Elizabeth lifted her hand and to Christa’s surprise and delight, pressed Christa’s hand hard against her breast. Then she turned slightly and caught Christa’s mouth with hers. Her other arm slid around her waist.
Christa thought she’d go up in flames as Elizabeth’s mouth and tongue worked against hers. She opened her mouth, needing to taste and tangle, all the time squeezing Elizabeth’s breast. When the other woman pushed a trousered leg between Christa’s legs, she squirmed and slid against her, her clit rubbing hard against Elizabeth’s firm thigh.
A crash from the end of the laneway made the two women spring apart. Someone was moving garbage bins. They stood staring at each other, panting.
“Later tomorrow night,” Christa said between short breaths. “My husband will join us. If you want my pussy, he’ll watch. Are you willing?”
Elizabeth nodded. “Is he the only one who gets to watch?”
Christa smiled. “Not necessarily. But it will cost you. Ten thousand dollars.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.
“That’s what it costs for my pussy and his cock. And a night you’ll never forget. All the money goes to the foundation.”
“You pimp yourself out to raise money?”
“That’s right.”
Elizabeth tipped back her head and roared with laughter. “That’s the most original plan for fundraising I’ve ever heard. Do you do it often?”
“Often enough. As I said, I want to have fun as well as relieve the rich of their money for a good cause. So what about it? Are you willing?”
She would say yes. Christa could see the hunger in her eyes.
Elizabeth nodded. “Oh yes,” she said softly. “I’ll be there.”
Christa paced in the arrivals hall of Sydney Airport, impatient for Marc to appear. On these overseas trips, she never really stopped worrying about him until she saw him come through the arrival gate.
Worry and something else, something that wasn’t just about her incendiary encounter with Elizabeth Underwood, made her pacing more than usually frantic.
Marc had a ritual that eased him back into their life together. After a month without him she craved it, craved him like a drug. Her pussy ached, needing him inside her, to fill her and make her feel all was right with her world.
Finally, he emerged.
As usual, he was unshaved, unkempt and with a look of wild despair in his eyes. She knew what he wanted, what he needed to retain his sanity. A shiver of anticipation made her tremble.
She threw her arms around him, holding him, feeling the body she’d been without for four long weeks. “Oh, God, Marc. I missed you so much.”
His arms held her tightly and he buried his face in her neck. She could feel his heart working overtime, but he was silent as usual. He always was until she led him back into his real life. Led him back via her pussy.
She let him hold her until his heart calmed. Then he pulled away and smiled at her, held her face in his hands and kissed her. Her heart melted, as always. His first kiss when he got back was always long, slow and gentle, as if he worshipped her. As they waited for his luggage to appear, he held her in front of him, with his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her neck. His beard tickled her skin, making the ache between her legs even more insistent. But still he was silent.
He once told her he couldn’t speak until he felt safe again, and that could only happen though their ritual together.
His bags appeared and he scooped them up. They made their way to the car park, where she gave him the keys. Settling into the passenger seat, her pulse kicked up and her breath became choppy. She glanced at him as he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.
As he drove toward Southern Cross Drive, he stopped at the lights and looked at her. She breathed in deeply, slid a little down in her seat, eased up her dress and opened her legs so he could see her knickerless cunt.
“For some reason, this time was worse,” she told him as she eased two fingers into herself, then circled her clit with her wetness. “Every night I’d go to bed craving you so much I couldn’t sleep.”
A car pulled up beside them with a couple inside. Christa rubbed herself, praying the driver would look over. She knew the male driver couldn’t actually see what she was doing, but her movements made it obvious. He did look, then looked away, but his head snapped back as he registered what was going on in the car beside him.
“Do you remember when we first met?” Christa asked Marc. “I’ve been thinking about that time while you were away.”
She pushed her fingers in more deeply, feeling the gaze of the man in the car and the gaze of her husband on her cunt. Her blood pounded and her nipples ached to be pinched and teased. The man turned to give a quick glance to his female partner, then turned back to stare at Christa. He sat up straighter in his seat, clearly trying to see further into the car. Christa smiled at him.
“I was so shy at that hideous party. A little country mouse with a dark soul. That changed when I met you. Everything changed then.”
The man in the car shifted in his seat and grinned back at Christa. She took out her fingers and sucked them. He looked like he might come just staring at her.
“God, I was miserable. That jerk I was with couldn’t wait to get me into bed. He didn’t see me. None of the men I went out with did. Except you.”
Marc smiled as she talked, glancing at the man in the car then down at her pussy. She heard him sigh with contentment.
“You stood on the edges of the party. Every woman in the room wanted you.”
Marc let out a snort of laughter.
“It’s true! They did. You were tall, dark and handsome. And a medical student. A total catch.” Christa pushed her fingers back inside her and lazily continued to draw the wetness up and around her clit.
The lights changed and Marc accelerated off down the freeway as she continued to finger herself. She could hear his laboured breathing and reached across to rub the bulge in his jeans. He groaned and pushed her hand away.
“That whole night, all I could concentrate on was how you were watching me. Every time I looked around, you were there. Do you remember?”
He grunted in assent.
“You didn’t come over and try to meet me, just stared at me for about three hours. By the end of the night my panties were soaked and I wanted to jump out of my skin. You were like a predator watching its prey.”
She started rubbing her clit with more force, starting a slow build. Marc’s breathing was more ragged and the bulge in his jeans more pronounced.
“My friends were horrified when you finally came over to me and whispered in my ear that we needed to go. Did I ever tell you? They thought you were some weird serial killer, the way you were staring at me. But you saw me, didn’t you?”
Marc turned from the traffic and smiled at her, a smile full of love.
“From that first night you knew. Knew I needed to be seen. The first orgasm I ever had was in the car with you that night, doing what I’m doing now. I never told you that, did I?”
He shook his head, still silent. The love and burning desire in his eyes almost tipped her over the edge.
Christa laughed, then drew in a ragged breath as they drove beside a truck. Marc slowed to keep level with the driver’s cabin. This was always the best part. She glanced up through her window and started to rub her clit in earnest.
“Look at me, look at me,” she muttered, and heard Marc snicker beside her. He kept his eyes on the road, but took occasional glances at her cunt as she pulled herself higher and higher towards her peak. Each time he watched her pleasuring herself, she jerked as if he’d touched her.
Finally, the truck driver let his gaze wander toward her and his eyes widened, watching her fingers work frantically against her clit. She came with groan from deep in her belly. Marc sped up away from the truck. The sound of an appreciative truck horn made them both laugh.
The wild, despairing man she’d picked up at the airport was t
hawing out and becoming the Marc she knew and loved. He could be taciturn to most, but not to her. Never to her.
They made it to their harbourside house in record time. As soon as the front door closed behind them, Marc dragged her to the dining room and bent her forward over the table.
“Yes! Now, now, now,” she begged him.
He hiked up her dress, pushed down his jeans and thrust hard into her.
“Ah, God!” he groaned. “For weeks I’ve dreamed of this moment. Your cunt is mine.”
She braced herself against the table and pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. God, how she loved this particular ritual. His cock was hot and vital, filling the month-long ache she always had when he was away. It was as if he had to connect to life through an orgasm with her before he could re-enter their world. He held her hips and let himself go, pounding into her, creating her favourite sound, flesh against flesh.
She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him.
“Harder,” she hissed. “I’ve been without your cock for a month. Fuck me harder.”
He grinned at her and did just that, but all of a sudden he pulled out.
“What…” she started to protest.
He turned her over, lifting her legs to rest against his chest, then plunged back into her, all the time watching his cock go in and out of her glistening pussy. “Touch yourself again,” he demanded.
She smiled at up at him and perching herself on one elbow, slid her fingers down the sides of her clit, drawing up some wetness. She rubbed herself as his thrusts became wilder and faster and his breathing choppy. He kept his gaze on her fingers as she worked herself, knowing his watching inflamed her, made her come hard. She tipped her head back, closed her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep the sound in, trying to extend the fierce, raging pleasure exploding through her body.
When she could hold it no longer, she let out a long, groaning scream and her pussy contracted hard around Marc’s cock.
“Fuck, yes!” he yelled, and shot off in her cunt. He grabbed her and held her tight against him, while she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Oh, God, oh God, oh God,” he muttered into her neck. She could feel his heart against hers, working overtime.
“You can say that again,” she murmured. “Welcome home.”
He laughed, and pulled back slightly to look into her face. His cock was still inside her.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Christa held his head and kissed him. A long, lingering kiss between two people who knew each other well, knew what each other liked.
He pulled out from her and stood watching her, with her legs wide and his semen in her cunt. Christa stayed where she was and let him watch, only moving to peel off her dress and bra, leaving her stockings and stilettos on. Glancing at herself in the dining room mirror, she looked like a whore, used and dishevelled, her hair a rat’s nest and her mascara running. She liked that. So did Marc.
He pulled up his jeans and fastened them, then sat in a chair in front of Christa, with his eyes still on her pussy.
She kept her legs open, lifting one so her foot rested on the table.
“I have an idea I think you might like,” she said.
“Is that so?”
“We haven’t had a playmate for a while.” She pushed her fingers into her pussy and covered them with his seed.
“That’s true,” he said, watching her fingers as she rubbed and pinched her nipples, smearing his semen across her breasts.
“Elizabeth Underwood.”
His gaze met hers. “Really?”
She nodded, slowly working more of his seed into her breasts.
“That’s good. Very good.” He stood and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I need a shower and a shave. Come and tell me everything.”
Marc Forsyth scanned the cocktail party, looking for his wife. He spotted her standing in a small group, holding a glass of champagne. She had a look on her face he knew only too well. Boredom covered over with politeness. He could see why. A prominent Sydney socialite who was keen to join Christa’s buddies in the Double D Dinner Club was monopolising the conversation. She was a well-known crashing bore, which was why she’d been vetoed from the group.
Marc managed to catch Christa’s gaze and lifted his glass to her. The corners of her delectable mouth, which only an hour ago had been around his cock, lifted wryly. After sixteen years of marriage, she still had the ability to make him hard with one slow smile. At thirty-six she was even more beautiful than she had been when he first met her. Most people thought her beauty was the result of his skill as a surgeon, but in reality the only work Christa ever had done was on some stretch marks post-baby. She’d tried botox once out of curiosity and hated it.
“I look like a freak,” she’d said. “Exactly what everyone thinks the wife of a plastic surgeon should look like.”
“You don’t need it. I doubt you ever will,” Marc had told her.
She’d laughed. “We’ll see when I’m forty-six or fifty-six.”
He watched her now and marvelled at his good fortune. A beautiful, accomplished wife, two lively, intelligent teenaged children and work that engrossed and fulfilled him. Most people assumed the work of a plastic surgeon consisted of meeting the fantasies of neurotic rich women, and while there was an element of that, a lot of his work was more about healing those with disfigurements from surgery or accidents, as well as birth defects.
But he never looked down on or felt contempt for women and men who came to him wanting to look younger and, in their minds, better. He knew from long experience that being watched was an experience of extreme vulnerability for most people. The watcher was powerful, while the one being watched was exposed. He did what he could to make those who wanted to feel confident in their exposure satisfied.
Christa nodded at something the crashing bore said. God, that dress was designed to get every man in the room hard. Shifting colours of sea green, it clung to her curves, giving the impression of transparency. With her raven black hair and green crystalline eyes with their exotic curve, she looked like a gypsy princess.
He noticed Daniel Hiddleston, the rugby league star, send an approving glance Christa’s way. His partner, Jorja, raised her eyebrows when he turned back to her. He shrugged his shoulders and looked sheepish at being caught out. Jorja needn’t worry. They had a rule never to play with anyone too close to their circle of friends. The Double D Club was strictly out of bounds. A pity sometimes. Watching that solid wall of masculine power fucking his wife would be quite an experience. Not to mention seeing the delectable Jorja going down on her.
He glanced at his watch. Elizabeth Underwood hadn’t arrived. After Christa’s retelling of their back street encounter, he was impatient to meet her again. His first impression of her had been right after all. He’d been out of his mind with boredom at some stuffy business function that one of his partners had dragged him to where she was the guest speaker. He saw that she was beautiful and smart, but when he was introduced to her after the lunch he’d picked up a frisson of something else. Something a little perverse and hidden. Then she’d shut it down and he thought he’d imagined it.
Nella Pouache glided past him. He acknowledged her shy smile with a nod. Now there was a woman who had perversity down to a fine art. He didn’t know what her brand was, but he recognised a fellow traveller when he saw one. Not that what Christa and he indulged in was perverse by today’s standards. No chains, whips, candle wax or other pain-inducing props for them. Maybe some light bondage and some sex toys, but the main game was The Gaze. He liked to watch and she liked to be watched. Their mutual need was the foundation of their successful marriage.
The group Christa was standing with broke up as she excused herself to welcome more guests. Marc’s pulse kicked up as he recognised Elizabeth Underwood looking nothing like the sleek businesswoman he seen at the business function. She had some kind of dark blue sparkly dress on that covered her
from neck to knee. But when she turned to pick up a glass of champagne, he saw it was completely backless. And what a back. Golden and smooth. An image flashed into his mind of that back bent over Christa, pleasuring her while his seed splattered over Elizabeth, marking her. He smiled to himself.
Christa manoeuvred Elizabeth away from the other guests and over to him.
“I know you two have met before under very different circumstances,” Christa said.
“Very different,” Elizabeth said, with a smile. “I’m afraid I was a contributor to a terribly boring lunch that your husband had to endure. My apologies. My only excuse was jet lag. Never again will I agree to speak at a lunch when I’ve just arrived back from Europe.”
“You weren’t boring. My companions were, but you were fine.”
“Kind of you to say.”
Her icy blue eyes watched him as she sipped her champagne. He held her gaze and smiled slow and easy. His reward was a slight flush on her golden skin. When she licked a stray drop of champagne from the rim of her glass, he went immediately hard. Christa snickered beside him. He glanced at her and saw her glittering green eyes were fixed on Elizabeth’s covered breasts. The dark material didn’t hide the shape of her hardening nipples.
In wordless agreement, the three of them huddled closer together, shutting out the other guests.
“How does this work?” Elizabeth asked.
“In about an hour or so, I’ll ask for contributions to the foundation. That’s the signal for the end of the evening. I ask my guests to make their contributions directly into the foundation’s account via their smartphones. Then I can see who does and who doesn’t. The ones that don’t I follow up in other ways.”
“I’d hate to think what those ways might be. Or maybe I wouldn’t,” she murmured, turning her blue gaze to Christa.
Marc could feel the tension between the two women radiating from them in pulsing, sizzling waves. They looked like they wanted to devour each other right in front of him. He was pretty certain he looked the same. An hour. He wasn’t sure he could wait that long, given the state of his cock.
Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Extended Edition Page 22
