“Hey!” I tried to grab the paintbrush from her, with the intent to pay her back for getting paint all over my shirt -- my roller was no use in short-range hand-to-hand. Then I asked, “So have things cooled off with her? She’s no longer... hitting on you?”
“I don’t know...” this uncertainty I was seeing in Ana was so unusual. It was completely intriguing.
“She’s lost interest?”
“I’m not sure I’d say that...” Well, at least she was unable to give me an outright lie.
Then she looked me straight in the eye and seemed to make a decision to go on the offensive against my probing questions. She said sharply, “You sound as though you want her to hit on me, you want me to go on a date with her.”
She jabbed me with the paintbrush again, splashing my old t-shirt with paint. I made more of an effort to claim it from her clutches, and we jostled a little for the thing.
“You can go on a date with her if you want to,” I said, a little breathless.
She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re just like all those other men -- you want to imagine me getting involved in some tawdry lesbian porn scene.”
I shrugged, “What can I say? You’re a very beautiful woman, and she’s... well, you said she’s pretty. There would be undeniable aesthetic value in you dating her...”
“You’re just a pervert, basically.” She smeared more paint all over my t-shirt.
I laughed, and in lieu of controlling the paintbrush, I made a grab for Ana herself, pulling her to me in an embrace tight enough to prevent her smearing more white paint all over me. I think she was about to struggle and put up some kind of half-hearted fight, and actually try to paint me some more. But pressed against me, I guess she felt something inside my jeans.
“Jesus, that’s you?” she asked.
“No one else in these jeans.”
She gave me a quizzical look, as though working out what my erection meant in the context of our conversation about the lovely Ellie.
“You really do like the idea of me going on a date with her?” she suddenly said, as though up to this point she’d assumed my tolerance of such a potential had only ever been in jest.
I shrugged, unable to deny it.
“I’m not a lesbian, you know,” she insisted.
“I know. Just a touch bi-curious, that’s all.”
“Jesus,” she said, dropping her paintbrush, her fingers tightening their grip on my shaft through my jeans, and then starting a slow caress. “You really would let me jump into bed with her, wouldn’t you?”
“Up to you,” I said.
“You’re crazy. This is all I need,” she kissed me again, just as forcefully as before. Proving herself. I wasn’t complaining. My hands found the pleasing roundness of her behind, and pulled her to me, crushing my hardness against her. Spurring her on.
She pulled off my t-shirt, hardly breaking from our kiss to drag it over my head. Then as she continued to suck on my lips, she fumbled with my belt and my fly. I pulled her t-shirt off over her head to reveal a plain gray bra, but then she topped me by stooping to haul down my jeans and my underwear, fully exposing my aroused state.
She straightened again to kiss me, pressing herself against my bare cock, and now I reached behind to remove her bra. Her nipples were stiff as pebbles. I bent down to take one into my mouth, and felt her hands take hold of my cock, to slowly pump me.
The way she crouched in front of me, and took my hard cock in her mouth, seemed to continue her attempt to prove her heterosexual credentials. She wasn’t just trying to give me pleasure by stretching her lips around my full girth, one hand enclosing the base of my shaft as she enveloped me in the soft, wet heat of her cheeks and her tongue. She was demonstrating -- to me, and more importantly perhaps to herself -- that she was turned on by the act of going down on me, of servicing this big, hard cock.
I moaned, and placed a hand gently on her head, to show my appreciation and guide her rhythm, just as she liked.
We heard the doorbell sound -- the pizza delivery guy -- but Ana looked up at me and shook her head.
She pushed me back, and I went with it, to collapse back onto the bed, gazing up at her pulling down her pants, and then her panties, before swooping down to lie with me, to kiss my mouth and lift a knee to straddle my thighs.
“I’m not bisexual, you know,” she said. “If that really does turn you on.”
“No?” I slid my hands up her smooth thighs as she picked herself up to bring the tip of my engorged cock to the entrance of her dripping pussy.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“Oh, I’d never say you disappointed,” I grinned as she stroked the end of my cock against her smoldering wet pussy, coating it in her personal oil. “But you do like her.”
She smiled at my teasing. “She’s nice.”
“She’s pretty. Your word.”
Ana groaned as she lowered herself on me, taking my hardness inside her, stretching that tight pussy of hers as I slowly filled her.
“I can... say other girls are pretty...” she said, starting to move on my pole, “...without wanting to sleep with them...”
“But this one’s different,” I grinned.
Ana rolled her eyes at me and sighed, then dropped forward on me to cover my face with her gloriously thick, long silky dark hair, and set about fucking my brains out until I came powerfully deep inside her, her pussy quivering around me as her own orgasm rippled through her body.
She seemed happy enough after that, content that she’d proved herself. And I couldn’t complain. There was even a mostly-hot pizza waiting for us out on the doorstep when we went downstairs to check.
3
Once again, all talk of Ellie, her clear interest in my wife and their academic collaboration was dropped as soon as we had exorcised the sexual cravings from our bodies. I didn’t go on teasing her about any of it, and she no longer seemed interested that I had different standards for men and for women when it came to flirting with my wife.
As diversity officer, by day I was drawn into a fairly awkward issue involving a student and a member of our English department, which drew my attention away for the most part.
I also decided that while I had been certain that my wife had shown the signs of some kind of response to Ellie, even just mildly, I had to take her word for it that she wasn’t, actually, experiencing any kind of bisexual feelings. It certainly wasn’t my place to push Ana one way or the other, no matter how hot I considered the idea of her exploring any kind of leaning toward the French visiting professor’s attentions.
Wednesday evening came, and with it the first time Ana and Ellie would get together purely to discuss Ellie’s paper. I found myself getting another wall of the master bedroom painted, and for the most part managed to avoid too much thinking about whether my wife might be warming to Ellie’s flirtation.
Ana came home about 10pm, later than I imagined she would, but I purposefully didn’t pry too much other than asking how it went.
“Oh fine,” she said, though she didn’t mention anything about what had gone on. She did seem noticeably upbeat the rest of the night.
When we were settling down for bed, she said: “I’ll be late again tomorrow and Friday -- still have more to do on that paper with Ellie.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “So it’s going well?”
“The paper? Sure.”
“And Ellie?” I couldn’t help the mild dig.
Ana sighed, but seemed unable to stop smiling. “I told you, she’s nice -- I like her. But that’s it.”
“Right. So you’re going to miss your regular Thursday night gym session to talk with her about a paper.”
“We can do both, you know,” she said, switching off her bedside lamp. “Night night.”
The next night, I finished off the painting of the master bedroom walls as Ana stayed out until 10ish once again, returning in her gym clothes. I think if Ellie had been a man Ana was seeing after work these past nights, and was acco
mpanying to the gym, I’d probably have felt a little suspicious. I might have even questioned whether she needed to see him so much.
As it was, I found myself hoping that something really was happening. My wife, though, signaled nothing other than the platonic, the academic. As we kissed, I couldn’t detect any hint that she might have been amorous with another woman -- no trace of an unfamiliar perfume, no smear of another shade of lipstick.
“Seems to have taken a while, this paper,” I said. “She getting you to do all the math?”
Ana laughed. “No. I’m just checking it over -- it’s quite complex for economics. I’d show you, but -- “
“No need,” I said, knowing that any mathematics beyond junior high school level would baffle me these days.
“We’re nearly done -- probably finish up tomorrow.”
Again, I didn’t probe any further that evening as Ana took her shower and we headed to bed. She was clearly buzzing, and I guess that could have been simply because Ellie had presented an interesting paper for her to consider, or even that Ana just enjoyed meeting a new friend. But if she wasn’t supplying any details, I didn’t feel it was time to push her.
Friday came, and I was fully expecting her to come home as before, cheery and uplifted after completing her little free consultation with the visiting professor, but again revealing no hint that anything had developed beyond a sympathetic academic friendship.
I managed to apply some quality white gloss to our skirting boards in the master bedroom, and with hindsight I’d say I’d fully accepted that Ana’s relationship with Ellie had resolved into a perfectly innocent and platonic temporary academic partnership.
But at about 9pm, Ana texted to say:
>Finished sorting through the paper, just going to go for a drink or two with Ellie xx
I think it was the fact that I plainly wasn’t invited that set the cat among the pigeons in my head. I guess if Ana was going out for dinner or drinks with her female friends, she would leave me at home, so I felt wrong to read too much into it. I was hoping something might happen, though.
Taking a shower to wash off the grime of decorating, I found myself wondering if Ellie would be trying to get my wife drunk, and whether a little alcohol might make Ana more receptive to her advances. It was exciting to imagine that Ana was out on a date with a beautiful woman, that she would get to experience the thrill of such a stunning woman making eyes at her.
I found myself slumping down on the couch for a little Friday night video game action in just my towel -- since I didn’t have to work the next morning -- and was actually hoping that Ana would end up spending the night with Ellie.
My fantasy was a little on the unrealistic side, I figured, but I could hope.
Ana disappointed me by coming home at 11pm. The sound of her unlocking the front door instantly brought me back down to earth.
Then the sight of her wearing a summer dress -- a black number with white polka dots -- rather than the usual more gender-neutral outfits she tended to wear around the campus, immediately perked me back up.
“You have fun?” I asked her as she approached.
“Of course,” she smiled, and I could see she was a little tipsy.
“You wore a dress today?”
She shrugged, “I can wear a dress if I like.”
“Did Ellie like it?”
I rose from the couch to greet her, and also attempt to conceal the thickening of my cock at the sight of Ana in that dress -- no easy thing to do in just a towel.
“You are a bad, bad man,” she grinned, but gave me a twirl in her dress to show it off for me. “Thinking dirty thoughts about me and another woman.”
Her arms were quickly around me, and her hand found my thickening cock almost instantly. As though to explain myself, I said, “It’s just the sight of you in that dress... I never even knew you owned anything so short.”
Grinning, she kissed me, and raised her arms to allow me to take off her dress, up and over her head. She wasn’t even wearing a bra. Who was this woman, to go out in public in a dress like that and no bra? It wasn’t like Ana. Underneath, she had nothing but a pair of black lace panties.
“So it’s just pure coincidence this was what you were wearing when you went out for drinks with her?” I asked.
“Jealous?” Ana beamed, and we kissed as my hands found their way to her soft breasts and those stiff little buds atop.
“Nope,” I said, and I wasn’t telling a lie. “I even like the idea you were trying to impress her tonight.”
Ana sighed melodramatically, but did not lose her smile. “How many times do I have to tell you...”
She turned her back to me, rubbing her body up against me like a cat, and her hand was stroking my hard cock through my white towel, and just to feel it made her moan.
“Mmm... this is nice,” she said. “Maybe I should just go with your dirty little fantasy, huh? If it makes you this hard for me...”
I held her, fondled her small but perfect breasts and kissed the base of her neck as she pressed her butt up against my manhood.
“It isn’t just my fantasy, though, is it?” I growled.
“That’s what you’re hoping...”
“Are you planning on seeing her again? Now you finished the paper?”
She turned to me and kissed me, sucking on my bottom lip. Then she said, “What d’you want me to say? That we’re going on a date next week? That I’m thinking of spending the night with her?”
Much as her words did affect me, her smile and that glint in her eye told me plainly that she was teasing now, she was asking if I wanted to role-play with her. Maybe another time I would have.
“I want you to say the truth,” I said, leaning down to take one of her hard nipples in my mouth. Bottom line was, I was holding out for more than role-playing.
“I’ll see her in the gym, no doubt,” she said. “And she told me she was going to attend my lectures from now on.”
“That’s great!”
She smiled, shook her head, and sank down to perch on the edge of the couch. “She just likes the way I teach. And the math is useful for her subject.”
Kneeling before her, I kissed my way down her stomach, and took hold of her thighs as I approached the waistband of her panties, to gently pull aside her legs. I could smell her arousal, even before I began kissing my way over the black lace covering her mound.
“You know, I looked up that word of yours in the dictionary -- ‘pretext’,” I said, kissing my way around her panties now, my fingers pressing against her pussy, feeling just how wet her underwear was already. “Sounds to me like her going to your lectures is precisely that.”
She moaned as I caressed her sex through that thin black lace. “You want me to date her, so that you can go ask out some girl you have the hots for?” she asked.
“So you’re saying you do have the hots for her?” I semi-joked. Semi, because it had almost seemed like a meaningful slip of her tongue to say what she did.
“You know what I mean.”
I edged aside her panties to reveal the full glory of her exquisite pussy, her pink folds glistening with moisture, the soft dark fur over her mound saturated with her juices.
“I’m not saying you can sleep with Ellie because I want someone else,” I said, seriously. I could see she believed me.
I leaned in to taste her, running the flat of my tongue along her slippery groove to lap up her delicious nectar. She let out a long groan.
“You know she has a boyfriend?” she said as I set about feasting on her tangy juices, her body undulating gently as I pressed my tongue into her, as I sucked on her lips, as I drew her clit within the heat of my mouth.
“Uh-huh?” was all I could utter in reply.
“Uh-huh,” she said, her breathing deepening.
God, was there any more sensational angle from which to appreciate a woman’s beauty than this? I’d had girlfriends before Ana who’d disliked a guy going down on them, who’d actively stop
ped me when I’d tried. Girlfriends who found the whole thing distasteful, or were too self-conscious about their bodies. I was thankful Ana was different, she enjoyed it. Perhaps those other girls would have run for the hills if another woman had ever hit on them.
Then she said, “He’s back in France. In Marseille, where she’s from.”
I sat up, pulled her panties off her. “And he’s happy that she flirts with other women while she’s away from him?”
She grinned suggestively. “He’s fine with anything, as long as it’s not with another man.”
I laughed, “And what did you say to that?”
“I said I thought my husband might feel the same way about me.”
With that, I buried my face in her naked pussy, ravishing her, making her lean her head back against the cushions of the couch and cry out. Gorging myself on her succulent flavor, my hands reaching up to sweep over her breasts and those hard, dusky little nipples -- I felt like I was rewarding her for saying such a thing to her new French friend. It didn’t strike me as something she could make up.
Panting, groaning, she let me take her all the way, writhing and shuddering and bucking under me, gyrating her hips to rub her pussy against my face as she came hard in my mouth.
After that, she dragged me upstairs to the bedroom, where she went down on all fours on the bed, pushing out her behind for me. I could stand on the floor at the edge of the bed and slide my hard cock inside her, holding her hips as I thrust into her.
We had always been pretty good together in bed, but I think all the talk of Ana and Ellie had gotten me harder than usual. She seemed tighter, despite the fact that she was so very wet, and I really didn’t have to move much inside her to get her going again after her last orgasm -- it was like my swollen cock was grazing up against every sensitive part inside her at once.
She was louder, too, in gasping at my pounding into her, in panting for breath, in crying out as her second orgasm of the night appeared staggeringly quickly. Maybe we did need to role-play something like this situation in future. The idea of Ellie clearly had results. But did it make Ana more sexual, more sensitive, easier to please?
Wives with Benefits: Volume Two Page 10