by Ben Boswell
She continued, “Okay, option number three. Te’ron. Younger than the others. Tall, well-built, black guy. Real dark skinned too, not like Jason, so something of a first for me. Real deep voice, almost rumbling. Real confident. He had his hand on my knee almost immediately, his thumb making small circles on my inner thigh. He thought about it for a second when I asked him, then he told me he’d drag me into the alley. Shove you up against the wall, pin your hands above your head, and go to town on that sweet ass of yours.
“So,” she continued, “which do you think I liked best?”
Was she really playing a game with me? I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, though, because whatever my conscious mind thought, my imagination was running wild. I pictured Rusty, sitting on the floor, criss-cross, naked, his corded muscles taut, and Terri, naked as well, sitting in his lap, impaled on his cock, her big tits pressed against his muscular chest, both of their bodies glistening with sweat and oil, kissing wetly. And then my wife on her back, hands behind her knees, holding herself open, while Chad pumped his fingers inside her. Two in her pussy, one in her ass. His tongue swirling around her clit, and Terri, red faced, gasping in passion. Now in a darkened alley. Terri’s face pressed up against cold brick. Her jeans down just enough to expose her ass. Te’ron’s long, thick cock pounding into her from behind, lifting her off the ground with each savage thrust.
“Te’ron,” I groaned.
She grinned. “I knew you’d pick him.”
“So, did you?” I asked.
“Did I what?” she replied innocently.
My throat was almost too dry to speak. “Go with him.”
“Did I let him shove his big, black dick in my little, pink pussy? Did he make me come so hard I thought I’d faint. Did I beg him to put a load of his jism inside me?”
“Yes.”
She turned away from me, and I thought she was ending the conversation, leaving me hanging. Instead, she thrust her ass toward me, and I realized she’d pulled up her nightie, her bare bottom grinding against my PJs. Despite coming three times already, I was hard again.
“Go ahead, put it in, unless… you’re not ready.” It would have come off as a taunt, except she surely knew I was hard. Instead I recognized it as a tease. I knew you’d be hard thinking of me getting fucked by another man.
I freed my cock and spooned her. I rubbed the head of my prick against her, finding her slit, excited and ready. She was so wet that I entered her smoothly, frictionlessly. We moaned together as I buried myself inside her.
“That feels nice, Baby,” she cooed. “Can you feel his come?”
I thought I could. She was drenched, and her pussy felt freshly fucked, loose, slick, swollen.
“Yes,” I groaned.
She chuckled softly. “I’m not so sure. He put it in real deep.”
He’s bigger than you.
I imagined his long, thick, black pole plunging into her again and again. Terri on her tip-toes, impaled on his prick, shuddering orgasmically as she felt him splash come against her cervix.
She seemed to feel my excitement. “Make me come first,” she growled.
I stopped thrusting and took a deep breath. I tried to purge the image of my wife being taken from behind by a complete stranger. No dice, but I was at least able to adjust my vision so that now he was giving it to her slow and deep. I thrust in time with her lover. At the same time, I reached around and placed my hand on her belly, feeling her body undulate as she moved to meet my thrusts. I moved downward until my fingertip found her slick, swollen clit.
She moaned. “Oh, yeah, like that, like that.”
We moved rhythmically, our bodies coming together and separating. I sped up a little, and rubbed her button in quick, tight circles.
“Oh yeah,” she groaned. “Oh yeah, Tony, make me come again. Make me cream on your big, black cock.”
She gasped, and I felt her pussy clench my shaft. I was already so close to the edge that her climax pushed me over. I added my load to her gooey cunt.
And then it hit me. “Tony? I thought his name was Te’ron?”
She rolled over to face me. “What difference does it make?”
“Because he’s not real?”
She smiled enigmatically. “Oh, no, he was a real.”
“But you didn’t screw him, did you?”
“No. I’m not sure what his name was. A black guy did come over and make a clumsy pass at me. A couple of other guys did too.”
“But you didn’t invite them to wax lyrical about what they’d like to do to you.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Really, Bill? Is that really what you want from me? To go out and, what, just throw myself at the first man who buys me a drink.”
“But those stories.”
“Just stories, Bill. I have an imagination too, you know.”
“So… you are thinking those thoughts. You saw, Te’ron or Tony or whatever. And the others. And even if they didn’t say those things… even if you didn’t give them the opportunity to say those things, when you let your imagination run wild, that’s what you came up with.”
“Because it makes you nuts, and that’s what turns me on.”
“I’m not the only thing that turns you on, though.”
“No, you’re not,” she admitted.
“And that’s all I’m saying. When someone does turn you on, I don’t want you to stop just because of me.”
“Bill, even if I am willing to go along with this, it isn’t going to be like you imagine. I’m not interested in bedding down the first passable man who comes along. Or even the first man I happen to speculate idly about.”
“That’s fine,” I replied.
“You sure? Because, given your reaction just now, I get the sense that your real fantasy is for me to be doing this all the time.”
“It’s not.”
“And you’re not going to be disappointed if months go by and –“
“I won’t,” I insisted.
She seemed a little skeptical. And if I probed my emotions deeply enough, I suspected she was right to be dubious. How would I really feel if months went by with no stories?
“And you don’t want to know about it beforehand, because you don’t want me to feel like I need to ask your permission?”
“That’s right.”
She paused, thinking. “So, I guess this is an offer I can’t refuse. No pressure on me if nothing happens, and no guilt if something does.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“Then… I guess we have an arrangement.”
CHAPTER TEN
I have to admit, I had never really clearly thought through how all of this would work, nor how it would affect me. It wasn’t just that I’d given her permission to see other men, but I’d also insisted that she not tell me beforehand if she was thinking of doing anything. As a matter of logic, it made a weird sort of sense. What I came to realize is that it also served another purpose. One that Terri would not be surprised to hear me acknowledge.
The simple fact was that we were now in a situation where, literally, any day she might come home and announce that she’d done it, been with another man. No warning. No time to prepare. Just the sudden realization that my beautiful wife had given herself to someone else. That he’d explored her body with his hands. Kissed her passionately. Thrust himself inside and taken his pleasure… and given pleasure to her as well. It was an exciting thought, and it did make me wonder if she was right that all of this was more about serving my fantasies rather than hers.
She was right about the fact that it was disappointing when nothing happened. I remain convinced that I don’t really like the idea of my wife with other men. And yet, when she came home, day after day, with nothing to confess, it annoyed me. No, annoyed is too strong. Frustrated, perhaps? That’s not quite right either. It confounded my expectations at the very least.
The other
thing it did was make me hypersensitive to any deviations from routine. I didn’t know whether or when she’d take advantage of her new freedom. But it hung over everything. By the terms of our agreement, literally, any moment when she wasn’t with me, was a moment when she might be with another man.
If I texted her during the day and she didn’t respond immediately, my mind inevitably pictured her in a compromising position. On her knees with her blouse open and breasts exposed, sucking on a great, big cock. Bent over a heavy wooden desk, skirt bunched around her waist, panties stretched tight across her thighs, getting fucked from behind.
And even when she finally responded to my text, I would work that into my fantasy. On her back, legs over a stranger’s shoulders, sending me a grocery list even as a thick cock churned in and out of her tight pussy. His deep, masculine voice suggesting, Send him a picture of us. And I’d stare at the phone. Milk. Bread. Bananas. Green veggies. Juice boxes for Braden. As each new text arrived, I’d grow increasingly convinced that the next would be of her swollen, pink snatch clinging to another man’s cock. Oh, and assorted fruit yogurts.
If I came home before her, those moments of waiting until she arrived dragged out. Even as I played with the kids and helped with homework, I couldn’t help but imagine their mother in a hotel room. Half-empty champagne glasses on the bedside table. Terri, hands bound together above her head with a bathrobe belt, legs wrapped around the waist of a slender man, his muscular ass clenching as he drove into her again and again and again.
If her phone buzzed with an incoming text, I imagined it was an image of a hard throbbing cock, a response to a picture she’d sent earlier of her shaved pussy, a part of a flirtation that would soon lead to her coming home with torn panties and a thighs wet with another man’s seed.
I was, in short, imbuing every little thing she did, or didn’t do, with some sexual meaning. If she hadn’t already been my wife, my behavior would have been weird, stalkerish, obsessive. It probably was all those things anyway, but she tolerated it with good grace.
It probably didn’t hurt that I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Spending all day, every day, imagining her being defiled by an endless series of hungry, powerful men kept me in a state of barely contained arousal. All it took was one of her sexy giggles, flirty glances, a flash of cleavage, a glimpse of her ass in yoga pants to set me off.
But I had to keep my distance until the kids were in bed. Forcing myself to be calm and attentive to them. Deep breaths when their mother was in the room. Finally bidding them good night. Then I’d be upon her. Pressing in close. Hands, mouth exploring. Was that a bite mark on her shoulder? Aromas, tastes. A whiff of a man’s cologne? The salty tang of dried sweat? I was consumed by my jealousy and lust, convinced that one day, any day now, I’d discover the damning evidence of some other man on, or in, her.
***
“How was your day?” I asked as I nuzzled her neck from behind, checking to see if there were any bruises where there shouldn’t be.
She’d just sat down at her desk, and was going over the bills.
She giggled. “Bill, you have to let me do some chores.”
“Later.”
I rubbed her shoulders, and then slid a hand down to palm her flat belly.
“Look, a past due notice.” She waved an envelope at me.
“Later.”
God, her hair smelled so delicious, orange and vanilla wafting into my nostrils. Had she washed it recently? Maybe after a late afternoon tryst in a convenient bachelor pad downtown. She turned toward me and kissed me with a sudden, desperate intensity. Too sudden. Too desperate. Too passionate to be meaningless.
“Oh God, Terri, you did, didn’t you?” I gasped.
“Did what?” she teased. “Are you accusing me of having an afternoon assignation?”
“Not… not accusing. Just asking.”
She spun her head around to face me. I had the awkward choice of bending over double or…. I dropped to my knees so we could be face to face. She smirked and ran her hand through my hair.
“Well,” she began. “My afternoon appointment did cancel at the last minute. So there I was, out of the office, with nothing to do. Didn’t make sense to just go all the way back to my office, so I thought about how I might… occupy myself.”
I stared at her, rapt. That strand of silky hair across her cheek. Her red fingernails resting on her thighs. Her blue eyes sparkling with amusement.
“At first, I thought I might just go down to Starbucks, have a coffee and read a book. But then I decided I wanted to do something… more… physical.”
“Who?”
“With whom did I spent my afternoon?” she asked innocently.
I nodded.
“Maybe it was Brian,” she suggested. “Mid-afternoon. Between the lunch rush and happy hour. Plenty of time for a rendezvous.”
I pictured her in his powerful arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he roughly bounced her up and down on his oversized prick, her head thrown back, crying out in passion.
“Did you?”
She smiled. “No. Though I do still need to pay him a visit. I promised him I would after the last time, and the longer I wait, the worse it’ll be for me.” She paused. “Though maybe that’s a feature and not a bug, right Bill?”
I nodded, dry mouthed, head spinning.
Terri kneeling before his naked form, his hard prick jutting out obscenely, fist clenching at her hair. You stayed away too long. Now you have to pay.
“Or maybe Herb,” she continued. “I was right by his office.”
Why did he keep coming up? Did she have a thing for him? Or was it just that she knew it would get under my skin? Or did the fact that she knew it would get under my skin encourage her?
“You didn’t.” I said with less confidence that I had planned.
She smiled. “Is that a question or a statement?”
“A statement?”
She laughed. I did as well. She knew so well how to make me nuts. Too well.
“No,” she admitted. “I could never do that to Melody.”
“But you would otherwise?”
She grinned again. Bam. I’d walked right into her trap.
“Maaayyybe.” She said it in a way that clearly indicated yes. “Melody let slip one night that he’s very sexual. Not that she needed to. I can see it in his eyes.”
“His eyes?”
She nodded. “He’s kinky, that one. He doesn’t just check me out. He’s, um, making plans…. And, he does have a great, big cock.”
I gasped. “You’ve seen it?”
“At the pool. You guys put more on display than you often realize.”
I blushed at the thought that other neighborhood woman had been assessing me that way as well.
“So who?” I asked.
“Why are you so sure I did?” she asked.
“Your hair. You took a late shower. And –“
She laughed. “I had a couple of hours off and I went to a yoga class. Then I took a shower at the gym.”
“Oh.”
She caressed my cheek. “You’re so silly.”
“I’m not. I just….”
“Tell you what, Honey. Let me finish paying these bills, and tonight you get to make up a story about me and we’ll act it out together.”
I nodded and got to my feet. She turned back around and went back to work on her tidy pile of bills. I just watched her for a moment, feeling again that disconnect between the two Terris. The one, a normal married woman with kids and responsibilities, the other a sexy vixen lurking inside. Not two separate women, of course, but each, as I imagined it, vying continually for dominance.
I retreated to the living room and busied myself with taking the decorations off the tree. If it had been up to the kids, we’d keep the thing up until March, but it was already shedding needles at an alarming rate, and dry enough that it was more kindling than tree.
If Terri was living with an internal struggle, then in some way, so
too was I. I had decided to put my hand on the scale in favor of slutty Terri. In part, it was because I had a sense that that Terri was more authentic, but she was right. That wasn’t all of it. The truth was, I was drawn to that conception of her. Fiery, exciting, a sexual rollercoaster. Irresistible, even if, in the back of my mind I suspected that if she ever really let go, I would lose her simply because I couldn’t keep up with her needs and desires.
I’d never have a ten inch prick and bulging muscles. Even more importantly, I’d never have the gall to bend her over a sink in a nightclub bathroom, or strip her naked and fuck her on a balcony overlooking a busy street, or share her with one of my buddies.
“You ready to go upstairs?”
I startled and looked back to see Terri leaning up against the entry to the living room. Back-arched, hand gripping the lintel, foot pressed against the frame. A femme fatale out of an old film noir. You know how to whistle, don't you, Steve? You just put your lips together and... blow.
“Um, sure.”
I rose. She held out her hand, and I took it. She led me upstairs, my eyes drawn to her ass. What an ass. I looked up and she was grinning at me. She shooed me into the bedroom and loudly locked the door behind us. I sat on the bed. She slid over to the closet.
“So, what was I wearing?” she asked.
I looked at her quizzically. “Not what you have on now?”
“I changed when I got home.”
“So what were you wearing before?”
“You tell me.”
I shook my head, still not understanding.
“This is your story,” she reminded me.
“I… I don’t know. A dress?”
She reached into her closet and pulled out her slinky black dress, the dress she’d been wearing at her birthday celebration when her first revelation had started all of this.
“Surely not this one. Not midday.”
I nodded. “No,” I agreed. “How about… how about that clingy silvery one.”
“The sweater dress?”
She took it out and held it in front of her. It was shapeless by itself, but I knew that it clung to her every, delicious curve. It had a turtleneck collar, but was short, stopping at mid-thigh.