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Subject: {ASSM} Tonytony3@hotmail.com's Suggestable Sarah  (MMF)
Date: Thu,  3 Apr 2003 21:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "The mirror still showed the bruise.txt" begin>


The mirror still showed the bruise, the reminder. Steve and I didn't need it 
to remind us what happened was real, we remember.

But that's the end of the story. It started last summer.

We both like doing things around the house, and we love the house we bought. 
The bad/good news is there's lots to do in a 50 year old house. I bugged my 
husband again. "Steve honey, we have to get the great room painted. I know 
you want to do it, but painting will take a lot of time, that ceiling is 12 
feet high, and you're working such long hours you're not going to get it 
done before our Labor Day party."

He agreed. A phone call or two later set up some appointments, and in two 
days we had arranged for a college kid to do the painting starting in a 
couple of weeks. House owners know magic is easy if the magic wand you wave 
has money on it.

That took pressure off Steve, he was feeling frisky. He began doing what we 
all do, sometimes, during the early stages of making love, during the 
touching teasing parts of foreplay. You know, when we tell ourselves we're 
making it more exciting for our partner, but what's really happening is 
we're making it more exciting for ourselves.

My husband of two years was doing that. "Honey, has anyone ever watched you 
while you were making love?" he asked while his fingers were caressing the 
inner part of my thigh.

"Of course not, Steve," I told him. "I mean, no one except the guy I was 
with, and you already know about all four of them, present company included. 
Besides, that's an odd question. Why, have you?"

Oh, did he ever. "A long time ago, yeah. Remember Marsha, that girl I used 
to date? We were climbing in the White Mountains, it was up the North Twin. 
We were always horny back then. Our trail crossed a stream, so we walked 
along the shoreline a hundred yards, went around a bend, found a big rock, 
and used it as a bed."

"So you had outdoor sex, big deal. What about the watching part?"

"You know how the paths are on those mountains, they go right up ridges. 
That's what we thought that trail did. When we started hiking again, we 
found out the trail took a right turn when it crossed the stream. It passed 
within 10 yards of our, uh, bedrock. We looked down, and knew if anyone was 
on the trail they'd have seen us. The stream was noisy, we couldn't have 
heard them. Well, we started back up the mountain, we used to go pretty 
fast, and it wasn't too long before we passed another couple. As we passed 
the guy said something about 'We were watching you two back there.' I said I 
hoped they liked the show, and we just went up the trail."

He continued: "And know what, honey? I love North Twin!"

"So long as you don't love Marsha, that's OK." I reached between us, 
touching him the way he liked to be touched, stroking his cock. I could 
tease, too. "You're bad. Did you and Marsha talk about it?"

"Oh sure, we talked about that a lot, we got off on knowing we were watched. 
But pretty soon, we broke up. That was the end of that."

"Hmm. So my man played in a real life sex show, huh?"

"I didn't know it at the time, but yeah, I did. That couple watched me do 
this --" he couldn't wait any longer, and moved onto, make that into, me -- 
"and I'll bet they bumped uglies that night, thinking about what they saw."

"I hate that expression, your cock isn't ugly, I don't think my vagina is, 
either," I reminded him, as we moved in that comfortable rhythm we knew so 
well, "but baby, you can bump uglies with me any time, especially when 
you're gonna start by telling me dirty stories."

I was thinking about what he told me later, after he had fallen asleep. I 
wanted to know more. The next time we were having pelvic percussion -- we 
have more ways of describing sex that you can imagine -- and I asked him 
about it. I wanted to get inside his head, and by proxy, Marsha's.

"About that time on North Twin -- that's not why you broke up with Marsha, 
is it?"

"No, no, it was other stuff. That being watched stuff, that part was fun, it 
added spice to life."

"I know you liked it, but did she, knowing someone saw her and you, uh. . "

"The word you're looking for is 'fucking', and yeah, we both got excited 
about that. Sort of like you are now," he said, accurately reading me. "I 
think you're a little jealous."

"I'm not, you're the man you are because of all you've done before you met 
me, and I wouldn't want to change you," I told him, and I really believed 
that, too. "But you sure knew how to have fun."

"I can't help that you were a lot more inhibited than me," he said. "Not 
that you're that up tight anymore."

I closed my eyes, concentrating on the sensations he was causing, feeling 
Steve move in me, feeling him get a little warmer, a little bigger, a little 
closer to the cliff's edge, just like I was.

"Would you like to do something like that," he said, pushing hard into me, 
"arrange it so someone could watch you?"

I couldn't answer right than, my wave was just about to break -- and it did. 
A second or two later I felt him pushing hard into me, and was able to feel 
that pumping that meant his orgasm started, too.

It was during the warm and wet cuddling that followed, a time when he was 
having that slow deep breathing that meant he was asleep, that I muttered an 
answer to the question he asked, whispering it into his neck: "I think I 
would, yeah, I think I would like to be watched."

I awoke the next morning spooned into him, felt his hand on my breast. "You 
were pretty good last night," he whispered into my throat. "I'd give you a C 
plus, maybe a B minus."

I reached behind me, felt him hardening. "I could do better if this thing 
was bigger, Steve honey," I told him, while that thing got big enough. "Were 
you actually in me? I couldn't tell."

Uh, readers, about our banter -- we can get away with saying things like 
that because we're very secure with each other. Otherwise, it would be the 
start of a war, wouldn't it?

"About last night," he said, "I guess I was dreaming, but if I was, in my 
dream you were saying you'd like to be watched sometime."

I love the way he makes it easy for me to escape from embarrassing 
circumstances. How easy it would be to say "You must have been dreaming, 
honey, I wouldn't want to do anything like that."

I wiggled against him instead, feeling his penis against my buttocks.

"Maybe that would be really something," I said, "to be watched." His cock 
twitched against me.

"I'd like that, too, 'cause I think we're sexy together," his voice was a 
little horse.

Stevie was getting off on that idea, I wanted to bring him back to earth. 
"But how could we do that, let someone see us, how, and be safe?"

"I don't know, let's think about that. Uh, let's think about that some other 
time. Let's now think about what we'd do, if we knew we were being watched."

"If someone was watching," I said, "I'd like them to see how big you are. 
I'd like to show them how big I can make you, when I do this."

I uncovered his penis, his "Big Horn." "I'd like them to know how nice I can 
play your Big Horn."

By then I was nibbling on its shaft.

"And how much of it I can take in my mouth."

No, I don't know how to deep throat, don't want to learn (so don't 
volunteer, guys), but I sure know how to get my husband hot.

It didn't take long before said "honey, if you keep doing that you're going 
to get a protein snack. Or, I can make that deposit in your personal vault, 
where it belongs. But I'm not going to have a choice in another minute or 
two, it's going to be a demand deposit."

I knew that, I could feel him throbbing.

"Take that to my bank, mister," I said, rolling off him, rolling onto my 
back, spreading my legs for him.

It didn't take him too long to let go.

"Now you're making a withdrawal, huh?" I asked, as he pulled away.

"Couldn't control myself, honey. First of all, you give head as good as a 
man could want, and on top of that you play with my other head, its insides, 
I mean. I mean, I was thinking about being watched, knowing someone was 
watching you do that, and, oh boy, no control at all. It was like I was a 
teenager, I was that quick. I'm sorry, I hope I didn't leave you hanging 
somewhere."

"I'm not really hanging," I assured him, "but there is a penalty for an 
early withdrawal."

"Oh? You're tough. What penalty?"

"You have to make another deposit. I guess I have to help you, uh, raise 
some capital, see if we can get a little inflation in the local economy, to 
get ready to do that," I told him, touch him, finding him still long, but 
soft.

I usually know how to tease him erect, and now I had another tool. "So you 
want someone to see Mr. Big Horn, huh? Mr. Big Horn, doing the nasty on me? 
Do you think some guy would get hard, watching us? Think about that, someone 
getting an erection, seeing us have sex. Do you like that idea?"

I was nuzzling his belly, stoking him, while I was talking. His penis was 
filling! Oh, men are so easy.

He wasn't at his hardest, not when I went down on him, tasting the flavors 
of us, smelling our scents.

He did get harder when I told him about the tastes, the scents. Then I said 
"I think it would be fun, knowing someone was watching me do this to you, 
knowing he was getting hard, just like you're getting hard. Why, you may 
actually be hard enough for me to ride Big Horn." He was already on his 
back, it was easy to move over him, easy to position myself, to hold him 
erect, and to settle on him, pelvis to pelvis, meshed together. "Just lay 
there, I'll do the work, you think about someone looking at us, maybe over 
there," -- I gestured over his head, where someone would see all of me, and 
his cock, stationary, as I moved on it --- "maybe you should tell me what 
he'd be thinking, watching us."

Oh, it was working, he was harder, now. "He'd be thinking how sexy you are, 
he'd be thinking he wanted to be the man under you, that you'd be riding 
him, and he'd have to be masturbating," he said, picking up my rhythms, 
moving with me.

Somehow we moved, somehow I got on the bottom, somehow my husband, spent and 
soft a half hour ago was hard, was more than hard, was driving himself 
toward a second orgasm, oblivious to having already driven me to one, with 
another beginning to loom deep in me.

"He'd have come long before we did," he said, beginning to come again.

In the peaceful time that followed, that hugging time, that recovery time, I 
snuggled close to him. "Want me to do it again to you, to make you hard 
again? Try for a triple?"

"I'll bet you could do it, you vixen, but the people I'd need to be watching 
would be the EMS workers. You'd be killing me."

What a nice way to start a Saturday morning.

Then came Sunday. The everyday chores were done, we didn't have to worry 
about the biggies like painting, that was going to get paid for attention, 
so we were sitting in the den, the TV providing background noise. Steve 
reopened last night's topic. "OK, how do we get watched?"

Talking about it there, not in the bedroom, made it a serious question. Now 
that I think about it, it was the second question, the first question, 
"Should we?" he had assumed was already answered.

"If we do it, that's the question, and if we do it depends on how you think 
we could get away doing it.." That was the problem, we knew what we wanted 
to do, we didn't know how to arrange it.

We'd need an inspiration, we were ready, just didn't know how to move ahead.

"What about posting some pictures on one of those sites on the Internet?" I 
suggested.

"It wouldn't be real time, but let's check it out." We logged onto 
Literotica, full of excitement and hope, and followed some links that 
promised pictures of sexy wives and couples.

There's no kind way to say this. Although some pictures were sexy, most were 
almost clinical.

"Look, that doesn't belong here, it should be on a web site for 
proctologists!"

"And this one, in a gynecology textbook."

No, we weren't going to post any pictures that let viewers make fun of us.

"Oh man, I have it," my usually creative husband said, "a way to know some 
guy is watching, a guy who already is ready to masturbate."

"What are you going to do, take out an ad, hire someone?"

"Hell no. Oh, this is going to be so cool. What we're gonna do is video tape 
us" --

--"Not a chance," I said. "I wouldn't be caught dead on a sex tape. I mean, 
what if someone we knew saw us. That's stupid!"

"No, no, listen a minute. What I want to do it to tape us so no one sees our 
faces, just a one or two minute segment, and then, this is fucking 
brilliant, what we're going to do is to rent a sex movie tape from the video 
store, and in the middle of the movie we'll copy our clip. Every one who 
rents it, and everybody does rent them, will see our two bodies, and it'll 
drive them crazy! Especially if we put in a voice over that we live on Long 
Island, or Suffolk County, or even tell them we live in Northport."

It was worth a try. I mean, what else is there to do on a Sunday afternoon 
in Northport? Other than sail, walk on the beach, walk along our waterfront, 
go to New Community Cinema, stuff like that, stuff that people visit our 
area to do.

Well, we tried. Somehow sex isn't much fun when you have to choreograph 
everything to be in a particular 36 inch frame on the bed, careful that the 
camera can see only torso or the back of a head. We tried for a an hour and 
a half, so maybe it was more fun than I let on, but when we looked at the 
video -- well, it was awful. It would have to be edited into a choppy clip. 
It wasn't up to my, well, my artistic standards.

Steve agreed. "We're stuck. How about a swinger's party in the city? 
Everyone watches everyone else."

I vetoed that. "Don't want a swinging environment, honey, I want this to be 
special for us."

There were a couple of minutes of silence, then Steve sat upright. "I have 
it. I have the answer, and I'm not telling you!"

Now, I can offer some meaningful bribes, but he refused to talk. "I'll show 
you instead, tomorrow afternoon after work. You're gonna love it."

It was a long day, Monday was, but I got home at the usual time, to find 
Steve waiting for me.

"Come on, we're going down to Robert Moses State Park, and have a picnic." 
Picnic basket, blanket, food, all was ready.

"I thought the plan was. . ." I started to say, only to have him interrupt: 
"It is, you'll see."

We drove down the Sunken Meadow Parkway, out to Fire Island, parked the car, 
and went along the beach until we came to a deserted area. Steve smiled. 
"This'll do, I remember reading about this. Come on!"

We left the beach, crossed the high tide line and found a quiet valley 
between two dunes. There wasn't a set of footprints in sight.

"Here's where we're going to have our picnic."

"I thought. . ."

"Hush, you'll see," he said. He spread the blanket, brought out the wine and 
cheese and bread. A little was eaten, more was drunk.

"And now for dessert," my husband said, reaching for me, adjusting me so 
that I was on my back, on the blanket.

"What's going on, I mean I like this, but why here, and why now?"

He was pulling at my belt, got it open. "Come on, cooperate," he said. "I 
read about this, how people flying to the Hamptons in helicopters sometimes 
see people having sex here. We're going to do it, I'm going to be on top, 
you'll be looking up, and you'll know if someone is watching. You'll see 
them, watching you!"

"I don't know if I can do this," I told him, but by then he had my pants at 
my knees, and his mostly off. It was pretty clear HE could do it, Mr. Big 
Horn looked ready to knock down a wall.

I admit to being scared, but I finished getting undressed, too. One touch, 
and Steve knew I was a long way from being ready. "I can fix that," he said, 
moving his fingers away, bending over me, kissing my belly, urging me to 
move my legs apart.

I obeyed, feeling dry, and very unsexy. Feeling mostly scared.

His mouth covered me, he wasn't inhibited at all. It didn't take long for 
his magic to work, I was getting ready, he was making me tingle, getting my 
mind and my body ready for the next act. It WAS sexy, being outside, in the 
open, with a chance that someone might see us.

I opened my eyes to a noise, hearing the whap-whap-whap of a helicopter, saw 
one moving east a little inland, not quite over us.

I felt Steve's tongue probing in me, and saw the chopper nose up a little, 
saw it start a turn, banking towards us. Steve heard it too. "Wave to him, 
honey, wave to him!"

I felt myself growing very wet, it wasn't just what Steve was doing, it was 
the helicopter doing a complete turn around us, too. I couldn't resist 
Steve's suggestion. I just realized I had both hands on his head, holding 
him to me. I waved at the pilot, and however many passengers he had with one 
hand, and held Steve in place with the other.

"Move, Steve, beside me. I want to do you, too."

By the time the chopper completed its second turn at what seemed to be about 
as high as our house we were in a classic side by side 69. "You wave too, 
Steve."

I don't often come from oral sex, but I did then.

And the chopper, after a third turn, straightened out, flashed his landing 
lights at us, and continued eastbound. Steve muttered something.

"Huh?"

"I was just wondering if he's handling two joysticks right now, one to 
control the chopper, and one to drive himself out of control."

"Maybe there's a woman with him, helping him, that'd be great, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, but most times those are commuter aircraft with a professional pilot. 
We probably put on a show for a couple of people."

"It made me cum, knowing we were watched," I told him.

"Not me, not yet, woman. Want to help a man in distress?"

It took Steve a couple of minutes to get close, using me, not that I didn't 
enjoy every stroke. When he was almost ready I said what I was thinking, 
something that was true, something that made him come in two more seconds.

What I said was, "I wish another helicopter would come by now."

We got home a little after sunset, driving fast, in a rush to get to our 
bedroom.

Wouldn't you think we had enough sex for one day? You do? How old are you, 
80? You'd have to be an old 80, you'd better check to see if you have a 
pulse.

"You liked doing that, huh?"

"More than I thought, yeah, I did," I said as we got ready to recreate the 
performance we had staged on Fire Island.

"It must have been exciting for the people in that chopper, watching us," he 
grunted. The grunt was because he was already on me, pushing into me.

"I think so too."

"It would appear, my dear, you're learning how to be more open sexually," 
reminding me he was so much more experienced sexually than me.

"Yeah, you're some teacher. Fire Island was an inspiration. What's your next 
trick?" I mean, I had been married to this guy for two years, we lived 
together for a year before that, and he came up with something new that 
really excited me. What ideas did he have for an encore?

"I'm not sure, although, you know, maybe I'd like to do that, to watch."

"Huh? You're a performer, honey, not a watcher."

"Yeah, I know, and performing with you is fun, but I think I'd like to 
watch."

"You mean like from a helicopter, watching someone? You can see people 
having sex on TV or by renting a video anytime."

"No, not that." He looked at me. "I think I'd like to watch you, like those 
guys did, watching us, today."

His cock got more full and harder, he knew he was introducing me to 
something very different in the scenario.

I wasn't ready to deal with that extrapolation, but I knew how to distract 
him. I held his shaft, rolled toward him. "Hey, little guy," I said, pulling 
him on top of me, spreading my legs, bringing his fully erect penis to me, 
"if you can get an erection, I know a place where you can put it."

"Oh," he countered, pushing in, "any normal sized penis would just rattle 
around in there, but mine is a forced fit."

It was neither forced nor loose: it was perfect, just like always.

He closed his eyes as we moved together, then asked "So, what do you think? 
Want me to watch you do this?" He wasn't distracted at all.

"I thought you got off on knowing someone watched you and Marsha on that, 
what did you call it, that bedrock?"

"Oh, I did, but what's getting me off now is the idea of watching, not being 
watched."

I moved under him for a while, then said "The only way you watching could 
happen would mean I'd be having sex with someone else. That's a lot 
different than being watched, having someone be a peeping Tom watching us, 
big guy."

He was getting ready to release, I could tell, I know his body language that 
well. "I don't want to leave you hanging, honey, but I'm about ready to 
explode. . .'

"Let it go, let go," I told him. Not all sex has to end in orgasm for it to 
be good, and this was plenty good.

"I have to let go, I can't control it, and yes, I was thinking about 
watching you, watching you with someone else..."

and he lost control, I could feel it.

Finally, spent, sweaty, he sagged down on me. "Would you do that? For me? 
Please?"

It's one thing to suggest things during sex, the heat of the moment forgives 
nearly everything, but this was after that, this was with his cock 
softening, still in me. This wasn't teasing, this was something real!

"I don't know that I could do that," I told him, holding him to me, enjoying 
the intimacy.

"Oh? That means you don't know that you couldn't, either," he said. "you for 
sure don't know that you couldn't."

"You want me to have an affair, so you can watch. Hey, husband, that's 
weird. It's, it's, even sick."

"Not an affair, silly, that would break my heart. On the other hand, a 
little fling, that's a different thing entirely."

He shifted off me, let his hand drift down my belly, let his fingers began 
stroking me. "I like the idea of watching you with some guy, seeing him do 
this, seeing you react to him, doing foreplay, then getting fucked." His 
fingers were touching me in the perfect place, at the perfect pressure, 
pushing me close to my own climax.

"Oh, Stevie, you know how to touch me just right," I told him -- he knew 
that, he'd been doing it for years now -- "don't stop, I'm almost ready. . 
."

He changed pressure just enough to make me walk along the cliff, not fall 
off it. "I know how to play your body, honey, you know that, and I'm not 
going let you get off, I'm going to hold you on the edge until you agree."

I took his hand, tried to guide it, couldn't. Couldn't control my mind, 
either, thinking of some one else, some other guy doing this to me too, 
thinking about the images Steve put in my mind, and that got there. My body 
went tense, then I sagged back.


Steve knew. "I thought I could hold you right on the edge, I used to be able 
to do that, but you got away, you little stinker. I'm losing my touch."

"I think you just proved you still have your touch better than ever, Steve," 
I told him. "Besides, the things you're asking me to do, the things you want 
to do, they got to me, as much as your touch did."

His smile broadened: "Good, I hoped so. Now, honey, if the thought can get 
your hormones flowing like that, think of what the deed will do."

"Talking about it is one thing, honey, doing the deed is big time 
different," I reminded him.

"Not so different, people do things like that all of the time. I mean, how 
many married people have affairs, stuff like that? This isn't like that, 
this is sort of within the marriage screwing around."

"Screwing around, so you can watch?"

He paused for a while, then agreed. "That's pretty much the idea, you get to 
play around with some guy you think is sexy, that's your payoff, and I get 
to watch. That's mine."

"I don't think many guys would agree to that deal, Steve."

"The guy wouldn't have to know. Only you'd have to know. You, and me."

"I don't know that I could do it."

"And you don't know that you can't, either. I mean, you told me you had sex 
with, how many? Three other guys before we got married. So, it's not like a 
big thing, is it?"

"It is, because we're married, that means we don't cheat."

"I think technically it's adultery, but it isn't cheating, not if I ask you 
to do it."

"I don't think I could, don't push on it, OK?"

He knows me so well, knows when to stop.

"OK."

The issue wasn't dead. "I wanna talk about watching," Steve told me when we 
were returning from an evening in New York. He chose his moment well, 
there's no escape when you're trapped in a car.

I had thought about what he wanted since he made his suggestion a couple of 
nights ago. I mean, what woman wouldn't have?

It came down to this. I told him that I just didn't have enough experience 
with men to be that adventurous.

"I think you could seduce with the best of them," he assured me.

"Yeah, sure, interacting with some guy sexually while you were watching, 
having sex while you were watching. I'd be so scared, so nervous, I wouldn't 
be able to move."

He's good at overcoming objections, my husband is, but that one seemed to 
stop him.

At least I thought so.

I was wrong.

That night as we were getting into bed he presented me with a document, 
carefully hand lettered -- no word processor for this piece of literature.

"To my wife," it said.

"Whereas, I wish to be a voyeur, with you my voyeuree, you are granted 
permission to practice a seduction before granting my wish. This permission 
means there will be no negative repercussions from me, so long as you tell 
me all about it within a day of it happening.

Although falling in lust is encouraged, falling in love is expressly 
forbidden.

Granted this 2nd day of August, 2002.

This permission expires September 1, 2002.

/s/ Steve."

When I recovered enough to close my mouth, I looked at him. "This is, ah, a. 
. ."

"Yeah, a fucking license. But you have to tell me, no sneaking around. It 
means, woman, if someone makes a move on you, you can respond. And get away 
with it. That's what it means."

"I'll never do that, I'll never use this," I told him. "I mean, I know what 
you want, I thought about it, but I don't think I could ever do that."

"Maybe not," he agreed, "maybe you can't, but now you know that if the 
opportunity presents itself, you can present yourself. Or make a present of 
yourself, or something. Anyhow, there it is. I hope you use it. And now, get 
those pajamas off. I want to pretend you just used it, and I want to show 
you how much I appreciate that."

I wasn't quite in the mood, but I would never refuse my husband sex.

He changed my mood quickly, moving into his fantasy "This is what would 
happen if you came home after seducing someone. I'd say 'I like that the guy 
you were with tonight saw you naked, too'," he told me as he pulled the 
sheet off me. "I like that he did this to you." He began teasing my nipple 
with his finger. I closed my eyes, letting myself think that someone else 
HAD done that, touched me like that. Oh, my mind and body were reacting to 
that idea.

Then his mouth covered my other breast, sucking it in, his tongue touched 
me, and it was so delicate, that touch, delicate and sexy.

"I like that he kissed your tits," he said, "like I'm doing."

He reached down to my knee, pulled a little, encouraging me to open my legs, 
and when I did, expecting him to move on me, move in me, his mouth began 
moving down my body instead.

My mind was filling in the blanks, thinking what he wanted me to think.

He began nibbling at the inside of my thigh, teasing me with his mouth, with 
his tongue.

Somehow my legs parted even more, my hips rolled up, making myself even more 
available. He was getting to me, this man who wanted me to do this with 
someone else was getting to me.

I turned my head, his penis was so close and he was as big as he could get, 
he was getting to himself, too.

"I would be able to smell him here, I could smell that his cock was here," 
he told me, pretending, acting out the game.

I moved, took his shaft in my hand, took his head in my mouth, wet him, wet 
it, tongued it, just as he spread me open, and I felt his mouth on me, his 
tongue in me.

"I'd be able to taste him! I could taste that man who came in you!"

"Wait!" my mind shouted. What Steve is saying, what he's doing, is more than 
being a voyeur. What he's doing is showing me that he wants to have sex with 
me right after I had sex with someone else --he's telling me, showing me, 
that he'd go down on me! He wants to go down on me, do oral sex on me, lick 
me, where someone's penis would have been only an hour or two earlier. My 
own hips began moving, my legs rolled open wider, he went deeper, his tongue 
went deeper, as though searching for traces of semen -- someone else's 
semen!

His cock was throbbing, I could feel that motion in his shaft as he started 
to pump, then I tasted him as he released into my mouth, as I masturbated 
him, and as I let my own voyeuristic images take hold, of the sight of my 
husband, my strong, proud husband, licking at me after some other man 
emptied his own self into me.

But wait. Before any of that, before my husband gets to do those erotic 
things to me, he wanted me to fuck someone else! That was the key, don't 
forget that before he'd be tonguing me some one else's erect penis would 
have been there, moving in me, ejaculating in me! He wanted someone else to 
do that, and then he's saying he'll do what he's doing, go down on me!

After some other guy kissed me, touched me, fucked me, he wanted to go down 
on me, and kiss me, and fuck me.

It was enough, the images, what he was doing, what I was thinking, all of 
that was enough.

Whoever says oral isn't sex needs his head examined!

Later, as we calmed down, Steve said "that's what it would be like, only 
better." I didn't argue.

We just held each other, and fell asleep.

"About last night," he said as we had coffee in the morning -- I expected 
him to retreat, the light of day makes some erotic ideas just seem crude -- 
"about last night?"

"Yeah?"

"Honey, don't make me wait too long, OK?"

He was serious: serious in the morning means really really serious. He meant 
for that whole erotic idea to really happen.

I felt some tingling in my body as I looked at this sex machine I married. 
Somehow, some way, during the night I must have come to some conclusions, it 
had to have been while I was asleep, because even while my mind was trying 
to frame some sort of denial or at least a non-committal answer, my mouth 
opened, and I heard myself say

"I won't."

"Good. Thank you. I love you, babe!" And he was gone.

"I won't make him wait?" I was having trouble believing I actually said 
that, but I did. And deep down, I knew it was true. Somewhere there was a 
man who was going to know me, know my body, probably in the next month, who 
right now had no idea what was in store for him.

That was an erotic idea, all by itself, thinking of a man somewhere, maybe 
he was dreaming of meeting a woman, maybe right now he was masturbating in 
the shower, thinking of a woman -- and that woman would be ME!

I was dressed for work, but I knew if I were to reach inside my pants I'd 
find me hot, moist, and ready for sex. The mind is our most erotic sex 
organ, isn't it?

Who?

How?

Go to bars, to hotels? No, none of that. That wouldn't work.

Who?

How?

That day I started looked at men differently. "He's a possible," I'd tell 
myself. Or, "Not him, not in a million years."

It changes things, it changes the way you think, when your husband asks you 
to be seductive. Suddenly thoughts, ideas, things that would have been 
dismissed right away are allowed to form, to mature.

Steve joked about my 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card that night, and we played 
-- oh, how we played -- at what he'd do when I did a seduction, and what 
he'd feel, what he'd do, when he could be a voyeur. We read stories on 
Literotica, thought about trying out some of the ideas, some of the themes, 
but you know, they just didn't work for us -- I mean, on an emotional level. 
I wanted, in fact WE wanted, anything we do to be a natural progression, not 
forced.

No script: all improv.

Then there was real life. Steve's work, for example. "Gotta go to Fermilab, 
I'll go out Tuesday morning, be back Wednesday pretty late. Sorry about 
that." It was a timing problem, the great room was going to be painted 
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Well, hell, we both knew if Steve could have 
taken time off to supervise the painting, he'd have done the painting 
himself. I arranged to telecommute to work those days .

Frank the painter turned out to be a college kid, painting was his summer 
job. He showed up on schedule Monday, and spent the day doing prep work, 
moving things, applying masking tape and drop clothes.

"The painting's easy," he told me, "it's the getting ready and finishing 
that takes the time, ma'am."

Steve came home late, loaded with stuff to take to Chicago, and looked at 
the organized chaos in the great room. "Looks like the kid knows what he's 
doing, huh?"

"Yeah, he does. Nice kid, hurt himself last spring. He wants to play 
football for 'Papa Joe' at Penn State, but he's gonna miss this season. 
Can't train with his pulled muscle. They get some seriously good health 
care, he showed me a report that said he was OK in all ways, but contact 
sports too soon could do some serious injury. You'd be surprised at how hard 
it is for these kids to get part time work, if it's not 'real', whatever 
that means, the NCAA comes down like a bomb on them."

"Nice kid?"

"Polite, yeah, and you know, he's really big. For sure as tall as you, 
probably 50 pounds heavier, and I don't think it's fat."

"Hey," Steve asked, "is he a possible?"

"Oh, come on, he's 21, that's 10 years younger than me."

Steve smirked. "I'll bet his equipment works, though. Mine sure did at 21. 
And you said you saw his health report, he's young and healthy. Anyhow, I 
have to pack this stuff." He left the room.

That night -- no surprise -- Steve wanted sex. You know, so did I, I was 
going to miss having him in my bed tomorrow night.

We were in the touching/teasing phase of things, Mr. Big Horn was poking at 
me, Steve was all hands, touching, squeezing. "Steve, you're behaving like a 
teenager!"

"I'm thinking about how much Frank is going to like doing this to you 
honey."

"I don't think Frank is going to be doing anything, Steve, he's not going to 
be interested in a woman that much older than him."

"Oh honey, there's so much you don't understand about men," Steve told me, 
while he moved over me, and into me, showing me something I did understand 
about this particular man.

"You mean, if it has a skirt, they'll fuck it?"

"No, I mean if a beautiful woman like you just hints she's available to a 
guy like Frank, he'll become the most ardent man you'll ever know -- next to 
me, that is -- and he'll remember you for the rest of his life."

"Hey Steve, he's a college jock, he's not hurting for girls."

"Not for girls, honey, but I'll bet he's never had a woman."

My mind moved there, thinking thoughts that shouldn't be thought, while my 
husband moved in me. We missed a mutual lift-off by about 15 seconds. You 
know, I think that I came first made Steve come.

And I started missing him the minute he went out the door Tuesday morning, 
loaded with papers and laptops and a change of clothes.

Frank came right on time, started on his job. He was the neatest painter I 
ever did see. I mean, he was wearing a dark tee shirt and shorts while using 
light colored paints, and not getting a drop on himself!

"How do you do that?" I asked him during a mutual coffee break. "Ma'am, I 
used to be really sloppy, so I started a game to see how neat I could be. It 
works."

I spent a minute or two that morning watching him paint. He was fast, and he 
was careful. And he was cute, and big, and full of muscles.

Hmmm.

You know, he IS a possible!

"I should finish by tomorrow late afternoon, Ms Brown," Frank said as he was 
leaving. "I really like doing this kind of work."

"I like the job you're doing, Frank," I told him, and watched as he drove 
away.

Frank was being so correct, so straight, not a single incorrect move. And he 
was cute. No, not cute, handsome would be a better word. And that body -- 
that young body. He was sexy, too.

How do you seduce a young man, anyhow? Yeah, I know, a beer and naked is 
enough, but that would not be enough for me. I like -- I need -- the 
romance, the tenderness, all of that stuff. And I'm basically shy, almost 
submissive. For sure, not very assertive.

Steve called that evening. The good news is, his trip was going well. He 
would be leaving O'Hare at noon, should be home by 5 tomorrow. "How's the 
paint job going?" he asked.

I told him, and he asked the next question, the obvious one, given what we 
were playing at.

"I have no idea at all how to seduce a young man like Frank," I confessed.

"Hasn't he made a move on you?"

"If he had it's so subtle I missed it, honey."

"Look, wear something sexy, he'll get the idea."

"I'm not going around in a nightie, honey."

In the end, we both concluded that if nothing happened, that's all right, 
but Steve sounded disappointed.

Hmm.

I got up at 5:30, 90 minutes earlier than usual, two hours before Frank was 
to arrive.

I considered showering, but instead spent 45 minutes in the whirlpool tub, 
all warm, steamy, bubbly, leaning back, letting my mind drift, drift to when 
I was younger, when I dated Jim, another jock, of what sex was like with 
him.

Jim's face faded from my dream, it morphed into Frank.

I was getting into trouble, thinking like that.

I dried myself, walked very nude to my closet. What to choose?

A semitransparent blouse without a bra? I tried that on, feeling wicked.

No, not that.

A scoop neck cotton blouse, a full skirt, so that when I bent down, he could 
see. . .?

No, not that, either.

None of those, those weren't me.

I chose a comfortable summer dress, with the appropriate undergarments. I 
was, after all, a married woman who was only pretending, with her husband, 
about. . . but we really weren't pretending, were we? We were practicing.

Frank came, dressed in his tee shirt and shorts, and started the finishing 
touches. . Late afternoon came, and when I checked on his progress he was 
rolling up tarps. "I have to put the furniture back, then I'll be all done," 
he told me. I went back to our home office, only to hear a "damn!"

"What happened, Frank?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms Brown," he said, sitting on the floor. "I pulled my back 
again, it really hurts. This is what's stopping me from playing football 
this year. I'm going to have to stop and replace the furniture maybe 
tomorrow, I have to go home and get a heat pad on this right now, or I won't 
be able to move."

"Don't worry about the furniture, we can do that," I told him. "I have a 
heat pad, just lay down there, I'll get it right now, I know you have to 
treat something like that right away, or it'll get worse."

I got the pad, microwaved it the two minutes it specified, and went in to 
see Frank on the floor, trying hard to stretch his back, curling over.

"Get flat, I'll help."

He got on his belly, arms stretched over his head, and I just reached over 
and pulled the tee shirt out of his shorts, pushed it up to his shoulders, 
and applied the heat pad, with lots of pressure from my hands, over his 
lower back.

"Oh, that's good, you're doing it just right," he said, "that's really 
helping."

It may have been helping and calming him, but I was kneeling at his side, 
pushing down on that wonderful, strong, youthful back. It wasn't calming me.

After a minute or two he said "that feels wonderful, but you don't have to 
keep doing it."

"Oh, I will, I want to, for a while," I told him.

I stopped applying pressure on the pad, let my hands move up his back, and 
began massaging his lats and shoulders.

"That's good, too, that's what the trainers do at school, when we have a 
sprain," he said.

I was sure the trainers weren't thinking what I was, bent over this young 
specimen.

"Pull off that tee shirt, I'll do it properly," I ordered, while thinking 
anything but proper thoughts, thinking of my 'Get Out Of Jail' card.

He hesitated a moment, then pulled the shirt off.

I straddled his legs, began working my hands along that back, those sides, 
on that smooth, strong skin. Pushed harder, then softer softly, shoulders, 
upper back, lower back, while he stretched out under my touch.

"That's so nice. . ."

I saw that his hips were flexing a little as I touched him. I was getting to 
him, too, he was getting excited.

I already was.

Every other man I knew took the lead.

If I wanted this, this time I'd have to.

I took a deep breath. Am I sexy enough? Woman enough? Could I be assertive 
enough, would I dare?

"Roll over, Frank, I'll do your chest, too."

"Uh, Ms Brown, I don't think you should do that, I don't think I should roll 
over, I mean."

What did Steve say about Frank? That he may have plenty of girl friends, but 
never a woman? I was a woman.

I moved off him, knelt at his side. "Frank, don't be embarrassed about being 
on your back, I wouldn't be surprised or shocked if you had an erection, 
that would be a natural thing to happen. . ."

And I pulled at his hip, so he could roll towards me.

I looked at his chest, his flat belly, the start of pubic hair above his 
shorts, and further down there was lots of evidence he was excited.

I moved on him again, kneeling at his knees, rubbing his sides, his chest, 
seeing that his eyes were closed, his hands balled into fists at his side, 
as tense as could be.

I caressed his chest, his nipples, fascinated at how his body reacted to me, 
to my touch.

He was quivering-- this big strong young man was quivering at my touch. I 
never felt so powerful, so in control.

Hands on chest, moving down to his sides, meeting at his belly, back up to 
his chest, down again, to his hips over his shorts, and up. His skin seemed 
to turn red, marking where my hands touched him, it was as if his body was 
blushing, his face already had.

"Ms Brown, please stop, that feels like teasing, don't tease me like that," 
he said.

I didn't stop. Instead, I leaned over him, saw his eyes open as he felt me 
move, felt my hair touch his face, I saw them widen when he saw my face 
right over his, leaning down towards his lips. When I was an inch above him 
I looked at him, right in his eyes.

"Frank, real women don't call this teasing."

I bent down a little more, pushed at his chin, turning his head, exposing 
his ear, moved my lips right over it.

This wasn't me, what I was doing. It wasn't my nature, but still . . .

"We call this foreplay." I let my tongue touch his ear.

He went rigid!

I moved down a few inches, let my mouth touch his throat.

Felt his arms move, felt his hands on my head, no longer fisted, holding my 
head to his chest.

"I read about things like this, dreamed about it," he said, as I kissed at 
his nipples. "I never thought it would ever happen. . ."

"It makes you forget about your back hurting, doesn't it?" I said, as I 
nuzzled at his navel, not believing I was being as assertive, as 
controlling, as I was.

He was reaching between us, pulling at his belt.

I sat up beside his legs, helped him release it, unbuttoned his waistband, 
unzipped his fly.

"Lift up, Frank."

He did, bridging.

And I pulled at his shorts, pulling them down, pulling down his white 
briefs, too, seeing that dark hair exposed, seeing a tan line, the white 
skin of his hips, his groin, the start of his shaft, then all of it as it 
sprang free, and I moved his shorts up his now raised legs, as he kicked off 
his shoes, as he settled his hips back on the floor, lifted his feet, and 
just like that this young man was naked before me, erect before me, ready 
for me, for what ever I wanted to do to him.

His penis -- his cock, his boner, whatever he wanted to call it, was right 
there, right in front of me!

I knew what Steve would want to see if he was watching.

I knew what Frank would want.

I knew what I wanted.

I bent toward him. "You look so lovely, so strong, Frank," I told him, as I 
bent toward him, toward it. My hair fell forward, creating a veil, occluding 
his view of me, as I let my lips touch that tip.

"Ms Brown, please," he said -- I stopped, worried that he wanted me to stop, 
worried that this wasn't what he wanted ---

"Ms Brown, please, move your hair, I want to watch you do that."

Oh, yes, I'd do that, I pushed my hair over my neck, looked along his torso 
at him, looked at him doing a half curl, his head up, staring at me.

"Can you see me now?"

He nodded.

Sounding too much like a cell phone commercial, I said "Good," and bent down 
again, letting my lips touch him.

He shivered!

I moved so that I was facing the underside of his penis, able to look at 
him, as I let my tongue touch its tip.

"Can you see me now?"

I opened my mouth, moved over him, down on him.

"Wonderful, that's wonderful," he said, as I moved, sealing myself to it 
with my lips, doing to him what I like to do to my husband, playing with 
only the fifth penis I ever touched in my life, handling one of the few 
scrotums I ever handled in my life, having a man watch me have sex -- oh, 
but I don't know now how many saw that, I don't know how may were in the 
helicopter.

"Ms Brown, please, not too much, I don't want this to end this way. . ."

Well, he was young, he probably didn't have the control an older lover 
might, so I lifted up.

"Is that what you wanted," he asked, "just that? Or. . ."

"No, Frank," I told him, "for me, that's foreplay. I hope it is for you, 
too."

"I hoped that's what it is," he said, reaching for me, pulling me beside 
him. "One of my girlfriends taught me to kiss her after she went down on me. 
Can I do that to you?"

He didn't wait for an answer: at least, not a verbal one, I moved toward 
him, our lips met, his tongue pushed into my mouth, just like Steve's often 
did after oral sex, searching for a taste of himself in my mouth, just like 
Steve searched.

I let myself move flat on the floor, feeling the exoticness of Frank kissing 
me, feeling his hands move to the buttons on my dress.

I let the kiss continue for a moment, then pushed him away.

Sat up, stood up.

He had a questioning look on his face, until he saw me reach for the buttons 
on the dress, saw me release enough of them so that I could, just like that, 
pull it over my head, and off.

A bra and high cut panties. That was all I was wearing. A bra, and high cut 
panties.

I knelt down then lay down beside him again, not quite having the nerve to 
take off those last two garments.

I may not have the nerve, he did.

It was his turn to sit up, back pain no longer an issue.

It was his turn to kiss my neck.

To lick at my cleavage.

It was his turn to release my bra's clasp, to lift a cup away from my 
breast, kiss me there, tongue my erect nipple, pull at my bra until I moved 
so he could free it of me, me of it.

He did what I hoped, abandoned my breasts, moved his head down, making my 
belly quiver as his tongue touched me there. He sat up again, moved so that 
he was at my hip, reached for my panties,

and stopped.

"Ms Brown, you take them off for me. I want to see a real woman do that, 
take her panties off for a man, I want that, to see you getting ready for 
me."

Yeah, sophisticated woman, worldly woman, a woman who's had only four sexual 
partners, many fewer than her husband, probably fewer than this young man, 
who is thinking I am something very different than the real me.

But right now, I wanted to be what he thinks I am. I lifted my hips, pushed 
down, let my hips settle to the floor, legs together, pushed my panties to 
my knees, lifted my legs, still together, bent them so I could push my 
panties off, all the while looking at him, at Frank, as he saw me remove 
that last barrier.

I was nude.

I turned to him, pulled him prone, pulled him to me, felt his body touching 
mine, and I did that thing that's so natural for me to do with Steve, to 
move my upper leg over his hip so my pelvis is hard against it. Why play 
with words? When I did that, the lips of my vulva were against his hip. 
that's what I felt, that's what I wanted to feel.

"That's so nice," he said, "you feel warm -- more than warm, hot."

He broke that embrace, sat up, bent toward me again, his mouth on my belly. 
"I'm not good at this, show me what to do," he said.

He moved again, I could feel his breath on me. On me, right there.

I sighed, muttered --" it's natural, what you're doing, just be soft, be 
gentle, be -- oh, like that." There was a whisper of a touch there, the 
softest touch. I spread my legs, granting all the access he might want.

Another ever so soft touch, a butterfly kiss. . .

I reached down, touched myself, to assure myself what I was feeling was 
real, and felt his mouth on my fingers, pushing me into myself, felt his 
tongue move between my fingers, pushing into me.

"Just like that," I told him, now opening myself, spreading myself, a hand 
on either side, as he moved there too, put his mouth on me, tongue on me. 
"Just like that!"

It was a minute or an hour later, I wasn't sure, when he said "I can't wait. 
. .."

"then don't. . .."

". . .I don't have a condom. . ."

". . .you don't need one. . ."

And he was on me.

Then in me.

This inexperienced young man wasn't so inexperienced, he moved gently, then 
firmly, faster, then slowly, harder, easier, he was being an expert 
swordsman with me.

But he was always close, always in me, making me always wetter.

And he was young.

"I can't wait," he said again.

"Then don't," I said again.

He didn't.

His chest heaved, his body surged, I felt that completeness as he erupted.

Over. It was over. It was over, and it was good.

What I thought would be an awkward time wasn't, the last cuddling, the last 
touching, the last kissing, the getting dressed.

"After all of that, now I have to pay you," I said, "for the painting."

I wrote the check.

"About the furniture, I'll come back and put it in place, and maybe, uh, see 
you?"

"No, no, Frank. We'll move it back, my husband and me, you've done enough, 
and no, I don't think you should think about seeing me again. I do want you 
to remember me, though."

"I'll never forget," he assured me. I don't know if that's true, but I knew 
I wouldn't ever forget him.

It was 4 o'clock as Frank left, Steve would be home in an hour.

I cleaned some of the evidence from the great room floor, went to the 
bathroom, planning to take a shower, then stopped. No, what happened was as 
much Steve's as it was mine. No shower, not yet. I washed a little, enough 
to remove sweat, a little moisture.

I pulled on a robe, went to the bedroom, lay back, thinking about the day, 
must have fallen asleep, because I awoke with Steve next to me.

"How nice, finding you all set to welcome me home," he said, waking me with 
a kiss.

I reached into my robe's pocket, extracted a piece of paper, gave it to him.

"I used this today, honey, with Frank," I said, as he looked at it, at the 
certificate he gave me, the "Get out of Jail Free" certificate.

"You did? I was hoping . . . Tell me, tell me all about it."

"He, he hurt his back, so I gave him a back rub, and that started it."

"Did you wear something sexy for him?"

"No, no, just a summer dress."

He was kissing me with real passion, real lust. "Did he kiss you?"

"Oh yes, yes, we kissed."

"So I'm kissing you after he did? Oh, that's so sexy. Was the room bright, 
did you look at him, at his body, did he see yours, I mean, really look at 
you, and get hard looking at you?"

"He was hard before we got undressed, honey, he was hard from the backrub."

Steve was pushing at his clothes, pulling at my robe, getting us both nude.

"Did he see you like this, without anything on?"

"Yes -- honey, he took off my bra, but he wanted me to take off my panties 
for him, and I did."

"Did you -- tell me you did -- did you go down on him?"

"Yes, and then I kissed him, I kissed him the way you like me to kiss you, 
after I go down on you, I kissed him so he could taste himself on my lips."

Steve's eyes closed, his mind was lost in images, images of his wife bending 
over a penis.

I helped that image. "My hair blocked his view, he wanted to see me suck 
him, so I moved my hair, I let him see my lips on him, I let him see his 
penis in my mouth."

"Did he, I mean did you. . ."

"No, he didn't come in my mouth, honey, you didn't taste that there."

He was nuzzling at my belly, as excited as a teenager.

"I think I smell him, I think I smell him, on your belly."

A moment later, a little deeper, he was shaking with excitement.

"I think I can taste him!"

He came.

It's usually work to make Steve get hard more than once in a night, but not 
this night. We went over what happened, time after time, each time he'd 
harden, maybe not as much, but hard enough. I never had two men in a night, 
I'd never had sex three times in a couple of hours, but I did then.

So I had done what my husband wanted, I guess what I wanted, too.

We talked about it the next day. "I'm not that woman, honey, that assertive 
sexually experienced woman. It's not a role I ever want again, I don't want 
to pretend to be that, especially with a guy like Frank. I won't ever do 
that again."

"But what about what I want, being a voyeur, seeing you, not just hearing 
about it, acting it out?"

"Never, honey, not with me having to seduce someone like that."

"That's the problem, you having had to seduce Frank? But you were so sexy, 
the way you did that."

"I know, but now I'm sorry I did. I mean, he's just a kid. What'll he think 
later, that all women are like that?"

"I don't think so," Steve tried to reassure me.

In the end I insisted. "Not like that, not ever again."

September came, went. Our lives were full, we were full of life, of 
ourselves, and each other. The 'Frank thing' played a role in lust making, 
sometimes in love making, but even Steve was convinced I wouldn't do that 
again.

He'd been thinking about it, though.

"Sex isn't the problem, is it? It wasn't sex with Frank, it was you seducing 
him that you didn't like."

"Steve, you convinced me that having sex with someone was all right, so that 
isn't what's screwing up my head. I just don't want to be the driving force, 
I can't be like that again. If ever it happens again, it'll have to be 
different than that."

"What if it was an assertive man, a controlling man, that would be different 
enough, if it was a guy who just took total control of you, total charge of 
you, almost as if you had no control. I don't mean anything like force, or 
rape or anything, but like in a seductive environment, having a guy take 
over, that would be all right, huh?"

I hadn't thought of that scenario, but Steve was right. If it wasn't me 
doing things, if it was someone doing things to me, not hurting me or 
anything, but being in charge, that would be better. It wouldn't be me, it 
would be someone else. I'd be almost helpless. Almost helpless around a sexy 
stranger, willing to be led to an erotic place. Oh, that would be really 
sexy.

"Maybe," I allowed, 'maybe that would be OK."

"OK," Steve told me. "Let me think about that. I still want to watch you, 
you know."

And as often happened now, he showed me exactly what he thought he wanted to 
watch. He showed me what he thought a controlling guy would do.

It was hot, it was fun, it was sexy, and you know what? Steve was dead wrong 
about how it was going to happen.

Absolutely dead wrong.

I hate this part. I'm telling you this story, but I don't want you to ever 
be able to identify us. Yet, the more I write, the more clues you get, and 
you have to know this part to know the whole story.

The kid of one of the rich people who lived not far from here got sick. He 
needed all kinds of blood transfusions, and he got all he needed from the 
Red Cross Blood Bank. The father, let's call him Rich Guy, found out there's 
a bunch of people who give blood every 8 or 9 weeks, year in, year out. 
Steve and I are like that, I've given about 60 times (that's about 60 pounds 
of blood, about half my body weight!) and Steve, more than 70 times. Well, 
he IS older than me!

Anyhow, Rich Guy contacted the director of the blood bank, and paid the Red 
Cross to send out invitations to a "Thank You" party he was going to give at 
the Garden City Hotel. That is NOT going on the cheap, not even for Long 
Island. And for all you people who are sensitive about privacy, it was the 
Red Cross who sent out the invitations, although the RSVP was to Rich Guy. 
You wouldn't identify yourself as a donor unless you chose to.

We chose to respond: we thought the party would be fun, we'd meet other 
people who think being donors was important as we did.

Suits and ties, dresses, or uniforms were the dress of the day. That last 
bit was an interesting insight, because lots of the regular donors are cops 
or firemen. Odd, isn't it, that these men and women who put their lives on 
the line for us also are willing to literally bleed for us every 8 weeks, 
too? Yeah, you can tell, I have hero worship, especially after 9/11.

I wore a party dress, knee length, simple, black. It had a little bit of a 
scoopy neckline, the back scooped too. It had wide shoulder straps, but it 
still was best with a strapless bra. I'm not one of those women with large 
breasts, I could go braless without causing a riot. Pantyhose, reasonable 
(two and a half inch) heels, a simple necklace, a wide belt, and a 
lightweight coat completed me.

Steve wore one of his better black suits, his tie the same bright red as was 
my belt -- proof of ownership, I guess.

We all got nametags: first name only, and the number of times we've given 
blood. I was "Sarah 59", my husband was "Steve 73". 25% of the people at the 
party were in uniform. At dinner I sat between Steve and a New York City cop 
in his 'Blue Bag' -- that's what he called his uniform

How many times have you seen pictures of cops with big bellies, cops who 
looked like if they had to chase anyone would lose the race. "Bill 85" 
wasn't one of those. Not tall (and I like tall), but broad, and for sure, 
not fat.

And personable. He was Irish, and could talk! I learned more about him 
before the dessert was served than I learned about Steve in our first 6 
months together. For example, he was married and divorced three times -- 
"I'm too controlling for most women,." he never had to draw his gun in the 
line of duty, at least not yet, and -- well, he was charming, a great dinner 
companion.

There was music afterwards, Billy was going to leave early because he didn't 
have a date, but Steve asked him to stay with us.

I liked being with these people, all of them at the party were special, and 
Steve 73 and Bill 85 were very attentive and handsome escorts.

I danced more than I had in years, with each of my escorts. Bill was proper 
enough, although when you danced with him there was a strength and power in 
his lead. There was no doubt where you moving, what steps you were taking. 
He held me, as the evening went on, a little closer than was exactly proper, 
but not enough to make me fight him off.

Not that I wanted to, of course. I was in heaven with the attention I was 
getting.

Well into the evening Steve asked the obvious question: "Like him?"

"Oh sure, he's fun."

"Think he's sexy?"

Well yeah, I did. And I said so.

"A possible?"

Wait a minute, that was going one giant step.

"Well?"

"Oh, I wasn't even thinking of that, I don't know. . ."

Like most women there I visited the ladies room a few times. Most didn't 
have two escorts at their table though, and most wouldn't see their escorts 
in whispered conversation when she returned.

Bill excused himself, I was dancing with Steve, slow dancing with Steve, and 
he made it obvious he was excited, that he was in heat.

"Feels like we're going to have an exciting time at home later, fella. Big 
Horn feels like he can't fit into his case."

"Maybe we shouldn't go home, honey, we've both been drinking, it's a 40 
minute drive."

"We didn't come prepared to spend the night, Steve, and we don't have 
reservations or anything. That doesn't sound like a good idea. We'll take it 
easy and get home OK, I promise. I didn't drink that much, anyhow."

"Well, that's not what I want," Steve told me.

"Huh?"

"Bill and I were talking, honey. He's what I've been, what we've been, 
looking for. He liked to be really dominant in his relations. Anyway, I want 
. . ."

"You mean, you were talking to Bill?"

"Yeah."

"About me? About us?"

"Well, yeah. I mean he's nice, he's here, and, and, and I think he's sexy, 
don't you?"

"Never mind what I think. What went on?"

"And I told him we were looking for a little excitement, that I wanted to be 
a voyeur, and you wanted to a dominating partner . ."

"And just like that, you . . ."

"Not just like that. When he comes back, talk to him. He has some ideas, and 
. . .look, there he is."

Bill cut in, took me in his arms, held me close. Bill was generating groin 
heat, too, and he wasn't bashful about letting me feel it.

"Well, Sarah 59, Steve 73 told me what you guys like to pretend." I started 
to say something, but he said "shh, listen to me first. The way these things 
work, is there always has to be a safety valve, if not with me, then with 
whoever you play with. It works like this. I'm very dominant, I like to 
control things, and I just assume my lady is saying things like 'no, no, 
stop' because it's part of the game. But if she says the code word, it means 
it's real, and things stop, no matter where they are, right then. Like, I'm 
a cop, I couldn't take the chance of anyone saying I forced them to do 
anything, so if I hear the code words I'd stop right now. Uh, just so you 
know, I've done this a couple of times, and no one ever had to say 'Red 
Light' -- I'm a cop, that's a good code, isn't it? -- to me. Not ever."

I laughed out loud. "You mean, cops obey traffic signals?"

He laughed too. "This cop sure obeys that one, Sarah 59. If you play with 
me, and I hope you do, and I really like husbands to watch, it makes me feel 
really powerful, to be with a man's wife, if either of you say 'red light' 
I'd stop and be out of there so quick you'd wonder if I was ever there."

"But no one has ever said it to you?"

"Nope. And I do have some things I really like to play with, too. Like, 
handcuffs make women feel really helpless."

An easy escape? And handcuffs? He changed position so that he was holding 
both of my wrists behind my back, holding me close to him, against his heat. 
He stopped dancing for a moment, held me like that. "Like, if we were like 
this, and I tried to kiss you, like this, you could stop me by saying "Red 
Light."

He moved his head closer to mine, pulled me closer to him, and very slowly 
tilted his head, moved closer. "But I know you wouldn't say "Red Light, not 
then, and not now."

He was giving me all of the time I might need to object, then his lips were 
touching mine, his tongue touched my lips, then my teeth, then my tongue. I 
was being held captive by this strong man, being kissed by him, being held 
against his penis, all without doing a thing, he was doing everything, he 
was in control.

When the kiss broke, he said "It would be like that." He looked up, over my 
shoulder, it had to be towards our table, and nodded.

"What was that?"

He moved his head closer to me again, nudged my head so his lips were at my 
ear, and he whispered "I just told -- no, I just commanded -- Steve 73 to go 
get the room cards for the room I arranged for a couple of minutes ago. When 
he comes back, we're going upstairs. Sarah 59. We're going upstairs to play. 
Until then, I'm going to let your hands go, I want you to put them around 
me, and hold me to you, so that you can feel how hot I am. Do that now."

A part of my brain started to form the words 'Red Light', but I held Bill, 
felt him against me, thought of all Steve and I had talked about, fantasized 
about, saw that Bill fit our model perfectly. He was a big strong healthy 
controlling stranger that we'd probably never see again.

The magic phrase didn't get spoken, I stood as tall as I could, so I could 
kiss him again first.

We were waiting at the table when Steve came back. He looked at me. "Are you 
OK?"

"I am, are you?"

He nodded, looked at Bill. "Two double beds, room 314."

Bill stood up. "Why are we sitting here?"

The brass doors on the elevators opened to swallow us, I held Steve's hand 
while Bill stood at what looked like 'Parade Rest' until we were delivered 
to the third floor. We found the room - 314, a hundred times pi my mind 
noticed, it would be easy to remember.

Steve opened the door, let me in, Bill came in last, put the "Do Not 
Disturb' label on the knob, turned to us. "I intend to the disturbing. 
Steve, you sit over there. You can watch, you can stop me any time, just 
like Sarah can.. You can say is the magic phrase, and I don't think you'll 
want to do that."

"And you, sweet Sarah, you can say anything you like."

I didn't say anything, because he took me in his arms, and kissed me again. 
A big, open mouth, tongue lashing kiss, not sloppy, just very sexy, very hot 
and very sexy.

During the kiss he took my hands, held them behind me, I felt more movement, 
felt something -- what was that? then he was holding me again, but my arms 
were locked behind me. I was handcuffed.

He moved me so that I was at, then sitting on, the bed.

"I like my women helpless," he said, and bent over to pull off my shoes.

"I like using my police equipment. Like, I like using those handcuffs. And, 
I like using this." He took his baton from his belt, all 18 inches of black 
stick.

"This is more than a club, it's very strong, very erotic."

I was a little frightened, magic stop phrase or not. Bill reached behind my 
head, took a handful of hair so he could control my head's position. He made 
me turn it, I didn't have any choice, so I was facing Steve, and he began 
stoking my cheek with the side of the baton, just a soft touch, gentle.

"Do you like that?"

I looked at Steve, who was breathing through his mouth, panting. I did like 
it, I liked the feeling of power it had, and I liked the effect it had on 
Steve, of being helpless.

"Yes, yes I do."

He changed its position a little, it was still on my cheek, but nearer my 
lips.

"Show your husband how much you like it. Kiss it!"

I closed my eyes, thinking about his order, but even while thinking about 
it, evaluating it, even while considering if I should, I felt it on my lips, 
caressing my lips, and I kissed it.

He turned it softly against my lips, its motion sexy, opening my lips a 
little.

"Do you know how easy it would be for you to get hurt with that, Sarah?"

I nodded my head. All he'd have to do is move it a little, it could split my 
lip, but I didn't stop, I still kissed at it, felt him moving it, until its 
blunt end was at my lips.

"Take it in your mouth, Sarah. Let your mouth make love to it."

Steve groaned, sighed. I opened my mouth, looked up at Bill, let him move it 
in my mouth, sealed my lips around it, felt it moving, touched it with my 
tongue, felt it go in, but not too far, then almost all of the way out, and 
in again, a surrogate penis, making love to my mouth.

I opened my eyes, saw Steve sweating, squirming in his chair. I wasn't sure, 
he could have been ejaculating, watching me.

"Oh, I think you're going to be really good, really hot, Sarah," Bill said, 
he may have been acting as though he was in complete control, but his 
uniform trousers were tenting, he was excited too.

"Feel that, feel that carefully with your tongue. What do you feel?"

"It has bumps in it. I thought it was smooth, but it has bumps."

"Those are teeth marks, Sarah. Teeth marks from other women who had sex with 
my nightstick. I want you to bite it, I want your teeth marks on it, too. If 
you mark it, then I'll mark you."

Mark me? How?

I bit down, felt the wood yielding a little, felt it indenting.

"Good. Here, stand up." He pulled me to my feet.

"You did good. Now, I'm going to do bad. I'm glad you wore a coat, Sarah, 
because this dress" -- he reached for its neckline, started to pull at it, 
it resisted, then there was a tearing sound as it parted down the front -- 
"this dress is history."

Have you, woman readers, ever had a man so passionate, wanting you so much, 
he tore your clothes off? Not crudely, but urgently? If you haven't, you're 
missing one of the most surprisingly erotic things that can happen.

It took a tear or two more, and that dress -- it was three years old and 
cost $300 -- was a rag on the floor.

My first thought was I'd have to go home wearing only my coat. My second 
thought was, I was standing handcuffed in front of Bill with only a slip and 
stockings and a bra on.

To hell with the dress, that wasn't important now.

Bill shrugged off his jacket, opened his belt. Tie -- it was a clip on tie 
-- oh, so no one could grab it and gain an advantage -- shirt, then 
undershirt, all off, all in a heap.

"Turn around."

I did.

He released the handcuffs, turned me around again. "Later, we'll use them 
again, two sets, each wrist to an ankle. You'll never feel sexier or more 
helpless. But now, now I need your hands free."

He took my wrist, forced my hand against his belly, pushing it against 
himself.

I wasn't doing it, he was forcing me to.

He pushed it down, behind his waistband, against his groin, pushed it down, 
I felt his groin, his hair.

His shaft.

It wasn't me, not my responsibility, it was his, his hand held mine there.

"Touch me, touch it!"

It was warm, not hot, big, not hard. I stroked along his shaft to his 
penis's head. That was hot, and felt large, much thicker than his shaft.

"Now, I'm going to mark you, bite you."

I could feel a pulse in his penis, could feel the smooth skin of it, a 
little moisture at its end, the thin skin of his foreskin over that head so 
easy to move back, so I could touch him there, imagine that purple head in 
my hand, on my fingers, but my touching him wasn't my doing, he had made me 
do that. . .

"I want to know how much you can take, I'll know, because you'll stop 
touching me that way."

I was stroking his cock along its length, letting my fingers explore it, his 
hold on my wrist had loosened, it was still his fault, his responsibility.

Then his lips were on my shoulder.

I could feel his teeth on my skin.

And his cock was getting bigger! Was it because I was touching it, or 
because he was biting me? I didn't know, but the pain on my shoulder 
increased.

It was an erotic pain, it was as though that pain connected directly to deep 
in me, and to his cock, it was reacting too, as I touched it, stroked it.

He bit down harder -- it hurt. Oh, that hurt, but it was a good hurt, I 
didn't pull my shoulder away, I lifted it against his mouth, against his 
teeth, and felt his penis getting hotter, harder, thicker.

Felt myself getting hotter, too, even more aroused, I knew if he'd touch me 
he'd find me wet, ready, right now. What was happening, it's as though the 
pain in my shoulder was connected directly to some sexual part of my brain. 
. .

I used my other hand to reach for his waistband button, found it, released 
it, found his fly, unzipped that, while he was biting me, hurting me.

Arousing me.

Getting more erect with the pain he was causing me, his penis's head was so 
hot, as hot as my shoulder felt, where he was biting it, where I was lifting 
it hard against his teeth.

Finally, he stopped. He was fully erect. "No woman has ever let me bite her 
that hard. You'll wear my mark for a long time."

My husband was standing behind me, looking at my shoulder. "Did he hurt you? 
Do you want to stop?"

"He hurt me a lot, but it was a good hurt. I don't want more of that kind of 
hurt, but I don't want to stop."

I let his penis go, reached to his pants with both hands, started pushing 
down. " I want to see what I've been touching, you felt big. . ."

He completed the task of undressing himself, stood in front of me, broad, 
erect. And there was his cock, pointing at me, a reasonable size cock, but 
the head was uncommonly large, at least with my limited experience.

"You are big."

"And you're overdressed," he said, we'll have to fix that."

"But first ... hey, Steve, sit on the bed, let's do something really sexy."

Do something sexy? My shoulder was on fire with erotic pain, I could almost 
feel lubrication wetting my pantyhose, I've been fondling his genitals, and 
now he wants to do something sexy?

"Good, that's good, Steve. Sarah, sit between his legs, OK, facing me? Yeah, 
like that. Put your hands on his knees."

This was odd, what Bill wanted, but he had been so right about so much. . .

Bill walked over, right in front of me! I mean, that big penis head was 
inches from my face, and. .

. . . and I knew what he wanted.

"Take Sarah's head in your hands, Steve, yeah, like that."

I was right, I knew it, I knew it!

Bill moved closer, so close his penis was touching my cheek. I closed my 
eyes, I knew what to expect.

"Turn her head, Steve, turn it, position it, for her, so she doesn't have 
to, position it, yes, like that. . ."

My husband turned my head so my lips were against that penis, I felt Bill 
moving, then that large head was right in front of me, right in front of my 
lips.

I pursed them, touched it with a kiss.

I could feel Steve's hands shaking as he held my head there, then,

then,

then Steve pushed at my head a little,

pushed me toward that penis, pushed my lips against it,

and as my mouth opened, accepting it, Steve pushed more, his hands on my 
cheeks, as my mouth filled with cockhead, and Steve groaned, "I can feel him 
in your mouth, I can feel his cock moving against your cheek, oh god, I can 
feel that. . ."

My husband, fully dressed, orgasmed, just like that.

Bill backed away. "We're going to use that bed now, Steve, OK?"

Steve, face flushed, got off the bed, looked at me still sitting alone in 
front of a naked at erect man.

Bill reached for his handcuffs.

"I don't want those, Bill, I don't need them."

I lifted my slip over my head.

"I don't need you to pretend to force me, not any more."

Bill came to me, still erect, still a trace of my moisture on his cock, and 
just like that, picked me up.

And just like that, put me in the middle of the bed.

And in a moment was beside me, hugging me one of those hugs, where bodies 
are tight together, where lips meet and stay locked, where hands move on 
backs and hips and legs.

And his hands went behind me, found the clasp of that flimsy bra, released 
it.

And I moved a little away from him, so I could take it off my body, so he 
could see my breasts, my nipples.

And while he was looking, I rolled to my back, and did as I had done for 
Frank, lifted my hips up, pushed at my pantyhose, pushed them down my legs, 
pulled them off.

And rolled to Bill again, for another of those full contact kisses, this 
time with my leg over his hip, this time with my vulva pressing against his 
leg. I liked doing that with Frank, and I liked doing it now, with Bill.

And I kissed him, and touched him, touched that cock, that head.

That head, that could be a problem for me. What a time to have that problem. 
. .

"Bill, I'm sorry, but you're big, or at least thick. I'm not sure I can take 
you, but I'll touch you, kiss you, go down on you. Don't worry, I won't 
leave you hanging, I promise."

"I know I'm thicker than most men, and I like what you're promising," he 
said, touching me, kissing me, teasing me, moving down my body, making me 
spread my legs, making me want to spread my legs. "But it's too soon to 
worry about that. There's another thing I want to do."

He reached for, found his nightstick.

He sat beside me, let me lay there, let that stick move over my cheek. I 
reached for him, only to hear "Wait! Be still."

He half leaned over, his supporting his head with one hand, tracing the 
stick over my breasts with the other.

Oh, that felt strange, seeing this man beside me, playing with his baton, 
playing with my body that way. Strange, and strangely erotic, too.

There, right there, a quarter turn from me, was that head, that penis. I 
knew I'd have to satisfy him, I reached for it, half turned my upper body, 
took him in my hand, moved more, moved enough so I could get my mouth on 
him. I would masturbate him, let him ejaculate on me, I read that men liked 
to do that, and. . .

And his baton had moved, it was stroking my inner thigh.

"That got your attention," he said.

I looked up at him, down my body, saw it against my vulva, felt it there, 
looked at Steve, who was watching, too, looked at Bill, as he played with 
me.

"Sexy, isn't it?"

"Very," I heard, it was Steve who said it.

He pressed its side against me, just a little, just enough for me to know 
how strong it was, how strong he was.

"Just like before," he said, "just like before you bit it, you told me you 
knew how much it could hurt you."

"I knew," I said, I was aroused by what he was doing, afraid, but aroused, 
the pressure of that against me, against me there

"Do you trust me?" He leaned even closer, he was right over me, right over 
my pelvis, he was rolling that stick, rolling its length against my length, 
I could feel it moving easily, it had to be slippery, wet, wet from me.

"Do you trust me," he asked again. bending down, moving the stick so his 
lips could be there.

Oh, that felt good.

"Do you trust me," he asked a third time, lifting up, and I saw he changed 
the baton's position, it was poised as a penis might be, "because, before, 
you made love to my baton with your lips, and now. . ."

He pushed a little, I could feel the rounded end push against me a little, 
then invade me a little, "and now, I want you to make love to it with your 
cunt!"

And it was IN me! He was moving it back and forth, it wasn't thick, it felt 
so odd, to feel that in me, odd, erotic -- somehow I opened my legs for it, 
began moving with its beat, making love to it.

Then he moved down, too, until he was THERE, his tongue was there, he was 
tasting me, his own tongue was next to that stick, that baton, he was 
knowing I was so wet, so ready.

I let myself go with those sensation, opened my eyes, and his penis was 
right in front of me, I had only to move my head, and I did, so its tip was 
at my lips. I had only to purse them, holding his shaft, to touch them, and 
I did.

I held it still, touched its tip with my tongue, moved two inches, 
surrounded its girth with my lips again, this time without my husband's 
help.

Steve told me that most women just tongue their partner's penis, caress it 
with their lips. I always liked to suck on Steve's, and I did that to Bill. 
I sucked, drawing him in.

He was so hot -- so hard, and he was doing things to me with his mouth, too, 
things I've never had done before. I could feel him pressing down over me, 
sucking too, as I was doing to him.

He was close to making me come, and his twitching made me think he was, too.

"Let's go to the main event," he said, "that's enough playing."

"But your size, your thickness, I think it's too much, let me satisfy you 
this way. . ."

He interrupted me. "Wait, we'll do it like this."

He lay on his back, his erection like a thick post, a tree trunk, growing 
from his groin.

"Get on me, put your hands on my shoulders."

I did, straddling him, over that big head.

"Now, just move down, you control everything, how much, how hard, you'll 
see. . ."

My back was bowed, leaning over him, squatting, my feet at his hips, and I 
lowered myself, felt him, felt that blunt pressure, pushing at me, pressing 
me.

He took his penis, began moving it along me, along my lips, its head 
brushing against me, getting wet with me, still blunt, still all outside.

I moved a little, side to side, opening myself, he moved too, and the 
pressure changed, it was not as blunt anymore, it was a spreading sensation, 
I was being spread, and I looked down between us, saw him holding himself, 
almost the way Steve does when he masturbates for me, and I saw half of his 
penis's head in me, inside the lips of my vulva.

I moved again, felt more pressure, more spreading, more filling, and -- his 
head was in me.

I looked up as Steve, saw him staring not at my face but at what was 
happening, his own mouth was open, his face was sweaty, too.

Steve saw me move upright, upright and proud above this man, squatting over 
this man's cock. Bill stopped holding himself, and held my hips instead, I 
put my hands on his arms, let myself settle an inch.

I was accepting him, accepting his size. It didn't hurt, it was -- easy, it 
was -- ecstasy.

And then, I felt something else. Hair, groin. I looked again, we were 
merged, pelvis to pelvis, he was fully in me. I let all of my weight on his 
pelvis, he was in as deep in me as he could be. I lifted, saw his shaft 
reveal itself, coming out of me, dark, wet and shiny, then he lifted his 
hips, pushing into me again.

I suspended myself there, let him move, let that thing move in me, moving 
easier as I expanded to accept it.

Until he said "roll over now."

I did, and it was classic man on top sex, except that man was looking not at 
me, but at my husband as he moved in me, pushed in me, fucked me.

"Is this what you wanted, Steve 73? Is this what you wanted to see, is this 
what you wanted your woman to do?"

"Oh yes, exactly that." Steve could hardly make himself heard, his voice was 
raspy.

Bill was moving in me, taking me, screwing me. He bent over me, his back 
bowed, bent over close enough so I could lift and kiss him, so he could 
taste his cock, and I could taste my cunt, during that kiss, during that 
fucking.

"I wanted to see my third wife get fucked, too, Steve," he said.

Oh? Maybe wanting that is common, I thought, but Bill wasn't done with his 
story, not by a long shot.

"That wife, her name was Betty, she was more Irish than me, the reddest 
hair, the fairest skin."

Why was he talking about another woman? He was having sex with me!

"See my hand on your wife's cheek?"

I could feel it, I looked over my head, and could see Steve looking, too.

"Suck on my fingers, Sarah," he said.

I did, let them in my mouth, sucked on them.

"I let my buddy Rudy have my wife, not that Betty minded," he said.

"So I saw his fingers in her mouth, like you're seeing mine in Sarah's.

"And I saw his cock sliding in her cunt, like you can see mine in your 
wife's."

"But the difference is this, Steve."

"See how my skin looks against her cheek? See how my belly looks against 
her's when I'm in her. like now?"

"Close your eyes, imagine that's Rudy's cock, Rudy's fingers. My buddy Rudy 
is as big as I am, but Rudy is blacker than coal."

"Think of how that would look, against your wife's skin."

Steve groaned. . .

"I'd like to see that too" Bill said. "Next time you want to play, call me, 
I'll get Rudy to come."

Steve was breathing fast, and so was Bill. And so was I. Like Bill, but 
black? What would that feel like, is it true about black men, about their 
size?

Bill was pushing harder now. "Hold my cock now, I'm ready," the driving 
machine above me said, as his pace increased, as I felt his size increase, 
too, as his penis got ready to deliver its sperm where nature intended, 
where my nature insisted it go.

Bill went rigid -- pelvis hard against mine. I could feel it, the pumping. 
He withdrew an inch, pushed in again, held that position, hard together, and 
my fingers could feel that action deep inside his cock, that surprisingly 
gentle pulsing, as his sperm, his cum, moved from deep in his body to deep 
in mine.

Bill came for a longer time than I'd experienced before, it felt like he 
ejaculated for half a minute or more, filling me.

It excited me, but not enough for another orgasm. The several I had were 
enough for now, what I felt was a deep satisfaction with him, with me, with 
Steve, instead. I was a complete woman, sexy, able to please her husband, 
able to please a stranger, able to take all he could give, and more.

Bill rested, deep in me. I could feel him softening, still big, still thick, 
but softer.

He pulled out, there was white threading from him to me, as he moved to the 
side, his penis wet with both of us, now.

I moved against him, leg over him, held him.

Kissed him.

"You were wonderful, Bill, more than a woman could hope for."

He held me, kissed back.

"And you too, Sarah, you're as much woman as a man could want. Too bad 
you're taken, you could have been number 4 wife."

Steve was standing at the foot of the bed now, looking at our two bodies, 
while he finished undressing.

"I hate to fuck and run, Sarah, but I think your husband wants you to 
himself now."

He was almost right, I wanted my husband to myself now, and I needed comfort 
and reassurance that we were still OK.

Bill moved from the bed, began dressing, while Steve uncovered the second 
bed, and pulled me to it.

And in a moment I was wrapped in the arms of my husband, and was being 
kissed by my husband, and touched by him.

Then came the biggest surprise of all. "We don't have to talk about this, 
honey," he said, as I heard the door close behind Bill. "We know what 
happened, you were wonderful, and I love you." I felt Steve hard beside me, 
opened up to him, rolled on my back and opened up, and he moved on me, over 
me, and then was in me, offering sweet lovemaking, offering sweet sex, 
offering all the comfort and reassurance I could ever want that my husband, 
my own sexy husband, was still with me, still loved me.

Soon enough he stopped, we slept, tangled in each other's arms.

Awoke, showered together, joined together again in bed, and finally, as Bill 
had predicted, I left the hotel, proud and upright, nude, except for 
pantyhose and heels, only wearing my coat.

And that's how come, today, the mirror still showed the bruise, the 
reminder.

And how it is that Steve and I didn't need it to remind us what happened was 
real, we remember.

And how, sometimes, I wonder if Steve still had Bill's phone number.

And if Rudy was still his friend.
<1st attachment end>


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