Secret Confessions: Sydney Housewives - Extended Edition

by Various Various

  “You didn’t come here to listen to true confessions, Elizabeth. I’m sorry, that was very rude of us.”

  “No, no,” she said. ‘It was lovely. I like that you have such a strong relationship.” She sighed. “I wish I could have that in my life.”

  “Why can’t you?” asked Marc. “You’re beautiful and smart. Lots of men and women would be interested in you.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t seem to be made for settling down to domesticity. I want to, but every time I try it, I get restless and feel confined. My ex was a terrific guy but he wanted me to be something I’m not. I can’t do dinner parties and I didn’t want to have children. In the end, we were too different.”

  “You need a wife,” Christa said, licking her spoon. “Someone who will let you be the alpha woman. Doesn’t have to be a woman, a man can be a wife. But you need to be the provider.”

  “Maybe.” A look of speculation appeared on her face. “What I’d really like is what we have now.”

  “What do you mean?” Christa asked.

  “I work hard and so do you two. I also travel a lot. I can see you love each other and I like that. I want us to keep seeing each other like we are now. I want to know I can come over and hang around with you and go to bed with you but not be in ‘a relationship’. Maybe that might develop, who knows? I’d like to keep all options open.”

  Christa looked at Marc, who looked interested in the idea. Very interested, if his cock was anything to go by. He glanced at Christa, scooped up a dollop of mousse on his finger and circled Elizabeth’s nipple with the smooth cream. “That’s a good idea,” he said, then dipped his head to her breast. He sucked and licked her breast while she squirmed and giggled.

  “What about you, Christa?” Elizabeth asked in a breathless voice, as Marc pulled on her nipple with his teeth.

  “What do I think? I think I’m very glad you were late for the dry cleaners,” she said, leaning forward to kiss the other woman. She slid two fingers into her pussy and moved them in and out. Elizabeth gave a strangled cry.

  “I think it’s time for more fun and games,” Christa said. “I want you to fuck me,” she said to Marc. “But I also want to see your tongue in Ms Underwood’s delectable pussy. Hmm. Decisions, decisions.”

  She gazed around the room and zeroed in on an antique stool she had purchased some months ago, not really needing it, but unable to resist its old world charm. It had a back, so was a cross between a stool and a chair. It looked like a piece of furniture some aristocratic French lady would use to sit in front of a mirror while pasting beauty spots on her face. When she’d got it home, though, she found it was really too tall for using at a dressing table. She’d left it in the corner of the bedroom, not sure what to do with it.

  Christa smiled with glee. She climbed off the bed, taking the chocolate mousse with her.

  “Hey!” said Marc. “I’m not finished.”

  “Yes you are,” she said. “Something much more delicious awaits. Come on, off the bed and pull the quilt onto the floor. I think this will work. Sit on the floor with your back against the end of the bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Is she always this bossy?” Elizabeth said, smiling.

  “When it comes to orgasmic delights, always.”

  “I’m a good choreographer. I missed my calling,” Christa said, pulling the stool over to the end of the bed. Marc grinned at her as he leant against the bed, his legs straight out and his cock jutting up expectantly.

  “Now, Elizabeth, you sit here. Good, yes. Just the right height. I knew I’d find a use for this stool. Get closer to Marc. You’ll have to rest one leg on the bed. Luckily the stool is higher. Excellent!”

  She stood back and watched the tableau. Elizabeth perched on the stool with her legs wide open, her pussy at the same level as Marc’s mouth. He glanced up at her and proceeded to experiment with their new arrangement. Christa watched as he slid one, then two fingers into Elizabeth’s glistening cunt, then bent his head forward to tongue her clit.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and squirmed on the stool, leaning back to open her legs wider. She held onto Marc’s head, pressing him against her slit as he vibrated her clit with his tongue and started a steady thrust with his fingers. Her breathing became laboured and Christa smiled as throaty grunts emerged from her mouth.

  “Hang on,” Christa said. “This arrangement isn’t finished yet.”

  She crossed to Marc and stood over him. He broke off his ministrations of Elizabeth and stared up at her, grinning. She knelt, straddling him, and grasped his cock in her hands, giving him an affectionate squeeze. Lifting herself slightly, she angled him just at the right spot and lowered herself onto his long, hard length.

  “Ah, yes,” she muttered, his cock filling her just the way she loved. “That’s right. Oh, God, get ready, Marc. I’m going to fucking ride you like you’ve never been ridden. And I want to see your mouth fuck Elizabeth.”

  Marc laughed and pulled the stool closer to him, turning his head to suck Elizabeth’s clit. The other woman rested her hand at the back of Christa’s neck, caressing her.

  Christa was inches away from Elizabeth’s cunt, and the sight of her husband licking and sucking her while Christa rode him hard was so incredible she thought she would explode or expire or just fucking die from pleasure. Elizabeth was on the verge of coming, if the sounds coming out of her throat were any guide. Her hips thrust against Marc’s mouth and she threw back her head moaning, while her breasts jutted out, her nipples tight and hard. Christa reached up and squeezed one, resulting in a guttural scream as Elizabeth came, hard.

  Marc leant back, panting, his mouth wet with Elizabeth’s pussy juices. Christa leant forward and kissed him, all the time riding him, fucking him, slamming herself onto him, feeling the head of his cock hit the exact spot that drove her wild. She broke the kiss and screamed out his name, dimly aware that Elizabeth was no longer on the stool.

  Her screams became incoherent when she felt Elizabeth’s tongue slide down her spine and her fingers play with her arsehole. Marc grabbed her hips and thrust up into her. Deep in her cunt the spasms started, taking her over, making her only aware of intense, consciousness-altering pleasure. As Marc shot into her, yelling out his orgasm, she collapsed onto him, spent. He held her, breathing hard while Elizabeth straddled Marc behind her. Light, feathery kisses and nibbles on her neck and the feel of Elizabeth’s nipples on her skin made Christa realise all was right with her world.

  Christa idly fiddled with the flowers in her crystal vase, her mind a thousand miles away. Or more correctly, her mind replaying scenes from the past couple of weeks, scenes full of her Nordic Goddess and her dark, delicious husband. Elizabeth had rapidly become more than just a friend with benefits. They fitted, the three of them.

  More often than not Elizabeth dropped in after her work day, shared some of her life over a meal and a glass or two of wine and then stayed the night, or not, as she wanted. Christa liked that. Liked that Elizabeth was a woman she could talk to about girly stuff or the major events of the day, then fuck her brains out that night. Marc watched or joined in as the mood took him.

  The biggest challenge was when she met the boys one afternoon. She dropped in, not realising they were home from boarding school. But they accepted her like they did any other of their parents’ friends and were polite and friendly, as they had been brought up to behave. They got used to her, then became more enthusiastic when she helped them with their algebra homework. If they wondered about any other aspect of their parents’ relationship with Elizabeth, Christa hadn’t noticed. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

  The major concern of Christa’s life at the moment was the Double D dinner party. She sighed. They were a challenging group of women—a funny mixture of cattiness, fun and surprising depth. Admittedly, sometimes she had to dig deep to find that depth.

  They were due any minute. Her cook had made a series of high protein, low carb, gluten free, high on
vegetables gourmet dishes for the variety of food preferences they had. Chocolate mousse for dessert. She smiled to herself, knowing a big bowl was waiting for her upstairs with Marc and Elizabeth.

  The doorbell rang. Lana sailed in, looking like a million dollars. Her toy boys kept her eternally young.

  “Darling Christa, where’s that gorgeous husband of yours? I drool every time I see him.”

  “Like most of the husbands, he’s made himself scarce. Says you all intimidate him.”

  “Who’s intimidated?”

  Jorja followed Lana, striding in like an Amazon. Nothing and no one would intimidate her. Not even that gorilla she had for a boyfriend.

  “Have some champagne, Jorja.” Christa held out a glass.

  “Ooh, I want some of that.” Nella came through the door and into the lounge room with her usual high-class grace. “I drove here with Sienna, which was slightly nerve-racking. Not the best driver in the world.”

  The other women all seemed to arrive in a bunch. Willow, and Camilla with her wild red hair, shy and uncomfortable. Christa tried her best, but she couldn’t seem to make a connection with the younger woman,

  Darla came in talking to Sienna. “And then he just stared at me. The best restaurant in Sydney and I have to go with a guy who I’m sure is a serial killer. He had these icy cold eyes and kept talking about skiing and would I like to go down to the snow with him? I got the distinct feeling he wanted to push me into a crevasse!”

  “Darla. Not another dating disaster. Here, have some champagne,” Christa said.

  They all made themselves comfortable in the lounge room, nibbling on canapés and scoffing more champagne. Christa was always amazed at the amount of noise a group of chattering women could make.

  After a while Christa’s cook discreetly signalled dinner was served, so they made their way into the dining room.

  “My God, Christa. Every time I come here I get blown away by the view. The harbour looks stunning tonight,” Virginia said. “And your decorating taste is superb. Where did you get that vase?”

  Christa smiled and shrugged. “I forget. Somewhere in my travels.”

  Conversation resumed over dinner. Nella was next to Christa.

  “I saw Elizabeth Underwood having coffee with you the other day.”

  Christa took in a breath and let it out. “Did you? She’s become a good friend over the past couple of weeks.”

  “That’s nice. She’s a very beautiful woman. You looked good together.”

  Christa shot her a sharp look and took a sip of her wine.

  “Then I happened to see her downtown, having lunch with Marc.”

  Christa turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

  Nella laughed softly. “Good for you, my dear. Good for you. Take what you need from life. That’s my motto.”

  “I always do, Nella. I always do.”

  Christa thought she heard a laugh from somewhere upstairs. She sipped some more wine and smiled at the other women.

  Her chocolate mousse was waiting.

  EPISODE 8

  Emma

  VIVEKA PORTMAN

  To the neurotic wives and girlfriends out there, may you find your peace.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to Tracey O’Hara and Kate Cuthbert for asking me to write for this series. It was a pleasure and a thrill. I’d also like to acknowledge and thank the usual suspects, the Escape Team and Shona Husk for her awesome (as always) critiques.

  Emma

  She was a demon in the bedroom.

  Wild. Unrestrained. Shit-hot sexy.

  The thought was completely unbidden.

  Lachlan ‘Rosco’ Ross watched his wife slip into the bed wearing an unflattering nightdress that covered her from neck to knee.

  Huh?

  “What are you thinking about?” Emma asked, sinking down into the covers.

  “You. Buck naked. On my cock.”

  Her hazel eyes widened with surprise, but her pupils darkened with something else.

  “Take that off,” he said, gesturing to the nightdress.

  She bit her lip.

  Her confidence had taken a beating lately, but Rosco remembered a time, not so long ago—before the IVF—when she’d have made the devil blush.

  He wanted that girl back.

  He looked at her again, her white teeth biting into the plump pink flesh of her bottom lip, driving his thoughts to other plump pink things.

  Rosco moved his hand, dark and tanned against the white of her nightdress, and squeezed the firm small breast beneath. “Taking it off? Or not?” he asked.

  Once, she’d have been naked before she even hit the bedroom.

  Still, after a moment of hesitation, a wicked glint flashed in her eyes. “Okay.”

  Emma shimmied out of her nightgown, her heart hammering. Lately, she hated Rosco seeing her naked, but it seemed the only time they weren’t arguing was when they were screwing. She took a great heaving breath. There was no way she was going to spoil that part of their marriage too—even if it seemed she’d spoiled every other part of it.

  He always knew how to make her feel better.

  “Come here, you…” Rosco growled and reached for her; he was already naked. He’d been naked since he’d stepped out of the shower and God he was beautiful.

  Her husband’s finely sculpted body contrasted against the white and blue of the bedsheets, like some golden idol. The definition of his muscles was striking, honed to perfection from the hours spent in the surf.

  Emma’s heart, and other things much lower, surged with longing.

  The trip to Hawaii for the Pipeline Pro Surfing Competition hadn’t been a good one, at least for their marriage. Rosco had won, but they’d lost something there as well.

  She dismissed the thought and leaned over, pressing her lips to his. A masculine laugh burbled beneath his breath as she rolled him onto his back.

  The only time it seemed she could forget about her failures was when she was fucking her husband. Yet, even then, in the past few weeks, more often than not they’d gone to bed with angry words rather than sex on their minds.

  Irritably, she dismissed the thought; now wasn’t the time for neurotic, self-depreciating thoughts. Instead she focused again on the golden skin of the man before her. His breath caught in his chest as her gaze grew hungry and moved down the perfect planes of his torso, finally resting on his heavy swelling cock and full tight balls.

  She swallowed, lowering her body to kiss his flesh.

  He was hot beneath her lips, and eagerly her tongue flickered to taste him. He tasted clean and wholesome with a hint of soap, not the salty ocean fresh taste he’d have after a surf.

  Her pussy swelled as his cock lurched towards her, keen as ever. She ran her hands over it, marvelling in the hard but silken texture. Her heart gave a pang.

  “I love you,” she whispered and caught his eye. “You know that, don’t you?”

  The sparkling blue of his eyes met hers, “Yeah. I do.” His smile was gentle, as gentle as it ever had been. Despite her behaviour, despite the failures—he was still here in her bed. That had to count for something.

  Her sex clenched with a sudden powerful need. “Fuck me,” she whispered.

  A pleased smirk appeared on Rosco’s face and he raised an eyebrow. “How could I say no?”

  In an instant, he moved over her, pushing her back into the bed. She sank deeper in the mattress, his weight momentarily winding her.

  She gasped as he grinned boyishly, flashing white teeth. Emma found her legs suddenly splayed as he forced his knees between them in a well-practiced move.

  Her pussy throbbed at the sudden exposure and her nipples puckered against the warm flat planes of Rosco’s chest. His blond curls cascaded down around them, casting a golden glow around her.

  She needed him in her. She needed the reassurance, his flesh on hers making her feel whole once again.

  “Fuck me,” she groaned, and thrust her hips upward, trying to c
apture his hot shaft. Yet he held himself aloft, denying her the fulfilment she so eagerly sought.

  He laughed, teasing. “What was that?” he whispered, dipping his head so his breath blew past her ear. “I don’t think I heard you.”

  She groaned. “Lachlan! Fuck me, please.”

  For a just a second she felt the broad head of his cock grind against the mound of her pussy; she arched, trying to get him to slip further down.

  His face curtained by blond curls, Rosco hovered above her on taut muscular arms, denying her masterfully and exuding sex appeal.

  “Lachlan…” Her body was literally quivering beneath him. Lying on her back as she was, she could feel her wetness seeping and slipping down the crack of her arse.

  A moan broke unbidden from her mouth.

  Even after eleven years of marriage, the world’s Number One Pro Surfer still had the same effect on her.

  “Okay, okay.” He affected a sigh, a smile still tugging at the edges of his lips.

  He lunged forward.

  In that instant her sex was stretched wide by the sudden force of his entry. She cried out beneath him. Slick by the volume of her arousal, her pussy stretched deliciously with his girth.

  Rosco stilled above her and relished the moment of intimacy before he began to move.

  His eyes held hers, affection and lust warring in the blue depths.

  With graceful, rhythmic thrusts, he rocked her and Emma found herself clawing at his back, wrapping her legs about his waist trying, somehow, to get closer—to get more of him into her.

  Blessedly, he sank down lower onto her and ground his cock deep into her pussy.

  She shuddered, as the friction between them began to smoulder on her clit. She needed that, he knew.

  Then he pulled back and resumed his thrusting, his cock burrowing deep and withdrawing with a force that knocked the air from her chest.