Tempting Terri (Terri Trilogy Book 2)

by Ben Boswell

  Unlike my quick online scan the previous day, I read through it carefully this time, my eyes reviewing the list of panels, the names of the presenters. Medical and insurance jargon melding together. A torrent of names, words, associations. A few notations here and there. A checkmark. A star. A conference room underlined.

  I needn’t have been so meticulous. There was no missing it when I came to it. There, two-thirds of the way through the third page was Mike Coates’ name, which Terri had ostentatiously enclosed in a rounded heart like a schoolgirl might the name of her not-so-secret crush.

  My legs suddenly felt weak. I leaned against the table. I began to put the tote down, when I noticed another little piece of paper buried near the bottom. I fished it out. It was Mike’s business card. And when I flipped it over, there, in blue ink was his cell number. The same card he’d given her the day they first met.

  My heart was pounding, my head spinning.

  She’d made it sound like they’d just run into each other at the conference. But now I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d known in advance he’d be there. If, in fact, she’d planned it that way. If, maybe, they’d even been in touch beforehand. It would explain a lot. The bondage, the gagging, the pictures… either Terri had become recklessly impulsive or more likely, she’d worked herself up to all of this in advance. Maybe even with him. I wondered… how many times had they spoken? Or… maybe… even seen each other?

  This wasn’t what we had discussed. Not that I could really expect to hold Terri to any particulars. But, that said, our “deal” was supposed to be about her having the freedom to give in to her impulses, not to seek out assignations. Not to see men behind my back. I don’t know why that made a difference to me, but it did. Terri seeing a hot dude and not being able to resist was, well, exciting. It didn’t feel like cheating. Planning a hookup in advance, by contrast, seemed to violate our understanding, or perhaps my unspoken assumptions.

  I shook my head. All this was making me dizzy. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something had changed. It made me uneasy.

  ***

  We had an early dinner, and after, the kids got a rare evening opportunity to watch some TV. Terri and I were in the kitchen. She was cleaning up. I was going through a stack of mail.

  “You’re quiet tonight,” Terri noted.

  Indeed, I was. Terri wasn’t the first to have noticed. Our attractive 23-year-old, admin assistant, Emily, had asked me if I was okay, as had an old married, co-worker, Sam, over lunch. In both cases, I demurred, although I did momentarily amuse myself with the possibility of unburdening myself to Emily. I pictured a look of horror and then disgust spreading across her pretty little face.

  Oh, my God, Mr. Nichols, what is wrong with you?

  What was wrong with me?

  “Bill?” she persisted.

  I looked up at her.

  She snorted. “Oh for Christ’s sake, you look like I just took away your toy.”

  “I’m sorry if it affects me when my wife has sex with another man,” I snapped.

  “It was your idea,” she noted.

  “No. I… I just gave you the option. The freedom.”

  She laughed, but there was a dark edge to it. She sat down at the table beside me and leaned in.

  “Tell me, Bill, did you like the pictures I sent you?”

  I hesitated and in doing so lost the opportunity to credibly deny it. Mulishly I persisted. “Not really.”

  “Uh huh,” she replied skeptically.

  “So you never want me to do it again.”

  Again, I paused as my mind churned.

  “It’s not about me,” I replied.

  She laughed, shaking her head in astonishment.

  “What?” I grumbled.

  “You’re incredible, you know that.”

  “Not as incredible as Mike, apparently.”

  Anger surged across her face. I was about to apologize when she broke out in a sickly, sweet smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  “He was incredible,” she gushed.

  I felt myself flush. “So why don’t you see him again?” I challenged.

  “Who says I won’t? In fact, Baby, who says I didn’t? Maybe my pussy is leaking his come right… this… second,” she hissed, punctuating the last few words with a finger jab to my chest.

  She let that linger in the air for a moment. She slapped her palms on the table and rose quickly, sending her chair skittering across the kitchen floor. Without another word, she stormed off.

  I waited a little and then followed after her. She was squeezed in between the kids on the sofa, watching TV, asking them questions about their show, which Braden, in particular, answered with alacrity.

  She looked over at me, still angry, but then I saw her soften and she gave me a small, inviting smile. I joined them on the sofa. A perfectly normal family, having a perfectly normal evening.

  ***

  “I’m sorry I blew up at you,” she said softly as we climbed into bed.

  “I’m sorry for being an ass,” I replied.

  I wasn’t actually one-hundred percent sure I was being an ass, just as I suspected she felt at some level that she was justified in her anger as well. Having a successful relationship always involves at least some apologizing for things you’re not really sorry about.

  Maybe it would have been healthier for us to each say something like, I understand why you’re upset, but I’m not ashamed of my feelings. But that wasn’t Terri and me. Maybe that was a fatal flaw to all of this. She and I just didn’t communicate well enough to either deal with the emotions we were churning up or find some way to resolve things.

  The truth is, we’d been papering over the tensions since the beginning, dulling our anger with sex.

  Which is exactly what we did again that evening. Apologies turned into kissing. Kissing into naked fondling. After she admitted that she hadn’t actually been with Mike again, I went down on her, safe in the dark, beneath the covers, enjoying her silky smooth pussy, its fresh tang, the way my tongue made her moan and squirm.

  I eased myself up her body, between her spread legs, letting my cock ease its way into her inviting channel. Even though I’d just been eating her out, we kissed wetly. Her hands squeezed my ass, urging me on. I thrust in harder, faster. She gasped, coming suddenly, unexpectedly. She craned her neck up and sucked my nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling around my sensitive nub. I plunged in as far as I could and shuddered, filling her womb with my sticky come.

  I collapsed onto her.

  She kissed my neck. “That’s all I need,” she said.

  “But it’s not all you want,” I replied mechanically.

  She sighed, but didn’t reply. And just like that, we were back to square one.

  ***

  Square one, once again involved relatively little communication, but a great deal of teasing. Or… I don’t know, was it teasing? Was it more like taunting? Or perhaps just my imagination.

  The unexpected heels and left-behind panties had not meant anything. The anklet had. Coincidence or something else? Was the anklet the clue that she was planning on sleeping with another man? Or had she been up for it those other days as well and no opportunity had arisen? Was it all random?

  I should have just asked. But I knew what her answer would be. If I asked her if she was planning to see another man, she’d ask me if that is what I wanted. And when I said it was up to her, she’d snort and tell me that if that was the case, then why was I asking?

  Lots of angst, but no crisis. We co-parented beautifully. We had frequent married-people-sex, which was always amazing while it was happening, but which always left me feeling like I’d disappointed her after.

  She was a girl who liked being tied up and gagged, having her pussy slapped, and then fucked with a thumb up her ass. She was a girl who enjoyed being stripped naked and screwed in public. A girl who would allow herself to be picked up by a muscular stranger and banged on a stack of beer crates. A girl who liked
threesomes and anal sex and God only knows what else.

  The truth is, being with Terri was fucking intimidating just because of her looks. She could have any man in the world, and she’d chosen me to marry. But it was still anxiety provoking.

  That’s another reason why I could never confide in anyone about this. Aside from the embarrassment at admitting the situation, I knew I’d seem like a complete ass when I explained that my existential problem was that my wife was too beautiful, too kinky, and too sexual for my comfort.

  Here is another weird truth. I would probably have been happier, overall, if Terri had been plainer and more conservative sexually. If she were the sort of woman married men joke about. I could have been just one of the guys, joking about my wife’s fat ass, the fact that she no longer sucked cock and only wanted to screw once a month.

  Clues. Hints. Breadcrumbs. I noted them all. Commented on none. Spiky heels one day. Hoop earrings another. Little touches on other days: Rich, red lipstick with a shiny gloss. Hair done in a loose curl. French-tipped fingernails. A lacy, white bra visible beneath a sheer, white blouse. Tights and boots. Thigh-high stockings.

  Just a woman mixing things up playfully? Or something more?

  Then one night we were in bed. It was the night of the thigh-highs, although now she was in her flannel nightie.

  “I’m too sore to fool around tonight.”

  She said it casually. No big deal. Did she just have a tough workout at the gym? No, the way she looked at me, expectantly, excitedly, told me it was more.

  Mouth dry, I asked her, “Mike?”

  “I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently,” she admitted.

  It hurt, even though I wasn’t really surprised. I’d been thinking about him as well, even when we made love… especially when we made love. Why shouldn’t she as well?

  I nodded.

  “But that’s not who I went to see,” she added, dragging it out. “I had a client lunch at Marlin Malin.”

  I thought about the bar next door.

  “Brian….” I breathed.

  She smiled widely as if his name alone was enough to make her swoon. I remembered the night he’d dragged her into the…

  “Storeroom?” I asked.

  She twirled a strand of blond hair around her manicured finger.

  “Actually, Honey, they were expecting a delivery, so instead we ducked into the ladies room. You know how much I enjoy having sex in a bar bathroom.”

  Almost too perfect. She was flaunting her latest fling even as she recalled the way this whole situation had begun, with the disclosure that her old boyfriend had screwed her in a nightclub toilet. I could see her playing me, and I was determined to stay cool.

  “Reliving your experiences with Chucky?” I asked.

  She smirked. “Well, not really. At least not after we actually locked the door. Not only is Brian much bigger than Chucky…” and by extension me “…but he didn’t bend me over either. He just picked me up in his powerful arms and bounced me up and down on his huge cock until I screamed.”

  I knew he was strong enough to do it, so it was easy to imagine my slender wife wrapped up in his tattooed, lumberjack arms, skirt bunched around her waist, and her once-tight, little pussy obscenely stretched around his massive prick.

  “Maybe he should have taken a tip from Mike and gagged you.”

  “But what would be the fun then? See, Bill, that was one of the hottest parts of it. When we were done, there was a whole group of them, waiters, kitchen staff, even a couple of customers waiting to cheer at us. The only thing better would have been if you’d been there too.”

  I let out an involuntary grunt. She’d gotten to me after all, both with the knowledge that a whole bar full of people knew Terri had fucked Brian, but also with the image of me sitting there as they all cheered my cuckolding.

  “I think you enjoy tormenting me as much as the sex.”

  She laughed. “Oh, no, Bill, nowhere near as much. In fact, I’m grateful. It’s not every man who is confident enough and generous enough to let his wife sow her wild oats with a stud like Brian.”

  “Or Mike.”

  “Or Jean-Pierre. But actually, Mike and Jean-Pierre aren’t studs. They’re very, very talented lovers, not studs. Brian, though, God, those muscles and that cock….”

  She paused and I could see her preparing the next blow, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I braced myself. She smirked.

  “….speaking of which, would you like to see a picture?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. She grabbed her phone off the side table, and before I knew it she held it out to me. It was an obscene, post-sex selfie. My freshly fucked wife, smiling, face flush and shiny with sweat, kneeling beside his tree-trunk legs, palming his softening, but still massive cock, glistening with their shared fluids.

  I was speechless.

  “I should have taken a picture of it when it was hard, but to tell the truth, Honey, when it’s hard, all I can think of is getting it inside me…. You can see that, can’t you?” she trilled.

  “Maybe you should spend the night with him,” I growled.

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh, Honey, I can’t do that. He’s much too big for more than a quickie.”

  I was making it too easy for her. She twisted in the knife.

  “I mean, unless you really wanted me to try. Would you really want that big man to pound my poor, little pussy all night long with his huge prick?”

  A searing vision flashed into my mind. My wife, on her back, Brian pressing her thighs to her chest, plunging his oversized cock into her. I imagined her labia, impossibly stretched, clinging to his fat shaft. It was an image I’d seen in porn videos, but now I was casting Terri in the role of the skewered ingénue.

  “No… I….”

  But I didn’t know what to say, and when Terri suddenly lunged at my crotch I stopped trying.

  “Hmmm. You do seem to love hearing about my adventures.”

  She massaged the erection I didn’t even realize I’d had, although neither she nor I were surprised by it.

  “Next time, if I’m not too distracted, I’ll have to try to film it somehow. I bet that would really set you off.”

  Terri slobbering on a huge prick, impaling herself on it, seeing him pound it into her as she cried out and swung her head from side to side, long strands of blond hair arcing across her face. She rubbed me harder. I grunted, coming in my PJs.

  “Uh oh,” she cooed. “Looks like we made a mess.”

  I pushed her away in embarrassment and stormed off to get changed and cleaned up.

  In the bathroom, I stared at myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the man I saw. He was haggard and haunted with sunken wild eyes and a wan complexion. I could see the fear in his eyes.

  I was losing her. It hit me like a thunderbolt, but as the thought formed in my mind, I knew it to be true. And I couldn’t blame her to being tempted by her various men – stylish, sophisticated, skilled studs. They were well-endowed, creative, and commanding. And what was I? Just an average guy, scared and married way out of his league.

  Our game was just an illusion. Wishful thinking. And the current situation was unstable. I’d tried to convince myself that giving her an outlet would prevent me losing her like I’d lost Melanie. But now I saw the truth. Terri would fall again and again into temptation, until, one day, temptation would turn into infatuation and infatuation into love. One day, Terri would break a different kind of news to me. Not just a sexual adventure, but a deeper connection, one that would demand more regular attention and that would quickly compete with and then push aside what we had.

  That wasn’t Brian. He was a fling. Just a hot body, a big cock, and overflowing confidence. And even if Terri were to fall for him, he wouldn’t be interested in an older woman, no matter how hot, with kids. Given his attributes and his job, he was probably dripping with pussy. But he was part of the process. Every time my wife creamed on his fat prick, it remin
ded her that the grass was indeed greener elsewhere.

  “Oh Honey,” she cooed from the bedroom. “I almost forgot the best part.”

  I groaned and tried to compose myself. All of this was just in my mind. A product of my masochism running headlong into my insecurities. Ultimately, she was just doing what I had encouraged her to do.

  “Coming,” I replied.

  I splashed some cold water on my face and then tried to affect a serene smile. I doubted it would fool anyone, much less my wife, but it was the best I could do.

  I returned to the bedroom. She was naked, her back to me. I thought I could see his handprints on her glorious ass, but maybe that was just my imagination. The swell of her full breasts was visible on either side of her slender torso.

  She began to turn, and I braced myself for what must surely be coming next: the sight of her usually pretty, little pussy now swollen and red from taking Brian’s massive prick.

  See what that big, bad man did to your little wife?

  But when she turned, her body looked perfectly normal. She wasn’t gaping or dripping or anything else obvious and crude. In fact, it took me a few moments to notice it.

  “Is that?” I asked.

  She approached me slowly, hands framing it for me. A tiny rose, lovely even against a background of irritated skin. Just a few inches from her pussy, on her lower abdomen.

  “A tattoo?” I stammered.

  “Brian got it for me.”

  He was covered in ink himself, so it wasn’t surprising that he’d offer. She’d said she had no interest in a tattoo, so it shocked me that she’d accept. And in such an intimate spot....

  As always, she seemed to read me like an open book. She grinned.

  “I think,” she began slowly, “that Brian got of kick out of getting me naked in front of the tattoo artist. And he… definitely didn’t seem to mind. One of the perks of the job, I guess.”

  I nodded mutely. I know she was trying to get me worked up with the exposure part of it. And in a different circumstance, that might have done it. The idea of my wife, accompanied by her lover, bare-assed in front of a perfect stranger working just inches from her pussy…. Normally, that would make me nuts. But that image just got pushed from my mind by the other reality.