From: taria29b@aol.com (Taria29b)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Subject: Art Appreciation-Part 1 
Date: 2 Apr 1997 19:41:23 GMT

Copyright 1997 by Taria. Reproduce as often as you like, but leave my
name on as author, please.

			   Art Appreciation
				  by
				Taria
			       Part One

	He was late, this time by about forty minutes. Not only is my
husband rarely on time, but he is also extremely forgetful, and the
longer I stood the more certain I was that he had forgotten all about
our dinner plans. "Damn him anyway," I thought, shifting from foot to
foot in the chilling cold. The steamy breath rising from between my
clenched teeth was a perfect match for my fire-breathing mood, and I
remained there another five minutes, alternating between fuming and
freezing.

	Finally, I turned on my heel to march off in a huff, and
noticed that I had been standing my lonely vigil in front of an Art
Gallery. "Cooper Gallery," the sign read, with a small clipped
advertisement touting "The Photographs of Andres" taped to the inside
of the window. I couldn't really see inside, because the windows were
mostly fogged up. "Warm," I murmured, and forgetting everything else I
swung the door wide and entered.

	After basking in the blessed heat for a long moment, I opened
my eyes to see a tall coffee-colored man sitting behind a desk. He
flashed a small smile at me as I thawed out. "Welcome," he said
quietly, and he gestured toward a bound guest book, which I signed,
smiling back. He gestured with his head - I caught the sparkle of a
metallic earring out of the corner of my eye - to his right, and with
a quick "thank you" I followed his head-shake and walked with measured
steps (my feet were just getting feeling back, and I was in heels)
into a large, carpeted room sectioned by grey cubicle walls. "Andres
Presents the History of Sex," read a plaque to the left of the
entrance, and I began to wonder exactly what I was in for.

	Nudes, mostly, or so it seemed to me at first glance. I walked
slowly around the room, mostly unseeing, my senses dulled in the
muffled environment of the padded walls and thick carpets. Idly I
paused before a portrait of "Alessandra," a lantern-jawed, tanned
brunette who gazed directly back at me with pursed lips, the fingers
of her big right hand resting on her bent knee. Musing, I noticed the
odd effect caused by her chiseled face and jaw, her broad nose, and
then down to her curved shoulders, thin arms, and large breasts, the
brown erect nipples pointing out in different directions.

	As my eyes continued their downward journey I noted the
lighter patch of her bikini area, her massive-looking thighs... and
suddenly I blinked. I rubbed my eyes twice and stood a little closer,
bending at my waist as I brought my face close to the photograph. Yes!
There it was - I DIDN'T imagine it! Hanging between Alessandra's
spread thighs, directly beneath the round, tanned breasts, was a
penis!

	And not a tiny, shriveled little one, either, but a life-
sized downward-pointing schlong - I couldn't repress the word - jutting
out from a patch of pubic hair, with one testicle showing behind it
and to the left. My head spun for a moment, and I stepped back to take
in the total effect of this shocking image. Of course - the masculine
face, the large hands - a man's hands - but still... nothing looked
fake either. From neck to waist I saw a woman's body, the heavy
breasts and hairless torso narrowing down toward the waistline.
Hormones? Some kind of bizarre surgery? The unexpected pink penis-
flesh at the lower center of the image, covering the flat mat of pubic
hair I had expected to see and even imagined at first before I really
looked carefully, had put me all out of whack. In a daze, I turned
away from Alessandra to the next large, glossy photograph, and all my
breath went out of me with a whoosh.

	A couple stood before me, again staring imperturbably out of
the picture directly at me, their heads tilted to face me and their
bodies faced to the right, so I stood looking at them from the side.
Two young lovers, both in their late teens, blond, Nordic-featured.
"Christiaan & Rose," the caption read, and I drank them in. She stood
behind him, snuggled up against his back with her arm curled
underneath his and her hand bent up, resting on his muscled shoulder.
Her long hair, parted in the middle, hung down behind her face, which
displayed the barest of smiles; his head, framed by close-cropped hair
and his lips slightly parted, rested against hers.

	They were gorgeous, young, beautiful naked bodies, his chest
and her breasts modestly shielded by their loving, interlocking arms.
Below his impossibly chiseled waist I could see the curve of his
buttocks, from the side; in front of them his penis - so much like
Alessandra's, I could not help thinking - emerged from a fine spray of
light brown pubic hair. And behind him, her hips slightly angled away,
was his lover. Her hips were framed within a black V of two leather
straps, her pubic area covered by a patch of black leather, and with a
bright white penis - no, a cock, surely - angled down, resting, it
seemed, between his buttocks.

	My face grew hot, and suddenly I felt I could not breathe.
Dabbing at my forehead a little I casually shrugged myself out of my
coat, glancing quickly all around me to see if anyone was watching me,
staring at me. There was no one... but it did not matter, for I could
not look away. My eyes were riveted by the image before me - Rose, who
was smiling at me, yes, I could see that now, clearly. And Christiaan,
his head tilted slightly back and resting on hers, his lips parted
perhaps in passion, in pleading? "Yes, Darling... take me now"... I
imagined his moans, his desire to open himself to be penetrated, be
entered. be fucked... by Rose, his Lover, perhaps under different
circumstances his Woman.

	And she, her hips tilted back but ready to thrust forward, and
up, and in, to fill him and fuck him and do him and push into his body
until the two of them were connected at the genitals, but with her
behind him and her pubis against his ass cheeks and the depths of his
body filled... I was flushed, and shaking, and aroused beyond belief.
Somehow I tore my eyes away from the sight of the young lovers and
staggered to the Ladies' Room, washed my face, and stared into the
mirror. Rose looked back out at me, smiling her blissful half-smile. I
emerged quickly and headed straight for the door, and was leaving but,
without knowing why, stopped and turned back to the man at his desk.
"Uhmm... " I cleared my throat, and moistened my dry lips. "Excuse
me... was there some kind of a catalogue of this show... for sale?"

	I stepped out into the freezing cold with my catalogue,
concealed in its nondescript bag, still blushing. And then... a
coincidence, perhaps, or fate? As I stood in front of the gallery,
bemused, two young women emerged from behind me, pushing me a little
as they burst out of the door, all energy, hands clasped tightly
together. Like me, both girls were flushed, but they were also
giggling, their eyes dancing as they laughed together. One of them
turned to say "excuse me," and as she did her coat fell open and I saw
a white t-shirt with purple lettering: THE GARDEN, it said, in flowery
script, and then they were gone.

	A long-ago memory from a friend's bachelorette party
resurfaced, the image of several phallic packages being passed around
as we raunchy - embarrassed, really - ladies giggled and blushed and
drank white wine. The wrapping had said THE GARDEN too, and I even
remembered the street address because it was in the next building over
from my husband's office in those days. With a sudden shock I realized
I was just down the block from the store. And gripped by a sudden
impulse I could not resist I made my way there, got buzzed in the
front when I pressed the bell, and took the elevator up two floors.
The staff were all women; so were most of the customers. And after
standing awkwardly for twenty minutes, chatting with an amazingly
matter-of-fact salesgirl for five minutes more, and then steeling my
resolve, I handed over my credit card.

	When I got home I crept in like a philandering husband
returning home at 4 A.M., my shoes dangling from my fingertips and my
packages bundled up inside my coat in my arms. "Honey?" I called out,
hoping and praying that my forgetful spouse was working late again,
engrossed in his latest Big Important Project. Luck was with me that
evening, for no one answered my tentative hellos. Dropping my shoes and
coat, I practically ran into the bedroom clutching the crumpled paper
bags and their secret hidden treasures. I immediately decided upon the
perfect hiding-place: an upper shelf in my closet already cluttered
with hair accessories and other detritus, seldom-used junk I simply
could not do without.

	But wait... was that the front door? In a rush of fear, an
agonizing moment of potential discovery I simply could not handle, I
froze. I snapped out of it and stashed my bundle away in an instant as
quietly as I could, and then called out in a slightly quavering voice,
"Sweetie? 'Zat you?" It was, of course, and he was hungry, tired, and
put-out at me for leaving my stuff all over the place in our clean
living room. "Can't you put your things away?" he grumbled as always,
neatening everything up as he made his way through our apartment. I
was so relieved that he suspected nothing that I completely forgot to
reprimand him for his thoughtlessness in standing me up. We ate and
then went to bed early, and he was out like a light. I was so wound up
I barely slept a wink all night.

	The next morning I waited anxiously for the chance to be
alone. When my husband finally cleared out I picked up the phone and
called in sick to work. The empty apartment was big and quiet as I
stood in my robe and sipped my coffee. Out of sheer willfullness, and
maybe a little fear of the unknown, I bypassed the bedroom and headed
for the bathroom, where I drew a hot bath, sprinkled it lightly with
some scented oils I almost never use - who ever has time for a bath,
anyway? - and sank into the tub with a deep sigh. I deserve this, I
thought to myself. When do I ever take a day off, anyway? Why
shouldn't I indulge myself? And so I soaked, and I washed myself
slowly and lethargically.

	But I knew why I was home. And when I soaped and rinsed my
breasts I tingled; and when my hands ran down my soapy arms and up my
legs I felt light-headed; and when I washed my pussy my fingers
lingered there, lightly caressing the lips and folds and making a
small circle with my index finger just inside the entrance; and I felt
myself raise my hips off the tub bottom so I could insert a soapy
finger inside my anus, and my muscles clenched and tightened around
the unaccustomed intruder and I made a small moan, a barely audible
"oooooo." And then I opened my eyes and awkwardly got to my feet, the
water splashing over the edge of the tub and my body tingling and
chilled by the outside air. Quickly I toweled off, and since I could
stand this no longer I left the bathroom, headed for the bedroom, and
opened my closet door.

	Standing on my tiptoes, my hair still dripping down my back, I
rummaged around with my hands until my fingertips made contact with a
paper bag. Leaving the flat package of the catalogue on the shelf, I
grasped what I wanted and pulled it down. My hands almost trembling, I
uncrumpled the small lavender bag and shook it out over my bed. Out
dropped a triangular patch, with a few buckled narrow straps dangling.
One more fevered shake, and out came a pale simulated penis and
scrotum, with a round base. I tried to remember the arrangement of the
straps as the salesgirl had demonstrated; when I couldn't quite get
it, I jumped up again and fetched the catalogue from its hiding place
on my shelf, and skimmed the pages rapidly until I found Rose and
Christiaan. I fiddled for a few moments, adjusting and re-buckling
straps and looking intently at the strap arrangement on Rose's hips. I
tightened a little more, and then moved over a little to gaze into the
full-length mirror on the closet door.

	Standing before me was me, looking ridiculously naked except
for the black-and-white contraption strapped around my middle. "This
is silly," I muttered, feeling the discomfort of the straps and the
weight of the thing pulling at my pubic area. I moved a little closer
to the mirror and turned to the side, and suddenly I didn't feel so
ridiculous any more. I turned my head and looked at my reflection, at
the curve and swell of my left breast, with its pink nipple; at the
slight rounding swell of my belly; and then at the length of the pale
erect cock that seemed to extend from my body. The image was
undeniably erotic, and I felt myself tingle all over as I stared. I
watched myself in the mirror as I raised both my arms slowly over my
head, arching my back sexily so my breasts stood out. My cock, as I
was coming to think of it, stood up as well, bouncing a little as I
moved. Slowly I lowered my arms, my hands first caressing the sides of
my neck, then down to my breasts. I watched as I rubbed them, kneading
and squeezing softly, the sexiness of the action heightened by the
sight of my erect cock protruding out. My fingers played lightly with
my nipples, which had already hardened perceptibly - no surprise
there, I thought - and then caressed the underside of my breasts,
lifting them slightly away from my body. I felt the cool moistness
there that remained after my bath, the wetness that my quick toweling
motions had not dried, and I moaned softly, my eyes narrowing slightly
as I watched how I caressed myself. My hands moved down my sides now,
to my hips, where they encountered the thin leather straps I had
buckled there. My fingers followed the straps to the harness, and then
I watched myself in the mirror as my right hand touched the penis I
wore, clenching around it, encircling it, rubbing it.

	The new latex didn't feel like any cock I had ever held in my
hand before. It was cool, not warm and pulsing like a man's, and it
seemed like my hand stuck to it slightly with its newness, its
plasticky feeling. I reached into my bedroom drawer and found a
crimped tube of K-Y jelly that my husband and I sometimes used. I
squirted a little out into my palm - it was cold and felt a little
greasy - and as I watched I returned my hand to the cock and began to
pump slowly. The lubricant helped a lot, and I held my body still as I
watched my hand moving up and down, masturbating the cock I wore on my
body. I closed my eyes and kept pumping, trying to imagine what it
would be like to jerk off my own hard, erect cock, and involuntarily I
thrust my hips forward a little, fucking my hand as it pumped up and
down, up and down. When my eyes opened again a laugh bubbled up from
within as I thought of Freud, and "Penis Envy" and what my old
Psychology professor would think of all this. But then, why be
envious? I really did have my own penis now.

	Just thinking about my cock warmed me up again, and I realized
with a moan that my adventure of the day before, my sensual bath, and
my activities in front of my mirror had aroused me beyond belief. I
tried to sneak a hand behind the straps and harness I wore, but that
was no go: everything was too snug and too tight. Reluctantly I
loosened them, driven by my rising need for a release of all my pent-
up sexual energies. As the cock and harness came free in my hand, I
lay down on the carpeted floor before my mirror, my head propped up a
little on a throw-pillow so I could see my reflected image. With my
left hand, I roamed across my breasts, rubbing and stimulating. I
watched as my right hand, still holding the cock in its harness, moved
down to my legs. Slowly and carefully I touched my pubic hair with the
cock moving down my bush... lower... lower... suddenly, shockingly,
the cock slipped inside me almost halfway, meeting with no resistance
as its lubricated length encountered my pussy opening, moist and hot
from my arousal. I gasped for an instant, and then pulled it out
almost all the way, leaving only the simulated cockhead still inside
me. My left hand abandoned my breast and joined my right, and using
both hands I pushed the cock into myself once more.

	Mmmmmm... yes... that was it. Slowly I fucked myself with the
cock, pushing it in and out, first shallowly, then deeply. It was a
comfortable size, not some massive Superdick twelve-inch monstrosity,
but instead about the same size and thickness as my husband's, some
six inches, according to The Garden's clerk. I opened my eyes and
peeked through my spread knees at the mirror, watching my hands as
they pushed and pulled the cock in and out of my pussy, which was now
glistening with the wetness of the lubricant and my own juices. I kept
thrusting with my left hand, harder now, as my right moved up to touch
my clit, finding the familiar nubbin and rubbing hard, stroking
faster. From a distance I could hear the growing volume of my moans
and sighs, the "oh yes" and "fuck me" and "ohhhh" that I could not
hold back and did not want to. My pussy and my clit were the total
center of my existence; my entire being was focused on the hot passion
I felt, the overwhelming fuckingness of my masturbating universe. I
rubbed and stroked and thrust and fucked and fucked and fucked and yes
and yes oh yes oh yesohyesohyesFUCK... ME... YES... The cock was
jammed into me as deep as it could go and my hands rubbed frantically
at my clit and I came and I came and my pussy muscles throbbed and
clenched around the cock and slowly it ebbed and my hands fell back to
the floor soaked and the cock still in me began to slide... out... and
it dropped out of my pussy and a tiny trickle of moisture followed it,
dripping from me.

	I put the cock on twice more that day, once in front of the
mirror and once on my bed. I masturbated four times more, fucking
myself twice with it, once on my back and once on my knees, my right
arm stretching to its limit to pump the cock in and out of my pussy
from behind. By that night I was exhausted, totally fucked out, and
still aroused. As a dildo my cock had its uses. But that was not the
reason I bought it. As my husband slept beside me I remained awake for
a second straight night, thinking feverishly about Rose, Christiaan,
me, and my cock.

From: taria29b@aol.com (Taria29b)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Subject: Art Appreciation: Part Two by Taria 
Date: 8 Apr 1997 17:53:47 GMT

			   Art Appreciation
				  by
				Taria
			       Part Two

	It was April, and I was listening to cha-cha music while I
vacuumed. "Latin Escapade" was the name of the album, a lush early-
sixties George Shearing record that made me want to get out a pair of
Capri pants and moan "ohhhhhh, Robbbbb" as I cleaned. It was one of my
husband's favorite records, and with a tinge of annoyance I noted that
he could've been here enjoying it with me on this spring Sunday
afternoon, if he hadn't been at work. Again. Somewhere in March his
latest Big Important Project had apparently become The Big Important
Project, and I had barely seen him in weeks.

	He had promised to make up for that tomorrow night, though. "A
real night out" was my reward for a month of lonesome dinners, lonely
weekends, and near-total abstinence. We were going out to a swanky
Manhattan restaurant, the likes of which boring married people like us
rarely saw anymore, not since we were dating. Better than that - we
were going out with other people, double-dating with Kathy and her
latest, whatever-his-name-was... Ardsdale or Arliss or Aardvark or
something. It had been months since I had seen Kathy or even spoken
with her, but we always got together on her birthday and she had
promised some kind of special announcement this time. When we were
listening to her phone message a week earlier, we both rolled our
eyes. Was Aardvark "The One" this time? Fat chance.

	Vrummmvrummm... as I cha-cha'ed with the Electrolux I thought
about Kathy, excited all over again at the prospect of escaping my
apartment, the Fortress of Solitude. Kathy!, I grinned, and bounced a
little higher off the floor. I met Kathy eons ago in high school,
Sophomore year gym class. We were in the locker room, changing for
volleyball or something at some ungodly hour in the morning. At least,
I was changing. The girl with the locker across from me, all big hair,
makeup, and cracking gum, was in trouble. Tight jeans were in back
then - an era before "livin' large" became chic - but hers were way
beyond tight and into second-skin territory. This may have been
attractive to boys, but they were hell to get out of, and I watched as
she wriggled and bounced and hopped, all to no avail. I tried, really
I did, but I couldn't help myself - I had been out late the previous
night and it was way early, and the spectacle before me was just too
much. I just laughed and laughed, great big rolling guffaws, till I
had to sit down from laughing so hard.

	I had to give her credit - after glaring at me a little she
was laughing too, and the two of us sat there cracking up until we
were all giggled out. After we recovered I joined her in her valiant
efforts, and after struggling mightily we were able to get her black
studded boots off, and then - after a lot of pulling and much more
laughter - her stonewashed jeans, and, it turned out, a pair of lacy
purple panties that were tugged partially down her thighs along with
the jeans. As she adjusted herself and I finished changing we made our
introductions. She was Kathy, from Staten Island. She loved Madonna
and thought Springsteen was cute, had a boyfriend named Anthony, and
it was really cool to meet me.

	Anthony was gone practically before gym class ended that first
day, and soon afterwards the big hair and makeup got toned down, and
Springsteen was abandoned for the depth and meaning of David Bowie and
Pink Floyd. We drank and smoked, shared clothes and once a boyfriend
(once we found that out, he was history), and passed long notes to
each other in boring classes, mostly consisting of Pink Floyd song
lyrics. She shared with me the pain of her parents' divorce; I shared
with her my fantasy to do a slow striptease to a David Bowie song for
my boyfriend Jack. Though I lost touch with everyone else right after
we graduated I remained close with Kathy, and even though we only saw
each other twice a year these days, we were still tight as ever.

	GRONKKKK... shoot... what did I vacuum up there, a plastic
pen-cover? I kicked at the off switch and only then heard a faint
ring. Phone, dammit - I tripped a little on the vacuum cord and banged
my knee against a coffee table corner, hard. By the time I reached the
phone I was hobbling and cursing, but I managed an almost-human "Hi...
yes?"

	"Hey, Baby." It was my husband. But he was too quiet, and
"Hey, Baby" was never a good sign. Uh-oh.

	"Hi, Sweetie. What's up? Everything OK? And why do you sound
like you're calling from India or someplace? Am I on speaker-phone?
You know I told you never to do that again, Big Boy."

	He hesitated a minute again, and I felt a sinking feeling in
my stomach even before he spoke. "See, it's like this... I'm on this
plane, see... "

	PLANE?!

	"Yeah... to Detroit. I hate this like hell, but the Man says I
gotta go, for a week, and... Baby? Aaaw, Honey. C'mon... you know how
this is, and Larry had to ship me out on short notice, and he's really
sorry, and so am I, but... "

	The trip was absolutely necessary, absolutely had to take
place right now, and absolutely drove me up a fucking wall. I wasn't
just mad but totally enraged, furious with him, his boss, his job, his
airline, with the entire city of Detroit. For a little while it was
miserable, he guilty and harried, me snappish and accusatory. His
contriteness helped, but I was still fuming and he knew it. "Tell you
what, love - you go out with Kathy tomorrow night and have fun anyway
- you know you never go out without me, and sometimes you really want
to, admit it."

	Okay, he had me there. But what, spend a whole night alone
with lovebirds Kathy and Aardvark, abandoned by the man who once upon
a time seduced me with white roses and love poems? Dammit, I had been
a third wheel before, and I didn't like it, not one bit. All protests
were fruitless, though. He was already gone and we both knew he
couldn't turn the plane around, much as we both wished he could. My
husband soothed me with words of love and guilt, and with fatuous
promises of the time we would spend when he returned - as if he hadn't
already blown that by taking this trip. I grumped and he apologized,
and we both listened to the crackle of the tenuous phone connection in
silence for a little while. And then we hung up, and he returned to
his work, scattered on the extended fold-up tray before him. And I
wrapped my arms around my knees and sat huddled on the floor for a
little while, until I remembered there was still a little Haagen- Dasz
left in the freezer door.

	I was still disgruntled when I called Kathy the next day, and
I was in no mood to be trifled with; when she began to try to back out
of our big night, I blew up. "What do you mean you want to cancel, you
toad?!? FINALLY I am supposed to get one night, just one fucking
night, and first him, and then you and you can all go to hell and... "
After I stopped to catch my breath, Kathy explained. Aarvark wasn't
The One after all; he was just a big loser (surprise! I never saw THAT
one coming), and they had broken up; how much fun would it be alone
without the guys, anyway; and besides, that swanky restaurant where we
were supposed to go was really expensive for her with her McJob and
her McSalary, the food wasn't that great... and she'd just been there
the night before for her break-up meal with Aardvark. My world was
shattered; she was sorry. I was irate; she was hurt. I apologized, not
altogether sincerely; she blew me a raspberry and said I could kiss
her lily-white ass. Then we both snickered and eventually we
compromised: a dinner alone at my place, she would bring wine and
flowers.

	Well, if I wasn't going out for a big night I was still damn
well going to pretend. Three hours before Kathy was to come I prepped
a fancy garlic chicken dish I hadn't served in years, with lots of cut
vegetables and aromatic rice, and set the table. While it was cooking
I took a long, slow, hot, steamy shower, and after I got out and
toweled off I dabbed on just a smidgen of my favorite, most expensive
perfume. Screw the sweat pants, I thought, I'm going all out tonight:
I took out the laciest lingerie I could find in my drawer, a pale
purple demi-bra with bikini panties, and I topped the effect with a
rarely-worn garter belt clipped to thigh-high net stockings.

	I paused briefly to look in my full-length mirror for a
moment, and was pleased with what I saw, a desirable, sexy, sweet-
scented woman and not a baggy lump in sweats. I snorted, and
psychically tormented my absent husband with the vision he was
missing. I then drew on a pretty scoop-necked blouse, more low-cut and
daring than my usual, and a short, tight skirt that hugged my curves
to perfection. Some attention to my thick dark hair, gold hoop
earrings, careful makeup, another little dab of perfume, and a pair of
pumps and I was done. Smashing, if I thought so myself, and just in
time - *ding dong* - because my company had arrived.

	As I pulled the door open Kathy's eyes widened, and I ushered
her in along with her liquor-store shopping bag and teetering parcels
of flora, fauna, and, unexpectedly, dessert. "You look like a million
bucks," she announced, "and I feel like shit about everything.
Including the fact that I'm underdressed" "It's totally OK," I
responded, and I told her that I had been looking forward to this
special night with her for a long time, and that I had a deep need to
dress up for someone right now, so why not her? Kathy, frankly, looked
stunning anyway, even though she was dressed only in her usual Kathy
duds: black flats, her hair in a ponytail, big gold glasses (those
were new, I liked them and I said so), and a pair of newish blue
overalls over a white top. She looked scrubbed, natural, just a little
tousled, and sweet; overalls always made her seem more childlike,
younger, and in this outfit Kathy looked just like the girl I first met
in high school.

	We got dinner out together and smiled and laughed and drank
some of her wine - there were three bottles, "better safe than sorry"
- and then we talked some more, and ate some dinner, and drank some
more wine, and soon we were in the living room, still chattering away,
half-filled wine glasses in hand. Aardvark was a dipstick, it turned
out. He was whiny, annoying, possessive, and a lousy lay, which more
than anything else was the reason Kathy had gotten rid of him. "I mean,
really," she complained, "his thing was nothing special, he barely
knew what to do with it, and he kept trying to get me to watch those
moooo-vies with him whenever we were alone."

	"Moooo-vies?" I echoed, drawing out the "moooooooo". "Like
what?"

	"You know," she said. "Sex ones. Dirty movies. Especially
whadayacallem, girl/girl ones... lesbians." She giggled. "Dyke-y
movies." Kathy gestured with her hand, the one holding her glass, and
sloshed a little over the rim. "What IS it with guys and this lesbian
thing, anyway?" she demanded. "I mean, Armonk - Arkenoid - what was
that you called him again?"

	"Aardvark," I supplied, helpfully.

	<Slurp> "Hmmm... Aardvark - he was always going on about girls
with girls, always with the 'did you ever try it in college' thing.
And not just him - other guys too. What IS it with them, anyway?" she
repeated, with emphasis.

	I sipped my wine, thoughtfully. "I think maybe it's curiosity.
Or insecurity. Or a little of both. Everything they have is all
hanging out, or standing up and out when they're excited. When they
feel pleasure it's obvious, it's all out there, visible. With women
they're less certain. How can they actually tell if we are aroused? If
we orgasm?" I reddened a little... must be the wine talking, not me.
"I mean,  maybe they are really aroused by seeing a woman aroused,
touched by another woman who knows what she is feeling, who can really
share her experience instead of just fumbling around in unfamiliar
territory. And maybe the softness of women's bodies together makes a
nice contrast to all of that hardness, that aggressive male
penetrating sex. You know... " I trailed off, not exactly sure where I
was going.

	Kathy looked back at me and pointed her glass at me. "And
MAYBE they are just imagining what it would be like if THEY were in
the middle of two women. Maybe watching girls together lets 'em dream
of a Guy Sandwich. Maybe they just like seeing two times as many naked
babes at once, and they could care less about my arousal or my
orgasm!"

	I snorted. "Well, *I* care, darling, not that I remember
arousal or orgasm too well lately, what with the Better Half loving
his fucking job more than me." I giggled, a lopsided alcohol-laden
kind of sound. "Or fucking his loving job more than me, more than he
fucks me." What a funny word! "Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck," I babbled, and
singsonged, "no fuckin for me!" Kathy laughed from where she lay on
the floor. "So what the hell do you DO? You must be going out of your
mind! I went without sex for a month once, after Jim moved out, and it
was just unbearable."

	"First of all," I said primly, "not everyone in the world is
afflic - " my tongue stumbled, and I tried again - "afflicted with
your incredibly powerful hormones." I giggled again. "And second, I
have my sex book, thank you very much." I heard a BONK, followed by a
soft "ee-yowtch," and then Kathy's head appeared from behind the
coffee table. "SEX book?!? You gotta be kidding. You were blushing
that one time we snuck a Playgirl into science lab, and you used to go
absolutely nuts about porn and exploitation and objectifying women."

	"That was you, the college feminist, remember? The hairy
hordes of Dyke House had you convinced that 'erotica' was just a fancy
name for legitimizing violence against women." Kathy thought a minute
and conceded the point - when she was in college in Ohio the all-girl
dorm next door, Dychman House, was so chock-full of radical feminists
and young wymyn that the nickname "Dyke House" had become sort of
inevitable. Actually, the dorm's residents - or some of them, anyway -
kind of encouraged the term. Kathy had spent two memorable semesters
under the Dychman House influence early in her college career, and for
months she refused to wear makeup, high heels, or shave her pits or
legs. It couldn't last, and I think that the effort to abandon the
patriarchal oppression of the Beauty Myth almost cost her her sanity.

	Karen stood up, wobbling a little, and stuck her glass out at
me again. "I demand that you show me this degenerate book, you perv.
What is it - "The Joy of Sex"? I bet it's really tame, whatever it is.
"Soft-Core Arousal Techniques for Bored Yuppie People"? I stuck my
tongue out at her, and she grinned impudently at me. "Is it 'Sex for
One?'" I staggered to my feet off the couch, teetering a little
myself, and riposted "nope... but maybe I should get you that as a
birthday present now that Aardvark is history." I stuck my tongue out
again and lurched past her on my way to the bedroom, squeaking when
she pinched my butt as I swung by. "NOT nice!" I admonished. "Keep
that up and you see nothing!"

	The two of us made our way unsteadily to the bedroom with our
wine, giggling a little and sort of swaying into each other down the
hallway. When we got there I asked Kathy to get the lights. She did,
but accidentally hit the button twice, knocking the lights down to
what I called "romantic lighting" (once, in an unguarded moment, my
husband called it "fuck-me" lighting, claiming that if I could wear
"fuck-me" pumps, why not lights? I responded that a "light" fucking
was much less fun than a "pumping" one... but in the end he proved me
wrong, though it was sure fun finding out!).

	On tiptoes I started to rummage around on my high shelf, the
junk shelf where I also kept my secret purchases. "Where IS that
book?" I muttered, as I tossed various miscellaneous objects and
packages over my shoulder in the hunt. Finally, toward the bottom of
the pile, I found it: my Andres photography catalogue, still in its
original bag and sadly neglected in the months since I bought it. I
turned around to Kathy on the bed, where she was bending over the
floor a little, rooting about in the mound of discarded packages I had
scattered. She sat up quickly, and I plopped down next to her on the
edge of the bed, offering her the glossy book.

	As we slowly turned the pages, looking at images I hadn't seen
since I purchased the catalogue at the Andres show last winter, I
found myself watching Kathy, taking in her reactions to the photos.
Most of the pairings, the gay men, the old men with young women, even
the naked woman caressing the huge penis of an aroused stallion,
provoked little more than mirth, and - in the case of the horse - a
derisive snort. But when we reached one called "Head" - a woman in a
Pirandello costume perched on a stool, with a man's head between her
parted legs and his tongue grazing her clitoris - I heard her breath
catch. Her eyes widened a little, and I saw her cheeks flush.

	Cautiously, Kathy raised her wine glass to her lips and tilted
it just enough to moisten her top lip, just a little. She lowered her
glass again, and with her other hand brushed a stray wisp of hair
behind her ear, never removing her eyes from the book spread open on
her lap. Suddenly I was conscious of her breathing, which was a little
faster and shallower. As she slowly, almost reluctantly, turned the
page, I looked at her from the side. Her face was still a little
flushed, and with her free hand she was rubbing the back of her neck.
The movement pulled a little at her chest, and in the large gap in the
overalls I could see the rounded swell of her breast under the white
shirt she wore, rising and falling slightly with the rhythm of her
breaths.

	"Here... let me," I said, and after carefully placing my wine
glass down on the floor I bounced around on the bed until I was
kneeling behind Kathy, my hands lightly massaging her neck and
shoulders. "Mmmmmmm," she murmured as I rubbed and kneaded the
muscles, "that feels soooo good." She kept leafing through the Andres
book as I massaged over her overall straps, which I removed to the
sides and out of the way, and her shirt. Suddenly I felt her back
stiffen, her shoulders tighten as she came to a photo I could identify
over her shoulder: "Christiaan & Rose," two slim blond lovers, their
arms entwined, she behind him and facing to the side.

	Kathy was flushed again, a red blush spreading across her
cheeks and the back of her neck. I was all flushed too, swept up in
the hot feeling I always got when I saw that picture. I stopped
rubbing, my hands still resting on Kathy's shoulders, and blinked
twice, trying to regain some measure of composure. Kathy bent her head
back and looked up at me, smiling at my discomfort. "Why so quiet all
of a sudden?" she said, her voice a little husky. I couldn't answer.
My mouth had gone dry and I was still tingling with the memory of how
turned on I had been the first time I had met Christiaan and Rose, in
an art gallery several months ago.

	Kathy lay her wine glass on the floor beside mine, and turned
around halfway on the bed. "It's the penis she's wearing, isn't it.
That's what's got you all hot and bothered." I kneeled there before
her, my hands on my knees, my face flaming and my eyes focused on her
knees, her hands, anywhere but her face. "Come on, girl... I promise
not to make fun of you. It turns you on, the girl behind her
boyfriend, wearing a cock, that harness around her waist. Look at me,"
she commanded, and for a moment our eyes met. "Yes," I whispered in a
low voice, almost inaudibly. Kathy was looking at me with intensity;
"me too," she murmured. "So I guess I can figure out why you bought
this." In her right hand was a crumpled lavender paper bag, which she
must have retrieved from the pile of stuff I had tossed on the floor.
Peeking out of the opening was the pale tip of a simulated cock, and a
narrow black leather strap.

	I froze, my mouth dropping slightly open and a bright blush
appearing on my cheeks. Kathy was looking straight at me, her eyes
locked with mine as I kneeled there, embarrassed, mortified, ashamed
at her discovery. Softly she reached out with her hand and covered
mine, which was resting on my knee, clenching at the hem of my skirt.
She smiled, a small smile that spread across her mouth. "Have you ever
used it?" she asked, with the barest trace of wicked prodding in her
tone. I lowered my eyes and blushed a fiery red. "Uhmmmm... well...
yes... " She inhaled, a sharp little gasp. "With anyone? With... him?"
"No," I responded, in a still, small whisper. "Only... " Kathy was
regarding me with amusement, her eyes dancing. "Only by yourself. Only
on yourself." I nodded. "That's right," I said. Her hand still on
mine, Kathy shook the cock free out of the bag, and held it. "And it
felt good, inside you... didn't it?" she asked, very softly. "Felt
good when I wore it too," I muttered, a little defensively. Kathy
brought her face up to mine, close to my own, and looked deep in my
eyes. "I want to see this," she said to me. "Please. Put it on. Show
me."

	"Kathy... " I began, unable to formulate a response to this,
the last thing I expected. "I'm serious," she said, still holding my
hand in hers. "Come on, now." Still holding my hand, she pulled at it
until it was resting against the cock on the bed; she folded both our
hands around the cockshaft until I was encircling it, her hand
squeezing mine around the cock. Her mouth very close to my ear, Kathy
whispered "it's supposed to be worn. You're supposed to wear it. For
me... please." Her words, her voice caressed me, her scent sweet and
heavy with soap and perfume; my upper arm burned where her breasts
rested against me, the denim of the overall material rough against the
sheer material of my blouse. I was exquisitely conscious of her
physical presence, of the heat she seemed to give off as she leaned
against me. I had never fully understood the sweet torment felt by the
many men Kathy had attracted over the years. I had never felt the
seductive power of her sensuality, the irresistable attraction Kathy
exuded. "All right," I whispered. "If you want."

	Slowly, awkwardly, I inched my way past Kathy and got off the
bed, standing up in front of her. Almost in a trance, I tried to take
off my skirt, but it wouldn't push down over my hips. Helplessly I
looked at Kathy, who smiled and sat straight up until she was close to
me, her hair just brushing the underside of my breasts as she leaned
forward. Her right hand ran across my waist, over my hip, and around
to the back, where she lay it flat against the small of my back as I
stood. After a moment she pinched her fingers together and found the
zipper, and slowly she unzipped me. "Seems to me you need some help
getting out of your bottoms," she said, grinning, "want me to turn on
some David Bowie?" I smiled back a little nervously, briefly flashing
on our high school years and how we had first met. With deft fingers
she unbuttoned the single button above the zipper, and then
deliberately used both her hands to pull the skirt down past my hips,
exposing the top of my light purple underwear as she did so - and my
garter belt. "Oooooo," she murmured, running one finger along the edge
of the waistband as her other hand gave a sharp tug so that the skirt
slid down all at once, landing at my feet.

	"Very daring," she said, and I smiled at her as I lifted my
blouse off over my head and shook my hair free. I stood before her in
the garter-belt and net thigh-highs, a brief pair of purple panties,
and a matching lacy brassiere that left little to the imagination; my
breasts were spilling mostly out of the cups, which barely contained
enough of them to cover the nipples showing through the thin material
as dark patches. I spread my legs apart a little to balance myself as
I stood, and I felt the warmth between my legs and caught a whiff of
my scent as I moved. I was aroused, and that was obvious; Kathy, her
face at the level of my exposed belly-button, could not have missed
the signs, and the thought excited me further.

	"Now what?" I asked in a scratchy voice, huskier than before.
"Well... " she began, but I interrupted. "I'm not going to stand here
putting on a show for you, honey. If you want me to do anything else,
the first thing you're gonna do is at least take off your shoes."
Kathy grinned at me, a challenging smile. "I can do better than that,"
she said, and I watched as she stood up next to me, kicked off her
flats, and unbuttoned her overalls. After only a few buttons, Kathy
yanked down the denim outfit and pulled her knees up and out of the
pants legs, one by one. With an evil smile she then pulled her white
top up and over her head, leaving her in bra and panties next to me.

	I had entirely forgotten how big Kathy was. Years of bulky
sweaters, oversized jackets, and extra-large overalls had obscured her
breasts to the point that I had forgotten what she looked like back in
high school. Back then her tank tops and t-shirts had attracted the
attention of every male in viewing distance, the aggressively out-
thrust D-plus cups that had also gained her no small measure of envy
from many of the girls in the locker room. I had never been too
jealous; I was fairly satisfied with my own 34C's (or 36B's - I was
fairly sure that my perfect size was a mythical 35-and-a-half B-plus
cup, which I had never found in any department-store lingerie shop I
frequented), and Kathy's descriptions of occasional backaches and the
incredible ticklishness of her breasts did little to make me
dissatisfied with my own gifts. But standing there, facing each other
in our underwear, I ogled her, my eyes captured by the heaviness, the
sheer heft of her chest, encased as it was in her bra. She watched me
stare avidly, and her breasts shook a little with her laughter. "They
always stare right at my boobs," she commented wryly. "I show these to
anyone with a cock, and right away the rest of me is invisible." My
eyes traveled upward to her face, and again I saw her amusement, mixed
with fondness as we regarded each other.

	"Are you sure you really want to do this?" I asked, as much to
myself as to Kathy. "I mean, I've never... I'm not sure... we... "
Kathy reached out with her hands and softly rested them on the sides
of my belly, just above my hips, and then pulled me closer to her.
Throwing caution to the wind, I reached my hands out and took her face
between them, caressing her cheek, her jawline. She held me closer; I
felt our breasts come into contact, the thicker satin of her bra
pushing against the lace of mine, the stitching of the material just
tweaking the erectness of my right nipple.

	Our faces moved together, mine tilted a little to the side as
our lips brushed. My lips parted and my tongue snaked out, and then we
were kissing each other, tentatively at first and then deeply. I
tasted the fruity sweetness of the wine she had drunk, smelled the
very faint scent of garlic from our meal, long since completed. My
tongue traced the outline of her hard white teeth and then intertwined
with hers, not wrestling as I sometimes did with my husband, but
exploring; a soft, warm, wet caressing, my tongue moving first above
and then below hers. My hands were holding her head softly, then
rubbing down at her neck, then down to her sides as we kissed. I felt
her hands around my waist; I felt her questing tongue and lips; I felt
a shiver between my hands as they rested on her sides.

	"I need to get out of the garter belt," I croaked, and Kathy
ran her hands down my waist, along my hips - causing me to tremble a
little as she did so - and down to the snaps that connected the belt
to the stockings. With a quick flick on each one Kathy loosened them
and then got to her knees before me. Very gently, she placed both of
her hands at the top of my left stocking, caressing the band at the
top where the stocking met my thigh. After rubbing around my upper
thigh a little, she began rolling the stocking down, oh so slowly,
past my knee, and then down my calf to my ankle. I lifted my left leg
to help, leaning on her shoulders so I would not fall. I looked down
at her, me eye dwelling on her hair and then on her breasts, which I
could see clearly from this vantage point. I sighed, and then sighed
some more as she repeated the process on my right leg. Her hands were
soft and magical, running up and down my legs, caressing the hollow
behind my knees, tracing the instep of my foot,  the curve of my
calves, and the swell of my thighs.

	Her hands moved back to my waist, tugging down on the garter
belt, which somehow became entangled with the waistband of my panties.
Before I quite realized it Kathy was pulling downward at my panties,
down over my hips and then yanking a little harder as they became
slightly stuck at the juncture of my legs, held there by the moisture
of my arousal. I spread my legs apart a little to help, and after they
were all the way down Kathy paused for just a brief moment to run one
outstretched finger up my thigh, poking momentarily at my pussy lips,
and then up through the triangle of bushy dark pubic hair. I gasped,
and leaned forward a little, and Kathy reached one hand up to cup my
left breast, which hung down over her head. With a little tug she
pulled down the lacy demi-cup so that my breast was completely
exposed, and then reached up again, caught my hard pink nipple between
her index and middle finger, and squeezed slightly. The nipple
protruded from between her fingers, and she moved her head up a little
and flicked it with her tongue. I moaned, bent over a little further,
and then managed to get both of my hands behind her back. Quickly, I
unhooked her bra. She yelped, and I danced back a little. "Serves you
right!" I taunted, and then reached back to unfasten my own brassiere,
which now hung awkwardly. I shrugged out of mine; she did the same.

	"Kath, " I said, smiling broadly with the excitement, the
anticipation, and the pleasure of it all, "hand it over. The straps
first, please." Kathy grinned back, showing me that she was enjoying
this as much as I was. "Here you go, stud," she said, and pressed the
familiar triangle-shaped leather patch and straps into my hand,
lingering an extra moment to give me a squeeze. A little self-
conscious, I turned around and faced away from her as I stooped to
buckle the apparatus around my waist and pelvis; as I bent over a
little I felt a warm hand underneath me, goosing me between my legs. I
slapped a little, smacking the hand as I barked "stop that!," but I
was giggling when I said it and it just resulted in another pinch on
my ass. I turned around to finish buckling only to find Kathy looking
impishly at me, the pale cock half in her mouth. "Mmmmfff?" she said,
and soon I was giggling again.

	She pulled the cock out. "Doesn't taste like much, does it?
Sorta artificial." "Oh, really?" I answered. "I'll fix that." I took
the cock from her and slipped the harness down a little, exposing my
pubic mound. "Here, darling," I said, "try it this way." Deliberately
I rubbed the cockhead down between my breasts, over my belly, and into
my bush. "Maybe it'll taste better... " (I teased my clit with the
tip) "... if I... " (I slid it down to the opening of my pussy) "...
add a little... " (I slipped the cock halfway into my pussy) "...
natural flavoring... " (I pulled the cock partway out and then pushed
it all the way in again) "... mmmmm... " (I pulled it out again,
straightened the straps, and attached the cock to the harness). "So...
?" I said to Kathy. "What do you think?"

	Kathy made no response from where she sat on the bed, clad
only in her panties. Instead she just looked back at me, her eyes wide
with desire, her lips slightly parted. I moved closer to her, slowly
so that I would not look too awkward walking with the unaccustomed
weight of the cock hanging from my body. As I reached the bed I put
one hand under the cock and hefted it, lifting it slightly so that it
was nearly poking her in the face. Carefully I guided the cockhead to
her lips, and I used it to trace a line along her lower lip. The cock,
wet with my juices and Kathy's saliva, gleamed in the dimmed light of
my bedroom, and I watched in rising anticipation as Kathy's lips
parted and her tongue emerged to lick it. I pointed it down a little,
and began to breathe faster as Kathy's mouth opened wider to take it
in, little by little. Cautiously I rolled my hips forward so that more
of the cock entered her mouth, and I continued to watch as Kathy
sucked more of its length inside, sucking and licking as if it were
real, tasting the moisture my pussy had left on it. I swayed back and
forth, my hand on the base of the cock, gently fucking Kathy's mouth
as she, eyes half-closed, moved with my rhythm.

	After a very little while I took her elbows in my hands and
guided her into a standing position. When she was upright I bent and,
using both hands, slowly pulled down her white panties. As she stepped
out of them I drew her close to me, and after using one hand to push
the cock down and away - so it did not bounce up against her belly,
but instead extended down, between her thighs - I wrapped my arms
around her back and under her shoulders, so that we were clasped
together.

	Kathy and I were about the same height - she was maybe
slightly taller - and we matched well together as we swayed, as if we
were slow-dancing to some inaudible love song. My hands roamed around
her back, caressing her shoulders, moving down her spine, rubbing
softly at the top of her ass. Hers did the same to me, but they
lingered on the cock-straps I wore around my waist and hips. We kissed
again, deeply and unhurriedly, and I felt her rising passion as she
began to move her hips, grinding them against me, the cock between us
stimulating her clit and her pussy as she moved. Her hands on my back
stilled as she concentrated on her pelvic movements, and her pushing
against me grew more insistent as she grew more aroused.

	With a quick, sudden movement accompanied by a low growl,
Kathy got her hand between us, shifted her weight, and guided the cock
to her pussy entrance. I removed one of my hands from her back to
help, and as I gently began to push the cock into her she raised both
her hands to my face and held it. I watched her face as the hard latex
cock moved a little deeper inside, her eyes squeezed shut as she
focused all of her concentration on the feelings in her vagina. As I
pushed forward with my hips the cock pushed further into her pussy,
and soon it was buried inside her as far as it would go, some strands
of our pubic hair intermingling as our pubic mounds met. As I tried to
begin thrusting in and out, though, the cock slipped out wetly. I
leaned forward a little; Kathy went over backwards, onto the bed with
a bounce.

	She pulled me forward onto her, her breathing ragged and soft
moans coming from her throat. I positioned myself carefully above her
and tried to guide the cock back inside her opening. She reached
forward to help, and our hands met in the slickness of her pussy
juices, sliding off each other as we found her entrance and placed the
cockhead in it. I removed my hand and spread myself above her,
extending my arms to lean on them as I ground forward into her again,
the cock I wore pushing deep inside until she gasped.

	Although the motion of thrusting into someone else was totally
unfamiliar, I tried to establish a measured rhythm as I began to fuck
Kathy in earnest. Bracing myself on my knees and my palms on the bed,
I thrust in and out slowly, my ass clenching and tightening as my
movements slid the cock in and out of Kathy's pussy. Underneath me
Kathy was moaning and sighing, "oooooh... yesssss... baby, yesssss...
ooooohhhh... " and I felt the waves of pleasure coursing through her
as she was pushed back into the mattress as I thrust deeper. I was
perspiring with effort by now, sweat dripping down between my breasts
as they swayed above Kethy's upturned face, her occasional licks at my
nipples sending tingles through me.

	"Oh... " "yes... " "fuck... " "me... " Kathy breathed, the
words expelled with her breath as my cock thrust into her. I sensed
her climax coming as she began to moan louder, her hands on my hips as
if to pull me even deeper inside her. I sped up the pace, thrusting
faster now as she built toward an explosion. Her hands reached around
to my ass and pulled hard and she began to scream
yesyesYESYESOHHHHHYESSSS and I pumped and thrust and said Cum Kath Oh
Cum and she said Oh I Am I Am Oh Fuck Me Please Oh Harder
YesYesYesYesYESYESYES... I'M... CUM... MING... OH... YES... OhOhOhOh
ohhhh ohhhh ohhhh ohhhhhhhhh...

	I let my body down to rest on hers, carefully positioning the
cock so it lay between our bellies. Our bodies, slick with sweat and
heat, were wrapped together, my arms draped across her breasts, my
legs entwined with hers, the fingers of my right hand toying with some
of her hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "That sounded like a
good one," I murmured, and she smiled at me. "Mmmmm-hmmmm...
delicious," she breathed. "But I'll catch my breath in a minute."
"What? More? You're insatiable," I said fondly. "I thought that would
be enough for one evening." "I have a month of lousy fucking to make
up for," she retorted, "and I think I may have finally found a dick
that won't let me down."

	Kathy squirmed out from under me and rolled over. "Actually,"
she said, "I am a little tired. I think the next round should be a
position that's easy on my aching muscles." All of a sudden she rolled
over again and sat up, facing me. "Wait a minute - I have a great
idea! Do you have a big mirror in here somewhere?" I sure did, and it
was a matter of moments before Kathy and I were down on the carpeted
floor, in front of the same big full-length mirror where I first saw
what I looked like when I was wearing a cock of my own. "I bet this
will be even more fun if we can see," she said, and before I could
fully figure out what she was up to, Kathy had plumped a pillow down
on the floor in front of the mirror, gotten on her knees, and laid her
head down on the pillow. Provocatively she began to wiggle her ass,
which was sticking way up into the air. "So what does this make you
think of?" she snickered, and unable to come up with a suitable
response I moved behind her.

	With her legs spread wide and her ass thrust out I could see
everything clearly, and I realized that this was my first good look at
another woman's private parts. I reached out with my hands, running
them around the small of her back and then cupping her ass cheeks.
With my index finger I traced her crack, beginning at her back and
down to her dark anal opening - "that tickles!", she squealed - and
then played a little with her perineum, the narrow area separating her
asshole from her pussy. As Kathy began to emit muffled sighs of
contentment from somewhere within her throw-pillow, I used one hand to
spread her pussy lips apart and gazed at her hidden treasures. Her
scent was overpowering after her arousal and orgasm, and I brought my
face close to inhale her freshly-fucked womanliness, just touching the
tip of my nose to her opening. With a low "oooooh" she pushed back
against me, and I found my nose buried in her, my lips at the top of
her pussy. I extended my tongue for some preliminary exploration, and
was rewarded by a gasp and moan as its tip found her clit and flicked
it, followed by some broader strokes as I licked back and forth. As
Kathy began to moan again I raised my head slowly, so that my nose
left her pussy and traveled up past her asshole, the flat surface of
my tongue following, dipping into her pussy, touching lightly at her
anal opening, and then up her crack to her back.

	"You tease," Kathy groaned, turning her head to look at me
over her shoulder as she rotated her ass. Get back here and finish
what you started." I grinned at her, enjoying her lust, and moved
behind her on my knees, positioning the cock I wore to enter her from
the rear. "Does that mean you want more?" I asked, all innocence.
"'Cause we could put this away if we're finished... " She mock-growled
at me. "Fuck you. Or should I say, Fuck me... please... ? Pretty
please? My cherry on top?" I laughed aloud at that. "I bet you don't
even remember your cherry" I said, as I moved the cock toward her. She
reached back with her hands to hold her lower lips apart for the
cock's entrance. "I do t-ooooooooh" she replied, her words turning
into a cooing of pleasure as I pushed the cock deep inside her pussy
once again. Not sure of what to do with my hands, I grabbed hold of
her hips and tried to control my thrusting by rolling my pelvis back
and forth, moving the cock in and out. I looked past Kathy's inviting
ass to the mirror and my eyes met hers in the reflection, as we watched
our lovemaking; her breasts swayed back and forth in the foreground,
my kneeling body and breasts did the same behind her. We smiled at our
images, and at each other in the mirror.

	Kathy laughed, a low throaty sound. "Ooooh yeah, baby, that's
it... fuck me nice and hard this time." She started pushing her ass
back at me, moving with me in a rhythm that grew faster. "Harder," she
ordered, and I complied, thrusting harder so that my body began
slamming into her ass with loud, slapping sounds. The only problem
was, my knees were beginning to hurt - between the bedspread and the
carpet I was developing a nasty rug burn - and so I slowed down,
wincing a little. The trouble was that Kathy did not realize this and
so she pushed back harder, knocking me flat on my ass. "Oh, poor
baby," she crooned. "Getting tired? Here - take this," - she picked up
the throw pillow and tossed it back, hitting me square in the face -
"and lay back and rest a while." I did, and Kathy straddled my hips,
still facing away from me.

	"You'll like this," she said to me, and she told me to hold
the cock upright and then lowered herself onto it. I lay beneath her,
watching the rippling muscles in her back and shoulders as she rode
the cock in an odd, erratic rhythm, moving up and down as it pleased
her, sometimes pushing down deeper and harder, sometimes more
shallowly. Once again I massaged her back, rubbing her up and down as
she moved above me. "Mmmmmm," she moaned, and she stopped riding to
lean back on her arms, the cock still inside her pussy. "Oh, yes," I
murmured, by now beyond arousal as her sensuality enveloped me. After
all of our foreplay and lovemaking I was now suffused by the aura of
sex and pleasure that surrounded me. Kathy's body was heavy atop mine,
as she rested almost parallel to me. As I lay there I moved my hips
forward a bit to push the cock a little further inside her; at the
same time I moved my hands around her front to caress her large
breasts, rubbing and massaging them and twiddling her hard little
nipples between my thumb and forefinger. "OH!" she gasped, and and
felt her hand move down to her exposed clit, which she began to rub
frantically. "I love you," I whispered into her ear as her climax
built, and I grabbed her breasts hard as her body jerked with the
onset of her orgasm. Kathy screamed, almost sobbing, pressing her body
down hard onto mine as she came, waves and waves of explosive
sensation that finally ebbed away, leaving her panting and spent.

	"That's two I owe you," she said a few minutes later as she
rolled off me, somewhat recovered. "And I always try to pay my debts
promptly. How do I get this thing off?" She fiddled with the buckles
and straps, and I raised my hips off the floor as she pulled the cock
away from me. Sitting next to me, she stroked my hair and my face,
leaning down to kiss me full on the lips. "That was glorious," she
said, her face close to mine, "and I want to give you as much pleasure
as you just gave me." Kathy straddled me again, sitting on my belly
and facing me. Firmly she placed her small hands on my shoulders and
began to rub them, caressing my neck and my chin as well. She moved
back a little and bent forward, her heavy breasts dangling over my
face for a moment, my tongue reaching out again for her nipples. "Uh-
uhhh," she demurred. "Your turn now."

	Her hair - by now all out of her ponytail, which she had
discarded, I didn't know when - brushed my torso as she moved down,
running her tongue over my collarbone and chest. Slowly,
tantalizingly, she began to lick around my right breast in concentric
circles, around and around until she was circling my areole and then
oh god my nipple and she was sucking it lightly between her lips and
then grazing it with her teeth and it was so hard and it felt so good
and I was moaning in ecstasy... it had been sooo long and it felt
soooo good...

	"Oh, Kath... " I moaned, as she repeated her tonguing motions
on my other breast, proceeding to run the broad flat surface of her
tongue down into my cleavage and between my breasts, leaving a thin
trail of moisture behind her. Now she was teasing me, kissing my belly
with fluttery little kisses that had me arching my back and squirming
upwards, trying to quench my burning desires further below. "Patience,
my Pretty," she admonished me, but it was no use. "Please... " I
begged her, "please, Kath... I've been waiting so long... please... "

	Kathy smiled at my discomfited state. "You have been *verrry*
good, so I suppose you deserve it," she said, and she turned me to the
side a little so she would have room to lie between my spread legs. I
turned my head to the side and closed my eyes, and I felt her spread
me open with her hands and just barely touch my clit with the tip of
her tongue. The jolt of electricity I felt made me jump a little and
Kathy chuckled. "You really have been waiting for this, haven't you?"
she said, blowing gently on my clit. "You bitch," I grunted, through
gritted teeth, "don't you *dare* tease me now... I need you... " I
heard her chuckle again, and then her tongue was on me and in me,
licking up and down and around my clitoris, and then travelling down
to the opening of my pussy, where it paused for a brief moment before
entering inside and partaking of me, coating itself with my juices as
it moved in and out and around just inside my entrance in small
circles.

	I was in heaven, and from a distance I could hear the moans
and groans that I was emitting. Suddenly Kathy attacked my clit more
urgently, and almost out of nowhere I felt my climax upon me, not
building slowly like usual but just engulfing me as my hours of
arousal pushed me right over the edge and I was cumming and cumming
and the pleasure was good and tingly and my eyes opened and my
breathing returned to normal. Kathy was still eating me out, and she
raised her head for a moment as the pulsing of my cunt muscles
subsided. "I'm glad we got that out of the way," she said, "because
you've been so turned on for so long that I thought you would burst.
Let's see if we can do it again."

	"Mmmmm... let's," I answered, and I raised my head on the
pillow a little so I could look between my spread knees and watch
Kathy as she ate me. Her tongue continued its magic work on my eager
pussy and clit, and I toyed with her hair in my hand as her head
bobbed slightly as she ran her tongue up and down. Soon she had added
her fingers to the task, and I gasped as the firm pressure of her
finger on my clit was added to her tongue. She worked one of her
fingers inside me, then another, and soon I began to feel my passion
rising again as she thrust them in and out, hooking them briefly
behind the ridge of my pubic bone while her thumb rubbed my clit, then
making a big turning circle inside me and pressing down against the
bottom wall of my vagina, above my ass.

	"So you like that, do you?" she murmured, and for a moment she
removed her hand, sucking on her thumb. Then her two fingers were
inside my pussy again, pressing against the bottom; and then I felt as
her wet thumb located my asshole underneath, and I gasped again louder
as I felt it push inside the aperture, pressing into my ass. Kathy was
smiling at me as she began rubbing her fingers together, two in my
pussy and one in my ass, manipulating the soft, rubbery skin of my
perineum between them. As she lowered her mouth to my clit again I was
writhing and moaning and panting and I was getting closer and it felt
so good and oh yes and I was crying Kath Kath Kath and she licked me
harder and pressed her fingers in as far as they could go... The
tingling began at my clit and penetrated the depths of my pussy and my
ass tightened around her finger and my knees locked around her head
and my hands were holding her head to me and pushing her tongue down
on me and poor Kathy must have been suffocating but I was so clooooose
and then my head thrashed around to the side and I caught a glimpse of
us in the mirror with her between my legs and me all flushed and
shaking... and suddenly I was there and it was unbelievable and I was
cumming all around her and I drew her into me and then the storm broke
and I gasped "STOP... stop... no more" and with agonizing slowness she
pulled her thumb and fingers out of my body and I lay there dripping
and panting and coming down slowly.

	Kathy stayed the night with me in my big bed, the two of us
lying all entangled with each other and the bedclothes. By the time we
woke up the next morning the house was a wreck and we were both
incredibly late for work. We both called in sick and then spent the
morning trying to repair the damage from our meal and our excessive
drinking the night before, and once we managed to rub out most of the
wine stains nothing looked too terrible. As I walked her to the door
late that afternoon, holding her hand, I asked her if she had ever
done that before.

	"Done what?" she asked.

	"You know," I said, awkwardly. "Made love to another girl."

	Kathy looked at me and smiled. "If you're asking me if I've
ever *been* with another woman before, then my answer is yes." And
then she looked at me quite seriously, her eyes locked to mine. "But
I've never made *love* to one before. Until last night."

	I reached out to her and held her close for just a moment. "I
love you too, Kath," I whispered in her ear, and she dropped the coat
she was holding and held me tight in her arms. As we broke apart I
frowned at her. "But we'd better not make this any kind of permanent
arrangement. How would I ever explain this to my mother?!?"

	"Or your husband," she quipped, and as she picked her coat up
off the floor she smirked at me. "Saaay - what *did* you have in mind
when you bought that thing, anyway? I'm pretty sure that you never
thought of me that way before yesterday, and you had to be incredibly
horny and roaring drunk to even french kiss me. So then what - ?"

	"None of your business," I interrupted, and I gave her a hard
shove out the door and slammed it in her face. As I turned to go back
into the living room, I could hear the muffled echo of her laughter
fading down the hall.

From: taria29b@aol.com (Taria29b)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Subject: Art Appreciation Part 3 by Taria 
Date: 9 May 1997 15:20:06 GMT

			  Art Appreciation
				  by
				Taria
			      Part Three
			      Denouement

	Beep-beep. BEEP BEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEEP! I leaned on
the horn of my Toyota, my wussy Made-In-Taiwan little Road Runner
"meep-meep" ain't-I-cute horn. I sighed and extended my lower lip,
blowing upwards so a stray tendril of hair wiggled a little but pretty
much stayed put, dangling down in front of my pointy sunglasses. I
wasn't going anywhere, and what's more, I knew I wasn't going
anywhere. So did all the other drivers spending their dinner time
stranded on the Parkway (or as I liked to call it, the "Parking-Way")
along with me.

	I was tired, cranky, and tense. I could tell I was tense by
the way I sat in my too-narrow bucket seat, hunched over the steering
wheel I was clutching with both hands. That and the fact that I was
barking insults at the perky Afternoon Radio Nitwits and pounding away
at my so-called horn out of sheer cussedness. MEEEEEEEEEP MEEEEEEEEEEP
MIP** I quit pressing in a hurry as I noticed the guy in front of me
gesticulating wildly out his window. "Aaaaaah, screw you," I
responded. But I only whispered it under my breath. His hand quieted
down, withdrew back into his car. I could see him looking angrily up
at his rear-view mirror. Suddenly the traffic began to move. His brake
lights flickered out. *Blink!* On they went again. We all crawled
forward two inches, and then came to a dead stop.

	Jeez... what a day... and it looked like the evening wasn't
going to get any better. Actually, it hadn't been so bad. Just weird,
that's all. My so-called "office," my little cubicle with brown
padded walls, occupies a strategic location where I work. It's right
by the little water cooler and coffee stand (they're too cheap to even
get us a real kitchenette) where everybody tends to congregate as
often as possible. Unfortunately it's not right next to the
refreshment stand, but right behind it. That is, the caffeine is on
the other side of my brown padded wall. To get there I have to get up,
turn around, make a quick left, a right, another right, a short left
and a quick right, making sure I don't bang my knee on the printer
stand with our three printers (nowhere nearly enough for the fifty-
five people working in the office). I always feel like a lab rat
trapped in some horrible felt maze before I get my caffeine pellet.
It'd be quicker to just hurdle the wall.

	Of course, being three feet from the water hole severely
impedes my working habits. That is to say, I can never get anything
done, because I'm too busy eavesdropping on everybody's gossip. I
always figured everyone knew I was listening in, but then again, they
might not. I'm pretty close mouthed at the office, and besides, if I
ever let on that I knew everyone's dirt it'd spoil the fun. This way I
get to listen in without having to pretend I'm not listening when I
really am. No sidewise glances or elaborate pretense for me - I just
stare down at my desk and listen with all my might.

	Most of the time it's just bitching about who's not pulling
their weight, who got promoted, who's a pain in the ass. But I knew
coming in this morning that today was going to be good. It was a
Monday, the first day back after a Pay Day weekend and the Friday
paycheck. That meant the good stuff... drinking, fighting, romance,
heartbreak, maybe a little sex, wild and passionate or completely
forgettable (maybe with someone they had already forgotten). After a
couple years of marriage - and especially after a couple months of my
hubby's El Projecte Grande - excitement of any sort was welcome. A
live soap opera, and all I had to do was be a voyeur. Frankly, it was
a cheap thrill and I was looking forward to it.

	The morning's entertainment was strictly lowbrow stuff. A few
of the Marketing blowhards came by early to meet 'n greet 'n eat,
spewing donut crumbs all over each other while they rhapsodized about
some playoff or other. "Arfle marfle JORDAN?!?" "FrrrFrrrf Greffshky,
Man... " I zoned out for Monday Morning Sports Talk and got cracking
on some late reports. The next thing I knew it must've been midmorning
- no windows, so of course I couldn't tell - and I was dropping my
report, craning my neck so I could get closer to the wall.

	"Ah'm tellin' ya, honey," - that was Rhonda; the way she spoke
always reminded me of Isabel Sanford, with that husky Louise Jefferson
"Movin' On Up" attitude. "He was really SOMEthin'. Mmm, mmm, MMM!"

	"Aw, c'MAWN, Rawn-daaaa!" Carla. Had to be Carla. She was a
Melanie Griffith (remember "Working Girl"?) secretary straight out of
central casting. "I just gotta get maw than thaaaat. Dee-tails! Dee-
tails!"

	"Well, you know, honey," Rhonda chuckled, a dry throaty sound.
"I ain't one to kiss and tell, but that man sure knows his way around
a body. He can just... mmm-MMM!"

	"Sooooooooooooo... " said Carla, trailing off nasally.
"Whaaaat???" Silently I echoed. Whaaaaat?!?!?

	"I tell you, girl-FRIEND. A little of THIS... a little of
THAAAT... and then... "

	And THEN? And THEN?!?!?

	"Mmmmm-HMMM! Best damn souffle I EVER saw. It had that nice
crust, you know? And it was browned, and tasty?? I tell you... " Their
voices trailed off, and I heard Carla say "Oh, yew are just SOOOO
lucky that he can COOK, I'm telling you, MOYYYY JER-reee he is just
com-PLETE-ly LAWST any time he has to make his own dinnah... "

	FOOD?! If I wanted to hear about hot food I could get a job at
McDonald's. I wanted something juicier and spicier than a souffle
today, but it didn't look as if I was going to get it. The Sports
Guys returned shortly later - "Frrrrckn A! Whrrrt ur frrckn PLAY!!!"
<SLRRP> - followed by the Whiny Accounting Guys, the Boss-Hates-Me
Girls, and the Flirty Interns. Actually the Interns weren't too bad,
but after a while they started to grate on my nerves and I started
dropping phone books on my desk. The sudden revelation that they were
not alone sent them scurrying back to wherever it is that Interns go
to stay out of the line of fire, and again I was alone. I was getting
desperate for something, anything, that might add some life to the
dullest Monday I could recall.

	My salvation appeared late in the afternoon, when most of the
office was sunk deep into a haze of work-performing concentration. I
was stretching, my arms extended over my head, my face turned
unpleasantly into one of my pits, a little grunt of work-related
displeasure on my lips. I felt gritty and grumpy, I smelled bad, I was
out of sorts, and to top it off the week was just beginning, and
tomorrow I'd be waking up to start this all over again. As I rubbed my
eyes and returned to the blurry report in my hands, I noticed the
brown "wall" before me bending in a little. Then I heard a whisper, so
low that I could not recognize the voice of the whisperer. "He did
WHAT?" the voice hissed, conveying amazement and fascination at the
same time. I leaned forward and listened closer, the report forgotten.

	"I mean, up until then it was just so great," the other
speaker, a woman, responded. "I mean" - I heard her voice drop down an
octave, turning sultry, intimate - "he was just so hot, with his big
arms and his tight buns and his tight little jeans. We were just all
over each other practically right away, at the bar. I mean, we slow
danced, and he was rubbing against me, and I was rubbing against him,
and he could even dance, you know? And when we left and we got a cab
back to his place, I just thought "oooo, yes... let's just go on up,
Stud... "

	I was thinking "oooo, yes," myself. I was listening so hard I
was almost forgetting to breathe. She paused a minute, probably
sipping coffee or something. The other person - now I could tell it
was another woman - prompted her, as eager for details as I was. "...
And?"

	"And so we got up into his place, and we were, you know,
making out on the couch, and one thing led to another, and let me tell
you, he looked better out of his clothes than he did in 'em. I mean,
just rubbing that chest with my hands was incredible, it was so broad,
and so hard and smooth. And he was kissing me, and undressing me, and
it was so hot!" I wondered if she was smiling. She sounded like she
might be. "So what *happened*?" the other woman asked, a little
urgently. I wanted to know, myself.

	"I mean, it was just so FREAKY. I mean, one minute we're hot
and heavy, and we're in the bedroom, and I'm about to ask him if he
has a condom or something, and the next thing I know he turns over,
and he's sort of... I dunno, hunching his ass or something." I heard a
sharp intake of breath from her audience. "I'm telling you, he's,
like, thrusting his ass up in the air, and when my hands touch it a
little he's moaning, and he's spreading his knees apart and I'm like,
just hold ON a minute what the hell is going on here, and he says
"yes, yes" and I am NOT with this program, whatever it is." "Holy
shit!" interjected the other woman. "I am *telling* you, it was really
odd," she continued. "I mean, I don't know if he wanted me to play
with his ass, or get into some kind of weird anal thing or something,
but I just could not deal. I mean, he was just so strong and buff-
looking, and such a great kisser, I just never figured him for some
weird kind of anal pervert!"

	"So what'd you do??" asked the listener, and I watched as the
woman bounced a little off the other side of my padded cubicle wall.
"I got the hell out, is what I did. I mean, my one hard-and-fast rule
is NO FREAKS, and I wasn't about to get into anything with some guy I
just met at a bar!" I heard both women drop something in the little
trash receptacle by the coffee stand, their half-full coffee cups, by
the sloshy sound of it. As they walked away I could hear the listener
murmur "you never can tell, can you?", and then they were gone.

	I blinked my eyes a little in a sudden flash of sun as I came
around a curve, and I pulled down the visor to cut off the blinding
flash. This traffic mess should clear up soon, I thought, figuring
that the Expressway exit should come up any minute. Thinking back, I
wasn't exactly sure about why the woman had been so upset about the
whole encounter. Sure, it might have been a little weird for the guy
to have been moaning and wiggling his ass like that, but why should
that be so awful? She was willing to sleep with the guy, after all, to
let a total stranger stick his penis right into her. So what, then -
her orifices are OK, but his are off-limits? I chuckled, wriggling
around a little in the hot interior of my car. Well, girls who play
with strange dicks have to expect some assholes, I thought, and in her
case that was literally true; I felt a giggling fit wash over me. But
then we were moving, and Mister Angry Guy in front of me was angling
right to get off onto the Expressway, and as my lane sped up I hit the
horn twice - MEEP MEEP - in a Road Runner salute, and then I *was* the
Road Runner as my car sped up and rocketed down the Parkway until my
exit, and I hit all the green lights and didn't slow down until I was
home.

	I clomped in through the front door and dropped my stuff in
the living room - screw it, let him yell at me when he gets home, if
he gets home at all - and was halfway down the hallway when I noticed
a light on in the kitchen. "Sweetie?" I called, a little shocked at
the possibility that Mark would be home before I was, especially
lately. I popped into the kitchen, ready to squeeze the life out of
him with an anaconda hug of pure love, when I was brought up short. On
the table was a single white rose, and a note.

	You bastard. You damned son-of-a-bitch. I was cursing before I
even opened the envelope. It had been months now that he had been
working on this project, putting in late hours every night, working
weekends, jetting off to other cities on business trips, breaking
dinner dates and standing me up. What was next? "Sorry, Baby, but
Larry says I gotta go to Uzbekistan for more specs?" Extended project
deadlines that would last through July 1998? Prepared for the worst I
mangled the envelope open.

	"Hi Sweetie," read the note, in his neat, tiny little
handwriting. "Before you blow up, read this:

	Sleeping in our Big Old Bed Is a Husband who is Dead. I know
that I have been no fun, But my Project, she is DONE Two days are
allotted me For my quick recovery For most of that time I sleep Far
away in dreamland deep; I'll arise upon Day Three And devote myself to
Thee What you want is what you'll get And I LOVE YOU - don't
forget!!!!

	From Thursday and on I am yours until after the weekend, and
I promise to make up for everything. I love you, MARK."

	I put the note back down and tried to scowl at it, but the
frown turned upside down and I was smiling by the time I walked over
to my bedroom door. Inside I could just make out the big lumpy shape
of my exhausted husband prostrate on our bed, snoring softly. Quietly
I disrobed and got into some more comfortable clothes, and then
returned once again to an empty kitchen to prepare a lonely dinner for
one. But tonight I was humming as I stuck the frozen Vegetable Entree
in the microwave, and I munched happily as I thought about three days
from now. Thursday! I could hardly wait.

	Mark had barely moved a muscle by the time I awoke on Tuesday
to go to work. I dressed in silence and had my morning coffee near the
open doorway to the bedroom, watching him as he slept. The poor man. I
had been so angry so often, but now all I could think was how much I
had missed him and how tired he must be. With a sigh I got myself
together and tiptoed out the front door, closing it softly behind me.

	By the time I got home that night the apartment had undergone
a massive transformation. The living room was a mess. There was junk
food everywhere - potato chips, popcorn, mallomars, empty bottles - it
looked like a horde of ravenous teenagers had trashed the place while
I was at work. Bunched up on the couch were blankets and pillows
scattered haphazardly. Well, that explained the mess - Mark had spent
most of the day vegging out in front of the TV. No doubt if I turned
it on I'd tune in to some all-sports network, the volume turned up to
the maximum. Unwilling to find out for myself, I ignored the set,
kicked a few stray candy wrappers out of the way, and began stalking
toward the bedroom in high dudgeon.

	When I got there and swung the door open, I found a darkened
room and a familiar lump on the bed. Bastard, I thought, destroy the
house and then go to sleep to escape my wrath! But then the VCR clock
at the foot of the bed caught my eye, the bluish readout flashing
10:31 at me. Was it really that late? After a brief flashback I
realized that I *had* been pretty caught up in work today, so busy
that I had paid no attention to water hole conversations, so busy that
I had never even called Mark at home to see how he was. The guilt
washed over me - here I had been a whining "business widow" for so
long, and when I finally get the chance to talk to my husband I blow
it!

	That also explained the mess in the living room. For my anal-
retentive husband to create such a pigsty he must have been really
mad, or else just really zoned-out. Then again, maybe he was both. He
*had* said that it would take till Thursday before he was fully
recovered from all of the stress and sleeplessness. Mollified by my
own logic I turned to exit the room again, when I heard a *crunch*
under my heel and felt some kind of wrapper or something beneath my
shoe. Vowing to begin my wifely clean-up efforts here and now I
reached down to pluck the offending litter off the floor. As I
returned to the kitchen to throw it out, I noticed abstractedly that I
did not hold a food wrapper in my hand. It was a paper bag. Lavender.
With flowery writing on the outside.

	I stopped dead in the kitchen, my hand poised over the open
garbage pail. What was that particular bag doing on the floor, instead
of on the shelf of my closet? More importantly, why was it empty? I
blinked twice, still holding the bag, and suddenly a welter of images
came over me in a rush: me making my purchase at The Garden; the way I
looked in my bedroom mirror as I held it in my hand; the blur of
heated passion I shared with Kathy; the feeling at my center as I
repeatedly ravished myself from behind, my head pushed down among the
bed pillows; the photograph of Rose and Christiaan. Without even
dropping the empty bag I turned and almost ran back to my room,
slowing down as I entered it so I would not wake Mark. I practically
climbed into my bedroom closet, my hands roaming frantically around my
upper shelf in search of my hidden secret. It wasn't there. And my art
catalogue, the pictorial how-to guide that had attracted me in the
first place, was gone too.

	Slowly I turned my gaze toward Mark's slumbering form. Could
it be... ? No, I thought resolutely, there is no way that my husband,
Mister Straight and Narrow, could ever even contemplate... After all,
just to get him into oral sex had taken months. But then, hadn't it
been worth it? And he'd been so... enthusiastic... ever since. But
Andres? Christiaan and Rose? How well did I know my husband, anyway?
What was he not telling me?

	Then again, what had I not told him? I was chilled by his
discovery of what I had hidden away, not only because he was keeping
it to himself, but also because I had kept secrets from him. And now
he knew. But why hadn't he waited up to tell me, to confront me? What
was he thinking? How was he feeling?

	I was confused, my mind awhirl with thoughts and
counterthoughts, worries and fears, guilt and curiosity. I didn't eat
or even shower. I just got undressed and slipped under the covers,
watching my husband sleep beside me for a long time. Eventually I fell
asleep. But I tossed and turned restlessly, and by the time my alarm
buzzed at me the next morning it was almost a relief to get out of
bed.

	Slowly I arose and stretched, bending over a little to
straighten out my back. As I half-turned I noticed something out of
the corner of my eye. What was that, peeking out from under Mark's
clothes on top of his night table? Wasn't that the corner of a magazine
or something? It was - and sticking out on top of it was a slim
leather strap and a buckle. A-HA! I wanted to shout. Caught you, you
little devil! You've been looking at my dirty pictures and playing
with my toys! I left the bedroom with a grin on my face, used the
bathroom, and poked my head back out to peer into the room before I
showered. Watching carefully, I saw Mark turn over from his side onto
his back and reach a hand out to push the telltale corner further
underneath his clothes.

	You faker! You're not even asleep! Making more noise than I
really needed to I yawned elaborately and walked back into the room,
pretending not to notice the sudden stillness of the figure on the
bed, not to mention the obviously fake snores. Moving to the foot of
the bed, just at the right angle for him to see me under his half-
closed lids, I turned around to fiddle with the drawers of our bedroom
chest. I bent lower at the waist, knowing as I did so that my night
teddy was riding up and my underwear peeking out. After a little
aimless rooting around I stood up, my back still to him but facing the
mirror that stood atop the chest. Quite deliberately I reached down to
pull down my panties, pulling them gradually lower until they dropped
onto the floor. I stepped out of them and began to pull my teddy over
my head in a slow, sinuous motion, knowing that as it rose more and
more of my ass was exposed, then my back. As it rose over my head I
arched my back and held my arms high above my head, as if I was simply
engaging in a morning muscle-stretch.

	As I watched him sidewise through the mirror, I could see that
my "innocent" morning posturing had Mark's full attention. Not wanting
him to know that I was aware of his wakefulness, I turned around
slowly until I was facing him and faked a yawn. Then I made another
big stretch right in front of him with my eyes closed and my head
back. My motions thrust my chest forward and I made no move to cover
anything, letting him feast his hooded eyes on my breasts and belly
for a few moments. Then with a sigh - of regret? longing? I hoped he
thought I was wishing he was awake so we could make love - I turned
toward the bathroom again, grabbing some clothes to don after my
shower.

	I like a good, long, hot shower, especially in the morning,
but that day I took no chances. I finished my ablutions in record
time, exiting the bathroom as quickly as possible to forestall any
hasty activities on his part. As I swept back into the bedroom I saw
that my precautions were well-founded; he was still on his back, but
from the hall I could see that he had been lying with his knees bent
and spread apart, his hands probably busy under the covers. When he
saw, or heard my return, though, he quickly lowered his knees and
tried to place his hands in some casually arranged position on top of
the covers. I tried hard to suppress my smile as I noticed that he
could not hide *everything* he had been up to - just below his
midsection *something* was poking the blanket upward. I finished
dressing and turned back to face him while I bent my head to put on my
earrings. I chuckled quietly in my throat and looked directly at him
as he "slept." "Oh well," I murmured, "what a waste of a good morning
hard-on. Too bad... "

	Before he could react I zipped out of the room and marched
down the hall. I picked up my overcoat and shook it so he could hear
the keys in my pocket jingling. As I neared the front door I silently
kicked off my shoes, then opened the door, held it a second, and
slammed it, with me still inside. Then I stood stock-still for a
moment, straining my hearing to find out if my ruse had worked. It
had, because a moment later I could hear the blankets fall to the
floor in a heap, and I heard the rustle of book pages being turned. As
quietly as I could, I crept back toward the door of my bedroom,
inching along the wall, until I could carefully peek at what was
transpiring.

	I saw my husband, still lying on his back, but now fully
exposed. The bedclothes were gone; so were any shorts or pajama pants
he might've been wearing when he came to bed the previous night. With
his legs bent and spread apart, I had a clear view of Mark's rigid
cock standing tall and proud. Mark's right hand was wrapped around his
shaft, tugging the skin up and down as it pumped in slow strokes. His
head (the one on his shoulders) was facing away from me, thank
goodness, and was tilted to the left. He was looking at the Andres
photo catalogue he had commandeered from my closet, grasping it in his
left hand, which was resting on his night table.

	I had seen Mark masturbate before, but only when we were
having some kind of sex together and then only for a moment or two. I
remembered mutually masturbating once, long ago, when we were young
and daring and still dating. But I had never had the chance to watch
him when he thought he was unobserved, when he was at his most
natural. I watched in fascination as his hand moved up and down,
pumping his cock in a rhythm that I knew matched the throbbings he
felt. It was marvelous, seeing the way his body built its way toward a
rising pleasure even as his mind was occupied elsewhere, focused not
on his own body but on the erotic photographs that held his attention.

	My mouth was dry as I watched his hand speed up its tempo a
little, quickening its pace as he built to a climax. So soon? I
groaned inwardly, feeling cheated by the quick conclusion I foresaw.
But I was more than a little pleased as well. So, you can't hold it in
after weeks without making love? Good! And I hope that my little peep
show this morning made things worse! I grinned as I contemplated the
torture he must have experienced as I exhibited my naked body to him,
and then yanked it away untouched by his horny little hands.

	Suddenly his pace slowed again, and I looked on in wonderment
as he let the book slide out of his fingers and reached out with his
left hand. After a brief moment his hand closed around the erstwhile
contents of my lavender sack - my cock, still attached to the leather
harness I had worn the last time, with Kathy. I was dumbstruck as I
watched my husband Mark bring the cock closer to his body, rubbing his
chest, his nipples, with the tip. I was thunderstruck when he held it
up for a moment, looked at it... and then slowly inserted it into his
mouth! His lips closed around the cockhead, sucking, moistening, and I
looked on as he slowly, softly pushed it and pulled it in and out of
his mouth, a little deeper each time. Mark knew how to give a blow
job?!? Where the hell did he pick THAT up?

	I almost smacked myself on the forehead. Of COURSE he has a
pretty good idea of blow job techniques. He's had 'em, hasn't he?!?
Maybe he even learned this from ME, I thought, and I continued to
stare as he extended his tongue and gave the cockhead a good, sloppy
licking, wetting it down thoroughly. I was tingling as I began to
think about that. If he was moistening the cock, lubricating it, that
must mean... And he did not disappoint me. With his eyes closed, his
right hand still gripping his now-straining cock, my husband guided
the latex penis down between his spread knees, under his balls, to his
dark anal opening. I held my breath as he pushed a little, changed the
angle of the penis in his hand, pushed more, and gasped loudly.
"Errrrrrr," he grunted, and I felt rather than saw as the cockhead
pushed into him, penetrating him, pushing past the tight ring of
muscle at his entrance until the head was just inside him, the rest of
the cock hanging down.

	Mark moaned, and suddenly his right hand was pumping
furiously, jerking with hard, fast strokes. He was panting and moaning
now, quick sharp moans as his climax neared, the cockhead in his anal
aperture driving him into a frenzy. His hips were bucking wildly now,
his left hand just barely keeping the head of the cock inside him as
he stroked himself with abandon, and I heard a loud "Aaaaah!" as the
building tension met its sudden release and his body went rigid for a
moment, and then I could see the spurts as he ejaculated into his hand
and over the top of it, his cum soaking the hand clenched around his
cock and spilling onto his stomach, which was heaving with his deep,
ragged breaths.

	I watched as his body slowly relaxed, the latex cock softly
emerging from the opening it had barely entered, his legs
straightening as he unbent his knees, and suddenly I realized how
vulnerable I was to discovery. As Mark began to recover I tiptoed back
down the hallway with mincing little quicksteps, making it to the
front door and picking up my shoes. I waited with baited breath until
I heard him get up and head to the bathroom to clean up. As he turned
the faucets and started running a shower, I exited the front door, the
sounds of my escape camouflaged, I hoped, by the running water.

	All the way to work the image of my husband naked, writhing,
uninhibited, danced before my eyes. After a while on the Parkway I
started to worry I might plow into a Jeep or something, and so I
stabbed at the radio button, searching for something to distract me.
No such luck, because the first words I heard were "... welcome back
to Dr. Joy, here to discuss love, intimacy, and relationships. We've
been speaking to Dina, who has been feeling a distance growing between
her and her husband. Now tell me, Dina... how has this been affecting
your intimate relationship?"

	"Ummmm... what?"

	"Your sex life, dear, your sex life. If it were a casserole,
for example... "

	In the car I snorted once, loudly.

	"... if it were a casserole, would it be piping hot? room
temperature? yesterday's refrigerated leftovers?"

	"Oh, DEF-initely leftovers. He almost NEVER wants to have sex
any more... " Dina was getting positively chatty. "And just the other
day I found a stack of adult magazines! In his desk, downstairs! He
says that he just buys them to, you know, look at the pictures... "

	I snorted again, even louder. Dr. Joy apparently concurred,
because she said, in a flat no-nonsense voice, "He's *not* just
looking at the pictures, Dina."

	"But he saaaaaays... " Dr. Joy cut her off immediately. "Dina,
that's what he would tell his mother if she found them. Are you his
mother?" "Noooo," came the uncertain reply. "Dina, he is masturbating.
He uses those magazines to look at while he is masturbating." "But...
how come he isn't... I mean, why isn't he satisfied with meeeeee?" she
whined, and I tuned out mentally, catching only the words "masturbate,
masturbate, masturbate" somewhere in Dr. Joy's response. But Dense
Dina had clarified something for me: why should I be concerned or
upset about Mark's behavior this morning? After all, he was just
putting the photo book and sex toy to the same use I had! And I had
enjoyed both of them very much. So had he, I recalled with a grin.

	As I squeezed the Toyota into a miniscule parking spot and
climbed out of the car, I was struck by a sudden thought. Instead of
worrying about why Mark was masturbating, instead of wondering about
what he got out of it, wouldn't it be better to capitalize on it? This
morning my husband had unknowingly told me what he enjoyed, what
turned him on. I stood there, holding the door open, rooted to the
spot next to my car. Wouldn't it be great if I could find a way to
bring that freedom, that lack of inhibitions out of him?

	A thoughtful expression must have crossed my face as I flashed
back to our lovemaking, and his tendency toward silence, especially
when he was having one of those "stealth orgasms," the ones where he
barely made any noise and his whole body just went rigid all of a
sudden as he came. He was moaning this morning, I realized, twisting
around and really getting into it. Could I still bring that out of
him? I thought. I had, once upon a time, but after being married for
so long...

	I smiled, a faint, small smile, and licked my lips, my tongue
moving slowly across them. So *that's* what he likes, hmmmm? Well
maybe it was time to find out what we could do together to improve on
that. And Kathy DID ask me what I had in mind when I bought it... The
wheels in my head began to spin a little faster, and I absently
stepped back and slammed the car door shut. That day, during my lunch
break, I went out to do a little shopping.

	I got home late that night, by intention this time, rather
than carelessness. I didn't open the front door much before eleven
o'clock, having whiled away the evening playing Tetris on my work
computer, ordering in Chinese food, and thoroughly enjoying the
sensation of working late while my husband might be waiting up,
instead of the other way around. When I finally did get in, I was
pleased to notice that yesterday's mess had not recreated itself; Mark
must''ve gotten bored with TV really quickly and found something else
to occupy his day. I smirked at the thought, wondering if the
"something else" had anything to do with his activities that morning.

	By the time I reached the bedroom I had assumed a weary air,
plodding slowly down the hallway and emitting tired little sighs. Mark
was in the bedroom already. In fact, he was in bed with the lights
out, but not asleep. Behind my tired pose I smiled to myself. All was
exactly as I had planned it, and hopefully my husband did not suspect
a thing.

	I entered the room humming "Try a Little Tenderness" - "women
do get weary... " - as sort of an early warning. Turning my back to
Mark, who was propped up on one arm as he lay in wait for me, I began
to climb out my clothes, slowly, wearily. "Awwww," I heard him say in
what little "bedroom voice" he possessed. "Rough day, honey?" Still
facing away from him I grinned, and, trying to keep the grin out of my
voice, I let my breath out raggedly and grated, "you have NO idea."
From there I launched into a lengthy diatribe about the horrible day I
had, how exhausted I was, how rotten my boss was, how lousy I felt,
and how, on top of everything else, I was probably getting PMS. None
of which was true, of course, except for possibly the lousy boss part.
But then, today he had been out sick, and how much better can a boss
be?

	As I undressed I dropped my clothes in a heap on the floor,
every gesture indicating my tired, cranky attitude. At least I hoped
so. I showed practically no flesh at all, the polar opposite of the
little exhibition I had put on that morning. After slipping out of my
blouse I grabbed hold of the most unsexy t-shirt I owned, a big ratty
thing with a faded picture of "Hello Kitty" on the front; to add
insult to injury, I even slipped out of my bra after I was already in
the shirt, yanking it unceremoniously out of my sleeve ("ta-daa! look,
Mark, no boobs!"). I pulled down my skirt in one quick motion, tugged
down my pantyhose, and without even changing my panties (oh, I wanted
to - but sacrifices had to be made) I climbed into a thick, bulky pair
of sweat pants. Snug-waistband, cover-everything, unattractive, no-
access sweat pants. I didn't brush my teeth. I didn't go to pee. I
just wrapped myself like a mummy in my blanket and turned over, facing
away from Mark.

	My husband was completely flummoxed. My performance had so
deflated him that he hadn't tried a single one of the seductive moves
he had planned. After hours of waiting for me - I was five hours late
- he had been ready, primed, posed naked under his thin bedsheet (I
had noticed, but then, I had already foreseen this maneuver), anxious
to renew our intimate relationship. Or at least anxious to get some,
which sort of amounted to the same thing. But he had been throttled.
He had been hoodwinked. Bamboozled. My preemptive strike had reduced
him to a meek whimper: "well... can I give you a backrub, Honey?" I
responded with a short series of negative grunts, and burrowed deeper
into my cocoon. He gave a deep, theatrical sigh that was probably
pretty sincere and turned over to face away from me, hurt and angry.
Perfect!

	The next morning, Thursday, I awoke early for work and hopped
out of bed. Today I got dressed as hastily as possible, skipping my
shower, jumping into my clothes, hustling for all I was worth. Again
my husband feigned sleep, this time due to his wounded ego and not his
voyeuristic tendencies. I pretended not to notice until I reached the
"earrings-and-accessories" stage, when I turned toward him and walked
around to his side of the bed. Sitting down beside him - he scrunched
his hips over a little to avoid contact with me, the poor hurt sweetie
- I murmured "Oh, darling... I'm sooooo sorry about last night... I
was just sooo tired, and it had been such a looooong day... " No
response. But when I reached down and caressed his left hip, he made
no movement to pull it away. Gotcha!

	I injected a little more TLC into my voice, a more soothing
quality. "Let me make it up to you, Honey. How about dinner tonight?
Come meet me at work, and we'll go out to a nice restaurant," (I
rubbed up and down, softly, pleadingly) "and then afterwards... well,
we'll see about afterwards. Whaddaya say, Big Boy? OK?" He emitted a
slightly whiny-sounding noise, sort of an "nn-nnnn," like a big puppy.
"It's a date, then," I said, kissing the back of his head. "I'll see
you at five." I rubbed his back reassuringly, got up, and left the
apartment, silently cackling to myself all the while.

	In the middle of the day, about noon, I called home and got
the answering machine. "Hi - we're not here right now, but...
BEEEEEEEEP." "Sweetie, it's me," I opened. "I'm sorry - I'm going to
be a little late. So could you please get here at five-thirty instead
of five o'clock? Oh, and one more thing... don't wear any underwear
tonight, Sweetie. Bye! See you soon!" Of course I wouldn't be able to
meet him at five. My work schedule was eight-thirty to five-thirty,
always had been. But this way I had an excuse to call and slip in my
real message about his attire. I spent the remainder of the afternoon
assembling reports and ignoring my phone, letting the voice-mail get
everything. Mark called five times. I didn't call him back.

	By four-thirty I had abandoned all pretense of getting any
more work done, and panic set in. Had I pushed him too hard? Would
everything work out the way I hoped tonight? What if he was angry with
me? Was this really a good idea? But I had passed the point of no
return already, and I steeled my resolve. Dammit, it had been months
since we had made love at one-hundred-percent capacity. He had been so
busy, so wrapped up in his work that I had been lonely, frustrated,
and aching with need for months. Would my little tryst with Kathy have
occurred if Mark had been tending the home fires properly? I wondered.
Well, maybe - but I wouldn't have... then again, maybe that line of
reasoning had its flaws. Still, I deserved to be in the driver's seat
for a while. And deep down I *knew* that he would enjoy this. He
absolutely positively would. I hoped.

	By 5:25 I was sitting at my desk looking busy, despite the
fact that the office had cleared out a half-hour earlier when all the
nine-to-fivers departed in a cloud of dust. Not even a single
secretary remained to buzz Mark in, so when he called my intercom to
let me know he was there I had Security open the door for him. After a
few wrong turns my husband eventually navigated his way to my desk,
where I sat with a pencil stuck behind one ear, a stray tendril of
hair trailing down in front of my face, and my lower lip sexily
pouting as I "concentrated" on some piece of paper or other.

	Mark drew closer. "So... you ready to go?" he asked, a little
testily.

	"Ummm... one sec," I responded absently, watching carefully
out of the corner of my eye as he walked right up to me, his body
language conveying his cranky hostility.

	"Look," he said as he reached me. "I - "

	His words trailed off as I turned toward him suddenly, my eyes
ablaze, my hands making a beeline for his crotch. With no fumbling at
all - and I was mighty proud of that - one hand held his pants
material straight while the other unzipped his fly in one swift tug.
ZZZZZZZPPP. Without hesitating, or speaking, I sent my hand diving
into his open fly, and I made a pleased noise in my throat when I
noted his compliance with my "no underwear" instructions. I wrapped my
fingers around his cock, which was still flaccid - perhaps out of
shock - but began to respond immediately to the attention. I carefully
maneuvered it out of the opening, taking special care as the crown
emerged from between the zipper tracks, and lowered my mouth to it.

	There is nothing - NOTHING - quite like the sensation of a
hardening, thickening cock in my mouth. With my eyes closed I enclosed
his penis in my wet lips, enjoying the texture of the soft, rubbery
flesh, the small, thin droopiness. But the attraction for me is the
way a soft cock begins to almost jump in my mouth, warm and pulsing,
and then begins to grow, filling out inside me as I pull back my teeth
and let it expand between my lips. His penis grew hot, the pulsations
faster, the small softness giving way to immensity, to hardness. I
love that feeling of ballooning, the ecstasy on my lover's face and in
his groans as his cock becomes erect inside my mouth, the rise in
tension and excitement that always seems to me to be akin to the onset
of an orgasm. By the time he is fully hard I have always pulled my
head back a little, my throat unable to accommodate the size of the
monster I have brought to life. But it's always fun to try.

	Mark looked like he was in shock. For weeks we had had
practically no intercourse of any kind. For days I had been torturing
him in his unbearable horniness. For hours I had ignored his very
existence. But now he stood there, his knees buckling slightly, as I
commenced a leisurely licking of his erect dick with the broad,
flattened surface of his tongue, punctuated by extended moments of
taking only his cockhead between my lips and sucking it in and out,
like a child would a popsicle. And then I pulled away from his wet,
glistening penis, turned my head up to face him, gave him a wide,
dazzling smile, and pulled at his pants so that his cock was once
again encased. Very cautiously, I zipped his fly back up.

	I had dumbfounded him yet again, as the stricken expression on
his face so clearly showed. "I can't do this *here*," I murmured.
"There's so many other people around." Mark obviously did not agree
with my assessment of the situation, but he was too much in shock to
articulate his views coherently. "But... I... I mean... You - " I
stood up next to where he was still standing - in more ways than one -
and patted him on the cheek. "Come on, sailor," I grinned, slipping my
hand into his. "Let's go out and begin our evening. I *promise* you
that it will be one to remember."

	He looked at me, puzzled and more than a little suspicious. I
returned his look with a smoldering smile that expressed all the
deviltry I had been containing for the past two days. A moment later
we entered the elevator for the short ride down from my second-floor
office. As soon as the doors closed I attacked him, mashing his lips
with my own, my hands rubbing his back, snaking under his suit jacket,
caressing his unfettered ass through his pants, which were just tight
enough to cop a good feel. As the bell dinged for the Ground Floor I
snapped off the kiss and straightened myself up, gleefully staring at
the hard-on that still raged at his crotch, threatening to burst its
bonds at any moment. As we left the building I could see that his eyes
were a little glassy, and contained just a hint of fear. I chuckled
low in my throat, insinuated my arm through his, and snuggled up to
him as we walked three blocks to the restaurant.

	As we neared the familiar green awning with "Phillipe's" in
gilt lettering, Mark grunted once, a little noise of disapproval.
Following his gaze, I saw two teenagers sauntering ahead of us, a boy
and a girl who were obviously in love, or at least thought they were.
Both were in jeans, and as the girl awkwardly shuffled forward with
her head resting on the boy's shoulder, I noticed that his hand was
planted firmly in her back jeans pocket, plastered against her
backside. "Oh, please," my husband muttered, "just get a car and climb
into the back seat like everybody else." "Oh I don't know," I
murmured. "Actually, that looks like it probably feels really nice."
And, without further ado, I leaned my head on his shoulder and slipped
my arm around him, moving my flattened palm down until it was circling
his ass, under his suit jacket. "I'd stick it in your back pocket," I
whispered in Mark's ear, "but that wallet you have there is in the
way." He jumped forward, and looked back at me, his cheeks flaming. I
smiled mysteriously and swept past him into the restaurant.

	"What has gotten into you?!?" he demanded, once we had been
seated. I looked back at him appraisingly over the top of my menu and
replied, "you're blushing, dear." As his fading blush brightened again
I surreptitiously slipped one foot out of my shoe and extended my
stockinged foot until it touched his. Then, slowly and deliberately, I
ran my toes up his leg and to his crotch, where I lingered for a
moment, flexing the toes experimentally. For a second, his legs opened
wider and I felt him push his crotch slightly forward against my foot.
Then, as he realized what he was doing, his eyes widened and he stared
at me, goggle-eyes. "Really," he asked. "What *has* gotten into you?"
I smirked at him and jabbed my toes forward so that they poked him
right dead center. He closed his eyes briefly, and by the time he
opened them a mischievous gleam was apparent. He reached down one hand
and grabbed my foot at the ankle; with the other he started tickling
my instep. I am horribly ticklish, so the effect was instantaneous. I
burst out giggling, gasping for him to stop. He just tickled harder,
staring right back at me. Then we both heard a loud cough right next
to us, and looked up to see a rather uncomfortable waiter standing
patiently beside us.

	Mark blushed. I blushed. Somehow we managed to stumble through
placing an order with only a modicum of stuttering. But as soon as the
waiter left, I stuck my foot out again and caressed Mark's calf with
it. "You're incorrigible," Mark grinned at me. "You ain't seen nothing
yet, buster," I responded. Once again my husband stared at me, but he
no longer looked apprehensive. Now his expression was one of a man
intrigued. Pretending to be busy with the wine list I titled my head a
little and sat still, letting Mark's gaze linger on me, drinking me
in. Finally I raised one eyebrow and looked back at him, a slightly
challenging look on my face, full of promise of things to come. His
eyes went a little glassy again and the color returned to his cheeks.
I smiled and returned to my wine list.

	Dinner was lovely, the food delicious, the atmosphere
romantic, the erotic tension between Mark and I rising with each bite.
I alternated between looks of smoldering passion and feigned
inattentiveness. He began to look like his head was going to explode,
as he switched back and forth from staring at me in awe to smoldering
a little himself. Finally we were done and Mark was going to order
dessert. "Let's not, honey," I said to him, searing him with a look of
pure heat. "We can get dessert... later."

	Mark gulped, swallowing hard; I was really getting to him now.
"Uh, OK," he said to the hovering waiter. "Why don't we just... um...
get the check." "That's a good idea," I murmured, my foot beneath the
table returning to its exploration of my husband's thighs. "I think
maybe we should go home now. It's getting late." Mark's eyes bulged -
that wasn't all that bulged, either, since my toes were massaging his
crotch - and after straightening himself carefully he got up from his
chair and we left. As he reached out to open the door, I snuck up
behind him and caressed his derriere once again. Again he jumped, and
I let out a quietly devilish laugh as he stepped to the curb to hail a
cab.

	As soon as we got into the back of the cab Mark attacked me,
pausing only long enough to give the driver our address. I let him
have his way with me for a little while - a process I thoroughly
enjoyed - but before too long I called a halt to the proceedings and
pulled away, a little mussed. "Mark," I hissed, "the driver!" "Let him
get his own girl," he responded, unsuccessfully reaching for my
breasts. "He's *watchinnnnngggg*," I protested, giving Mark a little
shove, and indeed the cabbie was flashing glances at us through the
rear-view mirror, a broad grin on his face. Mark sighed and settled
for squeezing over next to me so we were huddled together in the back
seat. The annoyed expression on his face revealed his frustration at
his wife's anti-exhibitionism. He was wrong; I really could've cared
less about the driver. I just wanted to keep Mark at a peak level of
anticipation and desire. I looked at my reflected image in the side
window and smiled, knowing that I was succeeding.

	When we eventually did get into the house Mark made as if he
was going to jump on me and wrestle me to the ground on the spot. But
I headed that off at the pass too. "Honestly, Sweetie, I just feel too
disgusting to do anything just yet. I haven't bathed in days, and I
bet you haven't either." Mark was looking at me as if I were a little
green Martian who just landed on the planet in front of him.
"Whaaaaat?" he expostulated, sputtering that he had just showered, and
what the hell - I stepped close to him and put a finger across his
lips. "Please, honey. Just a little while longer, I promise. You go in
and shower first, nice and squeaky-clean, inside and out." He looked
puzzled. "Inside and out, that's right. And then I'll go and take a
bath... " He looked apoplectic; whole months have gone by with me in
the bathtub. "... a *short* bath, and then I promise you'll get what
you deserve." Mark was melting, but he manfully tried to stand his
ground. "Remember," I hushed him, "you *did* promise me whatever I
wanted on Thursday, and it's Thursday now... " He had the good grace
to look a little shamefaced. I gave him a light smack on the butt.
"Off with you, then... hop in the shower. Spit-spot!"

		My husband looked confused - he hadn't expected Mary
Poppins after all that foreplay, and he was worn out after all my
teasing him. But he dutifully entered the bathroom and started his
showering process, sending reproachful looks my way until he finally
shut the bathroom door. I knew it would be the shortest shower on
record, so I lost no time in running to the bedroom, stripping,
jumping into a bathrobe, and grabbing the biggest towel I could find.
Just as he was exiting the bathroom I bundled a few vital items into
my towel, concealing them within the folds. I brushed past Mark as he
was entering the bedroom, a bundle in my arms and an innocent smile on
my face. He was naked and still wet, his cock at half-mast as he stood
there dripping. I saluted it with my free hand and tenderly stroked
his chin for a second, saying "I'll just be a little while." As I
neared the bathroom door I reached out and spanked him smartly on his
rear end - SMACK - jumped into the bathroom, and locked the door
behind me.

	I hadn't been kidding. I did bathe quickly, but thoroughly,
washing my body and all of my orifices with soapy, slippery hands.
Although I had been trying hard not to show it, I was as worked up as
Mark and maybe more, since I knew what was coming and he didn't. After
muttering a quick "I really hope this works" I got myself together,
dressed, and covered up with Mark's oversized terrycloth bathrobe.
Quivering slightly I unlocked the bathroom door, pulled it open, and
made my way to the bedroom.

	When I got there, everything was perfect, better than I had
hoped. During the day Mark had neatened up the bedroom and made the
beds, which beckoned to me to muss them up. The lights were dimmed to
a decidedly romantic level, and fresh flowers - the white roses he had
sent me when we were first dating - adorned the room. Somehow my
husband had even found the time to light some candles while I had been
bathing, and their strategic placement around the room added to the
evening's romance. The object of my affections was resting on the bed,
propped up on one arm like the night before. But this time he was on
top of the covers, and I breathed a little faster as I gazed at his
nakedness, the body I knew so well.

	I approached him and took his hands in mine, raising him up to
kiss me deeply as we stood beside our bed. I held nothing back; I gave
him the soul-kiss I had been yearning to share with him all evening,
the deep searching commingling of our tongues, our lips, and our
passion that I had missed for months. We stood that way for a long
while, our mouths bound to each other in a deep, unhurried embrace
that made up for all the separations we had endured, all of the long,
lonely nights we both had hated so much. When the kiss finally broke
our eyes remained locked together, mine misty and welling up a little
in the passion of the moment. "I love you," he said, simply and
sincerely. I could not speak, but my eyes spoke volumes.

	"So," he said, breaking the spell, "what shall we do now,
hmmmmm?" He waggled his eyebrows in impish glee, and I grinned back at
him savagely. "Well," I retorted, "that depends." "On what?" he
snapped, the impishness giving way to outright deviltry. I took a deep
breath. "On how far you want to go... and how much you trust me."
After a long night of surprises, Mark was clearly taken aback by this
final challenge, which must represent the climactic shock of the
evening. He narrowed his eyes and gave me a sharp, searching look. I
looked right back, promising much and pleading for him to take this
chance. He smiled, enjoying the way I unsuccessfully tried to hold my
anticipation and excitement in check. "Well... " he drawled. "I *did*
promise you anything you wanted... "

	I pushed a little to sit him back on the bed. "I have a
little... present for you," I said, and spread my arms wide in front
of me. "All you have to do is unwrap it." He looked at me quizzically,
a half-smile on his face, and reached out for the knotted bathrobe
belt around my waist. As he loosed the knot I shrugged back with my
shoulders and dropped the heavy terry robe to the floor behind me. My
husband stared. I stood before him in a pale green demi-bra I had
bought the day before at a specialty lingerie shop, one which fitted
me perfectly, lifting my breasts up and out, my nipples clearly
visible through the thin material. Around my waist was a matching
garter belt that was clipped to thigh-high stockings, a touch designed
to appeal to my husband's ideal of beautiful, intimate femininity. And
where my panties should have been was the cock I had purchased so long
ago, gleaming slightly after the soapy scrubbing I had given it in the
tub, wisps of my dark pubic hair escaping from behind the black
leather patch that held it in place.

	Mark's eyes widened in disbelief, and I imagined that he had
turned a shade paler in the dim light. I spoke to him caressingly,
soothingly in the sexiest contralto I could muster up. "I love you so
much," I said in a low whisper, "and I love your entire body so much.
I want to love you, to make love to you everywhere, every way, to do
things together that we never imagined." I was running out of steam
and genuinely worried now that I had gone too far. "But... if you
don't want to... "

	His gaze shot up, away from the cock jutting out of my pelvis,
and locked with mine. I saw heat there, and hunger, and Mark rose to
stand before me, crushing my body to his, the springy latex of the
cock I wore pressed up against the sudden rock-hardness of his own
erect member. I tilted my face upwards and searched out his lips with
my own, and then we were kissing again, not the deep soft passion we
had shared before but a hungry savage assault of lips and tongues and
teeth that startled both of us by its fury. I broke the kiss first and
looked sharply at him for signs of any hesitation or discomfort; there
were none. I grinned at him, letting the full force of my rising
excitement show through.

	"Lie down, Mark," I said, "on your front." He crawled onto the
bed and did so gingerly, carefully positioning his erection as he lay
down facing the foot of the bed, his legs on our pillows. Once he was
down I stuck a pillow under his head to raise it a little, and then
sat down on top of him, my butt resting on the small of his back. I
then commenced a long back rub, beginning with the firm circular rubs
he likes so much and then tapering off to a more feathery touch. My
rubs turned into caresses, and I heard him groan softly, deep within
his pillow. I smiled, and wiggled back a little further until I was
sitting up on his legs, just beneath his buttocks. My caresses moved
up and down his muscular back, down his arms, across his broad width,
and then down the sides of his waist. Softly at first, I rubbed the
back of my hands past his waist to the top of his crevice, and then
across the width of his ass. He moaned again, and I scootched down a
little further.

	Using both hands, one on each cheek, I began to massage his
buttocks, my rubbing getting firmer. Waiting for a reaction I spread
his cheeks apart, noticing as his muscles clenched almost
involuntarily. I had never played with my husband's ass sufficiently,
I thought with a smile, realizing with a shock that no one probably
ever had. I rubbed some more and then snaked a hand around underneath,
moving between his legs and under to the front. Instantly his
reactions became more pronounced, and his hips lifted off the bed as
my hands hugged his balls, hefting them slightly, rubbing all over
them and beneath them, putting firm pressure on the area between his
testicles and his anus, massaging his prostate. My hand moved upwards
and found the shaft of his cock and encircled it, and with firm
pressure I held it tightly. I pulled up and down, emulating the
masturbatory strokes I had seen him employ the day before. He moaned
loudly and spread his legs wider to give me greater access.

	By now Mark was almost on his knees, his head still ensconced
in the pillow I had given him, his body now mimicking the rear-entry
position I had lain in on that bed so often. I continued to stroke his
cock, occasionally letting go of his shaft to run my open palm
downward over his balls again to knead them and caress them, causing
Mark to groan further out of the pleasure he was obviously
experiencing. As he rose to his knees I moved around until I was
sitting directly behind him, my hand between his legs and on his cock.
Without breaking my rhythm I leaned forward and peered at his anus, at
the small, dark opening that seemed so tightly shut. Hoping that Mark
had heeded my request for a thorough internal washing I let go of his
cock, spread his asscheeks apart, and began to run my tongue down his
crack, to the tip of the entrance. As Mark squirmed a bit I ran my
tongue around its puckered surface, poking in a little with the tip.
As I tongued him I returned my hand to his cock and was rewarded with
a violent jerk, as it stood up stiffer than I had thought possible in
response to my touch.

	Mark was pushing his ass back against me now, swaying a little
as I licked at his ass and pumped his cock, his head now raised and
tilted back, his eyes closed. I stopped what I was doing and moved my
mouth close to his ear. I whispered, "I love you and I want to fuck
you, Darling. I want to fuck you and enter you and fill you the way
you do to me... " "Yesssss... " he hissed, his consciousness swirling
in a haze of anal pleasure I never expected from him. I turned to my
nightstand and found the tube of K-Y Jelly I kept there, pleased at
the discovery that there was still some left. I squeezed some onto my
finger and applied it to his entrance, massaging it in to the area. I
added a more generous dollop and saturated the area, rubbing around
the rim of his hole and then slipping a finger inside, causing his
hips to buck momentarily. I made little circles inside, making sure
that he was well-lubricated, and then glopped a larger amount onto the
cock I wore, rubbing it around the head and underneath, and then onto
the shaft.

	Mark spread his legs a little wider, opening himself fully to
me. "I love you so much," I murmured, reassuring him with my words and
my tone that I only wanted to give him pleasure. Moving very
deliberately I kneeled behind my husband, who was positioned with his
ass in the air and his head in his pillow, reminding myself of me
lying there and of Kathy, who had lain in that very position a month
before, waiting for me to enter her with my cock. Using my hand I
placed the cock's tip at his entrance and moved it around the opening
to ensure that there was enough lubrication to ease its entry into
Mark (there was - I must've used half a tube of KY). Resting one hand
on Mark's back I moved closer and began to push the cock into him,
using my hand at first and not my hips.

	Mark gasped as the cock pushed into his ass, and I pushed
further until the flared crown of the latex cock was inside.
Remembering my doctor's band-aid removal techniques from my childhood
I kept pushing, determined to get it over with all at once. Mark
gasped again as the cock plunged deeper into his virgin territory
(though maybe not - how did I know what had been in there when he was
alone today?), and I rolled my hips forward until I had pushed it all
the way within him, my pelvis up against his backside. He was on his
hands and knees again, having raised himself a little to a better
angle, and I was overcome with a sense of strangeness, of altered
states. How many times had I fucked Mark when he was behind me,
pressing back against him as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper
inside my body? Here we were with roles reversed in a way I had never
imagined.

	I pulled my hips back slightly and the cock moved with me,
pulling back out of Mark's ass most of the way. I pushed back inwards;
Mark gasped once again, and then emitted a low moan; I pulled back; I
thrust forward; Mark moaned again. Slowly and gradually I began to
fuck Mark with the cock I wore, in and out of his ass in a deliberate
but steady rhythm. Mark began to moan in earnest now, his anal passage
becoming accustomed to the length and width of the cock. The
stimulation of my fucking motions was getting to him, and his hips
began to move in rhythm with the thrusts I made. With one hand he
grabbed hold of the bed's footboard, to steady himself. With the other
he began to pump his cock, his hand picking up speed rapidly.

	I stopped moving and rested my hands on his waist, just above
his hips, the cock buried in him to the hilt. I spoke to him slowly,
with urgency: "No, Mark... slowly... let's make this last." Mark's
hand slowed its pumping, and I resumed the rhythm of my thrusting
moving the cock smoothly forward and back, in and out of his ass. I
spoke again, expressing the excitement this was causing for me. "I'm
fucking you, Mark. My cock is moving in and out of you, in (I pushed
forward a little harder) and out (I pulled back)... fucking you like
you fuck me... do you want me to *fuck* you? Do you like it when your
wife *fucks* you?" "Yes," he moaned, "fuck me... yessss... "

	We were both as far into this as we could be, and although I
wasn't the one being penetrated I was getting more and more excited,
the outside of my vaginal area being stimulated by the rubbing of the
harness I wore. I pushed the cock deep into my husband again and kept
it there, pushing my pelvis firmly up against his ass so that the
harness pushed back against me. I began to move up and down,
masturbating myself with the leather patch over my pussy as the cock's
movement inside my husband's ass stimulated him. He grunted in a
little pain as the cock drove deep inside him, but he was getting
close as his hand frantically pumped away at his cock. I grabbed his
hips harder with my hands, pulling him back against me as I rubbed
myself up against him, and he felt me fucking him and holding him as I
fucked him and my thighs were pressed against the back of his thighs
as we rocked together and he groaned and shouted "Oh yes fuck me oh I
love you fuck me fuck me" and I felt him jerk as he started spurting
and I was burning and rubbing and I was cumming at the sound of his
voice and I fucked him and came and came and came and came -

	I came so hard my arms and legs were twitching afterwards as I
subsided. Mark was hanging against the footboard, exhausted and limp,
his hand and belly and knees damp with his ejaculate. Wary of hurting
more than I had to I put my hand around the base of the latex cock and
began to withdraw it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. It slid out
smoothly, still lubricated even after our furious fucking, and with a
final careful tug it emerged from Mark's ass, none the worse for wear,
and I leaned back. I fetched some tissues and wiped the lubricant
around Mark's anus, discovering as I did so a drop of blood; I must
have cut him at some point. Worried, I pulled Mark back to me and
apologized for hurting him, saying I was sorry for not taking it
easier, asking if he was all right.

	My husband smiled at me, his eyes still half-closed, and
caressed my chin with his hand. "That may have been the best orgasm I
ever had," he said dreamily, "and I bet it was the noisiest, that's
for sure." I laughed, blowing out my breath with a little whoosh. "The
last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you," I said. "This wasn't
some kind of S & M thing where I raped you or anything... " He shushed
me with a finger on my lips and said "I know. It was that picture,
wasn't it? The two blonde kids in that art catalogue? Isn't that what
gave you the idea?" Mutely, I nodded. "I liked that picture too. I
didn't think much of a lot of the other ones, especially the one with
the lady and the horse... " I giggled, remembering Kathy's reaction to
that picture. He added, "But your picture... " "Christiaan and Rose,"
I said. "Yes, Christiaan and Rose. They looked like they really loved
each other. And this was a way they... made love to each other."

	"Yes," I breathed, and I brought my face up close to my
husband's. "And we did, too." I leaned forward and reached for his
night table, snaring the Andres catalogue and yanking it out from under
the pile of clothes where he had hidden it. "I saw you looking at it
yesterday morning," I said, forcing the words out over my hesitation.
"I saw you... pleasure yourself while you looked at the picture, with
the cock I bought." He froze up a little beside me. "You were so...
beautiful," I went on. "So excited, so aroused... I love it when I can
see you like that. And I love it when I can help bring that out of you
and give you that much pleasure. I love *you*."

	He held me tightly against him, and we stayed that way for a
while, both of us gazing at nothing. And then both of us looked at
each other, and then down at my pelvis, where the latex penis still
hung from the straps around my waist and hips. I looked at it fondly.
Imagine... so much pleasure given to so many people by this one hunk
of rubber and leather. I smiled contentedly and looked at Mark.

	"Hmmm," he murmured, speculatively. "Chicks with Dicks?"
"WHAT?!?" I said, glaring at him. He still had that faraway look on
his face. "Oh, you know, "Chicks with Dicks. Like in those porno
movies. You know, "Big-Breasted Babes. Video Virgins. Anal Annies.
Chicks with Dicks. Like that." He went on, oblivious to the fact that
my glare was growing stonier and stonier. "And your *point* is what...
?" I queried, and edge to my voice. "Oh, nothing... " he trailed off
meekly, looking up at the glint in my eyes.

	"I see," I said. "So I'm a titillating little porn queen freak
show to you, am I?" He chuckled, and I attacked him again. "And where
do you know so much about Adult Videos, anyway? We've never rented
any." He reddened noticeably, and I stared at him. "Well," he said,
still red-faced. "I never said you knew *all* of my secrets." "I'll
say," I answered. Which ones did you like best?!? Chicks with Dicks?
Ohh - I know. I bet it was Chicks with Chicks! Wasn't it?!? Wasn't
it??!" I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "You men... you really
Are all perverts!"

	He gave me a leering grin. "Takes one to know one honey,
especially after what you put me through today. Besides, what's wrong
with having lesbian fantasies. Haven't you ever... ?" Now I was
starting to blush myself, my neck prickling as I reddened at the
roots. "You know... the softness of another woman's body (my cheeks
were reddening faster)... that intimate knowledge of a woman's
pleasure (I was flaming now)... that chance to see how much fun it can
be to pleasure another woman (I had to shut my eyes, I couldn't look
at him). Say! Look at you!!!! Who is it? Who's your fantasy girl??"

	I was silent as a tomb, which only got him going further. "I
know who it is!! I bet it's... no... probably not someone from work...
hmm... OH!!!!" I couldn't bear this. "KATHY! That's who!!!" I was
going to die. That's it. The bed was going to swallow me up and I was
going to die. I had to save face somehow, so I lifted my chin and said
defiantly, "you don't know all of my secrets, either!"

	Mark was laughing at me. After a moment, I was laughing with
him. But as the chuckles died away we looked at each other, deep in
thought. "So you say there's more going on in that head of yours than
we've ever tried before?" he said. "You don't deny it?" "Well," I
said, "you don't either." Mark ran two fingers down the curve of my
left breast and pinched the nipple between two fingers, over my flimsy
bra. "Sounds like a challenge to me," he said. "Is that so?" I said,
facetiously.

	We looked at each other, both of us hatching plans within our
evil little minds. Then Mark laughed, and grabbed my waist. "Take that
thing off," he ordered. "It's served its purpose tonight, and the
night is still young!" "Yes, Master," I said, meekly, and began to
wriggle out of the straps in eager anticipation of the lovemaking to
come.

	Even as I melted into his embrace, I did not forget about the
plans I began to form that night. As it turned out, neither did my
husband.

	But that is another story, for another time.

			       The End