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