Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Pete and Laura Ettinger had a really great marriage. But there was one nagging problem. Pete, especially, was intent on solving it, and both of them were solution-oriented people. That's where Adam came in.
I'd been playing mixed doubles tennis with Pete and Laura Ettinger for consecutive Sundays all spring and summer at the indoor club to which the three of us belonged.
My own doubles partner was whatever female friend of mine that I could persuade to get up early Sunday for two hours of competitive sport. That left out the devout Christians and the sleep-in-on-weekends set, but over the past seven or eight Sundays, I had shown up with four different partners. Some of them were better company than others, and some were better doubles players than others, but I guess the main thing they demonstrated to Pete and Laura was that I was an unattached male.
Pete and Laura were a three-years-married, upwardly mobile childless working couple. Like me, they lived close to the second-rate indoor tennis facility to which we dedicated our Sunday mornings. Pete was marginally more proficient with a tennis racquet than I, and Laura generally could outplay my guests, but the matches were competitive enough that the two of them reminded me from time to time that I was a treasured "find" —- a tennis devotee who could be relied upon for foursome duty on a regular basis.
After our hard-fought two-hour sessions, we would adjourn for a restaurant breakfast designed to assure that no weight loss we'd experienced that morning would be permanent.
Usually, but not always, my female companion would join us for breakfast, but on this particular morning my partner, Jessica Barnwell, a workaholic from my own place of employment, begged off in favor of a quick shower at the club and the rest of her day at the office.
No matter. Pete and Laura were quickly becoming comfortable friends and fun people to spend time with. At breakfast, the three of us covered the week in politics, the weird people we worked with at our respective weekday endeavors, and the relative merits of Pete's favorites, the Boston Red Sox, as against my own beloved Orioles.
Laura, originally from Chicago, occasionally would put in a word for the Cubbies, but her heart wasn't in it. It was all amiable enough. Why should Pete or I get emotionally involved in an argument when we both knew the Orioles were going nowhere again this season.
On this particular Sunday, though, I was without female companionship and Laura decided to address that issue. "Do you have a regular girl who just isn't a tennis player?" she asked me, "or are you working on all of these women you've brought in to play? How is it you show up with a different partner every week?"
"Ahh, just because you two manage to combine tennis with romance, it doesn't mean we all can," I said. "I'm not dating any of the women I've brought to the club. They're all just friends from work or neighbors from my apartment complex."
"Couple of them were pretty fine," Laura said. "It hasn't occurred to you that you might try to start up a little something?"
I smiled at Laura. "I'm a guy," I said. "Naturally, you get a long-legged female in a short skirt, wearing those cute little satin underpants, and she bends over to pick up Pete's most recent double-fault, certain thoughts are bound to pass through my mind."
"You've had —- what? —- four different honeys out here to play?" Pete said. "I thought three of them were downright delicious, and the other one, the chunky one? I wouldn't kick her out of bed, either!"
I already knew, from past breakfasts, that Pete and Laura had the kind of easy relationship that would permit him to come out with such outbursts without suffering consequences at home. Laura didn't bat an eye, but she still had her un-batted eye on the ball —- the original question she'd asked me:
"So, Adam, is there a non-tennis-playing Eve stashed away someplace? Your go-to girl for mixed singles?"
"Alas, not at the moment, no," I said. "I'm between engagements. I had something going a while back, but it's getting to be ancient history now, and there's nobody else in the immediate picture."
"It's the promotion, isn't it?" Pete said. A few weeks earlier, I had burdened them with the boring-but-familiar story of my recent upward mobility at work, and the resulting additional demands on my time and energy.
"I have been working a little harder, and fretting about work a little more frequently," I said. "But I'm not a nutcase like Jessica, today's partner. She's off to work without breakfast or, probably, lunch either. On a Sunday, yet! Listen, if I find the right woman, I'm prepared to clear my schedule and make time for her."
"Make time to make time!" Pete said.
"Well, try to find one who's a tennis player," Laura suggested. " ... Adam, would you be interested in coming over to our place for dinner one night this week?"
"Name it," Laura said. "I am not a gourmet cook, but neither am I a total klutz in the kitchen. Pete and I would like to see you someplace besides that flea-bitten tennis club and this second-rate diner."
"I don't know," I said, allowing the skepticism to be heard in my tone. "You just quizzed me about my love life, and now you're asking me over for dinner. That sounds like a set-up to me!"
"Set-up, spelled A-M-B-U-S-H," Pete said.
"Not true!" Laura said. "We would never try to fix you up without giving you plenty of advance warning. I'm talking about just the three of us, over some kind of casserole dish. Cheap wine and conversation. You've never even seen our apartment."
"My social life consists of tennis every Sunday morning with this married couple I know. That's about it. You name the preferred weekday evening and I will show up on your doorstep."
"Tuesday," Laura said. She was already drawing me a diagram of the directions on the back of a napkin.
Tuesday evening I showed up with my own bottle of cheap wine and with an equally inexpensive bouquet for my hostess.
True to her word, Laura had no female friends hiding in the closet, and the three of us spent a relaxed evening enjoying each other's company. Pete and Laura were so easy going, I found myself wishing I did have a current main squeeze that I could bring around for their inspection.
Pete asked me if I was planning to participate in the tennis club's quarterly Thursday Night free-for-all, in which the whole place was turned over to one-set tournament-style singles matches until a "champion" could be anointed.
I had tried the free-for-all only once before, and had been bounced in my second match of the night. It was very likely that the same thing would happen again. The tournament was co-ed, and some of the more zealous female players advanced all the way to the fourth or even fifth rounds of play, depending on the luck of the draw, but Laura said she had another, less strenuous engagement planned for that night.
"You and Pete go," she said. "You'll both lose promptly and get home early -— probably before I do."
She was right. One or two sets would most certainly finish me for the evening, and Pete was unlikely to last much longer. So, why not?
Thursday night, we met at the club. The matches started at eight and, sure enough, I was all through after only one round. Pete won his first two one-set "matches," but was bageled in his third-round set by one of the club's more zealous players.
I hardly even needed a shower, but joined Pete for one anyway. "How about a beer on our way home?" he said.
We left our cars in the lot at the club and walked the half-block to a small restaurant we knew had its own bar. It was a quiet night and we pretty-much had the eight-seat bar to ourselves.
"Laura really likes you," Pete said after we had been served.
"Well, it's mutual," I said. "The two of you have been a Godsend. Not just tennis friends. I've gotten to the point where I consider you both real friends. And you've got such a great relationship, I've been wishing I had a partner of my own to bring along to the party."
"That would be nice," Pete said. "But, listen, Adam ... From what I've been able to gather, you're kind of an easy-going guy, you know?"
"Easy-going? Sure, I guess so. Although that phrase covers a multitude of sins."
Pete made sure he couldn't be heard by the bartender or any nearby customers, and spoke to me sotto voce. "Laura and I, we're kind of out-there, a little bit, y'know? Sexually, I mean? Nothing weird, or anything. No whips and chains, y'know? But we enjoy, I mean, we're kind-of like ... into making movies."
"You know, Pete said. "Home movies. Of us. Doing it. Having sex."
"Uh-huh." I didn't know where this conversation was going, but wherever it was, it was going to get there without any false moves on my part.
"We've got this first-class digital camera that does pretty good," Pete said. "But it just, y'know, sits there, pointed at the scene, and if you move around, even a little bit, you get out of the frame and the whole thing is kinda, well, Amateur City, you know?"
"I've seen some of those movies on the Internet," I volunteered. "They've got remote controls you can use to adjust the focus and, I think, even, whatchacallit, to pan in and out and stuff."
"Yeah, I've seen those, too," Pete said. "But when the guy stops what he's doing and pushes buttons and shit, the whole thing kinda blows, because it reminds you it's all just a staged thing."
"Yeah, I guess that's true," I allowed.
"We need a camera operator," Pete said.
"Would you be interested?" he asked.
"Surely Laura wouldn't want me there, taking pictures of the two of you," I said.
Pete noticed my glass was empty and beckoned the bartender. "Two more," he said.
Then, to me, he once again spoke in a very low tone, inaudible to anyone else in the establishment. "Adam, the fact is, Laura kind of... likes it when we have ... company."
"Let me understand this," I said. "You're asking me to be the photographer for the two of you while you are making love."
"And you're telling me that your wife will not object to your proposing this to me."
"Adam. Let me tell you straight out. Laura and I, we've got a nice married life. We love each other, and we both enjoy ... sex. We don't have any serious problems in our marriage and we're not about to do anything that either one of us thinks would ... detract from that."
Pete took a long draw from his fresh bottle of Budweiser. "Adam. Listen, you're a friend, right? It's like you said, not just a tennis friend. Adam, the fact is, Laura likes sex and she's real good about being willing to have regular sex and try new stuff and all that, but the fact is ... she doesn't ... Well, she doesn't get off, you know?"
My voice, now, was low and quiet to match Pete's own. "She can't have an orgasm, you're saying?"
"Well, it's not like she's never had one," Pete said. "But she almost never does. She tells me that it feels really good and all ... the stuff we do ... but she just can't get over the hump, you know? She's real good about it, reassures me all the time, swears she likes it a lot, that it's not my fault, blah blah blah.
"But, Adam, the only times she's ever actually had a come, with me or, according to her, with any other guy, was two instances when we were with other people!"
"Other people, you mean, with the two of you?"
"That's right," he said. "Once, before we were even married, we got into a threesome with her college roommate. Jeez, that was a night to remember for me, Dude! I did them both and it was totally unplanned and the sex was fucking amazing, for me and for Laura. And for the other girl, too, as far as I could tell.
"But this was early in our relationship. Laura and I had maybe slept together two-three times before that night, and the sex had been good but I could kinda tell that for Laura, it was ... incomplete. She was perfectly willing to hook up with me and she was a good partner and all, but I could pretty-much tell she didn't have an orgasm.
"Well, that night with her roommate, Laura most definitely had an orgasm! And it wasn't because the other girl was doing her, either. It was because the two of us had great, great sex together and there just was no question about it, Laura came like gangbusters!"
I was skeptical. "You're telling me the only time Laura gets excited enough to come is when she's in a threesome? Are you saying you want me to ... have sex with your wife?"
He didn't answer my question directly. "The other time Laura had an orgasm with me," Pete said, we were with another couple. The four of us were together, in a vacation cabin in the mountains, all in one big room, the beds side-by-side. But outside of our having sex in plain view of the other couple, we didn't do anything kinky at all! They made out in their bed and me 'n Laura got it on in our bed, and most of the lights were out and we didn't so much as even touch the other couple. But, Jesus, Adam, she got off again that night all right -- big-time. Unmistakable.
"Anyway, Laura admitted to me, even before we got married, that orgasms for her are hard to come by." Pete laughed at his own statement.
"She told me not to get all hung up about it, that it wasn't like sex was some awful chore for her. She likes it. She likes the whole nine yards: fellatio, cunnilingus, regular sex, plain and fancy. It all feels good to her, she insists. She just can't actually come!"
"Okay, so you're not offering me sex with your wife. You want a cameraman for a quality upgrade of your home-movies, and you want a third party in the room that you're hoping will be enough stimulation to bring back the Big-O for Laura."
"We ... Laura and I ... have never talked about her making it with another guy," Pete said. "I've been pretty reluctant to bring it up, and I guess she senses that."
"Then why not get another woman involved again?" I said. "Hell, it would be the best of both worlds. Laura maybe becomes orgasmic again and you get to re-fulfill every man's favorite fantasy."
"We've discussed it," Pete said. "But we've discussed it in kind of a circular fashion. If I proposed it, I'm afraid Laura would suspect that I'm just wanting a chance to get my hands on some strange pussy."
Pete took a healthy swig and continued. "The time we were with her roommate, Laura got her first big come, but, hell, let's face it, I was the one who was the night's principal winner. The two women did some touchy-feely stuff, but they really didn't have all that much to do with each other."
"But you have never discussed the idea of Laura's having sex with another man, with you also present and participating?"
"That's hard for me to do, Adam, for a million reasons," Pete said. "I mean, I don't want to pimp-out my own wife! I love her like everything! And what if it turned out another guy could give her something I haven't given her?"
"That's pretty unlikely," I said. "I've seen you in the shower room, Pete. We both know you've got quite a lot more to offer a woman than I do."
"But who knows how much, if at all, that size matters?" Pete said. "She's been with three other guys in her life. She swears I'm the only one who ever gave her a come, and that was only those two times when we had some kind of an audience."
"But you've specifically discussed with her the idea of me being the one who serves as third wheel?"
"She's completely down with that," Pete told me. "You gotta understand: For her, the discussion is all about the cameraman thing. She's very visually oriented; into the home movies as much as I am, and she agrees with me that a camera with an operator would be a big improvement.
"But we haven't openly discussed the orgasm thing," Pete told me. "That's because Laura's official position is, she doesn't need to come to enjoy our sex life. She doesn't want to see herself as being someone who's all needy and missing out."
"But you're hung up on it, big-time, aren't you?" I said.
"Yeah, I am," Pete admitted. "I want to bring her the best sex imaginable. And anyway, the truth is, I think Laura knows she's missing out on something pretty important. It's unspoken, but I figure one reason she wants to try this, with you involved, is to see what happens."
"Pete," I said, "I'm going to need to speak to her about this myself. Just Laura and me, alone. I need to know it's something she really wants to do, and not just something you've maybe talked her into trying."
"Okay, fine. But you'll see. It's not like that, I guarantee you."
"And you, Pete. You've got to know where I would be coming from on this, too. I am interested as hell in seeing your extremely attractive wife naked and getting it on. I've got a voyeur streak in me that's a mile wide, and if I'm manning that video camera, it's going to be with shaky hands and a raging hard-on."
"That doesn't surprise me," Pete said.
"If you think I'm going to be some kind of dispassionate imitation-professional photographer, then you're crazier than hell, my friend. I'm going to be creaming my pants the whole goddamned time!"
"I get it. But keep your voice down!" Pete hissed.
I guess I had gotten carried away with my disclaimer. Pete calmly reassured me. "I understand what you're saying. Hell, if our circumstances were reversed, I know I'd feel the same way. But you gotta remember, Adam, this is just an experiment. It's not an invitation for you to join in the proceedings."
"Okay. You and I understand each other. I'm gonna say it again. I'm not in this to help get your wife an orgasm, although I hope that happens. I'm in it because, damn, Pete, Laura is a fucking amazing woman, and I want to see her while she's making a porno. It's as simple as that."
Pete and I agreed that I would drop by their apartment the following evening after the dinner hour, and that he would make himself scarce long enough for me to discuss this whole scenario privately with Laura.