Strange how things happen when you least expect it, isn't it?
Like with Bob and I. Married twenty years, no kids, his fault, not mine, the doctors tell us, but we don't mind ... not now.
Oh, we're settled into a routine of long standing – well we were, until that one particular night. Bob would come home from work, have his martini, sometimes two, and settle down in front of the television to watch the news and then some porn.
I didn't like that at first, I mean, what was I chopped liver? I didn't understand what he saw or got out of watching men and women cavorting naked and doing all sorts of crazy things like it was the most normal thing for folks to do. I have nothing against sex, good Lord, I love a good romp in bed, but letting someone capture you doing it? It just didn't seem right.
But on June 16th something came over me as I looked in at my husband lying on the sofa watching an old porno film from the 80's in the shadowy room. Only a small lamp on an end table provided any illumination.
I realized it wasn't just his evening at home, it was mine as well and I decided to do something about it.
Bob didn't notice me watching him and from time to time the blonde named Christy Canyon with incredible breasts he couldn't take his eyes off of as she fellated a man who ostensibly was a plumber there to fix a leaky sink.
I told myself that I was Bob's woman, not this celluloid caricature with artificial tits and slid out of my chair and knelt next to his feet. He glanced my way and smiled, acknowledging my existence, and returned to watching C. C. with the double DD's.
But that look, however brief, warmed me all over and I realized that she was not actually in the room and I was.
Taking a deep breath, I reached for his zipper. There was only the slightest hesitation as it slid down over the bulge in his slacks. I followed by quickly opening his pants and freeing our mutually favorite toy.
I was afraid to look up at him.
Gingerly he put a hand on the back of my head and loosely gathered a handful of hair as he slowly urged me down toward his lap. My hand shook as it encircled his base. I leaned forward, tongue out, and barely touched the tip. The cock in my hand stiffened even more and I took the entire head into my mouth and sucked hungrily.
I risked a look up and saw his eyes were on Christy Canyon sucking off a thick penis of incredible length. I lowered my eyes to his growing erection. My lips were about to engulf it, all six inches; I'd done it before - deep-throating him, I mean, and no doubt would do it again. Other than the occasional gagging part I enjoyed the moments of power I derived from fellating him. Then he was entirely my mouth and I closed my eyes and started to fellate him as best I could.
Knowing it was only seconds before Bob would close his eyes and only be thinking about what I was doing to him made my nipples grow erect and I began to lubricate. Without conscious thought, the fingertips of my left hand moved to my bra-encased breast, gliding over the whole of it, barely touching and avoiding all contact with the nipple.
I made slurpy sounds as I sucked away, not swallowing my saliva, letting it seep from my mouth and down my chin. I removed him from my mouth and saw a long string of spittle clinging from my tongue to the head of his cock. He shoved himself back between my lips and I sucked voraciously upon him.
My free hand traced a path around each breast, slowly spiraling in toward the nipples. And as the finger tips reached the edge of my areole I looked up into his eyes and shuddered from the intensity of my arousal.
If anything, Bob grew harder.
My right hand cupped his testicles and gave them a light squeeze.
I felt his involuntary spasm and the first pulse of his cum hit the roof of my mouth. Secondary spurts filled my mouth. I swallowed. I didn't dare to look up at him and concentrated on sucking his cock, the essence of my being at the moment.
I sucked and sucked even after it softened. I sucked it clean, leaving nothing. I let it fall from between my lips after one last suck. I heard a kissing sound and glanced up at him, trying my best not to smile.
Bob was looking at me through half-closed eyelids. He wasn't smiling either.
"Take your clothes off," he said. He hadn't moved. He seemed so serious. It was the first thing either of us said since I'd entered the room.
On the television screen, Christy Canyon was on all fours getting it doggy-style from a different man. I wondered what had happened to the first guy as I began removing my clothing.
I'd never done anything like this with him before and it made me a bit nervous. Thoughts of what was he going to do to me filled my mind as Christy Canyon faded away.
"Sit in the armchair," he said in a hoarse voice as I stood nude before him.
"Bring yourself off."
I was stunned. I had surprised him and now he was returning the favor. I considered. I could stop it all. I could break the mood.
I didn't want to break the mood. I realized I could make myself do what he asked. After all, I'd just sucked his cock without his prompting.
I decided that I could be as sluttish as he wanted me to be and drew my knees up in front of my hand, as I coiled in what could have been a fetal position. I didn't take my eyes off him. And he didn't take his eyes off me as we stared at each other.
"Open those legs, Diane, my husband croaked.
With a flush of shame and a shudder of excitement, I closed my eyes and opened my legs.
"Now put them over the arms of the chair, Diane."
Shaking with shame and arousal, I did. I opened my eyes and looked down. My hand was still at the top of my slit, but my lips, my slick protruding lips, were uncovered, flaunted, and oh so obviously wet.
It was the first time he'd raised his voice to me in years.
I obeyed him and touched myself. Fingers moved automatically, retracing the movements I used secretly since puberty.
Our eyes were still locked. I wanted him. I wanted to cum. But he'd already cum and it was my doing. I fingered frantically.
It felt good -- very good. I felt my breathing picking up. I realized I was breathing through my mouth. Bob was still staring at me, well of course he was, and I liked that he was watching me.
Who the hell was I? Where had it come from - this sudden inclination to suck his cock and then brazenly jill off while he watched?
Oh, fuck I felt good! On the brink of cumming while strumming my clit while meeting his eyes still riveted to my fingers.
In a voice barely a whisper, Bob croaked, "Take your fingers away; put them in your mouth."
I nodded and then slowly tasted myself. As my tongue licked my secretions from the fingers I envisioned a woman wallowed between my legs, licking and sucking with wantonness I had never even thought possible. I struggled to fight off panic, but the sensations I was experiencing were impossible to ignore, and I vowed to have sex with another woman at least once before the year was over.
I kept my eyes closed as my fingers returned to my sodden cunt and began the climb to release. The intensity of my orgasm left me dazed. My hand dropped to my side; my jaw hung open and I think I was drooling as I sat motionless for a timeless interval before he broke the silence.
"Turn around, Diane. Put your ass up for me."
I was happy to comply. On hands and knees, I let my head droop until the crown was touching the seat of the arm chair. I snuck a glance behind me. Bob was hard again. It was absolutely true -- he was hard as a rock. And I was ready too; I had yet to stop fingering myself. I could no longer see him behind me, but there was no ignoring him. I sensed him lining up his penis with my vagina. I felt the briefest contact as he surged forward and surged into my wet chasm.
It felt so good inside me. I wanted to die as I looked down at my breasts bouncing back and forth in time with Bob's thrusts. It was wild, wanton and mindless fucking. I slammed my body back against his pelvis and keened a song of abandon.
And then, without warning I froze, moaned, and felt my vaginal muscles spasm rhythmically as I came.
I fell forward from the force of his next thrust, but Bob grabbed my hips and pulled me back, impaling me again, and again. I couldn't believe I was cumming again, and was just finishing my contractions when Bob began pumping in short quick strokes.
Finally holding me tightly to his body as his hips jerked spasmodically. "Oh, Diane, my love ... Oh God," he cried as he filled me with his pent-up release.
I toppled to the floor, turning on my side as I did.
My mind spun for a second or two and I realized I'd seen a face in the window!
I was facing the window and for a split second I'd seen someone peeking between the curtain and the side of the window.
It took several seconds for me to put a name to the face, but I knew then that the voyeur was my next-door neighbor, Fiona.
My mind raced. She must have been stopping by for something and had glanced in the window. Now she was racing back home, thinking who-knows-what.
I couldn't bring myself to tell Bob, not then. I needed time to think things through.
There was no sleep for me that night, and the following morning after Bob set off for work with a spring in his step and a glow on his face, I reached for the phone and called Fiona.
At eleven o'clock, I was sitting on the terrace at the Marriott Hotel, waiting for Fiona. I had no distinct memories of how I got there, having dressed and driven with little conscious thought. I pushed my glass of white wine back and forth, and nibbled out of habit rather than hunger on the appetizer I'd ordered so that the server would leave me alone with my thoughts.
Ten minutes later, Fiona arrived and sat opposite me at the table.
When our eyes met, Fiona's face turned red. I felt my own face heat up. Fiona spoke tentatively, "Hi, Diane. Are we still friends?"
"Of course we are, Fiona, but I need to know what's going on."
Just then, the waiter arrived, and the intensity of the moment was shattered by his query as to whether Fiona wanted a drink. Fiona embraced the mundane task of ordering as a welcome delay before returning to face the uncertainties that lay ahead.
When he had gone, Fiona spoke. "I apologize for being where I was last night. You probably won't believe me, but it was an accidental thing."
"A thing? You call what you were doing a thing?"
"I'm sorry, Diane. I didn't think we'd be this uncomfortable."
"But as you can see, we clearly are uncomfortable."
"I ... I was coming over to ask you ... well, never mind what I was going to ask, it's already ancient history. I happened to look in when I saw movement in the room – it was obvious you were enjoying yourselves."
"You were the one enjoying the show, Fiona," I said sarcastically, and after the words had left my mouth, I couldn't believe I'd uttered them.
Fiona looked at me, and I could tell she could see right through my discomfiture. She smiled, seeming a little amused at my performance. But it was a good-natured smile and I felt the urge to laugh at myself with her.
"You know what you should do?" she asked. I realized she now was looking devious.
"Fair is fair." She was still smiling. "You should spy on John and me."
I stared at her. Somehow her words made perfect sense. Bob had no idea we'd been watched, and neither did Fiona's husband, John.
Nine hours later, in a light drizzle, I was peeking in their kitchen window. Fiona had promised me a performance similar to the one Bob and I had provided her the night before.
I saw her glance in my direction and smile. A moment later she indicated that I should position myself by the living room window and I did, just as she approached her husband where he sat watching television.
Fiona stood up. She got in front of John then actually stepped right onto his easy chair, putting a foot on each side of him, just inside each chair arm. But she'd lowered her body so she was crouching in front of him, her hands on the back of the chair to steady herself. I was surprised at how long and limber her legs were.
John looked up at her. Fiona lowered her head toward him and kissed him on the lips. I wanted to leave. She'd made me promise I wouldn't. But I wanted to stay, too. Yes, I was hooked.
They kissed. It was sweet. I thought about Bob -- maybe I could do something like that.
Suddenly John was on his feet, somehow holding Fiona under his right arm. He was definitely strong. He had her shorts off and he pulled off her top and she was completely naked! Still holding her, he walked right over to the window where I was peeking in! I ducked.
I heard noises, then breathing. The window was open, just a screen between them and me. I lifted my head a little and found Fiona looking out the window. There was a table in front of the window and she was apparently face down on it. I raised my head a little more and saw the top of John's head--he was standing behind her. Fiona was breathing deeply--she couldn't seem to get her breath. I could see her eyes, they were unfocused. She wrenched her head and her whole body jerked toward the window. Again, then again. She was breathing harder still. I was inches from her face, watching her. I saw her eyes focus on me. It was like she hadn't seen me before and now she did. She kissed the air in front of me and then grinned. All the while, her body was jerking. Then she kissed the air again, her eyes went out of focus again though she was still right there in front of me. She was breathing so hard. My hand slipped in the elastic band of my shorts and into the front of my underpants. She was vocalizing on each breath, still jerking.
I slipped to the side of the window and stood higher, careful to remain out of John's sight. I could see more of her body and the side of his hip. He appeared to be naked as much as I could see. He held her wrists behind her with both his hands and pounded into her. Her body continued to jerk each time he pushed. She started moaning, louder and louder. My fingers inside my underpants didn't stop. She yelled the one last time and shuddered violently.
Ten agonizingly guilty minutes later, I steeled myself to face my husband. We loved one another, how could the truth damage our marriage, I wondered for the thousandth time. I opened the door and called his name only to be met by an ominous silence. Walking to the kitchen, I saw the note under the refrigerator magnet: "Returning the video to Magna's. Will bring pizza back with new video."
Breathing a sigh of relief, I made for the shower, as if to wash off any evidence of my misdoings. I was toweling my hair, wearing a white terrycloth robe over a tee-shirt and panties when the silence was disrupted by Bob's shouting out, "I'm home!"
I greeted him with a wet kiss and accepted the pizza from him and set two plates out while he opened the fridge and took out two bottles of beer.
"Got another Christy canyon for us," he said brightly.
"Us?" I said, before I could stop myself.
"Yeah, didn't she turn you on last night?"
"Umm, not exactly, but it's all right, I don't mind," but I was telling myself that I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't cheated on him. I had never made a habit of telling Bob every time someone hit on me or tried to cop a little feel at a party. What happened earlier wasn't so much different than that. After all, I hadn't done anything.
But if that was the case, then why was I saying I hadn't done anything over and over?
We finished the pizza, it was a ten inch pie, I'm not a pig, nor is Bob, and continued procrastinating while Bob, now clad in only boxers and tee-shirt, turned on the TV and inserted the pornographic DVD into the VCR.
My erstwhile nemesis, Christy Canyon came back to haunt me again, spreading her legs impossibly wide in the backseat of a moving limousine so that a handsome, man in a tux could go down on her.
Her vagina was exceedingly large as the camera zoomed in on it and I turned my face away from the screen.
Bob's eyes were fixed on Christy as her current lover's mouth descended upon her vulva, making overly loud sucking sounds that filled the otherwise quiet room.
I came out of my erotic fugue when Bob's hand cupped my breast as he had done for years. And when his tongue dragged the length of my neck a split second before Christy bestowed a similar ploy on the guy doing her, a perverse flame shot through me as I saw Fiona's husband fucking her from behind and her smiling at me flash through my mind.
My arousal was Pavlovian. I almost hurt him as I yanked his boxers to his knees and sucked his semi-hard penis into my mouth. Bob had an uncomprehending look on his face, but his penis knew how to react. I felt a sense of power and wicked thought: Fuck you, Christy Canyon and your bigger than life twat.
I was proud of the way my husband's cock responded to me – hardening to full length only moments after entering my wanton mouth.
I struggled to shed my robe while keeping him between my vacuuming lips and not biting him. He saw my plight and helped me off with the robe, pushing the bra up to my chin in order to get at my tits so he could squeeze them while I blew him.
Was this what they meant by déjà-vu? I wondered, as I attempted to repeat last night's torridness. That thought caused me to keep looking at the windows for any sigh that Fiona and or her husband might be watching us again.
I saw no evidence of it, but continued glancing up, looking -- perhaps hoping for some sign that they were. I would ponder this for the remainder of the night -- another sleepless, well, almost sleepless night for me.
But on the screen, Christy was about to be rear-ended by her handsome lover and Bob, who somehow was managing to watch her while I was sucking him, worked my panties down my hips to my knees.
Once again I shoved my behind at him, trusting that he wouldn't dare take me anally -- it was, or had been mutually agreed upon by us early in our marriage that I wasn't allowing it -- and without ever fully standing up, I dropped to my hands and knees, let my head drop to the floor and reached behind her to fit him into her.
"Fuck me, Bob! Dear God, fuck me, please!" I begged, while thinking, what must he think of me?
I came as his cock churned in and out of me, turning my slick juices into a cream or sorts as it oozed out between the walls of my vagina and steely sides of his shaft.
I was building up to another when he slammed into me like a laborer using a jackhammer and spewed a copious load into my deepest parts.
I was disappointed, but only momentarily, for my man seemingly twirled me around and sent his face between my sodden labia and ate me to several more rousing cums until I lay twitching and panting on the floor, calling his name out, over and over and over.
Bob had left for work, but only after giving me a rousing fuck with me leaning over the kitchen table. I was in the bathroom, one foot up on the bathtub, wiping his semen from between my legs when the phone rang.
I stumbled into the bedroom, thinking it Bob with some last words to keep me going until he got home and jerked the phone off its cradle before it could ring again. "Hello," I gasped excitedly, still holding the tissue with his seed on it.
"Uh, Diane ... uh, it's me, Fiona. Mmmm, oh shit, are you still speaking to me?"
"Why, uh, yes ... yes, of course."
"So what'd you think?"
"I ... I umm, sort of liked what I saw," I admitted.
"I should, um, tell you something, Diane."
"Go on ... what is it?"
"Don't be mad at me ... please, Diane."
"Fiona, what the hell are you trying to tell me?"
"I ... I um, told my husband about us. He wants ... wants you to watch us again."
"Be here, tonight. Inside, not outside, at nine o'clock, please!" Click.
I panicked. There's no other word for it. Never had I regretted anything more than not having confessed what I'd done to Bob when I had the chance.
And now, what? I went about by daily errands like a zombie. Picking up the clothes from the cleaners, doing the weekly shopping, gassing up the car – all on autopilot.
I fixed a light dinner for Bob and myself, topping it off with an expensive bottle of red wine.
We sat down to eat at seven sharp. On my third glass of wine (the last of the bottle) I began to tell him
"Wanna tell me about what's bothering you, Diane?"
For some reason I started to deny anything was wrong, but I paused, and then began to cry, "Oh, Bob ... I'm so ashamed. Please don't hate me..."
"Whoa, I don't hate you. I'd never hate you, Diane. Now tell me what's wrong."
It was like undergoing a root canal, but slowly, all the events of the past days haltingly slipped from my mouth. My little rebellion against Christy Canyon.
That drew a small smile from his mouth.
The face at the window, watching us. Put a sudden startled expression on his countenance.
And when I related Fiona's admission of guilt and subsequent invitation to watch her and her husband an astonished look crossed his face and I broke down and began crying again.
Bob had his arm around me, saying "There, there," over and over.
I blurted out that I had accepted her invitation and gone over. That I had watched them fornicating; that I had cum while watching them; that I had come home and after pizza and beer I had seduced him again while gloating over the fact that I had the real cock in my mouth and Christy Canyon was merely a celluloid ghost, doomed to repetitive, never ending rounds of regulated fucking.
"But I don't want to lose you, Bob. I love you!"
"It doesn't sound like you've done anything to be ashamed of," he said softly.
"But ... but they want me to go over there again -- tonight! He wants me to watch them -- inside their house -- in the same room!"
"If ... if that's the worst thing you do in our married life, Diane, I have no problem."
"Was that the reason you did what you did the last two nights?"
"Yes," I replied in a small voice.
"Did you enjoy watching them?"
"Yes," my voice seemed even smaller.
"And you want to do it again?"
"Yes ... I ... I've never done anything so wild, so erotic. I don't think I'll ever be so tempted again. Something in me is telling me to go. To participate if asked, but I won't go if you tell me not too."
"Is John bigger than me?"
"God, no. You must be two or three inches taller."
I was stunned when he started laughing at me.
"No ... no, I meant his dick. Is it bigger than mine?"
"Oh ... no, dear. If anything, he's a bit shorter than you. Otherwise I'd guess you're about the same."
"So ... tell me in detail just what they did while you watched."
I did my best to recount their every action. I saw him grow hard at my words, and knew he was thinking it was him fucking Fiona while I watched. I was surprised that it didn't offend me, and added some details that may or may not have occurred to sustain his interest. I felt somewhat like Scheherazade regaling the King with fanciful stories in order to stay my execution.
I knew Bob wanted me then and there. I could see it in his eyes and the way he kept licking his lips. The bulge in his trousers was even more proof that he was ready to fuck me silly. But he poured himself a double shot of scotch and drank half contemplating me with a serious expression on his face.
"You have my permission to go. You don't need my permission, but I think you'll feel better if I give it. You know, umm, no recriminations after, and all that stuff."
He swallowed the remainder of the scotch and there was no reproach in his eyes.
"Bob!" I cried out painfully, "You don't understand."
"No, Diane, you'll always regret it if you don't do this. So let yourself go. I can live with it. Hopefully it will make our marriage stronger than it already is."
I was crying, tears running down my face, ruining my makeup. "If ... if I go over there ... he's going to fuck me. And it's possible that he'll make Fiona and me do things with each other," my voice was completely flat. "Is ... is that what you want?"
"It's not what I want, Diane. It's more a matter of your personal need, or needs. You can rest assured that I love you and will continue to love you after this. You're not in love with him, are you?"
"Lord no! I hardly know the man, Bob."
"But you have this ... feeling that attracts you to him, like a moth to a flame."
"It is kind of like that, yes. A kind of rush, you know? But it's certainly not love. It's like I want him to take me the way he took Fiona. There's something about him ... if I go back..."
Bob remained silent for a full minute, and then he smiled at me and said, "You were very young when I married you, Diane. You never had a chance to test sex before getting married. I did, and I know that having done so has kept me from straying over the years. It's a powerful inclination straying, for women as well as men. It's a very powerful pull that urge within each and every one of us.
"I want you to take this fling with them. It's okay with me. Try everything you can tonight, then and only then will I be assured you'll not wander off with some stranger that you meet at the market, or church, or some Goddamn place when your hormones and the moon are in sync and you resent the fact that I've been with others and you haven't.
"I don't want you regretting not having taken the opportunity to do it. It would only cause you to do it later, without confiding in me first. And I do want to stress the fact that I appreciate your telling me all this before doing anything. It tells me you love me and more that you respect me. I feel the same about you. So do what you think you need to do.
"I'll be here waiting for you. Just come back to me."
A long silence filled the room.
"It's just this once."
"I understand, just this once."
I was standing at Fiona's front door, my finger inches from pressing the doorbell, frozen as myriad thoughts raced through my head. Bob's penis was the only penis I'd ever touched. He was, up to now, the only man who'd been inside me.
I cringed inwardly knowing I wanted to feel John's penis; wanted to taste him and place him in me. I also thought about the distinct possibility of having sex with Fiona. What would it be like to taste her, to have her touching me that way?
Pressing that bell would open much more than a mere door. It would open me to a world of wild, wanton licentiousness, possible anal as well as lesbian activities.
A little voice said: So, your husband approves, why not? How can he love me if he pushes me at another man? That same voice tormented me further, saying: Maybe it's because he does love you
And a second later the voice said: And what if he changes his mind? Is it worth it? Then again, you may never have this chance again.