by Sean Geist
Twin Betrayals
By
Sean Geist
Published by Sean Geist
Copyright 2017 Sean Geist
Cover Photo dpaint / Bigstock.Com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written consent of the author, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to any actual persons is entirely coincidental.
All characters in this story are over the age of 18 unless specified. V.3
Acknowledgement
I want to thank DC for editing my manuscript. I didn't always follow their advice, so any errors that remain are mine and mine alone.
I also want to mention Robert and Max for beta reading my manuscript and offering notes.
And lastly I want to thank my wife Susan. She encourages me to write. She'll read what I write. And she still wants to remain married to me. I gotta be the luckiest man in the world.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Afterward
Also by Sean Geist
Chapter 1
I reckon the idea popped into my head the day I stumbled across my wife masturbating. I'd left my briefcase at home and didn't realize it until I was in the elevator heading up to my office. I needed some papers for an afternoon meeting, so I told my assistant to hold down the fort and I headed home.
I could have texted Lauren, my wife, to tell her I was heading back, and maybe I should have, but I didn't. Instead, I walked up the steps and entered our townhouse, unannounced.
“Lauren?”
There was no answer. I knew it was her day off, so I figured she must have gone out for a late morning run, or possibly an early lunch, so I went upstairs and grabbed the forgotten briefcase from the bench at the foot of our bed where I'd left it the night before.
The steady rush of water through our pipes could be heard coming from our en-suite bathroom. Sounded to me like Lauren was getting a late start to the day.
I couldn't leave without saying goodbye, so I went to peek my head in. I reached out for the door knob and froze. I could clearly make out a low feminine moan escape just underneath the overbearing rush of water.
My dick got rock hard.
Again, maybe I should have announced my presence with a knock or a hearty hello, but I didn't. Instead, I slowly turned the knob and inched the door open.
Due to the layout of our bathroom I couldn't see the shower directly, but I could see it reflected in the mirror.
The misty vision left me stunned.
Lauren is a beautiful woman, and every time I look at her, I thank Fate, or God, or whatever universal force you want to believe in, that she deemed me a worthy life partner.
There she was, her head thrown back, her raven black hair plastered flat against her neck and shoulders. She was leaning against the shower wall, one leg planted firmly on the floor, the other was resting on the small bench opposite the shower head which was sending a rhythmic pulse of water directly between her open thighs.
Her left hand was teasing and pinching her nipples, leaving them dark and erect. The fingers of her right hand played through the moist folds of her labia, occasionally tap, tap tapping against her swollen clit.
I reflexively unzipped my pants and withdrew my erection, careful to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb my wife's state of delight.
Lauren emitted a glow of pure ecstasy. Her eyes were closed; her muscles relaxed and pleasure coursed through her body. As she continued her ministrations and the arousal grew and her climax approached, her face tightened and her eyes squeezed shut. Her moans started getting louder, forming words.
“Yes. Yesss. Like that.”
I would have loved to know what fantasy fueled this late morning delectation. Was she lost in the pure feeling, the electric pulses igniting in her sensitive nerve bundles? Or maybe she was imaging a man, his tongue in place of her fingers, feasting on the nectar that dripped from her pussy.
I watched as Lauren started stroking her ring and index fingers into her cunt, deep as she could. It was obvious the imagined cunnilingus was over and the fantasy fucking had begun.
“Fu... Fu.... Fuck.”
Lauren was usually a quiet moaner when we had sex. In the three years of our marriage I think she had a loud vocal orgasm only a handful of times. And only when I was eating her out while fucking her with a vibrating dildo we occasionally used to spice things up.
I'm not complaining about our sex life. It's great. I was just seeing a different side of my wife, one I hadn't been privy to before – a side that surprised and pleased me and one I found I loved.
My wife furrowed her brow.
“Oh, God.” She pinched her nipples harder, turning them dark red. She started taking in air in short shallow breaths.
I could tell she was close.
“Fuck me. Fuuuuck me.”
I was close myself. I felt my pulse quicken and that tingle in my balls that starts when I'm close to coming.
“Ahhhh.” Lauren came so hard and loud, I was afraid our neighbors might hear.
My fears of discovery were soon lost in my own orgasm. I felt my cock pulse in my palms as I released several long sticky ropes of semen onto the bathroom tile. My eyes were closed as my climax flowed through me. I must have smiled, the vision of my naked wife lost in her own pleasure burned into my brain.
Our mutual orgasms seemed to fade together. I could hear my wife's shouts fade to sighs and turn to—
“ROGER!”
My eyes flew open, my hand stopped mid-stoke. I'd been caught red-handed and red-cocked, a dribble of semen fell from my fingers.
“What the fuck, Roger?”
I don't know how I planned this little episode of voyeurism playing out.
“Sorry.” I reached for a hand towel and started cleaning up the mess I made. Lauren watched me. The scowl on her face, in turns, morphing into a smile. “You're not mad at me, are you?”
“Kinda. You scared the fuck out of me.”
Her language scared me. “Actually, the fuck was already coming out of you.” Maybe humor would help.
“Shut up.” Or not. “I wasn't expecting an audience.”
“That's what makes it so erotic.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine. Next time let me know when you want to watch me play with myself.”
I readily agreed.
I would have liked to take Lauren to bed, and she seemed simpatico, but I did have an important meeting, so instead I finished cleaning up while she finished her shower. I gave her a deep soul kiss and headed back to the office.
I was half-way down the block toward the subway station when I slapped my head and turned back. Lauren was at the door in her bathrobe, my briefcase in hand.
“Scatterbrain.”
“Can you blame me?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Hard to focus on anything else in the company of such a beautiful woman.”
“Funny. Cute, but funny.”
I grabbed the briefcase with one hand and reached into her robe with the other and gave her breast a squeeze.
Lauren slapped my hand “Don't start something you can't finish.”
“Tonight?” My voice was filled with hope.
“Tonight.” My wife promised.
I should have skipped the meeting. My body was in the conference room
, but my mind was miles away. The image of my wife, her lean gorgeous body lost in the throws of pleasure, was imprinted on my mind. My body reacted with its usual aplomb, my dick was hard and I kept fidgeting, hoping my colleagues didn't notice.
I couldn't believe how much I enjoyed watching my wife pleasure herself. I'd watched her masturbate before, but always with her knowledge and always close up, usually with either my cock or my tongue or my nose inside her. I was always a part of the action; her orgasm was a team effort.
What I witnessed this morning was different. Lauren was alone, lost in her own thoughts – her orgasm a solitary affair. I was just a witness. The beauty of her act was pure, my voyeurism tainted it.
I didn't care. I loved what I saw. I loved seeing my wife concentrate on her own needs, lost in her own fantasy, not worrying about anyone else, especially me. I wanted to see it again. The eroticism of the moment was intoxicating. I became a junkie, chasing his next score.
Over the next few weeks I kept slipping back home early, taking a long lunch or wrapping things up at work and heading out an hour or two before my normal quitting time, in hopes of catching my wife rubbing one out again.
I felt guilty for doing it, since I did promise to ask the next time, but I did it anyway.
Whatever my motivation, I was never able to catch my wife being naughty. She was either out at work or puttering around the house – never in a state of undress.
Then, about a month after that first incident, I seemed to luck out.
I came home for lunch, but a half hour earlier than I usually would. When I entered the townhouse I heard the water from the shower upstairs shut off.
“Bingo.” The whisper seemed to echo down the now silent hallway. I tensed up, hoping Lauren hadn't heard. She didn't call out, so I figured I was in the clear.
I slowly made my way up the stairs, careful to avoid the step that squeaks. The eerie quiet was suddenly broken by the deep baritone voice of Barry White.
Shit – my wife was getting serious. Mr White's voice could always be counted on to unlock Lauren's passion and start the waterworks between her legs. His was a favorite choice of music for when we made love and I had no doubt what she was doing at the moment.
I imagined her lying back in bed, her hands sliding down her smooth peachy stomach. Her fingers crawling through the neat tuft of black hair, spreading her labia, slathering her juices up and down the folds. The fingers of one hand would then work her clit while the others delved deep into her honey pot.
My imagination was a pinball ricocheting through the bumpers of my dirty, dirty mind.
“Mmmmm.” My ears pricked up. Lauren was moaning again.
My fantasy was vivid, but I had to see her for myself. I had to see her sticky fingers play, her eyes roll back in her head, her mouth, a perfect 'O' as the sounds of pleasure escaped her lips.
As slowly and quietly as I could, I opened the door – inch by inch – until—
With a jerk the door swung wide open and I was greeted with the sight of Lauren standing two feet in front of me wearing a white fluffy bathrobe and a frown that could put the fear of god into the basest heathen.
“Oh, yeah. Like that. Oh. Oh. Feels so good.” My wife's words mocked me. She looked down at the tent my hardened cock had created in my pants, a small dark stain of pre-cum slowly spreading.
“Honey.” I tried to make my voice as contrite as possible, but I think it came out as more of a squeak.
“Sneaking up on me again, huh? What did I tell you about that. I don't like being scared like that.”
“But, I didn't—”
“If you want to watch me cum, just fucking ask.”
Lauren usually doesn't cuss, so I knew she wasn't messing around. I didn't want to joke around, but I wasn't going to back down.
“It's not the same.”
“Really?” Lauren turned and dropped her robe. My words left me as my focus dropped to her perfect bubble ass. It swayed so tantalizingly as she moved toward the bed.
“You're telling me.” My wife laid herself down, her head nestled in the yellow pillows, her arms stretched above her head pushing against the headboard. “This isn't...” Her motion pulled her luscious breasts taut. At the same time she bent her legs at the knees and spread them wide, exposing her pink petals. “Hot.”
Lauren began to re-enact the fantasies that had been playing out in my head just moments before. I couldn't speak, my train of thought having plunged into that tunnel of primal urges that steals a man's ability to think of naught else but fucking.
I watched her pleasure herself. She made the right moves, uttered the proper sounds and my dick got hard as a rock. It was erotic – better than any porn – but it wasn't the same.
I had to close my eyes to talk. “Honey. You're doing that for me.”
“I know. Don't you like it?”
“Yes. I love it. But. It's not the same. I want to watch you do it for yourself, not me.”
I hazarded a peek through one half-opened eyelid. Lauren had stopped her act and was looking at me, perplexed. She was obviously mulling over what I had said.
“Sweetheart. You're beautiful. Just don't get mad at me for liking to see you lost in pleasure.”
“Why does it have to be when I'm not aware. That's kinda creepy.”
I tried to see it from her viewpoint. I wanted her to feel safe; worrying about a watcher didn't help.
“I guess I just get turned on seeing you cumming, without worrying about whether you're faking it, or if I'm supposed to participate. Watching you on the sly is like watching live porn, with my own wife as the star. It's really hot.”
An incredulous look spread across Lauren's face. She wasn't convinced. We spent the next half hour navigating our impasse. I wanted to watch her cum without her being aware. She didn't want to be spied on – afraid she would be startled by my presence.
She even told me she hadn't masturbated once in the past month, ever since I caught her in the shower, knuckle-deep. I profusely apologized. I never wanted her to feel skittish about what she did, alone at home. She told me she knew what I had been doing all along, sneaking around. I hadn't been very subtle about it.
Again I apologized. I was feeling very embarrassed about my new found fetish, but I still couldn't get the desire out of my head.
We finally arrived at a compromise. I wouldn't try to sneak up on her, unannounced. She promised to text me occasionally, when she was getting in the mood to take a trip of self-gratification, so I could come home and watch, if I wanted. Under this agreement, I could pretend I was spying on her but she'd know, in the back of her head, that I might be there.
She didn't text me every time she masturbated and I didn't go home every time she did. Over the next six months I got to watch my wife please herself five times, and even when I didn't run home after getting those texts, I was still aroused by the thought of my wife's afternoon delights.
Alas, all good things must end. As erotic as these adventures had been, I slowly became so used to them, I didn't get as hard as that first day. And I missed it.
One day, I got a text from Lauren, letting me know she was in the mood and I decided I would skip heading home. Instead I let my mind wander back to that first serendipitous afternoon. It was easy to picture the scene since I'd seen it repeated more than once.
I enjoyed the vision, but I wasn't getting hard – just a slight tingle in my crotch. I was staring into the middle distance, lost in my erotic thoughts when I was jerked back to reality by a tap on my shoulders.
“Fuck.” I jumped in my seat.
“Steady there, Roger.” It was Eddie one of my co-workers, who had come by to ask me about the proposal I was suppose to be working on.
“Sorry. You just startled me.”
“My bad. Anyway, you have those docs I sent you?”
“Yeah. I have a few notes. I'll send them over to you in a few minutes.”
“Cool. Sorry again for bugging ya.”
“No worries.”
Eddie shuffled off and I slipped back to my daydreaming – my notes had already been written up.
In my mind, I was watching Lauren peeling apart her luscious pink petals, when out of the blue I became aware that I wasn't alone.
Someone else was also watching – my wife's fears had manifested in my fantasy. It was unsettling, yet highly arousing. I could feel my cock stiffen as I thought about another man – I assumed the watcher was a man – looking on as she masturbated.
I felt a deep sense of guilt, getting hard while my wife's privacy was invaded, but I couldn't help myself. I contemplated bringing it up that evening, getting Lauren's take on it, but I chickened out and kept that shameful secret to myself.
From that moment on, try as I might, I was never able to get that uninvited watcher out of my mind. I never put a face to the man, but just knowing he was there, watching – and most likely enjoying what he saw – made my enjoyment of the fantasy ten times greater. Even when I was in the shadows at home, playing peeping Tom, I could still feel his presence next to me.
I should have felt shame, sharing this sexual experience of my wife with another man. I didn't. I felt proud of how beautiful and independent she was, how strong and open we were as a couple, satisfying both our desires. The thought of hiding that never entered my mind.
During this time of consensual voyeurism, Lauren and I experienced amazing sex. On the days I actually went home to catch her in the act, I occasionally extended my lunch break and we had a noon quickie. On the days I just imagined my wife's antics, I'd rush home after work, horny as hell. Sometimes we'd have rough, passionate sex, a way of relieving all the tensions we'd built up over the day. Other times, maybe we'd go out to dinner, share a bottle of wine, then go home and spend a couple hours making slow, gentle love – caressing, tasting, losing ourselves in the joy of our coupling.
We had it all. A kinky shared fantasy, a wildly varied sex life and an enduring partnership. Then, my personal kink shifted a bit, creating a deep rift in our marriage that almost ended it.
