by Gabi Moore
“She really isn’t resting much,” I blurted, feeling like a tattle tale.
“Yes, well, that’s a problem now, isn’t it? Maybe you could both try a little holiday somewhere or something, sometimes that kind of thing can help.”
I sent her over the best I-told-you-so face I could muster.
We finished the rest of the appointment, me entertaining myself by calculating how much we had paid this man per each minute of his time, and calculating how many fannies he’d seen in his career, given his advanced age and all.
I was feeling chipper, glad it was over and glad to be told, like I had said, that there was nothing wrong after all. It was a relief. I playfully poked her in the belly as we stood waiting for the lift.
“See? Didn’t I say?” I said, and leaned in for a kiss.
She pursed her lips and looked irritated. Oh God …what now?
I was getting angry.
The one thing the doctor was telling her to do was the one thing she simply refused to do. I had the completely unreasonable but steadily growing suspicion that she’d get pregnant if she just calmed down a bit and stopped being so uptight about the whole thing. I already felt like a performing monkey in some twisted circus, and she had long stopped seeing sex as something pleasurable. In fact, I thought angrily, we probably hadn’t had normal sex since the day she mentioned having a baby at all. Surely we’d have enough time for angst and stress later, when the thing was actually born?
I drew back, fuming a little.
“The doctor said it wasn’t my sperm, you know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing… just that there isn’t a problem. We just need to relax and--”
“Jesus Christ, if one more person tells me to relax I swear I’ll scream,” she snapped.
We walked down to the car in silence. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. We were good together. We had our house. We were meant to live in it together. None of this worked without her. Life would be all wrong. There were way too many rooms in that house, for a start.
“I don’t want to fight,” I said lamely, starting the car.
“So then, don’t,” she said with a sneer.
I didn’t like this nasty side of her. Not at all.
We drove on in silence for a while, both feeling a little tender. I was always better at pretending fights weren’t going on than actually fighting them, so I relaxed a little as the car drove on, and we found a long, easy back road that would take us most of the way home.
I love driving. I love the simplicity of being in a vehicle, any vehicle really. I love just going, just the movement of it. Tanya and I had had some of our steamiest moments in cars. That reminded me.
“Hey, love! I forgot to say, I found the perfect thing for us, actually, a narrow boat cruise – we could maybe rent the whole thing pretty cheaply and then we sleep on it and everything, and we go up and down the river and we can have it self catering or not, it depends, and--”
“We’re not going on a holiday,” she interrupted.
Oh shit. She was still angry. From before. This was beginning to get exhausting.
“Look, what is your problem? Have I done something wrong?”
These words seemed to be the last straw for her, and she all at once and violently shook her wild hair and banged her hands against the car door.
“Just stop! Stop the fucking car! I want to get out.”
“What?”
“Stop the car!”
I slammed my foot on the break and tried to carefully guide us onto the roadside before turning off the engine.
“Tanya, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, all I said was--”
“But why do you have to say anything at all? Can’t you just leave me alone about it? Christ…”
“What are you talking about? You’re crazy.”
A look of pure fire flashed over her face.
“Yes, yes, I know. Crazy. And stupid, right? Don’t bother telling me, I know. Sorry not all of us are so perfectly fucking rational. And now I can’t even have a baby, it’s fantastic.”
Her chest was heaving in her thin cotton dress. She seemed flushed, only moments away from bursting into tears.
“Hey… hey, I don’t think you’re stupid,” I said softly.
She looked at me, nostrils flaring.
“Why is this so hard?” she said eventually.
We sat there for a bit, both silently wondering if the other was blaming them for this weird mess we had gotten ourselves into. Her eyes were strange and unnervingly fluid. She had only had this particular look on her face once before, once many years ago, during a fight we had that I try not to think about anymore. They were melting eyes, eyes full of blame and accusation, and they tore at my heart to see them like that, and it hurt me so badly I couldn’t stand looking at her.
She popped open the car door and stepped out suddenly.
“Hey, where are you going?” I said, but she was gone.
She was wearing one of her cotton sundresses again, except this particular afternoon wasn’t quite the right weather for it. Hot and dry wind blew at the skirt and started to lift it up, tossing some of her loose hair as well. I got out and stood looking at her over the roof of the car.
What I loved about Tanya was precisely that she was so rational. That she never asked me to play weird guessing games with her emotions, or mocked me for being a bit slow on the uptake when it came to subtle social cues. Yet here she was, a moody wife that couldn’t be placated. I had no idea what to do.
“Will you get back in the car?” I said.
“Will you stop telling me what to do?” she replied.
The wind was tearing at her dress, occasionally lifting it right up and giving a brief, full glimpse of her thighs underneath. Even now, even like this, she was the hottest thing I had ever laid eyes on.
“Ok,” I said, “Just tell me what you want me to do. Anything. Tell me how I can make this better.”
Her gaze softened. She walked over to my side of the car.
“Just hold me,” she said, and I was more than happy to oblige. She flung urgent arms round my middle and held me tight, and I kissed the top of her head, her hair whipping in the wind around me. She mumbled something to my chest and then did something strange; pulling in closer to me, she made that familiar, almost kitten-like, hungry little push against my crotch, curling her pelvis softly into mine like she did when she wanted me.
I looked down at her and beamed.
“Hey now…” I said, a little surprised.
She giggled.
“Not so cross with me after all?” I said, and she responded with another pulse of her hips.
“So, you wanna…?” I said quietly.
“Mmm.”
“Ok, let’s get home, we’re not too far now.”
“No,” she said simply.
“What?”
“Here.”
Ah. Here. But, like, here here?
I smiled a cheesy grin, relishing the idea of rogering her right here, in the back seat in broad daylight when we had both taken time off work for a doctor’s appointment. I moved to open the car door but she laid a simple hand over mine, stopping me.
“No… here,” she said again.
She turned up a different face to me now; a leftover tear had seemingly been slashed across the side of her face by the wind, where it had dried. She had a deep, naughty look on her face, and in a heartbeat I was rock hard, thrilled at this sudden turn of events.
“Love, it’s broad daylight,” I said, although I can’t think why I wanted to dissuade her at that point. She nodded.
“Who knows who will see us here?” she said and sent a pair of eager fingers to start working at my fly. A little rush of panic went through me. Seriously, what would happen if we were caught? My mind quickly tried to do an estimate of how many cars were likely to be on the road at this hour, and how many we’d encounter, the probability one of them would ca
tch us, and how long it’d take to…
Unbelievably, my cock sprang out the second it was released, somehow doing its thing without a speck of permission from me. It felt wild to have the ordinary, weekday sunshine beaming down on it, right here, in public. She reached up to me and gave me a fitful, raunchy snog and quickly spun round, lifting her skirt up and pressing her rump square against my cock.
It felt amazing.
She skillfully pulled the narrow strip of her underwear to the side with one hand and with the other, clutched desperately at the billowing fabric of her dress, the wind blustering it in all directions. The image was so completely ridiculous, I couldn’t help but laugh. Here she was, flaunting her little pussy at me with one hand and trying to maintain a ladylike bit of dignity with the other. Through windblown hair, she said, “quick, before anyone catches us…”
But what about foreplay? Was she ready? I didn’t want to hurt her.
“Fuck me, you big idiot!” she said, and I didn’t need another prompt. I drove my cock into her barely wet hole, and she cried out, whimpering a little. Well, she did ask.
“Love, are you ok?”
She hung her head heavy to one side and reached behind her to clutch at my hips. A low grunt was her only response. I felt the tiny ripples of her body waking up to me, shivering and puckering all around me. It seemed that within just a few seconds she was growing wet and plumping up all around me, right then.
It was incredible.
The hot afternoon sun beat down on us; we were all alone out here on this empty road – but for how much longer? She flicked her hair to the other side and pushed back into me, forcing my own hips to bump into the car behind us. She was quite a bit shorter than me, and as I settled the weight of my cock inside her, she had to rise to tip toes to reach me, balancing, fully impaled. I reached forward to steady her with a firm hand under her belly button. My fingertips found warm, dry skin there, and her delicate heartbeat fluttering inside her.
I looked down through the flapping rim of her sundress at the two milky mounds of her arse, and my dick disappearing between them. No sooner had her body adjusted to mine, did she start pumping her hips back in a quick, panicky rhythm. I clutched gently round her slight waist, to keep her from falling; she twisted around briefly to grin at me, then down at the growing ring of wetness at the base of my cock. She pumped down over me, enveloping my shaft in the most perfect, hot little envelope; then, pulling back again she exposed that wet length to the chill air, sending prickles out over my skin that travelled the full length of my spine. I let my head fall back a little, waves of pleasure fanning out through me. My beautiful wife. My little fuck machine. She thrust into my lap again and again, each pump bouncing a fat ripple through the flesh of her backside.
“Love… we’ll get caught,” I said, although nothing in the world could have torn me out of her hot pussy at that moment.
With each thrust she built up a delicious heat, so thrilling against the cold air, and with this heat we seemed to meld and fuse together. Like dogs rutting in the fucking streets, I thought, with a new mix of panic and glee.
With a supple, cat-like bend of her long torso, she reached back and nuzzled her cheek against mine.
“Good,” she said.
I smiled. Naughty little bitch. Grabbing fistfuls of skin at her waist, I pulled her down savagely onto my dick, ploughing right into the middle of her lithe little belly, and held her down as she squealed and shook. I saw her desperately trying to lift higher up onto her toes, but gravity was on my side and she had nowhere to go but down, taking every last inch of me.
I was shocked at her. Did she want to be caught? My face flushed with the thought that my wife was a closet slut, a woman with nothing but a thin bit of sundress between her and a quick public fuck, like nothing was so normal in the world. Horny? Just pull over and shag, wherever you find yourself, like a little slut. She couldn’t wait. She wanted my dick so bad she couldn’t wait a few minutes for it, and now that we were in danger of being caught by strangers, she was dripping wet and grinding into me like an animal.
“You’re being very naughty, dear,” I said into her wind-whipped hair, and delivered my disapproval in the form of a string of quick, brutal thrusts. She had no air in her body to protest, and only fell forward limply, mouth half open, her little ballerina-like breasts hanging down in front of her loosely, inside her sundress.
So, let them catch us then. Let everyone see what a raging, dirty slut she was; let them look her right in the eye, and see her flushed face.
I thrust harder.
It would be my dick jammed so far up her she wouldn’t be able to move now even if she wanted. This was my whore of a wife, let everyone look, and let them see how much she was loving it…
These thoughts were rushing over me, completely new and surprising. I was angry that she was being so careless – this wasn’t like her at all – and angry that she was flaunting her body, her body that only I was supposed to see. With a confusing, faint sense of humiliation I pounded her even harder still, harder than I ever had, so that her little toes nearly came clean off the floor.
The ropes of her long hair were shaking with each blow of my hips into hers. I almost felt sorry for her – she had bitten off more than she could chew, poor little thing, and she was getting fucked to pieces now whether she wanted it or not. This woman in front of me somehow wasn’t my wife anymore; and somehow I was entitled to pour abuse into her slender body, here, on the side of the road with nothing but a flimsy cotton dress covering her hungry little body.
“Love …love …a car’s coming…” she squeaked. On the periphery of my awareness I heard a car approaching. Fuck. Fuck.
I picked up the pace to fever pitch and felt her fearful frame tighten and explode all around me into a hot, hurried orgasm. Her worn little pussy twitched violently against me and before I knew it I was tumbling after her, pawing at her belly and breasts.
“Oh god…” I said, exploding squirts of cum deep into her.
The car whizzed by. We were in public. In public.
Slack jawed, she twisted round to face the road, and I saw the slow movement of the car reflected in the wet curve of her eye. That moment lasted forever – the slow crawl of the car on the horizon, her body frozen like a startled deer, nothing but the sound of her hard breathing and harder heart beat. She was looking at them and I was looking at her. The bulk of her body was concealed by our pulled over car, but it was painfully obvious what we were doing, and even if she was covered up, her bare face told more than the full story to anyone caring to look.
“Oh god. They’re staring right at me…” she said, spellbound and unable to pull away her gaze. Then, something magical happened. As the car’s reflection disappeared out the one corner of her eye, her slack expression suddenly curled up, melting with a new wave of pleasure. She was coming. Again. All the tension in her body dissolved and her body crumpled down onto mine; long, vicious shudders worked their way through her exhausted frame. I stared down, thrilled to see dribbles of white streaming out of her.
She snapped her gaze from the road back onto my face, both of us stunned.
With a few hasty movements, she untangled herself from me and came off my dick, adjusted her clothing round her and smoothing down the skirt of her dress nervously.
I quickly zipped up.
Her hair was a mess.
We both stared down at the drops of cum in the sand, then back at each other.
In the 9 years we had been married, I had never seen such a wild look on her face.
We drove home in silence.
Chapter Seven
My wife’s sexuality, it turned out, was something like those joke jack-in-the-boxes: tightly wound, and hard as hell to compress and fit back into the box once it popped.
There was this new room in our sex lives all of a sudden, and she was happily exploring every last inch of it. Pandora’s box had been flung open. My wife’s dirty mind was like a clown car �
� I was amazed by just how much came out of it - and kept coming and coming.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
That evening after our trip to the fertility doctor was the starting point. She seemed wired, a little drunk, a little scattered. She smiled broadly every time our eyes met; all her movements seemed a little more urgent. She absentmindedly started to chop an onion and then tossed the knife aside, declaring we should just order in and that she felt like cider. She hugged me in the kitchen. “They were staring right at me,” she whispered in my ear, for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening.
And why wouldn’t they stare? She was a beautiful woman, in the throes of delicious, private pleasure. I loved how thrilled the idea made her, loved how buzzed she was. This was my wife, and with a softer, subtler realization I thought how proud I was of her. That they had looked her in the eye, and whatever bliss they saw on her beautiful face was because of me. I held her close. This was something new, something scary – something we hadn’t done in years.
She spoke about it more later that evening, as we drank our cider, and as I watched those flickers of new arousal appearing in her eyes, I knew that I wanted to fulfill every last little dirty desire she could come up with; I wanted to be there, to be the one to fuck her in public like the little show-off she was.
“It is technically illegal, you know,” I said, taking a sip.
She smiled.
“What if, like, they arrested us and threw us in prison and we just carried on fucking right there, in the prison cell?”
I laughed at the thought. There was something so cheeky about it.
“Then we just keep doing it, then we have to go to court, and we keep shagging in court as well, and nobody knows what to do with us,” I said. Her eyes twinkled.
I relished the thought of her bare little rump, her illegally exposed pussy lips, and everyone horrified with us… it was strange. It was also very, very hot.
I took another sip. I loved it when we talked like this. This kind of pointless, loose banter that could go anywhere. We had done so much of this kind of thing when we were both in university. Why had we stopped?