As it happens with many young couples, when my husband and I are deep into sex he often brings up the subject of watching me with another man. He first suggested it to me about a year into our marriage. By that time, we felt we were firmly entrenched in our marriage and were quite sure of each other.
While my vision of it invoked the pleasures brought on by two mouths and four hands bringing me constant, non ending ecstasy, I think his idea was to sit back and watch as another man took me, then joining in for "sloppy seconds."
In either case, we both knew it would never happen and it would remain nothing but a fantasy that made us blow our minds with orgasms. I have always known that from day one and felt save with those assurances.
Until three years ago.
Ron and I had married just a couple of years out of high school, just enough for me to be sufficiently trained to get a job in an attorney's office and for him to get into the construction scene. All of my sex had been limited to him but I was not so naïve as to believe that I was his only one. Maybe his visions of those other women caused him to have thoughts of sharing me.
A couple of years after we were married our office took on a case that required outside assistance. Into my life stepped Eric. About ten years older than me, he was a young hotshot already making himself a name with international contracts. And he was an absolute hunk. His grandmother was from Brazil and in addition to a slightly darkened complexion, he had also inherited fluent Spanish and Portuguese languages. That was part of his tools of trade. He was also an avid soccer player, evidently part of a very high level but unprofessional league. I think that accounted for the slight, hard body.
I was as taken with him as all the other females in the building. However, any involvement was far from my mind when I agreed to work a bunch of overtime to give administrative support for the case. We simply needed all the money we could get.
After the first week he was there, he started touching me slightly and giving me little compliments. I won't lie to you and say it didn't affect me. The little tingle that slid down my spine was unmistakable. Even though Ron showed me lots of attention, my senses seemed to be heightened by Eric's touch. Maybe it was because of the constant prodding I was getting from my husband concerning another man.
I had a habit of taking my shoes off at my desk, especially in the late evening as the long day wore on. I guess Eric had seen me do it a number of times. Finally, one evening about eight he stopped at my desk and, without saying a word, pulled a chair up next to me and motioned me to give him my bare foot.
Tentatively, I did so. He saw my hesitation and laughed it off.
"I used to give my Mother a foot rub every night when she came home from work."
I had no idea rubbing one's feet could become such a long, exacting process. He took forever, teasing me as he did. After a very short while with those wonderful hands, I relaxed.
I don't know how long this went on before it dawned on me that I was wearing a relatively short skirt with sheer thigh high stockings. He had my leg in an elevated position and slightly bent outward. Surely he could see a lot if not everything I had to offer. Which was not much. Under my skirt I was wearing a transparent blue thong that was practically non-existent. His hands remained on my feet, though, and he continued giving them a long, slow soft massage that was beginning to shoot straight up my legs.
If I had any concern about what was going on, it evaporated when he gently tapped the bottom of my foot, got up, and jokingly said, "Next!!"
About thirty minutes later I was doing a fairly sizeable job in the copy room down the hall. I wasn't a bit surprised when Eric stuck his head in and gave me even more work. It had become pretty standard for this late at night. That night, though, he didn't leave right away and assisted me in what I was doing.
It was a small space and very shortly he started touching me casually, an arm around the waist, a hand on my hip as he had to reach around me, ever now and than a slight brushing of my breast. It became more evident as it went on, but I chose not to pay a lot of attention to it.
I just made sure I didn't do anything. It came to the point that his arm was always around me, his hand constantly on my hip, and when I sat on the little stool that was available his hands were on my knees, sometimes massaging them slowly. He never said anything off color or made a gesture that frightened me, just small intimate stuff. Even as concerned as I was, it got to the point where I'm not too sure I wasn't starting to enjoy his attention.
I moved down off the stool but the gently touching resumed. It was around the waist at first, just rubbing the lower part of my back, sliding his hand down on my hips some, back up the full length of my back, and so on. It actually felt good, but I was really starting to wonder where this was going and was preparing myself to stop it somehow.
Finally, he slipped his hand around the front of me and gently started rubbing my stomach. I pulled away slightly and he stopped. I assumed he had the idea and that it had come to an end. Instead, he took advantage of the very confined area, which kept me at his arms length.
Again he made an advance, running his hand slowly up and down my leg outside my skirt for a few minutes, not roughly but very casually. Then the hand slowly started to inch my skirt up my legs, his fingers very slowly bunching up the thin cloth. When he touched my bare leg I knew for sure then I had a situation and didn't know what to do. "Eric, please." I said to him quietly. I tried stepping away but his left arm was around my waist and he didn't let go.
To my dismay his hand slowly continued touching my leg. He was in no hurry and may have been trying to prevent alarming me any more than I was. My heart was beating like crazy and I could tell he had become intense. I took his hand and removed it from me, stepping away as far as I could in the confined space.
"Stop, Eric. I think I should go." I was hoping the look I gave him was enough to end it.
It took him less than a minute to react. Never taking his eyes off the task we were doing, he carefully slid the stool over next to me and sat on it. Unwittingly, I had trapped myself in the small confines of the room. The only way out was to go over the top of him.
His arm went back around my waist and this time he didn't try to mask his intentions. He went straight down to my knee with his hand. In order to grab it I had to lean over slightly. I looked around at times to see if anybody just happened to "drop in" to the office.
It was not out of the question and the door was wide open. Feeling like a trapped animal, my heart was beating fast and tears began to form in my eyes. How had I gotten into this? What had I done or said that would make him think I would allow him to do this?
My reactions and self-examination didn't stop his hand. In spite of my hand trying to stop his, it had very slowly continued its advance up my leg. He suddenly reached the top of my stockings and his hand hit my bare leg. "O-o-o-o-h." His hand jerked and there was an audible gasp. He looked at me with slightly closed eyes. The flesh on flesh contact had definitely moved him.
I flinched, too. Even though he had been touching me for some time, it was different when his hand actually touched flesh that high on my leg. I was in a combination of shock and dismay by that time. My three thoughts were where is this going, how do I ever get out of it, and why am I not as repulsed as I should be?
I know that he was a really attractive man, but he had no rights to me. What he did have was a really slow, soft wonderful touch and I was feeling every bit of it. I have a tendency to become wet very easy and if it had been my husband sitting there teasing me I would have been soaking wet by this time.
As it was, through my constant but quiet objections and my ever increasing attempt to dislodge his hand, I was more than aware of the reaction from my body.
Whether my morals objected or not, I knew myself well enough to know that the moisture was forming. My disapproval of the situation didn't change the fact that I could feel it. This was not going well at all!
That old saying, "The silence was deafening," would have fit us perfectly. I was screaming at him to stop without saying a word and he was telling me how excited he was without speaking, relating it to me through his now shaking fingertips.
His hands were slowly going higher and higher, touching every part of my right leg. There were slight touches with the other leg, but only a few brushes. He concentrated on that one leg, moving slowly up. It was starting to become a blissful torture for me. I was rocking my body back and forth a little, either in an effort to get away or an unwanted reaction instinctively keeping in rhythm with his touches.
His arm had tightened considerable around my waist. I could only hear my heart and his breathing and don't think by that time I could see anything. We had both forgotten about the work at hand and were only feeling each other out to see what was happening next. How could I have allowed this to happen?
"Please, Eric. I don't want this." My voice was breaking with a soft sob. I was still leaning over in order to keep my grasp on his wrist, but his hand had advanced high enough that my bent over position was less noticeable than before.
.... There is more of this story ...