Wife got hubby a gift of a coed and he enjoyed the one-night-stand. Wife got a reciprocal gift, a guy, but it gets complicated.
Geoffrey’s was a cute twenty-two-year-old coed who simply wanted someone to take her virginity, pre-marriage vows. Jenny hit the jackpot with an urbane Black guy who was skilled in the art of seduction and romance.
Jenny had helped set up her husband’s liaison with Gwen and got to watch her husband perform. Both Gwen and Jenny judged husband as doing a good job. However, after it was over, Gwen disappeared (as planned), never to be heard from again.
Jenny’s husband-endorsed dalliance took place in a posh suite in Jerome’s town. They carried on from Friday night until late Saturday afternoon. Wife wrote husband two detailed letters about her time, but she did not tell all. Our married couple reconnected as agreed and had reclaiming sex that Saturday night.
Both husband and wife were eager to consummate the reconnection. Jenny was determined to show her husband that she still loved him, that this physical dalliance was nothing more than a passing fancy. Sure, Jerome was larger in several ways, but no one was willing to risk anything more.
She wondered, “How far should I go in assuring Geoff that he was just as good as Jerome? Just as big? Just as skillful? Just as manly?” Further, “Will he believe me?”
Jerome had been exceptional. He was bigger, more suave, more skilled, gentler, and more brutal. He had made sure she was satisfied, that her needs were met before his.
At one point, she’d told him, “If you ever want a second career, you could be a cruise ship gigolo. You cut me out of the herd, though there was only Geoffrey and me at lunch and at the movies and at dinner tonight. I’ll bet you are hit at company parties and such.”
“Thank you,” he answered with a wicked smile. “But not at company parties. I own the company, so I have to be on my best behavior. To seduce an employee is the surest way to ruin a business.”
Jenny refused to sit in the same balcony seat as she did with Jerome. She declined the champagne for the same reason; whatever she and Jerome had was theirs, not Geoffrey’s.
“Awe, shit,” her husband exclaimed. “It’s raining. No patio romance tonight.”
“Let’s call for room service, order something light and eat it inside,” she suggested. We can dine in the foyer and adjourn to your room later. Tell me what you want to do to me over finger-food, laced with gin and tonics.” Unspoken was Jenny’s determination to separate Geoffrey and Jerome mentally as well as physically. The idea of fucking her husband in the master suite seemed like a betrayal of Jerome.
The husband was that type of horny she’d seen with Gwen. Despite the preliminaries, his goal was to stick his prick in a pussy and move it around until it exploded and he was satisfied.
“Not so bad a goal,” she thought, as she allowed him to reach over and expose her braless tits. She remembered those same breasts being assessed and admired one day ago.
“Umm. You like looking at these?” Jenny held both up, imagining herself in a roomful of sexy, wanton men, each one bidding to be the one who liked them the most, would pay the most to grab them at the folded skin portion of the bottom, lift them up, weigh them, use their thumbs and fingers to pull at the tips.
Geoffrey did exactly that, pulling the far one closer so that she sat, twisted slightly toward her husband.
Through closed eyes and more smoke than she’d intended using, she said, “Do you find them pleasing, sir?”
He answered by leaning forward while grasping his treasures and announced, “These, gentlemen, are mine for the evening. I will pay whatever her owner demands. Mine!”
“Daayuum,” Jenny thought. He did remember that little episode I wrote about, where Jerome was deciding to buy me. That was hot, hot, hot last night.
When Geoffrey pulled her knees apart and wet his finger, he kissed her for the first time. She liked it and returned the favor.
He put a little saliva on the tip of his finger and let the drop land right on her clit. The juice was hot and she could not help adding more of her own juices that oozed out of her. More of his drips followed.
“That feels like someone just jerked off on me and shot a wad on my cunt.”
“Drink of this,” he whispered, as he ran his her-moistened/his moistened finger to her lips.
Jenny used an old high school girl ploy of closing three of his fingers in her grasp and sucking on all three at once. The hot part for her was that the man’s three fingers, held like that, felt like a stiff dick.
Looking her husband in the eye, she asked, “Do you know what these three fingers I’m holding feel like in my hand?”
The man looked a little confused.
She assumed a shy, slightly flirtatious grin, “They feel like a stiff dick, right at my lips. What should a good girl do with a stiff dick that close to her lips?”
He got the message, “A good girl would put that dick in her mouth and swirl her tongue around it, showing the guy what she is really promising.”
Geoffrey slipped off the settee, deftly pushing the coffee table back with his feet and crouched at her widened thighs.
She looked down at him and said, “A lot of ladies shave all the hair off their pussies. Some men find that attractive. Would you be more attracted to me if I were smooth?”
He surprised her with, “Yeah. Shave off most of it. Here, here, here, down to here.” His thumbs indicated the outer lips, the skin around her labia, most of the patch of curls to show what trimming he desired.
She thought, “He is going so damn slow, petting me like that! I can feel myself getting redder and redder, hotter and hotter.”
She was getting lost in that wine-soaked, pot-wooing zone.
She barely heard him say, “But I still want a little landing strip of your cunt hair.”
Geoffrey was no slouch in the cunnilingus department. He put his hands under her cheeks and was strong enough to lift her ass off the edge of the couch. She helped him and thrust her pubic bone upwards.
The first laps were gentle, soft, communicating adoration. The worshiping went on until both sensed they needed more. His left side was stronger, so his left arm held her in the air (with the help of her leg muscles) and his right was free to explore her pussy. His lips went to her labia first, until his fingers violated her pussy. With one motion, his fingers found her g-spot and his lips found her engorged clit.
A woman might not be sure of everything in the world, or in her world, but she knew her orgasm was on its way. In earlier days, in girl-talk pajama sessions, they’d talk about just how far gone would a girl have to be, to not be able to stop, regardless of the interruption. They all agreed, flood, flood light, flashlight, banging on a window or door, even physical exposure might not stop a girl when she is that close to the edge.
She yelled, “It’s on its way. It’s here. I’m here.”
Eventually, she sheepishly added, “I’m gone.”
If Geoffrey was concerned, he didn’t show it. Instead, he spun her around to be lengthwise on the sofa and climbed on top of her. She willingly complied.
Despite taking his time, trying to bring ‘the dead back to life, she was spent. That being said, Geoffrey did more than just use her as a fuck doll. Jenny, for her part, did what she could to give him pleasure.
She thought, “There ain’t much gas left in the tank, but I am going to give my husband the ride he deserves.”
She grabbed her husband’s ass cheeks and pulled them forward, making his long dick even longer. It felt good! She got stronger and he went deeper. Finally, he stopped.
“Ungh. Ooo. Wow-wie!” Her lover’s emanations coincided with her cunt’s feeling of being flooded, sprayed, oiled in hot liquid.
Within a few minutes, Geoffrey was finishing off the leftovers. “Mind if I turn on the TV in here?”
Wife responded, “If you don’t mind, when I can walk again after being brutally used by two guys six times in twenty-four hours, I’d like to get a well-deserved break. You feel free to watch TV in here, crash in the guest room so as to not disturb your slut. Wake me in the morning.”
Sated, Geoff replied, “As you wish.”
As Jenny was cleaning herself up in the master suite bathroom, she was thankful that her husband would not be violating her ‘other marital bed’ by sleeping with her that night. That bed belonged to Jerome.
They drove home the next day, to continue their lives together.
Geoff took a wrong turn out of the hotel garage and inadvertently got lost in the big city, ending up in the Town Square where Jerome lived.
Unaware of the coincidence, husband commented on the architecture and urban planning for such a nice place.
He said, “If we were a few years older, I wouldn’t mind giving up our suburban plot for a neat flat over there,” pointing to Jerome’s building.
He went on, “Look, we love hot Korean food. There’s a deli too, an outdoor vegetable market and some trendy shops. A specialty sporting goods shop is slam next to a hippie boutique. Those old men over there are playing checkers or chess. I wonder if they let strangers play.
His giddiness about her lover’s neighborhood irked her, causing her to ask sarcastically, “Wouldn’t you rather be in that pick-up volleyball group?” His wife was being overtly supportive, albeit nonchalant.
Geoff said, “Roll the windows down and breathe the cooking aromas and listen to the impromptu jazz session on the corner.”
Jenny said, “Naw. After all that’s happened, I like the safety of our car.” Despite her words, she furtively glanced around, hoping Geoff wouldn’t notice her nervous excitement. She hesitated before adding, “… and the exuberance of my driver.”
There HE was! Jerome was dressed in his Sunday-best suit. The burgundy was loud for her taste, but appropriate for a God-fearing, Gospel-singing congregation he was escorting his pre-teen daughter to. If he saw her, he showed no sign of it.
She thought, “Fuck the six degrees of separation! A hundred and six may not be enough.” Jenny had enough Zen in her to know the chances of another accidental encounter were nil. All she had to do is STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!
She wondered, “What if he calls me? What if I call him? Both are possible, but improbable. I know that book and movie claimed that every living human was connected by six degrees of separation to anyone else in the universe. Still, she was pensive.
By the time they were on the interstate, she had compartmentalized her feelings. Jerome’s sighting was mercifully just an aberration.
Home sex was very active, with Geoff absorbing any detail of Jenny’s rendition of her encounter. The only time she shut him down was when he pressed her for more details than were in her letters.
Jenny played the coy card, teasing and whispering, “My God, have you turned into a voyeur? Those details must have been torturous for you. Your loving wife is back, here, by your side. You got your fling and I had mine.”
If Geoffrey was still not satisfied, she stifled his persistence with a variation of, “Hey, Big Boy! You got a one night stand with a waif that lasted two hours. I got twenty-four fucking hours with a hunk.”
She continued, “The wife, me, considered herself the fortunate winner in the partner-swap derby. I got to watch you fuck and she was good, good enough to spin your wheels like never before. I got fucked three times, plus did some stuff I never thought I’d do and will never do again.”
She cast a lure, “Next time, if there is a next time, you can watch. I’d promised you that with Jerome but it just didn’t turn out.”
Her husband said, “Yeah. That was going to be part of the deal.”
Slowly, like a fly fisherman jiggling the bait, “I still have Jerome’s number. Should I call him for a repeat performance, with an audience of one? If so, would you let Jerome watch you reclaim me?”
Geoff especially liked the vision of his wife on the auction block, naked or nearly so, ogled and bid upon by men eager to sample her wares. One night, he said, “Jen, tonight, why don’t you put on that thin, see-thru outfit I got for you?” Both knew which one.
When she came out of the bathroom, clad in that virginal white robe, her husband, buyer, was seated, smoking out of a hookah. His silk robe concealed a stiff hard-on.
He spoke just loud enough for her to hear, “Stand straight. Imagine a thin string emanating from the top of your skull. To move would break the string and many of your people would suffer.”
She stood still, her breasts still erect, her gaze straight ahead.
He spoke, “Tell me, slave. Will you swallow all my cum? Will you swallow the cum of whomever I say you can suck? Will you spread your legs for whomever I choose?”
“You may speak.”
“I will, Master, do as you desire.”
Geoffrey rose and went to her, inhaling her perfume and her aura.
Jenny liked this. Roleplaying the slave was the antithesis of her day job, where she called all he shots. Now she did as she was told.
His finger drug along the side of her breast, then teasingly descended to her shaved mound. She gasped a true reflection of this role-playing. Jerome had been better at it, but Geoffrey was learning how to be Master.
He stepped behind her and kissed her on the nape of the neck. She shuddered again and that imaginary string broke.
“Please, no more teasing. Take me to bed,” she pleaded.
Her lover took her by the hand and led her the few steps to the sofa. She sat, closed her eyes, opened her legs a bit, took a toke off the pipe and enjoyed the soft touches. Eastern Levant music played in the hallway. Geoffrey had already set up the mix-tape and used the speakers in the other room to set the mood. He put the incense out there too. The pot aroma filled the room and she took one more puff. Any more would have dulled her senses instead of heightening them.
When she tilted her head back, she felt her husband’s knees between hers. His kiss was soft, brushing her lips ever so slightly. His nudge turned her head one way and her ear and neck got attention. He’d picked up from Jerome’s chatting habits the words she heard.
“Oh, wow, Geoffrey. We have a prize here, don’t we? Yes, kiss that neck, then continue while you pinch her tit.”
Jenny signaled her pleasure and desire for other side treatment with the slightest turn of her head. That side got attention, and so did both tits at the same time.
Sufficiently fanning the fires of passion with such talk, the married couple slipped back into normal. Both feared that it would slip into neutral. The pillow talk never did amount to anything more. Until….. This email showed up in Geoffrey’s inbox.
Jerome, or Dear Jerome,
I finally opened your email this afternoon. Geoff and I had used bogus addresses in the very early stages of our communication. You can understand that, until we got to know my prospective lover better, we should remain anonymous. I had not opened that file in six months and was startled when I saw something you wrote weeks ago. I appreciate that you respected my instructions to never, ever call my house or cell again.
We had our adventure in early spring. Now it is late fall.
Let’s be clear. I keep nothing from my husband and I forwarded this to him with this response, today.
I am glad you are doing well. I had not shared your reason(s) for your marital state with Geoff. It was not germane to our relationship, but you mentioned her again, so now Geoffrey must know. Your turn of the phrase to describe why you were willing to step out was cute. The law separated you as man and wife, not exactly you or your wife.
I remember your saying, “My wife is/was a bookkeeper for our church. She is/was good with numbers and did all the finance for over five thousand congregants. It was easy for her to doctor some of the items. I never wondered where the money came from or where it went. Now she will be spending time in a gated community, but we hope she will be out in six months.”
So, your email of six weeks ago said that she would be spending the next five to ten years in that gated community. By then, your daughter will be entering college. You say you have not had sex with anyone but two people: me and your wife.
You want to ‘hook up’ with Geoffrey and me again. I don’t know! I am impressed that you do have a Caucasian friend about our age. You say she is a curator at a museum and is as nice and pure as can be. She too was in a bad relationship and would appreciate some companionship.
You want to fix Geoffrey up with this gal and us ‘double-date’, as it were? They have some things in common: he teaches university history and she majored in Native American culture. They both are handsome/cute, learned, and both could become sexual libertines if we gave them the opportunity.
This arrangement screams ‘Byzantine Complexity’. Geoffrey and I will talk, but don’t expect miracles or even a response.
Best,
Jenny
