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From: teej2@aol.com (TEEJ2)
Subject: TeeJ: One Time
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As always, comments are appreciated, and appreciations are commented on. 
This is fiction, in case you're confused.



ONE TIME

It was a risk. We knew that. 

"You never know what might happen," we told each other as we planned and
plotted.

My wife and I would have a sexy getaway weekend  in Chicago.  It was a
good cover; every now and then we leave the kids behind and enjoy
ourselves immeasurably.  We go where no one knows us, flirt and touch and
carry on as we never would close to home.  We book the getaways weeks in
advance and the anticipation is as much a part of the weekend as the
oversized bathtubs at the hotels we choose.

I banded my frequent flier miles together and we got a free room at the
Ambassador East.  The view out our window was wonderfull, all city lights
and the lake looming black on the horizon.  As far as my wife knew, we
were in Chicago without an agenda.

Except, of course, for the plan you and I had worked out.

That's where the risk came in.

Getting her from Chicago to your place was going to be tougher.  Even with
weeks of effort you and I couldn't come up with a credible cover story, no
old-friend-I-ran-into dodge that would put all four of us - me, my wife,
you, your husband - together in one place.  After weeks of struggle we
came to this: Honesty.

Down in the Pump Room, the Ambassador's elegant bar, I began to tell the
story to my wife.  Over glasses of darkest red zinfandel I explained how
we met, how an online flirtation had progressed to this.  I said that we
wanted to meet but didn't feel comfortable without our spouses present. 
My wife listened intently, the way she does when she has no idea whether
to be angry or simply disgusted, sipping wine occaisoinally.  

When I finished she seemed relieved that we had not had any sexual
contact, though she was not comfortable with our long conversations about
sex and the masturbatory sessions that inevitably followed.  I explained
to her that those nights when I've awakened her from sleep for sex were
nights I'd spent with you, and that the lust you had bulit in me benifited
our marriage.  She wasn't as dismissive of that as I thought she'd be.

And then I told her that we'd been invited to your house for dinner, if we
would like to go.

"I think I would like to meet this woman," she said after thinking about
it for a few sips of wine.

"So would I," I replied.

"So what is it that you tell her you'd do to her?" my wife asked me. 
"What is it that you described doing to her that made such an impression."

I leaned forward and spoke softly so no one would overhear. 

"I tell her," I said, "that I am going to do to her exactly what I'm going
to do to you when we get back upstairs."

"Then," she said, picking up the check, "I believe I will pay this tab so
that we can get to bed."

"Who said anything about bed?" I asked, and my wife arched her eyebrows
inquisitively.
**

Later, with my wife is naked beside me, I signed on.  There was semen
drying on the insides of my wife's thighs and I could smell her on my
upper lip, the scent of her cunt that always excites me.  My cock hung
limply between my legs as I booted up my laptop.

You and I had agreed: No phone calls.  But at the appointed time we both
appeared online and the IMs started flashing back and forth.

"How'd it go?" you asked.

I looked at my wife.

"How'd it go?" I asked her.

"Fine," she said.  "Tell her I'm looking forward to meeting her."

I typed it in, explaining as well that she was with me, reading over my
shoulder.

"Nice to meet you," you typed.  "I hope you're not mad at Tom for doing
this."

My wife pushed me out of the way.

"Mad that he masturbates with you while I'm sleeping?" she typed.  

"Yes," you answered.

"You gotta give her points for courage," my wife said.  "She didn't waffle
even a little."

"She's like that," I said.

My wife typed: "Not at all.  Actually, I think it's kind of interesting. 
What kind of wine should we bring for dinner tomorrow?"

"White," you answered.  "My husband is cooking swordfish."

"Her husband is cooking?" my wife said to me, surprised.  "He must be very
well trained, feeding his wife and her online lover."

"My husband does the cooking too," she typed.

"I know," you answered.

"What do we say next?" my wife asked me.

I take the computer from her.

"How'd hubby take it?" I typed.

"Fine.  He's confused and interested.  7 o'clock."

"Great.  White wine.  We'll be there."

"I'm dropping the kids off at 6.  We'll have the house to ourselves."

I signed off.  My wife leaned over and kissed me.

"This isn't going to get kinky, is it?" she asked.

"I don't think so.  That wasn't the plan."

"Good.  I want to meet these people, not fuck them."

She put her hand on my cock, feeling it to see if it had any life left in
it.  It did.

"You," she said, "I want to fuck."

***

We were at your doorstep at 7:15.  My wife wore flimsy black silk pants
and a gray blouse unbuttoned to her breast bone.  She hadn't bothered with
a bra or panties.  The obviousness of her outfit was out of character.

"I've got competition tonight," she said as she puts on redder-than-normal
lipstick.  "I have no intention of losing."

Standing at the door, each of us with a bottle of wine, the time between
ringing of the doorbell and turning of the knob seemed hours.  You opened
the door in a short dress that buttoned up the front.  You were beautiful,
worthy competition for my wife.  She was taller, more angular.  You were
more petite and somehow more available.  My wife is not haughty or
snobbish, but somehow next to you she seemed reserved, almost hidden.

Introductions all around.  You took the bottles to the kitchen, we sat in
the living room trying to guage you from the decor.  There were not many
clues.

You returned a few minutes later with glasses of wine and your husband. 
We all shook hands.  He was obviously nervous, a situation not helped when
my wife caught him staring at her braless breasts, the nipples poking
against the gray silk.

"Not as well trained as I thought," she said to me in an aside.  When you
asked what she said, she answered, "Oh, nothing.  A little inside joke,
that's all."

**

We ate swordfish, which was wonderful.  We talked about the online world. 
We talked about marriage.  My wife and your husband seemed to study us,
trying to discern whether we were holding something back, whether we had
met before.  All of us talked about our kids, showed pictures.  We drank a
lot of wine, and we got along.  The talk moved to sex.  Online sex first,
how it is possible to feel an attraction over wires, and the more
convetional kinds of sex after.  We joked about the most unusual places
we'd ever had sex, the most embarrassing moments, getting caught by the
kids.  We talked about fantasies.  

And then we went outside on the patio in the dying light of day and talked
about sex some more.

Your husband and I went for more wine, and found ourselves alone in the
kitchen.

"Your wife is lovely," he said, making small talk.

"So is yours," I answered.  "I hope you didn't get mad...when she told you
about us."

"If I'd found out on my own, I would have been mad.  But the fact that you
wanted us...your wife and I...here when you met.  It's weird, but how bad
can it be?"

**

Outside it was warm, a summer night.  The wine was cool, and we drank.  I
snuck up behind my wife and rubbed her ass through her filmy pants.  She
pushed her ass against my hand and moaned softly.  Your husband was
talking about cooking and didn't notice, but you glanced at me and at my
hand and back at me.  I shrugged.  You smiled.

"I've got some video of my kids if you'd like to see it," you said.

"I'd love to," my wife replied, and we went back inside and you popped a
tape into the deck.  We sat in the building darkness and waited for the
video to start.  Your husband's nervousness seemed to have returned.

"Honey..." he said.

"I thought they'd like to see it," you cut him off, hushing him.

Your children ran through the screen, dressed in pajamas.  Your husband
pciked the baby up and showed him to the camera.  The older kids put on a
little show, and we all laughed at kids and told stories and drank a
little more wine and felt warm about each other.

"They're adorable," my wife said.

"I don't think this is a good idea," your husband said.

"I think it's a great idea," my wife argued, waving him off.  "I like
watching home videos."

"Yeah, well," he said, sounding kind of nervous, "we don't want to bore
you."

"It'll be fine," you said, finishing the argument.  We watched the whole
ritual of putting your children to bed: The fussing, the complaining, the
running around.  My wife told a story about our kids, and we all laughed. 
At last we reached the final scene.  The kids were in bed.  You were
kissing them. It was sweet.

And then the scene changed.  Without warning, we were in your bedroom. 
You husband was sitting on the side of the bed in his shorts, looking
embarrassed and nervous.

"Hellooooo...." my wife said, leaning toward me and putting one hand on my
thigh. "What's this?"

Your husband looked off-camera and pled, "I don't think we should do
this."

"We're doing it" your voice said as you stepped into the frame, naked but
for a tiny string bikini bottom that covered about a third of your ass.  I
had never seen your ass before; it's a very nice ass.

"I didn't think this was on this tape," you feigned embarrassment not all
that convincingly.

"I bet," said my wife.

On screen, you leaned over and kissed your husband.  On the couch your
were smiling devishly, leaning into your husband, a hand on his thigh, as
he averted his eyes, not wanting to watch himself.

"I'm not sure this is going to work," his voice came out of the mall TV
speaker.  

You dropped to your knees in front of him, pulling his knees apart.

"I'll make it work," you said.

"I think I need some more wine."  My wife held her glass out but didn't
take her eyes off the screen.  I poured from the bottle nearby.

"I really don't think they want to see this," your husband said, making a
lunge for the remote control.  "I don't think I want to show this."

You dodged him, hiding the remote behind your body as he grabbed.

"Hush," my wife said. "Let the audience decide."

You and I looked at each other.  We were both wondering if the possible
had suddenly become probable.

On screen, you took your husband's cock out of his shorts and started
sucking it.  You were right; it was working.  As he hardened he forgot the
camera was there.  He placed his hands on the sides of your head,
entangling his fingers in your hair and groaning against his will.

"I want you to come in my mouth," you told him on screen. "I want to taste
you."

"I'm..." His voice trailed off as you took him deep into your throat.

And my wife's hand slipped down, covering my crotch, feeling that I was
hard.

"You're enjoying this," she said softly.

"Yes," I said.

"Me too.  Life's full of surprises."

I was hard as a rock.  I reached over and touched her crotch and her
wetness was soaking through her silk pants, staining them forever.  She
adjusted her legs so that I could press harder against her clit.

You and your husband were kissing.  He touched your breasts lightly,
almost shyly.

"I 've always wished my breasts were bigger," you said out loud, to the
room.  "I'm thinking of having...an operation."

My wife looked at you, shocked, and glanced down at your tits.

"Why?" she asked.  "You have a really cute figure."

"My husband's favorite fantasy is fucking a woman between her big tits."

Your husband ran his hand over your tits, which didn't look all that small
to me.  He seemed half aroused and half embarrassed.

"Honey, I love you the way you are," he said.

"You'd love me more if I had bigger tits."  You look him straight in the
eye when you say it, and he looks down at the floor.

I turned to the TV and watched you sucking him off.  It seemed, somehow,
less intrusive that I would watch you having sex than witness a moment of
stark admission, when one mate admits to the other that life is not
perfect.  My wife and I held each other as we watched.  Your husband
leaned back, enjoying your mouth, and you threw yourself into the act with
vigor, enjoying your work.  

My wife pointed at the screen.

"Doesn't look like he's got a lot to complain about," she said.  "Tits or
no tits."

My cock was so hard it hurt.  Watching you suck cock on TV and having my
wife getting turned on by it was almost too much for me to take.  I
shifted around on the couch, hoping that movement would help it but
knowing that the only hope is to take it out.

"True," you said.  "But I still wish I had bigger tits."

Your husband pulled you around and kissed you again.  On screen, he
started to come.  You sucked and swallowed and sucked and swallowed and
sucked, and he almost folded up from the ecstacy.  When he was done
coming, you stayed on your knees and he got up to turn the camera off.

And there we were, in the dark in front of your TV.

"I want to kiss your husband," you said to my wife. "I want to know what
he's like."

My wife considered that for a moment.

"All right," she said.  "One kiss."

"One long kiss," you said, and you came over and leaned down and not
18-inches from my wife's eyes we kissed, our mouths opening and tasting
each other for the first time.  You sucked my tongue the way you'd sucked
your husband's cock, sliding up and down it and wrapping your tongue
around its tip.  Your husband shifted, wanting a better view.  It was
obvious that he was every bit as hard as I was

Throughout the kiss, my wife's hand stayed on my crotch, massaging softly,
in rhythm with the movements of my tongue in your mouth, a rhythm she
alone had felt for so many years.
The kiss broke off.  You stood up, straightened your clothes, and went
back to your husband.  You kissed him, too, but not for as long.

"How was it?" my wife asked me.

"Good," I said.  "A little weird."

She turned to you.

"He says you're a weird kisser."

"That's not what I meant," I objected.  "It's just...it was weird kissing
her...with you here."

"It was weird watching you kiss her," my wife said.

"He's a good kisser," you said.  "You're a lucky woman."

"I taught him everything he knows," my wife smiled broadly.  

She got up, walked over, and planted a hot one on your husband, who was so
surprised he didn't even close his eyes.  He stared at you, watching your
reaction, and glanced at me watching mine.  My wife was making a point;
this was not one of her regular kisses.  This was a no-holds-barred sales
call.  I remembered what she'd said on the front stoop: Tonight she's got
competition, and she's not about to lose.

She ended the kiss with a last lick of your husbands lips, came back to
sit next to me, and brushed her hands together, seemingly proud of
herself.  The room was silent for a moment.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," she said, sitting up tall.  She unbuttoned her
blouse and exposed her breasts.  They aren't large, but they aren't small,
either.  I know from buying her lingerie that they are somewhere between a
C- and D-cup, which makes buying bras for her an adventure.  I also know
from making love to her that her nipples don't harden until they are
directly stimulated with finger or tongue, except that, at that moment,
they were jutting out stiffly, as hard as I had ever seen them.

Your husband stared, his mouth open.  You watched him, then looked back at
my wife's tits, then at me.  I reached around and lifted a breast,
touching the hardness of the nipple and the softness of her skin.  My wife
held her pose for ten seconds, then shrugged my hand away and let her
blouse fall back down.

"I think we need to talk about what we're doing," I said slowly, suddenly
nervous that she was enjoying herself too much.

"Yes," you said.  "I think we should set some limits."

"Seems a little ridiculous at this point," my wife said, reclaiming her
wine glass.  "But it's your house."

"My husband and I have talked about this," you said.  "Not about this,
tonight, but about...fooling around...in general."

"Is that what we're doing?" my wife said, turning to me.  "Are we fooling
around?  Are we swingers now?"

I kissed her, telling her with my tongue that I love her.  She was drunk
not just from the wine, but also from lust and love and being so far from
home.  Her walls were all down.  Rules were the farthest thing from her
mind. She sucked my tongue into her mouth and pressed herself against my
chest the way she does when she wants to let me know she is horny.

"No intercourse," your husband said. "Nobody fucks Anna but me.  I
couldn't handle that."

My wife and I stopped kissing.  No intercourse, we agreed, and my wife
kissed me again, lighter and shorter this time.  Then she turned.

"I want to kiss him again," she said, pointing at your husband.  "Let's
change places."

She got up, and you got up, and you slipped past each other between the
couch and coffee table.  As you passed, I believe I noticed that you
leaned slightly forward, rubbing your breasts against my wife's.

She plopped down next to your husband, and you sat next to me.  She placed
a hand comfortably on his thigh.

"Rule number two," my wife said.  "This is a one-time thing.  We're never
coming back here."  She looked menacingly at me.  "Understand?"

"Understood," I agreed.

"Good."

She turned to your husband.

"Rule number three," she said.  "I'm the best lover in this room.  Too bad
you're not going to fuck me, buster.  My husband tells me my cunt is not
to be believed."

And they fell together.  Your husband's hands found her breasts, squeezing
and kneading them a little more harshly than she usually likes but she was
not complaining.  You and I watched, excited and surprised.  I reached up
to unbutton your dress.  Your breasts were smaller than my wife's, but not
by much.  They felt smooth and perfect in my hands.  We kissed, but could
not seem to take our eyes off our mates.  My wife's blouse was back over
her shoulders.  Your husband's mouth sucked one nipple and then the other,
switching back and forth greedily until he finally pushed her breasts
together and smothered himself between them.

You turned to me and we kissed again, longer this time.  I was looking
past you at my wife, whose head was thrown back in joy as a man she did
not know three hours ago reveled in her cleavage.  I closed my eyes at
last, and concentrated on you.  You were fumbling with my zipper, but I
was too hard and too constricted for it to slide down easily.  I stood up,
undid my pants, and you tugged them down to my ankles.

Your husband was sucking my wife's nipples, and my wife watched us as you
sucked me into your mouth.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," I answered.

I stood there with you blowing me and my wife watching.  Your husband came
up out of my wife's tits and watched for a moment, too.

"You like that?" my wife asked him.  "You like seeing your wife with him?"

"I do," he said.

"It looks like she's good at it."

"She is."

"Not as good as me."

She pulled him up and took down his pants, and his cock sprang free.  My
wife pulled her shirt off and kneeled in front of him, holding his cock
and studying it.  He touched her hair, urging her forward, and she opened
her mouth and sucked him slowly in.  I could tell that she was enjoying
the strangeness of a new cock.  She went all the way down, burying it in
her mouth and throat and inhaling deeply, savoring a new man's aromas.  It
had been so many years since she had anyone but me, it is as if she was a
virgin again, taking in every sensation.  

I was so hard, watching my wife suck your husband while you sucked me. 
Your rhythms were different from my wife's, your application of tongue and
lips and breath as distinct from hers as calypso is from Brahms.  My wife
is classical, a romantic who builds steadily from overture to climax,
developing themes of motion and sensation and then departing from them,
only to return later at a slightly increased tempo.  You, on the other
hand, are a tropical beach party.  Your blowjob begins with a cry of
ecstatic joy and the sudden beating of jungle drums, and it doesn't so
much build as it does demand.  You give a desperate blowjob, a
cock-sucking that is frantic, raw.  Your mouth was a fantastic sensation
to me, a revelation like Gaugin's discovery of bright colors in Tahiti
after years of polite European earthtones.

"I don't want to come," your husband said.

"I know," my wife said, holding his cock in her hands and runing her
tongue up its underside.  "You want to fuck my tits." 

She was, that night, a woman who knew all the answers, a woman without
doubts.  And she was showing off, proving to an objective jury of two that
she was a great lover, that what I had told her for all these years was
true.  

They repositioned themselves so that his saliva-wet cock was between her
breasts.  She pushed her tits together and he began to thrust.  As his
cock pushed up toward her face, she leaned down and kissed its tip.  Every
time it got near her mouth, she licked it or kissed or bit lightly at it,
and more than once she drooled deliberately down between her breasts,
laciviously moistening its path.  Tit-fucking is not somethign we do very
often.  I am not a tit man; my interest in her breasts is almost entirely
oral.  But when the mood strikes her she wields her breasts almost as
weapons, and when she grasps my cock between them she is brilliant at it. 
Your husband was enjoying her skills immensly, thrusting and panting and
leaning over to watch his cock disappear between her breasts.

I took you by the hair, pulled you off my cock, and turned you toward
them.  You turned, taking my cock with you and kissing it lightly as you
watched your husband descend into ecstacy.  

"Come honey," you said, talking across the room to him.  "Come on her tits
for me."

"I'm coming," he said.  "Oh god I'm coming."

And he did.  He sprayed his thick load on her breasts and face and hair. 
He came in great spurts, and my wife loved it.  She wanted to be covered
in his sperm, to feel it run down her chin and neck and tits, and she was
turning and getting as much of it on her as she could.

You dropped my cock then, got up and walked over to your husband.  He was
still lost in the echoes of his orgasm, his eyes closed.  You ran a hand
down my wife's chest, scooping up his sperm, and smeared it across your
face.  Then you wrapped a hand around his shaft.

"That was wonderful," you told him, and you leaned down to kiss him, your
cum covered lips open to his tongue.

"Oh god," he said, still not all the way back.  "That...thank you..."

You looked down at my wife.

"Thank you," you said, and you leaned down to kiss her.  She turned a
cheek toward you, and your lips landed on a drop of your husband's sperm. 
You licked it off her.  She licked you back, taking a few drops from your
cheek.  You licked another drop out of her hair.  My wife tilted her head
to the side, allowing access to her neck, and you licked a long drop from
there, and from the nape of her neck, and from her shoulder.  You dropped
to one knee, licking her chest and then her tits and her nipples.  You
turned to lick your husband's cock, cleaning it off, and then you went
back to my wife's breasts.

My wife gestured to me, wanting me near.  I slipped over next to her,
kissed her on the lips and tasted your husband's sperm on her.  You were
sucking her tits, slurping quietly.

"I'm so horny," my wife said, rubbing your husband's sperm around on her
belly.  "I've never been this horny."

You heard and moved downward. Your husband sat on the couch, his legs no
longer able to support him, watching my wife spread her legs so that you
could dive down on her, licking and biting and doing to her what you love
having done to yourself.

"Ohhhhhh..." my wife moaned, feeling you down there, holding me close.
"I'm such a slut.  Tell me..."

"She's eating you," I  whispered into her ear.  "You're her first pussy. 
She's never done this before and you're her first pussy and she's loving
you.  You taste so good.  I know.  Your cunt tastes so good to her. 
You're such a slut tonight and you're so beautiful."

"Mmmmmmm..." my wife said, her eyes closed.  She pulled me toward her and
kissed me deeply.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you," I answered.

I could see that she was about to come.

"Stand up," my wife ordered, shuddering slightly as you gnawed on her
clit.  I did, and you looked up at me and your face was wet with my wife's
juices and your husband's sperm.  You smiled a little, your eyes filled
with evil, and then you went back down on her to lick some more, and as
you did my wife pulled my cock into her mouth.

"I love you in my mouth," she said, closing her eyes, her voice muffled by
my cock.  "Come in my mouth."

At that moment the classical music that is my wife's mouth was perfect. 
She ran her mouth slowly up and down my shaft, loving my cock, drawing
lightly over it's skin and then back down, her legs spread wide so that
you can eat her.  She put her mouth around the head of my dick and moved
an inch up and down rhythmically, concentrating on the ridge where I am
most sensitive, her tongue whirling around my head.

Your husband started maturbating on the couch, slowly pumping his shaft
back to life.  He watched you eating my wife and my wife eating me, and
when his cock was hard again he kneeled behind you and pushed it between
your legs.  Your only answer was to moan slightly and turn your ass toward
him, raising it slightly so he could find his way into your cunt.  He slid
into you slowly.  As he bottomed out you pulled your mouth away from my
wife, your eyes closed, to concentrate on the sensation of his cock in
you.  My wife softly touched your head, reminding you that you had work to
do, and you went willingly, smashing your face into her wide open pussy,
rubbing your nose and cheeks and mouth into her.

My wife's mouth increased in tempo, sucking just the end of my cock and
sucking it hard.  She twitched pre-orgasmically, moaned the way she does
when she's close to coming.

"Come with me," she said, her hand pumping me low while her mouth sucked
me high. "Please.  Come.  Please...."

I was close, very close, and then she was coming, her mouth loosening
around my shaft as she let out a moan from deep in her soul, and I came
too, my first burst falling across her lips.  She covered me then, closing
her mouth around my cock and swallowing like she had discovered water in
the desert.  Down between her legs, we heard you coming, too, as your
husband slapped your ass with his hands and grunted into you.  Yours was
one more in a cascade of orgasms, of fantasies fullfilled as your husband
pumped in and out of you, in and out.

When I was done, when my eyes opened and my spine straightened, I looked
down on my wife, who looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her look. 
She held my half-limp cock in her hands, and rubbed it back and forth
across her lips, feeling my sperm and enjoying the softness of my skin. 
She pulled it away and a long strand of white stretched between us, and
before either one of us realized what was happening you were there,
licking the long strand and carrying it over and kissing my wife, who
kissed you back.  It was a soft and gentle kiss, and I was so consumed
watching it that I forgot that your husband was still fucking you, still
driving in and out of you and enjoying an orgasm of his own.  He pulled
his cock out and came on the crack of your beautiful ass, pressing your
cheeks together as if they were my wife's tits and holding with his eyes
wide open, watching his wife lick another man's sperm from the lips of the
other man's wife.

**

The next morning, my wife woke up before I did.  She stood by the window
of our hotel room, naked, quietly enjoying the view, not worrying that
someone in a nearby hi-rise would see her.  

I hugged her from behind.  She pressed her ass against my cock leaned
forward, her hands pressed on the window frames.

"I meant what I said, you know," she said, moving methodically against my
cunt, enjoying feeling me harden.

"What?"

"That can never happen again.  We can never see those people again."

"OK," I said.  "You didn't enjoy it?"

"I enjoyed it.  But we're married, and I want to stay married, and we can
never do this again.  We're not swingers."

She turned and we kissed.  I was, honestly, relieved.  Pandora's box had
opened and closed again, and no evil spirits escaped.   We kissed long and
luxurious, building toward something we had shared thousands of times
before.  She pushed her pelvis against me, her legs opening a little so my
cock would slide between them.

"I' m glad we did it, though," she said, rubbing her labia along the top
of my cock.  "It's something I would never have done without you,
something I couldn't have imagined myself doing.  But I'm glad I did it."

We kissed again.

"You were wonderful," I said.  "I've never seen you so turned on."

"You too," she said, turning toward the bed.  "And I want to be turned on
like that again, but only with you."

She pushed me back toward the bed.

"Which one of us do you think was better?" she asked

I did not quite understand, thinking she was talking about us, her and me.

"Who gives better head?" she asked impatiently.  "Me or her."

I thought about your lips, about your tongue, about the exotic rhythm of
your mouth on my cock.  I had experienced nothing like it before.

She pushed me down on the bed and lowered her lips to my cock.

"You're stalling," she said.

I layed on the bed in the Ambassador East, watching my wife build a
blowjob from scratch, smoothly and lovingly and with a confidence that had
not been there two days before.  I watched her head bob slowly up and down
my shaft, tasting the whole length of me, building slowly toward what she
once called her "reward."  

You were so different from her, and as I watched I thought about asking
her to change her rhythm, to eat me the way you had.  I knew I would never
feel you on me again. I knew that I would never risk what I have for what
might be.  

As my wife moved up and down my length, loving my cock and talking to it
and giving the best she knows how to give, I'm not sure that I could
honestly answer her question: Who is better? 
"You," I said, the obligatory answer.  "She was good.  But you are
fantasitc."

"I am, aren't I," she said, and then she went back to work on me. 

 I loved it, as I always do when she sucks me.  Still, as I filled her
mouth once again, constricting in ecstacy, I barely remembered that the
name to cry out was hers, and not yours.
I hope you can forgive me.

END

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