of an erotic story, and therefore ending up in a lot of other men’s fantasies?
Whatever she was feeling, she saw that Jeremy was not particularly upset. This surprised her and confused her, but she was relieved when he shrugged and stepped around the counter, putting his arms around her waist. “That’s what I figured,” he said.
Leigh braced herself for questions about why she hadn’t said anything about the photos, but all Jeremy did was move his hands around her abdomen, caressing her, pulling her closer to him.
“Why don’t you go try on that dress you bought with Billie?”
This question took Leigh by surprise, and she furrowed her brow while she looked at him. “Huh?” she said.
Jeremy slid his hands over her hips. “I don’t know. All these pictures of you have made me… want to see more. Come on. Go try it on for me.”
Leigh smiled and chewed on her lower lip a little. “It’s a really crazy dress,” she said. “I don’t even know why I bought it.”
“Come on,” Jeremy urged her.
“Okay...” she said, turning around. “But I’m probably taking it back.”
She sauntered down the hallway.
She didn’t know why she had bought the dress, once she got home and Billie’s magical spell had dissipated. Billie had insisted she try it on, and she had this way about her that made Leigh just sort of float into doing what she wanted her to do.
Leigh typically went for dresses that seemed to have come out of a fifties sitcom, and partly that was her style, but partly it was because she didn’t feel super-comfortable flaunting her figure.
Billie, on the other hand, seemed most comfortable wearing as little as possible. She had gone wild in the stores, attracted to racks with skimpy lace and satin strung over them, barely clinging to the hangers, hardly in the shape of dresses at all.
“Here,” she had said. “Put on this red one, come with me to the dressing room. I get so bored in there by myself.”
There was a certain dictatorial, scary quality to the way Billie spoke, her light Bulgarian accent adding an extra layer of mafioso brutishness to it. Even if Billie was a small woman with a cute, sporty countenance, Leigh felt like she might turn ninja on her.
So she went.
The dress Billie had selected was not as skimpy as the ones she had selected for herself, but it was far outside of Leigh’s comfort zone. The hem only came to mid-thigh, and the neckline swooped down to just above Leigh’s breasts. The fabric squeezed against her torso and her hips, with only a little flare and some fancy tailoring to save it from looking like a hooker costume.
“Okay,” Billie had said, calling to her from outside the curtained room. “Come and tell me if you think this makes me look like I was smuggled into America in a shipping crate.”
Billie had turned to Leigh as she swept the curtain open. “Because that’s the look I am going for,” she had said with a grin.
Billie’s eyes had been immediately drawn to Leigh and her dress. She moved them up and down her body, and Leigh felt a queer feeling snake through her as another woman looked her up and down. “You look fucking hot,” Billie had said. “You need to buy that dress.”
Then she had turned back to her own image in the mirror and adjusted the numerous slits and straps that made up the grungy but sexy black dress she had put on. “Me, it’s not my look, but you are very elegant.” Her eyes had flicked back to Leigh’s in the mirror, and for a moment they seared right through her.
She had smiled, her mischievous smile. “Get it,” she had purred.
And so here Leigh was, putting on the much-too-racy dress to show her husband. And that would be the end of it, because there was no way she was wearing this thing out of the house.
She pulled the material up and over her torso, letting the straps snap onto her shoulders. The red color was far brighter than anything Leigh ever wore, but it complimented her brown eyes and her dark hair beautifully. It picked up the natural coral-red of her lips.
She wondered what it would be like to wear something like this. To be more like Billie, who seemed to thoroughly enjoy flaunting her body and getting attention from men everyw
here.
She was so busy admiring herself – the length of her swan-like neck, the fullness of her breasts, her firm waist and the sight of her sculpted thighs below the hem, that she didn’t even see Jeremy come into the room and stand behind her.
When she caught sight of him, she gasped.
“Uh, here,” she said, flustered. “This needs zipping.”
She took a step backward, with her fingers on the zipper of the dress. She didn’t need help with it: the zipper was easily done up by reaching behind and pulling it up to her waist.
Jeremy admired the way the dress clung around Leigh’s shoulders. It had almost no back, something he hadn't noticed before. And before she zipped it, it hung open all the way to the middle of her butt. Silvery-gray panties covered the shape of her firm globes in a silken wrapper, but the view was still nice.
He liked the dress. And he liked that Leigh was flustered.
He took a step toward her, holding his hand out like he was going to take the zipper from between her fingers. Instead, he placed his fingers on her spine, and trailed them up along the bumps in the center of her toned back.
A shiver ran through Leigh. A spray of goosebumps washed over her shoulders when Jeremy’s fingers reached the middle of her back.
She met his eyes in the mirror.
It had been a long time since she had felt this turned on by something that Jeremy did. Or, if she was being honest, by anything at all. She felt her pussy throb between her legs, and she gave herself over to wondering if it was the photos, the erotic story, the dress, or the lies for only a moment.
Leigh Uncovered: A Wife Sharing Novel Page 5
