Yes, I Let Him

by Kamilla Murphy

  I came again with a healthy couple of cumshots before I realized I’d been still jerking off.

  For what I just witnessed, they deserved a good breakfast in bed. I slipped away and left them alone, going back down to the kitchen and whipping up some scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. When I carried the breakfast tray upstairs along with a pot of coffee, I found them cuddled together in bed, Maggie holding his wet cock lovingly in her hand as they talked. I broke the mood a bit when I made my presence known and served them breakfast. I surprised myself with finally being jealous, not about what had happened before as someone might suspect, but over the intimacy I was seeing now. My mind hadn’t separated sex from intimacy until I returned to the bedroom and saw them together like that.

  As they ate, Clark was effusive in his praise. “You two are an amazing couple. I can’t imagine, Frank, how much you love her by letting her indulge herself like this. I know that if I was married I’d never let another man touch my wife, but it’s obvious that you two are fully in touch with your sexual needs, and you’re a good man for letting her do it if her needs are beyond yours.” He saw that I was going to respond, so he interrupted me and continued, “…And I get the whole ‘watching’ vibe. I mean, I’m a single guy so I watch porn all the time, and your wife is hot enough to surpass any porn star.”

  Maggie said to me, “I love you Frank. You’re idea made all this happen.”

  Their breakfast finished, I took the tray and let them get back to what they wanted to do. Clark’s cock grew rigid again from Maggie’s ministrations as I left the bedroom.

  As I cleaned up the kitchen, I contemplated not only the scene upstairs but also my reaction to it. I still didn’t think the word cuckold fit me, although what else could I be? I got off watching another man fuck my wife more wonderfully than if I’d been fucking her myself. Maybe it was the sight of her in the throes of a great orgasm unlike the ones I’d given her. Maybe it was the screaming, announcing how great they truly felt. And maybe—if I really thought about it—it was Clark’s dick, bigger than mine by far and making me envious of something completely beyond my control. After all, envy is different than jealousy. Anyway, for whatever reason I also came more than I had in a long time too.

  This time I only heard them fuck. I didn’t have to see them to get hard again, and jerking-off to a splendid cum at the bedroom door was pleasure enough. After Clark showered and left, once more thanking me for my “understanding,” my wife was quite lovey-dovey, and surprisingly dragged me into bed.

  “Isn’t this a little like having a ham sandwich after eating a filet mignon?” I teased her as she sucked me to a new erection.

  She pulled her head up and said, “It doesn’t matter…if you’re still hungry,” which I guess was what she was. We fucked in the good old missionary position and kept our eyes open throughout. I knew it wasn’t the same for her than with big cock Clark but she climaxed nonetheless.

  The remainder of the day was nice; however we stayed away from discussing Clark. The discussion happened when we got into bed that night. I asked her if she was going to see Clark again.

  “I don’t think so, honey,” she answered. “It was a fantastic experience, and I guess you got what you wanted, too. To Clark I was like a one-night-stand anyway, and I understand that, so don’t consider him anymore, okay?”

  “Does that mean back to normal?”

  She laughed, “Normal? No, silly, we’ll never be ‘normal’ again. Actually, I was thinking of Kendra.”

  “What does your friend have to do with anything, besides the fact that she set you up with Clark? Are you saying that you want her to hook you up with someone else?” I asked with equal parts puzzlement and trepidation.

  “No, what I’ve been thinking about is how I believe Kendra feels about me.”

  I said, “She is your friend.”

  Maggie said, “What I mean is I think she wants to be more than a friend, based on how she’s been acting around me lately.”

  “But she’s not a lesbian, is she?”

  “No, silly, and neither am I, but I think she’s bisexual. I’ve been pondering letting things happen between us, basically to satisfy my own bi-curiosity.”

  It wasn’t where I thought our conversation would go. I said, “What’s left to ponder, if that’s what you want?”

  “It’s Paul too. What I was thinking about was a threesome with Paul and Kendra, kind of seeing where that would go.”

  “What about me?” I asked but maybe that horse had already left the barn.

  “Of course I’d tell you all about it afterwards. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Silly me—of course that would turn me on.

  She continued, “…and then maybe if it was good we could have you watch us the next time.”

  Silly me—of course that would be even better.

  I let her go on, formulating her plan for a new experience as I thought back to my first proposal that we needed to spice up our love life. Like the ending of an O Henry story, the result wasn’t exactly what I thought it would be, yet I’ve decided not to fight, it and go along for the ride.

  Silly me!

  BONUS STORY:

  MISPLACED

  When I saw the earrings, I froze. Were these real diamonds? What were expensive-looking earrings doing in my husband’s carry-on bag? I was moving the unzipped bag within the closet when I saw the gleam. Paul took this bag on every business trip, including the one he took to New York two months ago. They weren’t mine, so my worst fears were confirmed. He was either seeing high-priced prostitutes or he was cheating on me.

  I brought my woebegone suspicions to work with me, and my work suffered to the point everyone in the office began asking me what was wrong. Ted Davis was particularly attuned to my moods. Ted was a handsome, single guy who had all the girls in the office aflutter when he talked to them. He always treated everyone with respect, and I never saw him make any untoward advances to any of the gals, including me. Ted was a great listener, so when he asked me if everything was okay, I vented.

  “Don’t be so quick to blame him, Carol. I’m sure there’s a good explanation for the earrings.”

  He offered a couple of scenarios that may explain their appearance in the carry-on bag, but even Ted realized how improbable they were. “He’s probably got a fuck buddy in every city,” I said angrily. Ted never heard me cuss, so the f-word threw him. He urged a conciliatory approach with my husband, which was weird coming from another man. I put my hand on his and thanked him for listening to my problems.

  “If you need a shoulder to cry on, you know where I am.” Any other man saying that would have pissed me off, but I knew Ted, and I knew he meant well.

  I tried to summon the courage to bring up the earrings with Paul, but every chance was wasted as I chickened out each time. Like that Jack Nicholson movie line, maybe I couldn’t handle the truth if I knew what it was. I’d hidden the earrings amongst my own jewelry, but every so often I would dig them out and look at them. Then I’d cry.

  There were no clues before this. I’d never cheated on Paul, nor did I ever dream of doing so. Except for his business trips, Paul and I were always together, and he always seemed happy about that. We were in love, which wasn’t often the case with long-married couples. Our life was perfect.

  Who was I kidding? I did have suspicions, though if forced I couldn’t really pin any of them down. When Paul returned from business trips he’d often claim exhaustion and didn’t want to make love to me. Wouldn’t a period of abstinence make him hornier? When I bought new clothes or got a new hairstyle he didn’t compliment me like he used to do. Was it normal marriage complacency, or something more? Then there was the trip where he “lost” his wedding band, supposedly since he had recently lost weight working out and it “must have slipped off.” No, I never found the clichéd lipstick stain on a shirt, or smell the hint of another’s cologne on him, but that didn’t assuage my fears.

  I couldn’t come out and accuse h
im, and who knew what story he’d tell about the earrings anyway, so I sulked and felt like the loneliest person in the world.

  In the office, Ted saw my melancholy right away. He didn’t pry, yet he began doing little things for me, like get me coffee or bring me lunch. Before now I would’ve thought these actions by a male colleague boorish and chauvinistic, but they were a welcome distraction from the gloominess that had settled over me.

  It was inevitable, I guess, that even though Ted never made an overt pass I began to view him differently. The guy was a tall, handsome devil, with smiling eyes and a quick wit. His empathetic attention was genuine, I could feel it. So, maybe I’d make the pass. I asked him to lunch.

  I know he sensed a change in me, and I think he was attracted to that change. I’d worn a dress that was probably a bit too dressy and maybe a bit too short for the office, and he complimented on how good it looked on me. I knew it showed off my legs exceptionally well, and I knew he noticed, as I caught him looking a few times. Seated in a small café a couple of blocks from the office, I slid the dress’s hem up my thighs the next time I saw him look. I can’t remember the last time I was this flirtatious, but it felt good. As we ate and talked, I played with my hair. I’d read somewhere that playing with your hair was sending a signal that you were available, and the moisture in my panties signaled I was more than that. I felt naughty. It felt good being naughty. I wasn’t thinking about Paul while flirting with another man, and that was exceptionally naughty.

  How bold could I be? How far would I go with this? Ted had a sailboat and occasionally invited single gals in the office to go sailing with him. I’d heard ladies' room chatter about the dates, and so far Ted came across as an okay guy who loved sailing. None of the girls he dated shared sex stories so I had no idea how aggressive he may be, but I was willing to find out.

  “What do you have planned for the weekend?” I asked. “I’m a golf widow on Saturdays, so my excitement will probably be an old movie on TV.”

  “I usually take the boat out if the weather cooperates. Why don’t you come out for a sail with me?”

  “I’d love to, Ted. What do I bring?”

  “Your suit and a smile. You’ve been so down lately I want to see you smile again, that’s all.”

  “I love the water. I’ll be smiling,” I said.

  That evening I pulled my white bikini from the bottom of a drawer and went into my bathroom to try it on. I was gratified it still fit, and still looked good on me. I wondered if Ted would try something, or if he did, would I let him.

  By early Saturday morning I wasn’t as sure of myself. My husband went off to the golf course with his buddies and I pondered what I was going to do. You might say I was chickening out. I was about to throw myself at another man because I suspected my husband of cheating on me. I wanted to give Paul a second chance, and ask him if he loved me. I dialed his cell but it went straight to voicemail. I called the course’s clubhouse and asked for him, but the man who answered said he hadn’t seen Paul and wasn’t expecting him to play that day. He should have been there by now. I fumed. Was golf an alibi to see another woman?

  Okay, I was going sailing.

  Instead of calling Ted to beg off the date, I called and asked him to pick me up. Somehow I figured he’d have a showy sports car, but instead he pulled up to my house in a conservative Buick sedan. When I climbed into the car, he complimented the house before I pulled a bottle of good champagne from my bag and showed him. “To christen my maiden voyage,” I said.

  “I think we’ll drink it and not smash the bottle against the hull.”

  “Sounds like a great idea.”

  Ted always looked great in the office, but he looked even better in shorts and a polo shirt. I noticed that he had no observable hair on his tanned legs and arms, and right away I had a mental image of other parts of his body waxed smooth. It was wet panties time again.

  We engaged in small talk on the way to the marina, mostly about work. He asked about my husband, and if he was okay with me going sailing with him. I didn’t tell Ted that Paul didn’t know, just that when he played golf, that’s all he thought about.

  He said, “I’ve tried golf a few times but couldn’t get past the frustration. Besides, it always seemed to me that the guys I played with just used it as an excuse to get away from their wives or girlfriends and drink. I’m more the solitary type anyway… much rather be out on the water than walking around a golf course.”

  The ‘get away from their wives’ part sure sounded like Paul’s motivation, considering all I was discovering. I pictured the earrings in my mind, and imagined a woman lying under him, with them on and nothing else. Who was he fucking today when he should have been golfing?

  I had a mental image of Ted’s sailboat but when we got to the marina, his boat turned out to be bigger than I imagined. “You sail this thing alone?” I asked.

  “I mostly do, but today I have a crew.” Meaning me.

  “Of course I have no idea what to do, so you’ll have to teach me. Do you put all your girlfriends to work when they’re on your boat?”

  He blushed, probably because my phraseology lumped me in with his girlfriends. “If you’re gonna sail with this captain, you have to earn your keep,” he said and laughed.

  We each carried a bag aboard, though his was bigger than mine. As if reading my mind, he indicated his oversized duffle bag and said one word: “Provisions.” He excused himself, went below and quickly changed into his bathing suit. When he came back up, all he had on were swim shorts and a pair of topsider shoes. The view was marvelous. Besides untying a couple of ropes, he told me to sit and relax while he got an engine going to sail us out of the harbor.

  As we moved away from land, he began setting the sails. I helped him with a couple of the chores but basically stayed out of his way and watched him. He moved in an effortless, athletic way that made him even more attractive. The wind wasn’t strong so we were moving at what I thought of as a leisurely pace through the water, which was correspondingly relatively calm.

  “You can go below and change into your suit if you want. Watch your step.” When I came back up on deck in my bikini, he whistled and said, “Don’t be angry with me for saying this, but you look a whole lot better than I imagined you would.”

  “And what did you imagine; cellulite, wrinkles, bulges?”

  “I’m not going there,” he said, and we both laughed.

  We sailed in silence, enjoying the feel of the wind and the occasional sea spray, after a while not seeing another boat. “Do you know where you’re going?” I asked.

  “I know where we are but not where we’re going.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I know how to navigate but I usually don’t preselect a destination. I just like to sail.”

  “You look like you like to tan too,” I said, noticing (how could I help it) that as his suit slid down his lean torso, exposing his waist, I saw no tan line.

  He blushed a bright crimson, and said, “Er, I usually tan out here when I’m alone.”

  “You know, that sounds like a great idea,” I said, and after looking around to see no other boat on the horizon, I reached behind me and untied my top, casting it aside. His eyes were glued to my tits. “You know, it’s alright by me if you want to do your usual sunbathing,” I said to him.

  “That’s okay” he muttered, still staring. Finally, “Oh Carol…you’re so beautiful, and not like any of the girls in the office.”

  “Thank you, and of course I’m different…I’m older and more experienced.”

  “And married.”

  “That’s true, but I’m here, aren’t I?”

  I stayed topless but I couldn’t get him out of his swim shorts. He sailed us toward a small island that turned out to be nothing more than a pile of rocks. Well away from the rocks he dropped sails, and then anchored. We popped the cork on the champagne, and his “provisions” turned out to be a full picnic’s worth of meats and cheeses
.

  He remained nervous around me until after we ate our fill of the good food and killed the champagne, and I said, “Relax, Ted. Like I said before, I’m here, so that means for today I’m not married.”

  I moved to him and we kissed, tentatively at first until his nervousness dissipated. He placed a hand at my breast while I worked his shorts down. With our lips fused and our tongues dancing, I only felt his lean, muscled abdomen below the waistline. As I awkwardly pulled down his shorts, his erection sprang out and brushed my hand. I moaned. His hand moved from my breasts, down, down, inexorably down until he pulled the side string of my bottoms to untie it, and he found my wet and willing womanhood.

  I said, “Take me, Ted…take me.”

  He said he didn’t have a condom.

  I said, “Who gives a shit.”

  We fucked missionary right there on the deck of his boat. I wrapped my legs around him and held on. I gave no thought to what I was doing and instead went with the moment, luxuriating in every marvelous thrust of his marvelous manhood. He hit some places within me Paul hadn’t hit in ages, and before I knew it I was screaming across the ocean waves. I had no idea if he came or not, but once we separated, the creampie at my pussy told the tale.

  Our lustful desires now suitably consummated and the sea still calm, we dove overboard and swam as naked as the fish around us. Back aboard, we lay next to each other and sunbathed. When he spread sunscreen on me, it was sensual foreplay.

  “I never figured this…would ever happen,” he said. “You were like the unattainable woman, the one I’d never be able to…”

  “You’re the best looking guy in the office, and eligible, with every gal after you, so why me? Have you really lusted after me all this time?”

  “It’s more than lust, Carol. You’re the kind of woman I’ve dreamed of, but always seemed out of reach. The younger girls don’t do it for me.”

  “But I do?”