My sister Marta had stopped by to have coffee with me and shoot the shit. Then, from out of nowhere she told me about what had happened the night before following a party she had been to.
"You're joking, right?"
"No Ellie, I'm not joking."
"But I thought that you loved Mark."
"I do Ellie, I do. This doesn't have anything to do with love. Besides, he doesn't know and it isn't as if I'm going to do it all the time. It has only happened three times in the last six months."
"But that's three times you have cheated on him."
"No it isn't. I didn't cheat on him. All three times it happened because I was drunk and taken advantage of."
"You're splitting hairs Marta. You knew it happened and you still let him do it anyway."
"What, I'm supposed to say no when my husband wants to make love to me?"
"We aren't talking about making love Marta. There is a big difference between making love and letting Mark go down on you after another man has fucked you."
"Get real Ellie. If I said no when he wanted to go down on me he would just climb on and stick his pole in me. He'd know in a heartbeat that he wasn't the first one to go there that night. If I let him eat me he thinks I'm wet because he's getting me off."
"It still isn't right Marta."
"Maybe not, but I'll tell you something that it is. It is a kick Ellie, and I've had the biggest orgasms of my life when Mark eats me after someone else has fucked me. It felt deliciously wicked and perverted and you have no idea how strong an orgasm it gives you. Don't be throwing stones at me until you see for yourself. Do it one time Ellie, just one time and then you come and tell me that you wouldn't like to do it again."
After she'd gone I sat at the table and wondered why, especially since Marta and I were so close - close enough for her to tell me about her sex life - I had sat at the table and played the hypocrite. See what it's like before throwing stones she had said and I had smiled to myself as I remembered the first time it had happened to me. That's right, I said the first time - not the only, but the first.
My husband Barry had worked for the DEF Corporation for a little over five years and in that time he had gone from an entry level management trainee to the Vice President of Marketing. His boss threw Barry a promotion party at his home and while I'm not a party person that party was more or less a command performance for me. While not necessarily fair, the wives of men at Barry's level were considered part of the package and were expected to attend social functions on the arms of their husbands, look good, be gracious, fawn over the boss and be an asset. At Barry's suggestion I had dressed for the occasion in a simple black cocktail dress, heels and a single strand of pearls. I was also wearing two pieces of imagination that someone called underwear. I had come out of the shower and Barry had handed me a box and when I opened it I found two pieces of black lace that Barry assured me were a bra and panties. "Wear these tonight. Just the thought of you in them will make me want to leave as early as possible so we can come home and really celebrate my promotion." Always ready for that kind of celebration I donned the skimpy things, dressed and off we went to the party.
I knew, and I'm pretty sure that Barry also knew, that leaving the party was a pipe dream. As the guest of honor Barry would have to be there until the last dog was hung. As I mentioned, I'm not really a party person. It isn't that I don't like parties, it is simply that I have a low tolerance for alcohol. Two drinks and I'm ready to lie down and take a nap. No problem, just walk around with a glass of soda water or ginger ale, right? Doesn't work that way. I'm supposed to be gracious. So when Barry's boss or an important client says, "Here Ellie, let me freshen your drink, vodka tonic, right?" I smile sweetly and take it from them. Now just because I have a low tolerance for alcohol doesn't mean that I don't like it, it just means that I can't handle it. So, when the person important to Barry's career hands me a drink and stays to talk I have to take an occasional sip during the conversation to appear to be normal. As soon as the person walks away I dump the drink into the closest potted plant. The problem is that there are so many "important people" and as a result there are so many 'little sips' that I always end up drinking too much. When I've had too much I don't get falling down drunk or loud and noisy, I just get sleepy and need to go and lie down. That's what happened at Barry's promotion party. I got to feeling sleepy and Barry's boss noticed and said, "Something wrong Ellie?"
Not willing to admit that I couldn't hold my liquor I just said, "I don't know. All of a sudden I feel woozy."
"Why don't you go on up to the guest bedroom and lie down until you feel better."
"Nonsense Ellie, go on up and I'll let Barry know."
I gave him a weak smile and then I went and did what he had suggested.
I vaguely heard a noise which I later figured was the bedroom door opening and closing. I felt my dress being pushed up and then a hand slid up my nylon clad leg until it reached my pussy and then a finger traced the crevasse created by the lips of my pussy. How wonderfully depraved I thought. We couldn't leave early and Barry couldn't wait until we got home so he was going to play in his bosses' house while thirty guests were downstairs. In my half asleep, half-awake condition I opened my legs to give him better access and when a finger slid into my pussy I sighed and opened them even wider. Two fingers slid in and I moaned and then the fingers left my love hole and I felt my panties being pulled down. I closed my legs and lifted my hips so the lacy piece of nothing could be removed. Hands took hold of my ankles and my legs were spread and my knees moved up to my chest and I waited for Barry's penetration.
Suddenly I was electrified as his tongue found my clit. I hoped he had locked the door as I took my hands and grabbed behind my knees to hold myself open for him. His tongue teased me and then he started sucking on my clit and I moaned and hissed out, "Oh yes, oh yes baby, you do that so well" in a low voice. Another minute or two and then I cried out, "In me baby, I need you in me. The real thing baby, give me the real thing." He loomed over me in the dark room and I felt the head of his spear poke at my pussy and I dropped my legs so my feet could push on the bed as I shoved my pussy up at him. He thrust forward and I almost screamed with delight as he lanced into me. And then I was thrashing around, crying and moaning, "Oh yes baby, oh god yes. It feels so good baby, give it to me, give it to me" and then he said, "God are you tight."
I moaned, "No baby, you just fill me so good" before it hit me that it wasn't Barry's voice. The realization that it wasn't Barry making love to me hit me almost exactly at the same time I had an orgasm and as I shook and cried I heard the man say, "Oh Jesus, I can't hold back any longer" and I felt him spurt into me. Once, twice, three times and then I felt him get off me and moments later the door opened and closed leaving me lying on the bed wondering what had just happened.
Had I been asleep and was it an erotic dream? I quickly sat up and reached down between my legs - no panties! I felt around the bed for them, but couldn't find them. I got up, found a light switch and turned on the light. My panties were lying on the floor next to the bed and as I reached down to pick them up I felt a trickle of warmth run down my leg. I touched a finger to it and then licked the finger. It was salty and tasted like the cum I had sucked out of Barry and a lot of the boyfriends that I'd had before I got married. It had been no erotic dream. A man not my husband had just fucked me and I had no clue as to who he might have been.
My first thought was, "Oh my God, what am I going to tell Barry? That was immediately followed by, "You will tell him nothing! You can't tell him anything. He would want to know why I hadn't started screaming "Rape!" and fought the guy off. I couldn't just say that, "I thought it was you" because the bottom line would always be that another man had fucked his wife and the thought of it would live with him forever. Next came, "Oh Jesus. Barry is going to want to make love to me tonight and I can't let him slide his cock into a cum filled hole because then he would know that someone else had been there first. I stuffed my panties into my clutch purse and went looking for a bathroom. I spent fifteen minutes trying to clean myself out, but without a douche bag I couldn't do a complete job of it. I was just going to have to plead a headache when we got home. I returned to the party and for the rest of the evening I looked at all the men there and wondered which one it could possibly have been, but I saw no indication or got a vibe from anyone of them.
On the ride home Barry was in a horny mood and he kept reaching over and putting his hand on my leg and telling me how much he was looking forward to getting my dress off me. "Just thinking of you in those lacy under things has had me on fire all night."
"Please honey, I'm just not feeling all that well right now."
"Don't worry baby, I know how to get you in the mood."
Barry wouldn't take no for an answer and it just wasn't my nature to say, "Damn it Barry, I said no" so I resigned myself to the fact that Barry was going to get sloppy seconds from me for the first time in his life. All I could hope for was that when he questioned my wetness he would buy the story that before I got my headache I'd spent most of the evening anticipating making love and the wetness was caused by my hornyness. It wasn't much, but it was the best I could come up with. Barry helped me undress and then he stepped back to look at me in my heels and lacy under things and I thanked god that my mystery lover had pulled my panties off instead of just pushing the crotch band aside. There was no way Barry could have missed the cum stains that would have been on that black lace. Barry and I exchanged some passionate kisses and I reached down and ran my hands along his length and had the idea that I would go to my knees and suck him off and that would insure that he never would find anything that could make him even remotely suspicious. I broke our kiss and went to my knees, but Barry stopped me.
"Not here, on the bed."