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Subject: {ASSM} tonytony3's "Those Things Happen - Infidelity <*>"
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From: tonytony3@juno.com
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Date: Mon, 29 Nov 1999 19:10:01 -0500
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An earlier version of this story was posted over a year ago.
Those Things Happen. (Infidelity)
But why to me?
Dick, my husband, had been dealing with some family estate problems all
last weekend,
and didn't get back home until late Monday night. I really missed him,
and our phone sex
was a poor substitute for the real thing. Ah, but we saved Tuesday nights
for close
encounters of the sexual kind. I could hardly wait.
Things went downhill, though. My company's president, Henry, called an
emergency
meeting the first thing on Tuesday. That was only three days ago, but for
me, a lifetime
ago. "I need a tiger team. Our biggest distributor is trying to
strong-arm us into deeper
discounts, because our stuff isn't moving off their shelves fast enough.
What are we going
to do? Bill, you head up the team. Brian Hills, the big honcho over
there, and I hate each
other. If I get next to him the personal chemistry will for sure kill any
chances we have. I
need to delegate the whole problem to you - I can't be objective. It's
your baby, I'll trust
your judgment, OK?"
Bill looked up. "OK, Henry. I'll deal with it."
Bill's our 'go-to guy'. He wasted no time at all, dealing out assignments
like a machine.
Potential lost income analysis went to one of the accountants,
alternative sales/marketing
schemes to our VP of sales. Then he turned to me. I knew it was coming.
"Marsha, you've
had a lot of contact with Brian Hills, hell, you used to work for him. I
need you to got out
there and meet with him. Find out all you can, see what's going on. Can
you leave on the
noon flight?"
Interesting how English works. 'Can you leave' sounds like a question,
doesn't it? Is
anyone confused about it being an order?
"Sure, Bill. I'm on my way."
Brian was a mentor to me, and always honest. I might be able to help. But
now I'd be
away, probably overnight! I hoped Dick wouldn't be too upset. I was
upset enough for
both of us!
"Sure, honey, I understand. Good luck. Call when you know what flight
you'll come back
on, I'll pick you up when you get home," he said when I called him after
throwing some
stuff in an overnight bag. Why was I worried, Dick is a peach of a guy.
He's still so
considerate, after a whole decade of marriage. I should have known. I
took a cab, not
having time or interest in parking at the airport, especially since Dick
wanted to pick me
up.
I actually got to Brian's office at 3:30 that same day. And in a couple
of hours, the
problem was solved. It was more a misunderstanding than anything - it's
just that Brian
and Henry can't talk to each other without anger flaring up. "Marsha, you
tell those guys
what our new proposal is, and tell them that it's good as gold so long
as you become the
account executive."
I called the office. A clerk expected the call, and arranged a conference
call with the tiger
team, and Henry. I explained the deal on a conference call to the rest
of the team. "We'll
just let their payables extend to 90 days for a couple of months without
hassling them
about it. We'll do some reduced shipments, but we expected that anyway,
it's part of our
forecast. When the inventory gets down to a reasonable level they'll
start paying in 45
again. Any problems with that?"
The team's accountant pointed out we could deal with the dip in cash
flow, and the
balance sheet would hardly be affected at the end of the quarter.
Success!
Henry spoke up. "Good job, Marsha. I hope you can get home tonight, but
flights back
here out of Chicago are pretty bad at night, Anyhow, I don't expect to
see you at work
until Thursday. And congratulations on your new responsibility for that
account. Go
celebrate. We'll figure out a good reward." When Henry says that, you can
take it to the
bank.
Brian offered his hand. "We have a deal. I'd take you to dinner, but we
have other plans.
Thanks, Marsha, for helping us work this out."
What a day. I got stroking from everyone. I wanted to celebrate.
I had a cab take me to O'Hare. There was no way home that made any kind
of sense that
evening. "Be civilized", I thought. "Take the 9AM flight home, take the
day off, and
celebrate with Dick."
I decided to stay close to the airport. I took the shuttle to the
airport Hilton, and checked
in. I dumped my overnight bag in the room, and called home. Dick wasn't
there, but had
left a message for me on the answering machine. He was, he said, going
out for a meal
with Bill, who called to explain how important this trip was. He promised
to call me
latter, if I gave him my hotel and room number, and went on to say he was
lonesome
already, and he wasn't even in bed yet. That meant, I knew, we'd have a
hot phone
conversation - phone sex, even - tonight, later.
What a rush this day had been! I wanted to shout with joy, to celebrate.
Solo celebrations suck!
"I need a drink!" I wanted that, even more than food, and I had nothing
to eat since
breakfast, and that was only a piece of fruit with Dick in the morning -
that seemed like
days ago.
I found a table in the lounge. It was already eight o'clock - oh, nine,
back home. It was
the end of a long day.
The first rum/coke went down fast - drinking for effect, I guess. No
food, and a fast drink.
That would work. I could enjoy the second one more. I looked around. Not
too many
people here - it wasn't too early for bar trade. Where was everyone? A
couple of older
guys were sitting together- they must be here on business, too. There's
that other guy at
the bar - about forty, nice looking. A couple of couples. . . Hmm. I'll
have a quiet,
relaxing evening, an early bed time, and be home tomorrow. "I'm as high
as I can be, I'll
bet I won't be able to sleep. I hope I'm as excited tomorrow when I'm
with Dick," I
thought.
I was coming down from my high. Crashing down is a better way to describe
it. Some
celebration.
I wanted another drink. The routine was to go to the bar and get it. I
did.
The forty year old guy was a couple of bar stools away, and I looked at
his reflection in
the mirror behind the bar. His eyes met mine, and we maintained eye
contact for a second
or two too long. Nice enough looking guy, sort of rugged looking, I
decided, reaching for
my drink.
"I'm sorry?" I said almost spontaneously, looking up, hearing something
directed at me,
but not hearing it clearly.
"I said, 'Lass, I'd enjoy buying that for you, especially if you wouldn't
mind a little
company at your table.'"
I hate drinking in bars alone, and eating alone when I travel. This was
safe enough, and
the guy's accent was intriguing.
"Aussie?"
"Lass, that's an insult to a New Zealander."
Edward sat with me. I learned more about his island country in the first
few minutes than
I ever expected to know. "More sheep than people", "Two Islands, really",
"God made our
place after practicing on England and Australia, and finally got it
right".
He was going home tomorrow - "A whole twenty-four hours of traveling,
but worth
every second, to get back." He'd been gone almost a month and missed
home, his wife,
and his little girl.
He learned about me, too, especially about today's adventure, my leaving
home so
quickly, and how I wanted to celebrate but couldn't do that alone.
By then we were on a first name basis. "Marsha, you didn't even have a
chance to eat, let
alone celebrate, did you?" He stood: "Let's get something here."
The restaurant, on the top floor, wasn't crowded at all, and Edward
selected a table
against the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the airport. He
took my hand and
led me there. The human contact was warm, nice.
We sat side by side, so we could both look out at the scene. It was
beautiful - I think
airports at night always are. I enjoyed his company, and the dinner. I
pretended it was
almost an extension of my business meeting, and insisted on paying for
my meal in spite
of his objections. If only Dick was here.
I didn't want the day to end, I was so hyper and excited about
everything. So, when he
said "Let's go to the observation deck - it's a warm night, it'll be fun,
and a nice way to
end the evening," I agreed it was a great idea. Besides, I wasn't ready
to be alone: not yet,
anyway.
The hotel shuttle bus took us to the terminal. The observation deck was
wonderful. We
stood there, watching a chain of diamonds, landing lights, approach the
airport, one after
another, the first jet clearing the runway at one end seconds before the
next landed. The
parallel runway was just as busy with takeoffs. "There's nothing like
this back home,"
Edward said, taking my hand to get my attention, and pointing to a
Gulfstream G2
moving on the taxiway below us, on its way to somewhere. His hand, on
mine, that
human contact, lasted a few seconds longer than it needed to. I didn’t
object.
There were two other couples standing at the railing, too, looking like
lovers, holding
hands, enjoying the same sights we were. There was a lull in arrivals,
and we looked
around. Both of the other couples were taking advantage of the break,
wrapped in each
other's arms, kissing. It was so romantic, and I was jealous of them. I
was missing my
husband. I was missing the warmth of that kind of hugging, that kissing,
I was lonesome.
. .
Then, I felt Edward's hand on my shoulder. He was feeling all of the same
things.
I turned to him.
His hand provided just a hint of pressure, the most gentle urging, a
suggestion and I
responded, moving closer to him, into his arms, it was the most natural
thing to do.
His other hand reached for my chin, and tilted my head upwards. A kiss,
he wanted to
kiss me.
I, I, I didn’t stop him. Instead, I closed my eyes. I felt him move
toward me, and his lips
met mine.
The stress of the day, the excitement of my success, cocktails, the
dinner's wine, all
contributed. I felt his lips open, and I opened mine, too, and the kiss
stopped being casual,
tongues began caressing, bodies began pressing together, and the
environment went from
friendly and social to intense and sexual.
That kiss ended - nothing was said - and we turned to watch the airplanes
again, lost in
thought, silent. That was so nice, but so wrong. What was that all
about? What just
happened? What was going to happen?
We had talked so easily before - now there was silence.
"Uh, I just don't do things like that," I whispered into the night.
"Nor me, Marsha." A moment later he turned, and took my hand - gently,
not
aggressively, and we went to the airport shuttle bus, and back to the
hotel.
More silence. This wasn't the comfortable silence we had enjoyed together
earlier - it was
tense, electric.
As we walked into the lobby he gestured toward the lounge - "A last
drink?" I shook my
head no, and went towards the elevator. He joined me. He touched 8, and I
pressed 12: his
action was an unspoken invitation, and mine, a refusal. The doors
closed, the elevator
ascended.
He turned to me again, his body language a question, and again, I was in
his arms - a
second kiss, a good-bye kiss, so very nice, so romantic, this meeting of
two strangers,
their paths crossing only once, ending on so poignant a note.
The elevator stopped at eight, and the door began opening. He released
me, and turned
toward the opening door. "Marsha, it was a lovely evening. I don't want
it to end. Will
you come to my room?" He was reoffering his earlier unspoken invitation,
it was almost
too tempting.
I shook my head no, and he stepped out of the elevator - "It was lovely,"
he said, "thank
you. . .good-bye, Marsha, good-bye, lassie."
I did something I thought I'd never in my life do!
I reached toward him.
Toward his hand.
Nothing was said,
everything was understood.
The elevator does sensed the obstruction, stopped closing, and opened,
instead. He
understood, turned, and came back in.
The next kiss, full of passion, so distracted me I didn't notice the
doors close again, and
didn't notice the elevator start up again, and stop again, until the
doors opened a last time.
I broke the embrace, and stepped though the doors, and I couldn't, or at
least didn't, resist
my impulse to touch his arm, this time I was doing the inviting.
My room was half way down the hallway. He took the card key from my hand
and opened
the door, and let me go in, then followed me there.
He turned the night latch, locking the door, and took me by the hand
past the bathroom
door, into the bedroom.
The drapes were open, the airport was in view, as romantic as before -
more erotic, here,
in this private place.
I looked out at the scene, not seeing it, too aware of him in the room
with me. He was
behind me, his arms around my waist, looking out, too. No, that was a
sham - I felt him
pressing against me, his body firm, hard, and that extra pressure, too,
from him, from his
erection.
There was no presumption here, no questions here. Those had been asked,
and answered.
I turned within the circle of his arms, again we kissed, this time his
hands didn't confine
themselves to my back, but roamed from between my shoulders to my
buttocks, my hips,
pulling my pelvis to his, and I could feel his excitement, too, pressing
against me. I was
not resisting at all, my own pelvis was pressing into his - I was doing
that, meeting his
pressure, not retreating from it.
No words - not one.
The kiss broke. He, looking into my eyes, reached between us, got my
jacket unbuttoned,
and pushed it to my shoulders. I dropped my arms, and he peeled it off
with my help, and
we let it fall to the floor.
Then began the next kiss.
It was as exciting as the last - no, more exciting than that. I could
feel myself growing
more excited, and him, too. . .
"I don't do things like this," I muttered, "I love my husband," while my
actions made lies
of my words, I was 'doing things like this'.
"He's not here, lassie, I am. I'm completely here." One of his hands left
my back, and it
took mine by the wrist.
"I'll show you."
He pulled my hand to his lips, where he kissed it, then pulled it to his
neck,
and between us, over his chest, over his suspenders, down, to his belly.
He looked carefully at me, looking for acquiescence, for objection, and
finding neither, he
moved my hand further down.
"Feel how completely here I am."
I could feel him, his penis, extended along his pant leg - warm, hard!
Even though the material I could feel it moving, growing, pulsing.
And I wanted it - him.
What was I doing.?
He let my hand go - I continued to touch him there, my fingers moving,
feeling that
length, that excitement. . .
Our lips bonded again, his tongue was moving against mine again, but he
had moved to
keep a gap between our bodies, making it easier for me to touch him, and
he had a hand
there between us, busy with something, but I didn't care, I loved this -
this celebration of
my success, I needed to share it.
He took my wrist again - "No, I like touching you," I objected - , but he
lifted it, away
from his pants, away from that warm shaft, that place I was enjoying
touching, away from
exciting myself and him by touching him. He lifted my hand over his
trousers, higher, to
where his pant's waist band should be - but wasn't! He had opened his
trousers, I was
touching soft cotton.
He guided my hand higher, under his shirt,
to the waist band of his briefs.
His hand left my wrist, and moved over my fingers,
pressing them, so that their tips were against his skin, at his short’s
waistband.
Then, under it.
I returned his stare as he looked into my eyes, and into my soul.
His hand found my wrist again, and pressed downward, very gently, not
forcing me at all.
"Do what you were doing like this, on the inside. Touch me like this," he
said, "I want
you to, again, this way."
I felt the elastic waistband move over the back of my hand, my fingers
felt warm skin, the
irregularity that was his navel.
His hand on my wrist made just the most subtle of movements, suggesting
lower. Then
my fingers were brushing coarse hair,
and finally,
now without any help from him,
the last incremental distance,
to where I wanted it,
my fingers were tracing down the shaft rising from his groin.
His eyes stayed fixed on mine, and I watched his pupils dilate as my hand
moved to his
penis’s head, and behind it, feeling the heat of his scrotum with my
fingers, almost
weighing it, with his penis warm along my wrist, then finally trapping
his shaft between
my forefinger and thumb, moving, stroking.
“Oh yes, like that,” he whispered.
"I just don't do things like this" I whispered again, while doing things
just like that.
"You're celebrating - and it's with me you're doing it, lass."
"I am," I said, "with you," feeling how hot he was, the subtle feeling of
his foreskin being
guided by my fingers over his cock's head, then being pulled back again,
knowing that
head would be swollen, knowing where it was going to go, soon.
"I have a month's worth of passion waiting where you're touching," he
whispered, and I
could feel that passion, that heat, pulsing in my hand. "I want to use
the entire month's
worth with you, in you."
A voice, could it have been mine?, whispered
"yes,
yes,
you will,
in me".
His own fingers pulled at his shirt's buttons, its cuffs. Shrugging, he
got his suspenders
off his shoulders, and quickly his shirt too was on the floor. His pants,
losing their
support, fell to his knees, then lower still.
He kicked off his shoes, and stepped out of his pants, standing there,
wearing socks and
briefs.
"Keep touching me" he asked, or ordered, it didn't matter, because I
wasn't going to stop,
my hand under his briefs was exciting him, and me.
He worked at my blouse's buttons, pulling it from my skirt, then pushing
until it, like my
jacket, fell to my elbows, held up by my arms.
I stopped touching him for a moment, and pulled at my blouse, too,
getting it over my
arms, and off.
He used the moment to lift one foot, then the other, taking off his
socks.
Our eyes met again, as he reached for his waistband, and pushed down. He
stepped out of
his shorts and stood nude, erect, beautiful,
forbidden.
"Are you ready for that much passion?" he asked, and assuming he knew the
answer, said
"now you, you have to be undressed, too, undressed like I am."
“I know.” My skirt was easy - a clasp, a zipper, and it fell.
I reached behind me, pulling, so that my slip climbed up my back, and
over my head, and
off.
I didn't care! I wanted his naked body next to mine!
I was in his arms again, I could feel that penis pushing against the skin
of my belly as he
pulled me close to him, my arms around him, holding him to me, feeling
that body, that
nakedness.
"Wait", I whispered.
I turned my back to him.
I felt tension increase on my bra strap as his fingers worked at the
clasp, then the pressure
was released, my bra was hanging from its shoulder straps, loose over my
breasts.
I turned back to him, my hands reaching to his face, and watched as he
put one hand on
my shoulder, and pulled at a strap. I turned my head, watching his other
hand on my
shoulder, too, moving that strap, too.
He pulled the straps along my arms. I was without modesty, without shame.
I wanted him
to see me.
I dropped my arms to in front of me, down, and the cups, already loose,
fell away, and
that garment was gone, too. My breasts, exposed, in view now, my nipples
were telling
him of my own excitement, telling him something he already knew.
My hands were already close to my hips - I found the tops of my
pantyhose, and pushed
that down, too, to my thighs. I was exposed, too, and I didn't care. I
sat on the bed, pulled
my pantyhose free of my legs, and feet.
Free of clothing - nude, both of us!
Another embrace, another kiss, our bodies in total contact now, tongues
together, and
breasts against chest, and cock hard against my belly, his hands on my
buttocks again,
fondling them. . .
"Wait," I said again.
I stood beside the bed, pulling at its cover. "Get that side," I motioned
toward the other
side of the bed.
We pulled the cover off the bed, and the blanket, and the top sheet.
And looked at each other, on opposite sides of the bed, looking like a
white altar, .ready
for a very human ceremony.
He reached across it, and I did, too, our hands meeting, pulling, so that
we were kneeling,
facing each other.
His hand on my neck pulled to the side, and he and I both lay down, on
our sides, not
quite touching, but close enough for me to feel the heat radiating from
him.
He moved toward me, and I, turning to meet him, met his lips, and found
myself pushed
back, him over me, our mouths open, this kiss beyond seduction, even
beyond foreplay,
as I felt his chest meet mine, pressing on my breasts. then the pressure
of his cock,
pushing at me, my legs opening, welcoming him - it - between them, my
knees lifting,
guiding his hips, centering him over me.
"So nice," he muttered, his lips moving to my throat, as he slid his body
lower, until his
lips met my breast.
Good! He wasn't rushing! I had a hand under that breast, lifting it,
holding it, making it
easier for him, for his mouth.
He stopped that, and moved up again. "So sexy" he said, taking my hand,
my left hand,
kissing it, kissing my fingers, putting my ring finger in his mouth, and
I could feel his
tongue and teeth on my wedding band!
"Oh" escaped from my lips, "my ring. . ."
He took that hand, and pushed it down, between us, rolling off me a
little, lying on his
side.
"Look at that!" he commanded.
He pushed my hand to his cock, wrapping my fingers around it.
I saw what he wanted me to, the glint of that ring, on that hand, on his
cock!
"Watch."
He brought his own left hand to my face, his fingers gentle on my lips.
"Open them".
I did, and his ring finger found its way in, I could feel his wedding
ring, too, as my tongue
wet his fingers.
"Now watch!"
He pulled that hand out, and let it his ring finger trace down, over my
body.
To there!
I saw that finger stroking at my lips, pressing against them, along them,
and watched as I
tilted my pelvis up, presenting those lips to him, and watched as somehow
my knees
parted even more, widening me, and his fingers weren't just stoking my
lips now, their
tips were within them, and then the ring's glitter disappeared, in me!
"Oh" - so erotic, so sexy.
Dick used to do the same thing to me - I loved it!
His lips found my breast again, teasing it, while his fingers were busy
in me, all of the
stimulation working, until his fingers stopped what they were doing, and
he moved from
beside me, to on me, while his mouth stayed fastened to my breast. I
could feel his cock,
his penis, on my thighs, and I could feel how my thighs parted wider,
allowing it between
them.
He was being urgent now!
His mouth abandoned my breast, moved higher, to my neck, and his penis
moved higher,
too, closer, and then -
the phone rang!!!
"Oh hell, only my husband knows I'm here. What'll I do??" I was
panicking.
"Answer the phone. Talk to him. He'll be worried otherwise. But I'm not
going to stop
now," Edward said, reaching for it, handing it to me, and moving down
again, kissing my
neck.
"Hello?"
It was Dick - I knew it. He'd know what's happening!
"Honey, I'm so excited. Henry called here hours ago, you're going to get
promoted to vice
president!" Dick almost screamed. "I wish I was with you, I want to
celebrate with you!"
I knew what he meant. A nice meal, some drinks, then we'd make love for
hours.
"I wish you were here, too" I said, distracted by Edward's mouth, now
fastened to my
breast.
"Me too," Dick said, "I want to be holding you now."
"Me, too."
How could my voice be so steady while Edward was doing what he was doing
to me?
"I wish you were in this bed with me, pretend to be, pretend to be next
to me, I need you
to, like we did when I was away last week, " he pleaded.
What a perverted idea - how could he want me to do phone sex with him
when. . . but I
could. I could do that!
"I will. I will do that, I will pretend you're here," I said. It was a
way we used for us to be
close emotionally over the miles, over the years. It was a way of
staying connected, we'd
done it before, but never like this!
The stimulation I was getting from Edward made me realize I could. I
could share
intercourse with him, and phone sex with my husband at the same time!
I couldn't! I love my husband, I couldn't do that!
"I want you naked on your bed, just like I'm naked on this one" he said.
The phone was far enough away from my ear so that Edward could hear.
I had to do what he wanted, I had to please Dick. Other wise he'd know -
I don't want him
to know!
"Honey, I am naked on this bed," I whispered into the phone.
Edward looked up at me, understanding.
"Good", Dick said, "will you touch yourself for me, because I'm not
there? Can you get
excited without me doing something to you?"
"Yes, yes, I AM excited," I assured him. "You get excited too. Dick, make
yourself
excited, too, get as excited as I am."
Edward moved higher, his face above mine, his erection pressing into me.
"I am," he grunted. "I want you to touch yourself or something, too. Do
you have a
vibrator or something you can use?"
I paused, glancing at Edward - he heard.
"I don't have a vibrator here, that's at home, honey, but maybe I can
find something. . ."
I wouldn't dare, would I?
I would!
"Oh, I've got something. A tube, a tube full of lotion, that might be
the right size," I
whispered into the phone, while reaching down between us, to Edward's
penis, my tube,
that was the right size. Edward, no dummy, lifted up, knowing what was
going to
happen.
"Is it body lotion?" Dick wanted to know.
"Yeah, yes Dick, it's a tube of body lotion."
"Good, put some on you, use it, get all wet, put it in you!"
"In me? Is that what you want me to do? I will, I will use it, I'll get
it in me now," I said,
knowing Dick thought I was teasing him, and Edward, Edward knew, he knew
exactly. . .
"Dick, I will. I'm holding it close, where you want it to be . ."
I guided Edward's penis to my vulva, moving it along its lips until its
head parted them,
and he pressed foreword, pushing at me.
"I'm moving it along my lips, honey, exciting myself with it, can you
imagine that..."
"You're getting me so hard," Dick said, imagining the wrong thing.
"It's hard to get it started, it's a little too big. I have to push
harder - - -"
"Use some lotion, push harder, put it in," Dick urged, thinking he was
urging me, but it
was Edward who was pushing. Edward, who heard my husband tell me to push
harder .
"I'm, it won't. . ." I was saying to Dick, to Edward, then "- --OH!"
I hoped Dick couldn't hear our pelvises slap.
"Good!" came from the earpiece,
and I gasped out the paced
"oh,
oh,
oh"
that Dick was used to hearing from me, but they were sounds in keeping
with Edward’s
motions.
"I'm doing it with you," Dick said.
There were no words spoken for a few minutes, just panting, Dick using
his hand, and me
using Edward.
"I'm doing what you want, Dick. . ." I told him.
"Do it, give yourself an orgasm," he said, grunting as he did that to
himself, too.
Then, "I'm close, Dick," I said, truthfully.
"Me too," he said.
Edward looked at me, and whispered "I'm ready too."
It washed over me, a complete orgasm, and over Edward, too, as he pushed
time and
again, soundlessly, filling me with himself.
"Oh Dick, I'm coming, right now!"
Edward was still pushing, pressing as deeply as he could, thrusting, when
Dick said "I
made a mess of the bed cover."
"This bed's all wet, too," I told my husband. "Honey, go wash up, and
change the bedding,
and we can celebrate the right way tomorrow when I get home, OK?"
"OK, honey, I better do that, and clean up. I'll see you about noon.
'Bye. I love you." And
Dick hung up.
I let the phone fall to the pillow, and met Edward's lips.
"I never dreamt of doing anything like that" I muttered, after that kiss
ended, shame and
modesty taking charge. I pulled a sheet over my body.
"No, no, lassie. That won't do."
Hs stood, and moved to the foot of the bed, naked, his cock not quite
erect.
"That won't do at all."
He grasped the sheet, and started pulling. I felt it move under my arms,
over my breasts,
sliding down.
Until my breasts, then my stomach, my crotch, my legs, were all exposed,
the sheet's
progress down matched by his increasing arousal.
"We're not done by any means," he said. "Not me, and not you. Not for a
while, yet.
Come." He extended his hand.
I sat up, taking it.
He pulled, and I left the bed, following him, to the bathroom.
He turned the shower on, adjusted the temperature, stepped in, and
gestured for me to get
in, too.
Two warm bodies, soapy bodies, hands mutually washing, exciting each
other, preparing
each for the other.
Two large towels, rubbing, drying, providing excuses for touching,
stimulating, helping
us in something that was truly foreplay.
And back to the second bed in my room,
we were clean now,
hygiene not a restriction now.
He lay beside me for a moment, his penis not fully erect.
"I need a few minutes more for recovery, lassie, but there's no reason
for us to not play."
He bent over me, his mouth on my neck again.
His tongue was electric, tracing from there to my ear.
He pushed a little at my shoulder, I rolled a bit away from him, and felt
him move again,
and now his tongue was doing its magic on the back of my neck.
Oh, that felt so nice, so erotic in a quiet way.
He pushed again, until I was on my belly, stretched out on the bed, arms
reaching above
my head, and I felt his weight on me.
That tongue touched my neck, then my ear, then lower, to my shoulder. He
moved down,
I could feel that, and his kisses were at the middle of my back.
Another movement,
and now, he was kissing my side. I wanted to roll back facing him, but he
held me as I
was, on my belly.
His mouth, his tongue, moved from my side, back to the middle of my
back. It was the
most erotic feeling. . .
Then lower!
His hands were on my buttocks, pushing, spreading, and his tongue was
flirting there, too.
Fingers, tongue, I wasn't sure - excited beyond endurance, but not sure.
. . .
then he moved off me.
"Come," he commanded, pulling at me, until I was kneeling beside him.
He pulled at my knee, positioning me, so I was kneeling above him, facing
him, looking
down at him.
He pulled at my buttocks, until my knees were on either side of his head.
Then, reaching over my legs, he pulled my knees further apart.
"Watch," he said, and looking down I saw his tongue touching my inner
thigh!
He reached around my legs, his fingers meeting at my pelvis, and he
pulled at my lips,
opening me.
"Look," he commanded, as I, with my hands on the wall, pelvis thrust
foreword, head
bent down, saw myself being held open, saw my clitoris engorged,
extending out, a little
finger, but so sensitive.
I saw his lips purse, felt his cooling breath there, felt quivers
extending all over my body,
saw his tongue extend,
touch me!
Lick at me!
I moved foreword more, sealing myself to his mouth, feeling his tongue do
what his penis
should, touch and excite me.
"You like that, don't you?" he asked, knowing the answer.
A climax had washed over my body.
"Yes, I did. Your tongue was a penis for me, for my vagina."
"Maybe, then, it's time for your mouth to be a vagina for my penis. Turn
around."
I did.
He reached, tugging at my knee, pulling it, until, until, until I
understood, and moved, so
that I was kneeling , a knee on either side of his head, this time
looking down at his torso,
his penis. I was in that classic 69 position, just like I saw in some of
those porno films
Dick used to rent.
"I've never done this with Dick," I told him.
"Then there'll be some mystery in his life when you do it with him
tomorrow," he said, his
hands on my back, pushing me down.
Then his arm went around the outside of my legs, over my thighs, reaching
around me,
spreading me again!
My mind went to our first kiss, just hours ago, when I let my tongue
touch his. Now, his
kiss would be very different. I was frozen in position, I could feel
myself being spread by
his fingers, feel myself being positioned. There was a sudden coolness,
it was his breath,
touching me where I was open, on my clit, again.
There!!! That touch, his tongue, it touched me there! My spine felt
chills, as he found that
special place, lightly touching it, exciting it, exciting me, again
causing that spontaneous
"oh!".
His arms, still around me, pushed at me, bringing my body lower, my face
lower, to him.
"Now you, use your mouth on me, fuck me with it, let it be another vagina
for my
erection!!"
I bent over a little more, and opened my own mouth, and took him in it,
returning the
pleasure, and in the giving, gaining it, too.
He grew bigger, warmer, in my mouth, and then against my cheek as my
mouth found his
scrotum.
Over more, past that, under that, feeling him lift up, so I could touch
his anus, too.
My own hand was pumping him, making him more erect, making him ready
again, while
he made me ready, too, kept me ready, and wet, and excited.
"That way, now," he said. His mouth had pushed me over the edge, I would
use mine to
push him.
I held his shaft in my hand, pushing down, pushing the foreskin down,
exposing that
purple head, so I could lick at it, and suck at it.
I began a masturbating motion, stoking him, following my hand with my
mouth, feeling a
pulsing, deep within him, and feeling him push up into me, his hand on my
head pushing
me onto him.
A burst, a salty taste, another pulse. . .
more of his passion escaped his cock, and found my throat.
But, he stayed hard, hard enough.
"Come, be in me again, do that," I pleaded.
He pushed me to the side, I went, willingly.
And he rolled onto me.
It was so natural to open my legs for this man, to this man, that I had
known only a few
hours.
And natural for him, so wet with my saliva, to slip so easily into me,
so wet with his.
The room was only light enough for me to see his shadow, moving over me.
Of course there was a realization that I was cheating on Dick, feeling
Edward's cock,
moving in me, exciting me, that made it, forgive me, even more exciting.
Feeling him, feeling him move a hand down there, too, feeling both
fingers and penis, and
putting my hand there, too, feeling the wetness, and his cock, and me.
He pulled my hand up, pulled my wet fingers up, over his chest, his neck,
his cheek, to
his mouth.
"I want to taste you, too," he said, his tongue on my fingers, "even
though we took
showers, I could taste me in you..."
"And me, I want to taste us again, too," I told him, so he offered his
fingers to my mouth,
too, his fingers that were wet with me, so I could taste us, taste our
passion.
It was enough, more than enough stimulation, for him to grow that little
bit larger, that
little bit warmer, enough so that he pressed hard into me, and I could
feel his pulse in his
cock, and more than his pulse, as he filled me again.
We slept, tangled in each other and the sheets.
There was a moment when I rolled over, forgetting where I was, my leg
went over his hip,
my head on his shoulder, just as I slept with Dick for all of these
years. Only it wasn't
Dick, it was Edward, awakening too, and my spread legs found him erect,
and he rolled
towards me, on me, in me. . .
And another moment, when I went from asleep to aroused because of someone
kissing
my ear, touching my breast, and I awoke in the darkness finding we both
had enough left
to engage each other again.
It became morning "My flight to LA is at 8," Edward said at 5:30. He was
mostly erect
again. "Come!".
I left the bed with him, and he positioned me at the low chest of
drawers, in front of the
mirror.
"Bend over."
I did, my arms supporting me, presenting myself to him, breasts hanging
freely, back
arched, so my buttocks were high, ready to receive him.
"Watch us!"
I did that too, seeing a man behind me reflected in the mirror, his hands
gripping my
shoulders, and I reached behind me, and guided that cock to me again, so
that when he
flexed his hips, he was in me again! I could see enough of him, of his
legs behind mine, a
glimpse of his scrotum suspended between my legs, and I could feel him
moving in me,
his pelvis slapping at my ass, his cock deep in me, I could feel his
heat, and feel enough
moisture to be cool on my legs, as he rode me, pulling my shoulders so
I'd move onto him
as he pushed into me, time and again, I was riding, and being ridden!
"Remember this - do it with your husband, and remember me fucking with
you, and you,
fucking with me, and I'll remember too, tomorrow, and forever."
He used all of the passion he was saving, I used all of the excitement I
had experienced
on the trip, and all of the sexual experience I had, as we coupled,
satisfying each other
and ourselves, until finally there was just time for a kiss good-bye,
for him to pull on
pants and shirt, and grab at other garments, and leave. I was left with
the memory of him
at the door, of his "Goodbye, lassie: remember me," of the door closing,
of his scent
throughout the room, the mess of our lovemaking.
I never learned his last name! He never learned mine!
There was time for a shower - I had to do that, I knew there'd be no
time when Dick
picked me up at took me home! My room was a mess, both beds, the
bathroom, towels
everywhere, traces of our fluids everywhere too. We were, Edward said,
"Well and truly
fucked, in the best senses of the phrase."
Dick was waiting at the gate with a bouquet of flowers - so sweet!
The drive home took only a little while, just enough time for him to
bubble over with my
success.
"Come to the bedroom, I need you," was the first thing he said when we
got to our house.
I went, and undressed more slowly than he did, finally joining him on the
bed, feeling
loose, not feeling excited, exhausted physically from lack of sleep,
emotionally satiated
with Edward's sex, but wanting Dick, wanting to please him, desperately
wanting him to
love me.
His needs were so urgent - and so easy to satisfy.
Then, when he was in me, pumping away, he pleaded with me: "Tell me about
what it
was like, when you used that tube on yourself last night. It sounded so
great, so sexy."
Dick has a strong sense of the erotic. His efforts, and my memory, were
removing the
fatigue I felt. I decided to use the energy. "Oh, it was some tube. It
was attached to the
crotch of this New Zealander I picked up at the airport."
I told the entire tale, as an erotic story, Dick thinking I was creating
it was just to excite
him.
"I even did this," I told him, pushing him onto his back, kneeling over
him with his head
between my legs, and going down on him, while lowering myself on his
face, so he could
use his mouth, too.
"No, not like that,” I told him. "You have to reach around me, spread me,
then do that!"
"What else?" he asked, after that ended. "Tell me what else."
"Come to the dresser," I told him. "I'll show you."
Later, after everything, just before we got out of bed to shower and
dress for dinner, he
said, not knowing how right he was, "Honey, I know you're smart, and
you're going to be
a huge success in business, too. But I never knew you had the imagination
to make up
stories like that one. I love it!"
Imagination. Yes, I imagined Edward, half way home now, emptied of
passion, waiting
to see his wife.
Imagination. Of a hotel room, two beds, both soiled with him and me, and
a bathroom,
and towels.
"Yes, Dick. I do have some imagination."
I heard a jet passing overhead. That too was a reminder. I would
remember.
That's the end of this story. Drop me a note if you’ve enjoyed it. Or if
you didn’t.
tonytony3@juno.com
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