The Witness
                      by Rachel Taylor

I had lost another bet and was now wracking my brain as to
how to pay the price. You would think I would have learned
not to make bets with my husband. It was a silly bet, as is
usually the case, but I was so sure of myself this time that
I had agreed to stakes much higher than I would normally
consider. If he proved himself right yet again, I agreed
that I would fulfill a sexual suggestion from him with no
arguments or reservations. I knew him well enough to know
his suggestion might push near or exceed my envelope of
comfort. But I also knew he would not ask me to do the
football team at the college where I work.

Well damned if he didn't prove himself right yet again! It
can be very frustrating living with someone like that. He
asked for some further time to think about what he wished me
to do and I agreed to the delay. The suggestion arrived by e-
mail while I was at work Monday morning.
     
     You are to witness an ejaculation. The man
     involved may not be your husband. You may be as
     creative as you can manage in fulfilling the terms
     of this task. You have my permission to use your
     own judgment in what personal involvement you wish
     to invest. I expect a written first-person report
     within a week's time.

Hmmm _ yes that sounds like my husband. Now the question
was, how to get this done? The obvious method occurred to me
without much thought. I could put on my sleazy need-to-get-
laid outfit and hit the club Friday night. Granted, I am in
my mid-thirties but I'm certainly not dead. With
considerable effort on my part, my body has held up well. I
had little doubt that I could get picked up _ but perhaps
there was an easier way.

There's a quiet park on a hillside just a short drive from
where I work. It's called Crest Park and is enough out of
the way that not many people go there. I like the place,
however, and would sometimes take my lunch there on fine
spring days. I'd been there on Friday, quietly reading a
book, when I noticed a  young man, likely a college student,
catching some rays near his bike. I had seen him there
before and began to wonder what he might do for
entertainment if he thought he had the place to himself. I
waited eagerly for lunchtime to arrive and made my way to
the Crest.

Luck was not with me that day. There was no one there other
than myself. I ate my lunch, hoping company might arrive but
no one joined me so I returned to work. Tuesday was a wet
miserable day. I set aside thoughts of bets and men and
concentrated on finishing the finals pages of a report.
Wednesday was more promising, with clear skies and warm
temperatures. I drove to Crest park once again and quietly
moved down to the clearing where the young man usually
spread his towel. He was there this time, but as chance
would have it, so was a young family. They were setting out
a picnic lunch as the two boisterous young children ran in
all directions. I decided to enter the clearing in any case
and laid my blanket out where the young man could watch me
and perhaps wonder. I decided I would try once more tomorrow
before adopting a different plan.

Thursday was my day. The weather cooperated again, sunny
with a warm breeze, and I quickly spotted his bicycle
propped in the usual location. I took the opportunity and
quietly made my way along side the clearing and hid in the
tall grass near where he was sunning. No one else was in the
park that day. He remained unaware of my presence as I
settled in and crossed my fingers. He had stripped to his
biker shorts and was lying face down on the towel he had
brought with him. While I was anxious for something to
happen, I confess that just looking had its appeal. As I
said, he appeared to be college age; I had fifteen years on
him at least. His body was nicely sculpted, the strong legs
you would expect of  serious biker but with broad shoulders
and a well developed upper body too. I wondered perhaps if
gymnastics or swimming was his other sport. Despite the fact
that it was only mid May, he'd come here often enough during
peak tanning hours that his back and legs were nicely
bronzed. There was a thin sheen of perspiration visible,
likely from the effort of riding up the steep hill. I began
to perspire myself _ whether from the heat of the day or
whether from the heat of this illicit activity, I cannot
say. Maybe this is why men become peeping Toms. I was
getting a charge from the power of invading his privacy
without his knowledge.

His biker shorts were black and likely made of spandex or
lycra, judging from the way they molded to his buns. Bun
watching was one of my favourite activities. If he was a
television program he would have been on in prime time. The
material was tight enough to display the cleft of his ass
and the phrase my husband sometimes used popped to mine:
Hmmm _ no panty lines! Nice, nice, nice.

I waited patiently, and in due time he obliged me by rolling
over onto his back. I had a brief panic attack when I
thought he may have seen me, but he settled down and I
raised myself up to continue my stakeout. Much as I had
enjoyed the look of his buns, I had no complaints with the
new view either. His legs were straight out causing his
equipment to bulge nicely through the thin material of the
shorts. He had stretched one hand behind his head, the other
resting lightly on his flat washboard abs. I felt myself
moisten and clenched my thighs together to focus the sweet
familiar tingling I was beginning to feel. If I could only
project similar thoughts to him: Come on baby _ give
yourself a little caress. Lightly drag your fingers across
that nice package. It would feel nice _ give yourself a lift
for the day. Come on fella, help me out.

I thought along these lines for quite some time but was not
getting through. I had only an hour for lunch so decided to
take the initiative. I snuck pack out to the entrance to the
park, retrieved a blanket from my car and headed back to the
clearing. I pretended not to notice him but did set my
blanket out parallel to his, a little behind him, about ten
yards away. I had worn one of my favourite summer dresses
that day. It ties at the back and then flares out. It comes
to mid-thigh, is made of thin cotton and buttons in front
from neckline to hemline. I turned my back to him and took
my panty hose off, deliberately peeling them down my legs
more slowly than was necessary. If he was looking, he would
have seen a lot of my legs as I bent over. The breeze must
have been a co-conspirator that day, as it briefly lifted my
dress in a most obliging manner. The brief shot of air was
cool against my damp crotch. With my back still turned, I
quickly undid a couple of buttons at my hemline before
laying down on the blanket. I lay face up and covered my
eyes with my jacket _ partly to shade them from the sun but
mainly to give him the opportunity to study my body as well.

Within moments I felt the wind again raise my dress and push
the thin material up my legs. I lazily straightened out the
hem trying to leave the impression that it was too nice a
day to be concerned with modesty. I repeated this effort
twice more, each time taking longer before reacting. Finally
I let the breeze lift my dress unhindered. I was not sure
what he could see of me, but I watched him from beneath the
edge of the jacket and was pleased to see he was studying me
intently. It seemed that the right thoughts were now getting
through to him. His cock had stiffened somewhat and was
better outlined in his shorts. I looked carefully and could
detect movement as his penis stiffened further and moved to
straighten itself.

I pushed him a little harder, bending my knees slightly and
planting my feet flat on the ground. Surely this now exposed
my panties _ bikini panties _ high cut thighs and plain
white material. I was treading on thin ice. I wanted him to
masturbate but did not wish to seem so approachable he would
make a pass (well to be perfectly honest I might have loved
it). I lay in the sun a while longer, occasionally
straightening one leg and lifting the other. When he seemed
to get as hard as possible, I looked at my watch and made a
hasty withdrawal as if late for an appointment. As I stood
up, he quickly rolled over to hide his excitement. When I
got out of sight, I moved back through the deep grass and
took up watch as before.

Sure enough, my display had gotten to him. He propped
himself up and looked in all directions to verify that I was
gone and the he was once again alone. Satisfied, he lay back
and slid his right hand under his shorts. I watched as he
grasped his cock and began to stroke it slowly. I was behind
him slightly and could not clearly see inside his pants but
his hand and actions were clearly outlined by the lycra. He
continued to stroke himself, his rhythm gradually
increasing. He closed his eyes and I imagined the pictures
forming in his mind _ the older woman, the thin dress, the
long legs, the teasing breeze, the white panties. His
breathing changed, his mouth opened and he began to gulp for
air. His pace increased and I had no choice but to follow
his lead. My right hand slid under the elastic of my
panties. I moistened my finger from the wetness at hand and
began working on my clit as I continued to watch my handsome
hard young friend.

A moment of dismay! He stopped! His anxiety had overcome his
need and he again surveyed the clearing to verify he was
alone. Once again I lowered myself as he looked in my
direction. He did not see me but he seemed to pause for a
moment as if making a big decision. Reassured, he lifted his
hips and pulled his shorts down to his knees. He had a
beautiful cock, just the right size. Not long enough to hit
a cervix but with enough girth to provide a great ride. His
glans was swollen and impeded the top motion of his hand as
he resumed pleasuring himself. He wasted no time in adopting
the previous furious speed and I felt confident I would soon
be able to dismiss my obligations. I focused on his cock
moving rapidly in the sunshine from the vigorous efforts of
his hand. I increased my pace to match his. I was charged
with the thrill of voyeurism and exhibitionism and doubted I
could last as long as he might. I closed my eyes and soon I
felt my climax begin. I pressed my finger tightly against my
nub. The peak of my orgasm was the most intense I could ever
recall from masturbation and I moaned quietly  as the
contractions within followed one after another.

I held myself still for a moment, savoring the last ripples
and then reopened my eyes. He was done as well, his hand at
rest, traces of his cum trailing across his taught belly. I
wanted to stay in order to come down slowly but thought it
better to leave the scene while I had the chance. I got back
to my car, stepped back into my pantyhose, collected myself
together and completed the short drive back to work. I was
looking forward to starting up the word processor to get
this story written down. The smile left my face, however,
when I recalled the precise instructions I had been given.
"You are to witness an ejaculation". I had missed the moment
hadn't I. The week was nearly done _ was it necessary to
consider plan B after all?

The thought of allowing some sleaze to pick me up Friday
night was losing its lustre. Too risky. The germ of an
alternative idea planted itself in my mind and I decided to
take the following day off as  vacation. I had trouble
getting to sleep as possible outcomes for tomorrow's plan
drifted through my mind.

The next morning, I saw my husband off as though nothing was
out of the ordinary. He had asked how I was progressing with
my debt and I merely smiled and told him to wait for his
report. I called into work, verified that there was nothing
pressing on my schedule for that day and told them I would
see them on Monday. With the luxury of time, I treated
myself to a long shower. I turned the heat up and slowly
circled in the fine spray. The shower head is a hand-held
massage unit. I lifted it from the bracket, dialled a more
vigorous spray and slowly guided the water stream against my
breasts and torso with occasional dips lower down. The spray
was just short of too strong and felt wonderful, especially
as I circled the spray around one nipple and then another.
My areola's wrinkled from the stimulation and my nipples
perked up _ as if demanding more attention from the water.

I directed the flow between my legs, squatting slightly to
let the water pulse against my labia and perineum. I aimed
the massage unit upward and played it back and forth feeling
the stimulation on my asshole and back up to my clit. With
rapid movements of the shower head I could add an exciting
second dimension to the massage effect. Visions of my
previous lunch hour returned to mind, and I thought of the
fast pace in the arm of the young biker as he brought
himself toward orgasm. I adjusted for a more intense spray
and brought the head to the entrance of my vagina and felt
the hot water pulse inside me. I was very close again. I
abruptly shut the water off and hung the showerhead back in
place. I wanted to keep an edge on _ I felt it would enhance
the task that lay ahead. My own willpower astonished me.

I dressed for a day of shopping and set off for the city,
about 60 miles distant. I headed for my favourite mall,
found a phone booth and checked the yellow pages for
therapeutic massage. There was a health club in town with a
massage facility but I went there sometimes so I passed that
entry by and checked the next possibility: Aesthetics &
Massage. When I phoned for an appointment, the only opening
was for 2:00 p.m. with a woman named Marie. That would not
do! I made an excuse about the appointment being too late
and tried the next listing: Sports Therapy and Massage. This
sounded interesting. I called and learned I could have a
session with David at 12:30. I booked the appointment and
gave some thought as to how I should pass the time.

You need not be a genius to guess that I went shopping. I
shopped with no particular purpose and simply spent time
leisurely browsing in book stores and dress shops. I picked
up a copy of Nancy Friday's book "Women on Top" for later
perusal and spent some time trying on various outfits. I'll
confess to some ego tripping as I admired my body in the
full length mirrors. The Nordic track machine was keeping
things nicely together.

I allowed myself extra time to find my way to Sports Therapy
which turned out to be easier than expected. I arrived with
twenty minutes to spare and not wishing to seem overeager,
waited in my car and leafed through the book. I was
engrossed in a woman's fantasy of exhibition when 12:30 drew
near. Before getting from the car I did a quick exploration
and found myself moist once again. I made a silent wish that
David was not gay and went in for my appointment.

I waited for about ten minutes when finally a young man,
about 25, came over and said: "Rachel? Hi I'm David. Come
with me please".

David seemed very fit and athletic. He had premature
baldness but was otherwise quite handsome. He wore black
sweat pants topped by a white T-shirt. He led me down a
corridor and I followed him to room number seven. The place
seemed quiet. He explained that Friday was a slow day for
them but he nevertheless closed the door behind us as we
entered the room. He handed me a large towel and pointed to
a cubicle where I could change. The cubicle had swinging
doors that covered a body from about mid-thigh to neck line.
I could watch David as he laid out a new sheet on the wide
massage table and proceeded to open a container of oil. It
was a bit disconcerting to step out of my clothing, knowing
he could watch my dress being lifted over my head and my
pantyhose slide off my legs. I asked him if I should leave
my underwear on and he chuckled and replied that it was up
to me _ that they ran a professional shop here.

"OK", I replied and took care to insure he was watching as I
kicked my panties from my toe and I shucked off my bra. I
wrapped the towel around me and went to join him. Before I
got on the table he asked what type of massage I wanted.
"Nothing too strenuous", I replied. "My goal is relaxation."

I lay on the table with my crossed hands beneath my
forehead. I lifted my body slightly, exposing my breasts
briefly as he drew the towel down my body, uncovering my
entire back. He rubbed some oil between his hands and began
a gentle rubdown near my neck and shoulders. I asked him how
he became a masseur and he replied that an ex-girlfriend had
convinced him to help out with the sports teams at the city
university. I was very pleased to hear him utter girlfriend
and was persuaded that my plan should proceed.

He worked on my back for several minutes before moving down
to massage my calves. He complimented me on my muscle town
and I explained my daily fitness routine. I also casually
mentioned that the Nordic Track did leave my thighs a bit
tense.

"Roll over and we'll fix that up", he offered.

 I rolled over on my back making no particular effort to
cover myself. I was pleased to notice that he also made no
effort to readjust the towel. I was sure my pubic hair was
visible as he worked on the front of my thighs. I placed one
hand behind me to prop my head up so that I could watch his
reaction. This uncovered a breast but allowed me to watch
his face as he worked on my thighs. Yes indeed, he was
stealing glances beneath the towel as his strong fingers
gripped and released the muscles in my legs. I wondered if I
was glistening _ if that's what held his attention.

"Hmmm that's nice",  I reported. "Do you make house calls?"

He smiled and continued to work. "That  should do", he said.
"Let's finish up with a temple massage." As he moved back
towards the head of the table I took my chance and reached
out to caress him through the front of his sweat pants. He
did not pull back but allowed my touch to linger.

"What do you have in mind, Mrs. Taylor?", he asked, as his
warm slick hands reached for my breasts.

"I want to watch you come", I replied. "Please don't ask
why. I won't fuck you but I can help in other ways."

He did not appear eager to insist on screwing but instead
pulled my towel completely away and dropped it on the floor.
He pulled his shirt, sweats and jockey briefs off. He had an
average build but with strong arms and a very hairy chest,
perhaps to make up for the lack of hair on his head. His
cock was still enlarging as I reached back to touch his
flesh directly. I stroked him slowly with my free hand as
both his hands returned to my breasts. His oily finger tips
began drawing steady circles around and across my nipples.
He moved his left hand down and began to explore between my
legs _ the oil from his hands mixing with the slick wet ooze
from my cunt. He crooked one finger inside me, exerting
pressure on my clit as the fingers of his other hand
continued to tap dance between my nipples. Within moments
his prick was fully engorged, to the point that I could no
longer keep my thumb and fingers in contact. Despite the
intensity of his massage I kept my eyes open and focused on
the tip of his organ as my hand slid up and down along his
shaft. I was confident my betting debt would soon be paid.

But not immediately, it seemed. David joined me on the table
and assumed the 69 position. He quickly laid his tongue
against my clit and began to vibrate it wetly to and fro.
His swollen dick dangled above my face and I lifted my head
high enough to grasp his cock head between my lips. I could
not lift high enough from the massage table to take him
deeply so hoped he would be content with the swirling action
from my tongue. His technique was very good and would
normally have gotten me off in short order, but today I
concentrated on the task I'd been struggling with all week.
His legs were in my way and I could not easily reach up to
lend a hand to my oral pursuit. I proceeded as best I could
but not well enough. He soon repositioned his body so we
were now face to face.

He pressed his hairy chest against my breasts and I felt his
cock lie straight and hard along my slit. I was wet enough
that he took pleasure from humping me despite the lack of
penetration. The indirect pressure from his cock as his
movement stretched the hood of my clit drove my lust to the
next level _ the level where need overcomes judgment. I
thought how close I had been to coming in the shower, how
close I had been to coming when his fingers were inside me,
how close I had been to coming when his tongue was dancing
between my lower lips. I wanted him inside me _  I wanted to
come right now. My copious wetness had coated his cock and I
knew how easily and sweetly he could slide inside.

I placed my hands on his ass and signaled his hips to move
down slightly. That was all the hint he needed. His next
upstroke lodged his cock within me. He paused to savor that
luscious moment of initial separation and then buried
himself as deeply as possible. Again he waited for a
delicious moment before beginning a slow fulfilling fuck. I
kept my hands on his ass, pressing him firmly inside me at
the end of each penetration. His thrusts became faster and
harder now. I heard him gasp with the effort of each stroke.
My breathing slowed and then stopped as I reached my limit
and exploded. He continued to pound into me, the timing of
his cock synchronized with the waves of climax scorching my
cunt. YES,  YES I cried out. YES, PLEASE, YES _ Come on me!
Let me watch you come. He began to groan and I knew the
onset of his climax had started. He thrust one last time and
then frantically withdrew and placed his cock against my
belly. I looked down just as I felt the first hot drops of
cum splash against me. I saw the contractions at the base of
his cock as additional streams of white semen spewed from
the tip of his cock and lodged beneath my breasts and in my
navel. He continued to thrust against me as his climax wound
down _ four more spurts, each less than before. One final
twitch and he lay still. I lay still as well. A smile
crossed my lips as I reflected that some payoffs are better
than others. . .