by Ben Boswell
Tempting Terri
Ben Boswell
Tempting Terri ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
© 2016 by Ben Boswell
Cover image ©iStockPhoto/Getty Images
First digital edition electronically published by Ben Boswell, May 2016
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without explicit written permission of the copyright holder.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
FOREWORD
Two Sides of Terri is perhaps my favorite of the books I’ve written. Maybe because it was the first longer-form work I actually completed, or perhaps just because Terri came to life for me more than almost any of my other characters, I’ve always had a special place in my heart for that book, and indeed for Bill and Terri. So despite the fact that readers have been asking for a sequel for years, it took me a long time to come around to writing one. Basically, I didn’t want to fuck it up.
The challenge with this sort of story is that you can either go dark or light. Dark drags the plot into themes of betrayal, humiliation, hurt and pain. I didn’t want that. At least exclusively. Light, in some ways, is even worse: happy swingers, and the whole “plot” just ends up revolving around different pairings – FF, MMF, MFF, MMMF, etc – like a bad porno, back when they actually made pornographic movies rather than just shot individual scenes. Who would have imagined anyone would look back on formulaic, shot-on-video porn of the 1980s as some lost standard of excellence? You mean, there were actually characters? Who appeared in more than one scene? Dialogue, however stilted? Shocking! Anyway, I digress.
I didn’t want to just recycle Bill and Terri into a series of empty sexual vignettes. More importantly, I didn’t want to do anything too mean to them. I like them. Terri especially, but Bill too in his own way. Now, I’m not going to say that nothing unpleasant occurs. A book, even an erotic novella, needs some sort of tension, and you don’t get tensions if everyone is on the same page emotionally at every stage of the story. But I hope you’ll agree that I managed to be true to the characters even as I introduced some depth to their story and some challenges to their future.
This is not the end of the line for Bill and Terri. Instead, this is the second act of a three-part arc. I do think this book stands alone, but you’ll enjoy it more if you’ve read Two Sides of Terri first. And I hope that as you finish this – and then digest the teaser from the finale, Taming Terri – you’ll look forward to reading the next, and final installment in the trilogy.
Happily, you won’t have to wait too long for the third volume. Indeed, the two releases should follow on one another within a few weeks or so.
I’d like to thank all the readers who enjoyed the first book and clamored for a sequel. Of course, big thanks to Kenny Wright for his encouragement and his cover designs. And this time around, also thank you to readers Marge G and Michael Kay for helping catch typos and other editorial suggestions. I’m sure some errors still got through, but many fewer than would have been the case otherwise.
Ben Boswell, 2016
PROLOGUE
I’m not into the idea of my wife being with another man. But I do love what it does to her. I know that will seem like a bizarre distinction. A distinction without a difference. Or perhaps a bullshit rationalization. If you not only don’t stop it, but have actually encouraged it, then you must want it, right?
But I don’t. I swear I don’t. Every time it has happened it has been a horse kick in the chest, knocking me on my ass. Painful, both emotionally and even physically. Stomach churning and nausea provoking. But also hot.
For her the thrill is to tap into her adventurous, lusty side. The excitement of a new man. Flirting. Letting herself be seduced. Being kissed by someone different. Feeling his hands on her body. Different scents, tastes, sensations. And of course, that sense of being desired. So addictive, even though Terri, blond, busty, beautiful, would seem, objectively, to need no additional positive reinforcement. Still she loved it.
She more than loved it; it transformed her. It gave her a new spark. A new vitality. She was suddenly a wicked tease, a temptress. Passionate to the point of hunger. Reckless, gambling, eyes sparkling and chest heaving. Explosive. Lusty.
A little scary. Maybe even a lot.
It was an indescribable thrill to see her, my wife, the mother of my children, my best friend, suddenly turning into someone else. Someone crazy and sexy and wild, and fuck, it is hard to explain, but someone so… fucking… alive.
It began with a revelation about an old boyfriend, and quickly progressed through a torrid affair with him. It was terrifying and amazingly exciting. We broke it off with Chucky because he was too dangerous. His ability to connect with Terri too much of a threat. Her ability to resist him too much in question. And yet neither Terri nor I had been able or willing to completely forsake the rush.
Once I’d seen what she became with Chucky, it felt like trying to hide that side of her was akin to caging a tiger. Still beautiful to look at, and yet, tragic. It isn’t so much that I got off on the idea of her being with another man, but rather I got off on the idea of her getting off on it. And anyway, I couldn’t bring myself to deny it to her.
Even still, it was complicated. It made me so fucking jealous to think of another man even flirting with her. Dealing with her actually being with another man… men… was devastating. Just brutal. And yet. Fuck. Fuck, it was hot.
I almost wish I was wired differently. It would be so convenient if I were actually into it; although, I suspect it would be less exciting. I don’t know, but that sort of, what, swinger outlook, has always struck me as sort of sad. Like you don’t care enough about the other person to be jealous.
Well, that wasn’t my problem. No. I was jealous alright. But I was also hooked. Fuck me, was I ever hooked
Now, I don’t want to make it seem like Terri was constantly out and about fucking other men. Soon after Chucky there had been a fling with a sexy, French Army colonel. Away from home and safe, it was a way for us to reassert our control over the situation without Chucky. And that had been it. But it was enough. A small dose of that goes a long way, especially with Terri’s skill at parceling out her revelations, at suddenly remembering a new detail, a new sensation, and most of all at teasing me.
Teasing me. That is what made it tolerable, ultimately, knowing that whatever had happened, whatever would happen, she’d always come back to me. The flings were just that. Passing moments. Impermanent. With Chucky out of the picture, it was, in a way that was weird, but no less real as a consequence, about us.
***
Did I ever tell you about the night Jean-Pierre made love to me out on his balcony?
I was rock hard. She impaled herself on me, her pussy sloppy wet right from the beginning.
I was a little nervous being outside, Baby. So, at first, we were almost fully clothed. He just bent me over the railing, slid my panties aside, and took me from behind. It was amazing. Looking out over Paris. Seeing the Eiffel Tower glittering across the river. The whole City of Lights spread out before us. People laughing and drinking in the café right beneath us. Every girl should get fucked at least once in her life on a Paris balcony by a sexy Frenchman. I’d love to do it again.
Bam. That was all I could stand. Before I knew it, I was shooting my come inside her. I started to apologize, but she just shushed me. Pressing her body fully against mine, she continued writhing on top of me, feeding me more luscious details.
Once I relaxed a little, he started stripping me. First, he just lifted up my dress. Higher and higher. Exposing my thighs. And then my ass. Remember that I’d bought those sexy, white, lace garter-belt and stockings for him? That’s what I was wearing. They were almost glowing in the moonlight.
My cock began to stiffen again as she continued her breathy recollections.
I looked at the buildings across the square. Full of people and life. No one was looking at us, but they might at any moment. Then he pulled my dress completely off, over my head. He threw it inside his apartment, and now I was just in my lingerie, bent over the railing. Having me like that excited him. I know because he started fucking me harder. Not faster, honey, but harder. You know what I mean?
I just nodded. I couldn’t really speak. I was fully erect again. She adjusted herself slightly, and I slid back inside her pussy, hot, loose, full of my come.
Let me show you.
She gathered her knees beneath her and sat upright on top of me. Then, slowly, slowly she rose up, letting my cock slip out of her a millimeter at a time, until after the longest time, I had only the tip inside her. She paused. And when I almost couldn’t take it. When I was about ready to thrust up inside her, she dropped back down, hard, impaling herself on me. She ground against me for a moment, and then lifted herself up again.
It was just like that. Slow and hard at the same time. Anticipation, anticipation, and then relief, but not enough to satisfy, just enough to make me want more. Does it turn you on to think of me like that? Half-naked and on display. Getting fucked by a virtual stranger. Whimpering for his cock. Mewling in delight when he speared me. Do you like that?
“Yes,” I grunted.
Good. I liked it too. So much. And then he unsnapped my bra and slid it off as well. And now with each hard thrust I could feel my tits swaying beneath me. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head up, putting my boobs on display. I looked across at the other apartment building, and now I saw a man. And then another. And a couple. All looking at us. At me. Jean-Pierre reached around and started playing with my nipples. They were hard, sensitive, and his touch was almost too much, but also delicious. Every time he tweaked them, my pussy twitched with excitement.
She paused and looked down at her bare breasts. It took me a moment, but I got the idea. I reached up and began rolling her swollen nipples between my fingers.
That’s it, Baby, that just how Jean-Pierre did it. And then he stepped back and his cock came out. I begged him not to stop. Begged him to put it back in. But then I felt him start pulling down my panties. I tried to stop him. I know it sounds crazy. He was already fucking me. I was already almost naked. But that little wisp of fabric was my last bastion of modesty. And as I felt it come off, felt the cool Paris air against my wet, shaved pussy, I felt so dirty. I felt like such a slut. They slipped to the floor, and I stepped out of them. He picked them up and held them aloft. One of the men across the way was stroking himself. Another let out a yelp. The couple were just grinning. And then, suddenly, he thrust back inside me. I gasped.
She gasped for me as well, and now she started bouncing up and down on my prick faster and faster.
He fucked me harder and harder. His big cock pounding into me again and again and again. Like a machine. And I started screaming. I couldn’t help it. It just came out. He’d taught me some French. Ah oui, c’est bon.
Yes, that’s good.
Baise-moi! Baise-moi, papa!
Fuck me. Fuck me, daddy!
Encule moi!
Fuck my ass. My balls tightened. I grunted. I began to come inside her. At the same moment, she threw her head back and growled. Her pussy clenching on my shaft again.
Oh God. Oh God, Baby. He made me come so hard. You both make me come sooo hard. And then he came inside me. It felt so good, so good.
She fell forward onto my chest. A strand of her sweaty hair draped across my face. She nuzzled her chin against my shoulder. Her hot breath gasping in my ear.
They cheered us. The people across the way. And some at the café downstairs who were now looking up at us.
***
Even still, after nearly a year, it almost felt as if we’d gone back to normal. Until….
CHAPTER ONE
“… and a coupe of champagne for the pretty lady,” the bartender added as he poured her glass.
Terri giggled. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”
She batted her eyelashes at him.
“Only the beautiful ones.”
“I’m right here, you know,” I commented without taking my eyes from the TV. Studied indifference. Was I trying to prove I was cool? Or was I egging her on?
I could feel him sizing me up. It wasn’t really fair. He was fifteen years younger and seemed to spend his time equally between the gym and the tattoo parlor, though his face had an open, innocent appeal, big blue eyes and thick, wavy hair.
She placed a hand on my forearm. “Don’t worry about my husband. He’s very open-minded.”
He grinned. “Well, that’s good to hear….”
“Terri,” she answered, holding out her hand.
“I’m Brian,” he replied. “I’ll be right back. Just let me know if you need anything.”
“Oh, I will,” she cooed.
Once he was out of earshot, I said, "I didn't realize you liked tattoos so much."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I'd never get one myself, of course, but you have to admit, it works on him. Maybe it is just all those muscles."
“Are you really into him? Or are you just punishing me for wanting to watch the end of this game?”
I’m not a sports nut, but once in a blue moon, I do get wrapped up in something. In this case, it was the Premier League, and I just wanted to catch the conclusion of this game.
She batted her eyelashes at me now. “Why not both?”
Oh God.
I’m completely paranoid about being late, and we’d left early for dinner at Marlin Malin, which I think is French for smart fish or something. Anyway, new place, trendy, expensive, hard to get a reservation especially on a Friday night, and traffic is usually a nightmare. But like Moses parting the Red Sea, there always seemed to be an open lane, and all the traffic lights aligned. We decided to get a drink at the brass-railed, dark-wood bar next door. A jazz trio playing. Men in tailored suits. Women in clingy dresses. A happy hour crowd, but a place where people change to get more dressed up after work before going.
“Terri, you know our reservation isn’t even for an hour.”
“So I have to find something to keep me busy while you watch the game.”
“You could watch it too.”
“Problem is, seeing all those sweaty, athletic men on the field….”
She trailed off as Brain returned.
“I know you’re an athlete,” she cooed at him, flicking a strand of blond hair from her eyes. “You don’t just watch it on TV.”
I rolled my eyes. She ignored me, eyes on him.
He seemed to have gotten over whatever hesitations he’d had.
“I played football in college.”
“Oooh,” she gushed.
“Now I mostly work out.”
“I can tell.”
He leaned forward over the bar.
“You look like you work out too,” he said.
She rose out of her seat to give him a better view. She was wearing a long, blue, satin dress that hugged her body. And what a body. Tall and slender with full breasts and an amazing butt. Classic American beauty. Blake Lively. Heather Graham. Amber Heard. That kind of look.
“Oh, I do a little yoga.”
I chuckled as she sat back down.
“What?” she asked, mock offended.
Brian discretely ducked away from the potential confrontation.
“You trying to get him to picture you in yoga pants or in Downward Dog?”
“I was thinking more Cow.”
I groaned. Hands and knees. Head up. Why did I know y
oga poses? And why was it so easy to picture my wife presenting herself to another man like that?
“Doesn’t sound as sexy,” I protested.
“You’re right. Anyway, I think I’d want to be able to watch him….”
Fucking me, I filled in the ellipses in my head.
“Terri –“
“He reminds me a little of Chucky,” she interrupted pointedly.
I groaned. She grinned.
Brian returned, a bottle in each hand. He refilled her champagne and my Maker’s Mark.
“We didn’t –“ I protested.
“On the house,” he replied.
“How will I ever repay you?” she flirted.
He smiled and walked away. I followed him with my eyes. Cocky young fuck. Powerful shoulders rolling confidently. Not even a glance back.
I turned back to find Terri grinning at me.
“So, should I fuck him?” she asked.
“Terri…. I….”
She laughed. A soft, lilting trill. Amused but not mocking. “What’s the matter Bill? Cat got your tongue?”
“I don’t know. It’s –“
“Not a hard question,” she interrupted.
I stammered for an answer, but I couldn’t seem to form any coherent sounds.
“Or is it?” she mused.
Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck. Fuck!
“It has been a while since anything new has happened,” she noted. “Any new adventures.”
I still couldn’t speak.
She seemed happy to continue her monologue. “I wouldn’t want you to get bored with me.”
I never could, I thought. But why couldn’t I say it? Anyway, my bigger worry was that she’d one day be bored with me.
“I think you want me to,” she said. “Fuck him, I mean.”