by Selena Kitt
I took a few moments to get my own breathing under control, snuggling deep under the covers and listening to the toilet flush, the water run. My heart still pounded in my chest with the secret that I had discovered. John not only masturbated, he fantasized about everything from being with two women to anal sex! I wondered what else he imagined when he stroked his hard cock. I knew one thing—I was going to find out.
And I was going to have to start drinking a lot more black tea before bed!
Chapter 2
Kelly and I met at the gym at nine. She dragged her gym bag in one hand and three-year-old Taylor by the other, who shuffled his feet and glowered at the floor.
“I have to drop him off at the child care.” She puffed a stray lock of red hair out of her eyes. Taylor’s freckled nose turned up to me. He looked just like his mother.
“I don’t want to go,” he pouted.
“I’ll meet you in the locker room, okay?” she said. I nodded, trying not to laugh as Kelly juggled everything all at once as she pulled open the door to the child care.
I went into the women’s locker room and put my gym bag down, starting to undress. I was pulling on my shorts when Kelly burst in, throwing her bag on the bench.
“Now I know why you guys never had kids.” She banged open a locker and unbuttoned her blouse. I sat on the bench, pulling a t-shirt over my head.
“Tara, if you don’t wear a bra, that guy at the desk is going to spend the entire hour staring at you again.” Kelly pulled off her blouse. I glanced down at my breasts.
“Please.” I rolled my eyes. “If I had yours, then I’d wear a bra.”
“So, what could you not tell me on the phone?” Kelly unzipped her slacks and slid them down her full hips.
“Oh, right.” I glanced around. There was no one in our row of lockers, and someone was running a hair dryer around the corner. “It’s about John.”
“Yeah?” She slipped her t-shirt on, pulling her long hair out from under the collar.
I had told Kelly about my search for John’s fantasy life. “Well… I discovered the mystery.”
“And?” She folded her clothes neatly and put them in her bag.
I took a deep breath. “John has been making calls to a phone sex line.”
“You’re kidding me? John?” Kelly sat on the bench, her jaw dropped. “How do you know?”
I nodded, pursing my lips. “I found the phone bills.”
“Were you mad?”
I shrugged. “A little. But my curiosity got the better of me.”
Kelly grinned. “What did you do?”
“Nothing!” I bit my lip. “Okay, so I stayed up to hear him make a call.”
“Did he?” She leaned forward, her eyes bright.
“No, but I found out that I was wrong about him not…” I lowered my voice. “Masturbating.”
“Really?” Kelly raised her eyebrows. “You caught him?”
I nodded. “He was doing it in the middle of the night. I guess I’ve just kind of slept through it.”
Kelly snorted. “You definitely sleep like a woman who’s never had kids.”
“I’m not sure what to do,” I confessed, standing up and putting my bag into the locker.
“Well, I know what I would have done.” Kelly winked as she stuffed her own bag into a locker.
“What?”
“I would have rolled over and helped him, dummy!” She laughed and poked me in the shoulder.
I knew Kelly probably would have, but I had always been jealous of her sex life, ever since we started sharing details about our husbands. Chris was all about sharing fantasies with her, telling her what he wanted. She had told me about lots of times when she had dressed up for him, revealing different sexual things they had done that we hadn’t even thought about. Okay, maybe I’d thought about them—and apparently, John had, too—we just hadn’t ever talked about them.
“I thought about it.” I remembered the slick sound of his hand stroking his cock, how exciting it had been to hear him. “But I was afraid—”
“Of what?” She sat down on the bench.
“I guess I was afraid of scaring him off or something.” I shrugged. “I mean, it’s been three years, and he hasn’t ever told me anything, Kel. Not one little fantasy. He wouldn’t even admit he ever jerked-off! Maybe this way I can actually find out what he’s thinking.”
Kelly raised her eyebrows. “What are you thinking about doing, Tara?”
I remembered the sound of John’s hand on his cock, how excited it made me to listen to him, to hear his fantasies.
“I’m going to wait for him to make a phone call.”
* * *
Kelly kept complaining about my pushing our morning gym date back. I couldn’t help it. I stayed up until one or two in the morning and slept in later and later. I knew I was lucky to have the free time I did. John worked hard, and his business was very successful. I was grateful that I could do my freelance work from home and not worry about it being a primary source of income. I should have been incredibly happy.
Instead, I was staying up until the wee hours, feigning sleep and listening to my husband snore, wondering what he was dreaming about. What did he really want? Why couldn’t he tell me what he was thinking, what he was feeling? Were his fantasies so strange? Was he in to some bizarre fetish? I was aching to know.
I finally got my first opportunity to hear one of his fantasies, although it came when I least expected it—soon after John and I had finished having sex.
I loved Fridays, because he always came home so much more relaxed. Tired, yes, but ready for and anticipating the weekend break. I always made a good dinner on Fridays, something a little extra special. Even if it had been the busiest week in the world for him—which often happened around tax season—I knew that we would connect on Fridays.
We spent most of the night watching a movie, and then I tugged on his hand, pulling him with me towards the bedroom. We both undressed, crawling beneath the covers. Most other days, I wore a t-shirt to bed, and John wore boxers, but never on Fridays. I snuggled my body next to him, sliding my leg up over his, and reaching my hand down between his legs.
There were minor variations on this theme. Sometimes he would turn to me first, but it was rare. Usually it was me, reaching between his legs for his cock, which was already half-hard in anticipation. Like Pavlov’s dogs, it knew just what to expect on Fridays. I loved feeling him grow harder in my hand, his flesh thickening as I squeezed him, responding to my touch.
I would stroke him, pressing my breasts into his side, rubbing my soft thigh over his, until I felt pre-cum beginning to develop at the tip. Then I usually couldn’t resist tossing off the covers and putting my mouth on his cock to taste it. He loved to play with and lick my pussy while I gave him head, and he would pull my hips and position me over his face while I sucked him.
He knew me well, I admit. His tongue knew just where to find my clit, making me moan and grind against him. He would slip two fingers into me, moving them slowly in and out at first, and then faster. I couldn’t help moaning around his cock, sucking and stroking him eagerly, hearing the wet, sloppy noises my pussy made with his fingers slipping in and out.
We would always do this until I came. It usually didn’t take me too long, since I, too, had been anticipating this all day. My pussy was usually already sopping the minute he walked in the door. I refused to masturbate on Fridays, even with my beloved shower massage, saving the intensity of my orgasm for his sweet, lapping tongue. It always made me shiver and shudder and spread my legs wider as I wiggled against him. He usually grabbed my hips to keep me steady as I came.
I was one of those women whose orgasms came quietly—they kind of snuck up on me, and my response was always more of a sigh than a scream.
“Oh John, yes,” I moaned, feeling it begin, waves of pleasure overtaking me. “Ohhh.”
After my orgasm, he would roll me off of him, and pull me up to kiss me. I loved to taste my pussy in hi
s mouth, the smell of it between us. Sometimes he would press me to my back, and enter me that way. I loved him on me, the weight and thrust and shudder of him.
More often, though, he wanted me sitting on him so he could look up and watch me ride him. The look of lust in his eyes turned me to liquid every time, melting my already wet pussy into his flesh as I ground my pelvis against his. I loved his fingers playing over my clit, strumming it, making me move faster on him.
That Friday, though, I did something that surprised him, I think. Remembering what he had said about wanting anal sex, I decided to turn things around a little bit. Literally. I slid him out of me and turned around, so I was facing his feet. His cock was still slick and wet from my juices, and my hand slid easily over him as I positioned myself over his cock. I slid back down, feeling the length of him slide into my pussy again.
“What are you doing?” John asked as I started to rock. This position was a little awkward, and took some getting used to. I was finally catching a rhythm, and heard him groan. I looked back over my shoulder and saw his eyes focused on my ass.
I leaned forward a little, balancing myself with my hands on his thighs. “Will you touch it?”
His eyes lifted to mine. “What?”
“Touch my ass,” I whispered. He slid his hands over my hips, cupping my ass in his palms. I moved my hips in little circles, feeling his cock pulsing inside of me. He was close, I could tell from the way he was starting to thrust up into me, the sound of his breath.
I reached my hand back, placing it over his, and then slowly led his hand with mine toward the crack of my ass. When I pressed his finger against my asshole, he groaned, shoving up harder into me, actually lifting me off the bed with his thrust.
“Yes, John,” I whispered, moving my hand away, still feeling his finger pressing against my asshole. “Put it in me.”
He groaned again, slowly working his finger into my ass. It was a strange sensation, entirely new. I never knew it was so sensitive. I moaned and reached a hand between my legs to rub my clit as he started moving just the tip of his finger in and out of my ass. The feeling was driving me crazy and I began to tremble on top of him.
“Oh God, Tara, your little asshole!” I felt his finger slide a little deeper inside of me, making me gasp.
“Yes,” I whispered. “Play with my asshole, baby.”
He growled, thrusting up hard. “You’re gonna make me come!”
“Me, too.” I felt my orgasm starting to crest, shuddering through me, every muscle between my legs a thick, wet pulse, milking his cock. He came hard, the force of it threatening to throw us both off the bed.
When I snuggled up to him, later in the dark, after we’d cleaned up, he stroked my hair and asked, “What was that all about?”
“What?” I knew, of course, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“You.” He cleared his throat. “Asking me to put my finger… there.”
“Did you like it?” I rubbed my thigh over his.
“Did you?”
I smiled. “Yeah. A lot.”
We were quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Me, too.”
We settled together, spooned at first, and I thought he had drifted off already when he said, “A lot.”
I grinned in the darkness, putting my arm around him and kissing his shoulder.
That was the last thing I remembered before waking to find John gone from the bed. That wasn’t unusual. I used to think he got up to go to the bathroom a lot, and I would just drift back off to sleep again. Now, though, I wondered. Was he making a phone call? The thought surprised me, after we’d just had sex—really good sex, for us!
There was a phone next to our bed. He was clearly using the house phone, not the cell phone, at least according to the phone bill. We had a phone in the kitchen, one in the living room, and another in the basement office. My guess was, if he was on any phone, it would be the basement one. There was a couch down there he could lie down on.
If I picked up the receiver, would I hear him? I listened to the house, but didn’t hear anything except the usual night sounds. He wasn’t in the bathroom.
I leaned over and picked up the phone. Would he hear me if I clicked “talk”? I debated for a moment, holding my breath. Then I pressed the button. I heard his voice immediately, low and sexy. My heart leapt to my throat, and I quickly pushed the mute button, afraid they might hear me.
“How about a school girl?” he asked.
A feminine voice chuckled, soft and low. “The plaid skirt kind?”
“Yeah,” he breathed.
“With a little white button blouse, tied at the waist?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And knee socks?”
John groaned. “Yeah, baby. Definitely knee socks.”
“Have I been a bad girl, Daddy?”
“You’ve been a very naughty little girl, Maria,” he agreed. “You are going to get a spanking.”
My heart was racing still, but for different reasons now. John had incest fantasies? Spanking fantasies? My mouth felt dry, but my pussy was wet—and getting wetter. I rolled over on my back, sliding my hand between my legs as I listened to them. I was still all slick from John’s cum, and I spread the wetness over my lips, rubbing my clit with two fingers in slow little circles.
“Come here and bend over, young lady!” John’s voice was clear and demanding. I pulled the phone away from a moment to look at it, as if I could see him. This is John?
“Yes, Daddy,” Maria purred. “Do you want me over your knee?”
“Yes,” John growled. “Right here over my knee, you bad girl.”
“Oh, Daddy, what are you doing? Lifting my skirt?”
“That’s right, and your panties are coming down, too.”
My breath came faster as I listened to them both. I could close my eyes and see it. A part of me protested that this was my husband, that I shouldn’t be listening, I should be hunting him down with a frying pan and screaming at him—but another part of me was desperate to hear. This wasn’t the John I knew. This was some other man—and the more I listened, I realized it was a man that I wanted to know.
“Oh, Daddy, that stings!” Maria cried out as if she had been slapped.
“Do it, Maria,” John said. “Slap your ass.” I heard the sound of flesh against flesh, and I realized that Maria must be slapping herself for him. The thought stunned me. Every time she slapped herself, she whimpered and cried out.
“Oh, Daddy, I’ll be good!” she pleaded. “I promise!”
I could hear John’s breath, ragged and fast. Mine was, too. Thank God for “mute” buttons!
“You’ll be a good girl now?” he panted. “You’ll do whatever Daddy says?”
“Yes!” She sniffed, as if she had been crying. “Anything, Daddy.”
“Then get down here on your knees.” His voice had that rough edge again, and it thrilled me. I rubbed my pussy faster, using both hands, and crooking the phone against my shoulder.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Put your mouth on Daddy’s cock, little girl,” John told her. “You suck that cock until I come in your mouth. And you swallow every last drop. Do you understand me?”
“Oh, yes, Daddy!” she purred. “It’s so big and hard. I can barely get my mouth around it.”
“That’s a girl. Take it all.” I heard John’s breathing getting even faster, and I knew he was stroking his cock. I wished he was next to me, so I could hear his hand shuttling up and down, the slick wetness of it. My pussy throbbed under my hand, the fingers of my left hand buried inside, my right hand rubbing my clit in fast little circles, bringing me closer to that edge.
“I love sucking your cock, Daddy.”
“You’re such a naughty girl,” he moaned. “Suck it, you little whore. Are you Daddy’s dirty little whore?”
“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I’m your dirty little cockwhore, Daddy! I can’t help playing with my little pussy while I suck you. It feels so good.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “Rub that cunt.”
I moaned out loud, hearing that word coming from his throat. I rubbed my own cunt harder, faster, thrashing against the bed.
“You’re gonna make daddy come, you naughty girl,” he moaned. “Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes, I’m gonna come, too,” she moaned. I wondered if she was touching herself like I was. The thought was exciting. “Come in my mouth, Daddy!”
“Here it comes, baby girl!” I heard him begin to let go. “Take it! Swallow my cum!”
