Sunday, August 01, 2004
Animated Dragonball Porn Z Sex picture
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03. Animated Dragonball Porn Z sex link
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Saturday, July 31, 2004
Animated Dragonball Porn Z Sex story
Charles Begins His Adventures
by bluepervina - 2001 bluepervinaATearthling
( nosex, Fm, inc, enem, hist )
This story is Part 1 of what I hope to be an ongoing Victorian series.
This story will be the only one of the series without explicit sexual acts.
Adults Only! Do not read if you are under 18 years of age or
if you are offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.
My earliest memories are of the tube. Soft, yellowing, over one-half
inch in diameter, the tube was my childhood's most constant companion.
Every morning and every night the tube's end was polished up with bacon
grease and slid deeply up inside my rectum. There was delivered to me all
the warmth and good intentions of my Mother's love. I lay on my side,
knees tucked to my chest, eyes closed, mouth gone slack, and I loved it. I
loved my Mother for giving me the tube. It was but the first of her many
priceless gifts.
I have no memory of pain from the insertion of the tube. I have no
memory of worry, nor of fear, nor of shame. It was what all boys did, my
Mother had always assured me, smoothing out my hair as I lay there fetally,
breathing deep. It was what all young men did, too. How was I supposed to
know what they did in their private rooms, alone with wives, mistresses,
mothers? She asked, and I couldn't answer. I was no different from other
boys, so she had forever said, and how was I supposed to know different,
being so young?
The weight and bubbling in my stomach gave me some discomfort, of
course, but it always passed--just as headaches come and go, my Mother
said. A natural bodily state is nothing to worry about. A boy must be
clean inside, and the throb and gurgle of the water sweeping through my
bowels simply indicated that I was becoming, indeed, clean.
It was a splendid ritual, in its own right. Mother came to me alone,
the servants off cleaning elsewhere or preparing meals. She carried with
her a large pitcher of water, which she set above the coals in the corner
fireplace, heating it for a short while. As the water warmed, I settled
into position to receive her preparations for the tube. On my belly, knees
drawn up beneath my chest, arms stretched out upon the bed, my bottom
poking up nicely and bathing in the warmth of the fire. Mother went to the
smaller chiffarobe and extracted the necessary tools: rubber tube, rubber
bag, the bag's hanging pole, and the pail of bacon grease. The pole was
stood beside the bed. The tube, bag, and pail were placed upon the bed
down past my feet somewhere. Then Mother stepped away for a moment.
To make her work easier, Mother always came to me dressed only in her
nightgown and robe. As I always took the tube first thing in the morning
or last thing at night, she saw no sense in dressing up in clothes that she
would just have to take back off in order to service my health. The robe
fell to the floor behind her, and she was able then to move about me in
nearly the most free manner possible, since only her nightgown's silk
rustled between us. It was common in those days, and still is today, for
women to wear nothing beneath their nightgowns--a fact which stirs most
men, considering these times of hoop skirts, whalebone corsets, pantaloons,
and female overdressing in general, where all the public man sees of woman
is the shell around woman. My Mother gave me early the gift of knowing the
truest beauty of woman: skin, hair, musk, and sweat, the thin and
defenseless cling of a nightgown.
Mother climbed up on the bed behind me and, sitting on her knees, gently
rubbed and squeezed my buttocks with both hands. After nearly five full
minutes of soothing massage, she dipped her fingers into the bacon grease
and began to rub them over my anus. She always worked her fingers upon me
in the same manner: the right hand's first three fingers pressed against my
anus from the tips flat down to the second knuckle, rubbing and rubbing
counterclockwise. She went back for more grease twice always, and on that
final application her left hand invariably settled on the back of my
pelvis, just above the cleft in my bottom. As the right hand finished its
final tour around my softened anal border, the thumb of her left hand
smoothly, painlessly pushed its way through the relaxed ring of muscle.
Flexing her thumb for a few moments, Mother soothed my anus further,
stretching it some, and then the three fingers of her right hand returned
with more grease, slowly pushing in.
To this day I cannot imagine living without such love! My entire body
lay folded there, infinitely calm, pulsing with every beat of my heart from
head to toe. I could think of nothing but the hands working on my rectum.
I could feel nothing but the pleasure of those hands, which searched deeper
and harder inside me until the very core of a man's joy was reached.
Pressing, rubbing, just long enough for my breath to catch, Mother then
withdrew.
The terrible emptiness in those few seconds is what I have forever since
associated with the eternal punishment and of hell. All that gives
me happiness, hope, and meaning is taken away, and I am ignored and
abandoned and alone. Love disappears and has forsaken my spirit for all of
the rest of time.
But the tube! Quickly plunging to the deepest part of me, saving me,
bringing back to joy, back to my Mother, it pushes in and in and in. I
often wept to consider how life might be without such a salvation as this.
Often my sobbing only increased as Mother reached out to stroke my cheek
with her left hand. If my cries did not subside (and why should they, when
tears of gratitude are but the gifts of joy?) Mother often leaned up to me
and kissed my upturned cheek, her breasts heavy on my back, shoulder, arm
outstretched. Her nipples scraped across me through her nightgown as she
withdrew, and my sobs were caught and stilled, somehow, by that final
empathic touch.
Moving to the fireplace, Mother collected the pitcher and brought it to
the foot of the bed. Only once did I see what she did there, in my latest
teen years, after over a decade of frustrated wondering led me to hide a
small mirror in my hand in order to look back secretly upon her. She had
always spent those few minutes making very strange sounds behind me, and
with the mirror I discovered what they were. I'd known she did something
with her nightgown. I'd also known that the pitcher was placed on the
floor about two feet back from the cedar chest at the foot of my bed (I'd
inspected the ring of moisture the pitcher had left behind on the floor
after Mother had gone back to her room). I'd also always heard a familiar
hissing and the sound of pouring water. For years I agonized over what she
did there behind me, as I lay assuaged and waiting up on my bed. This is
what the mirror showed me: the pitcher, only half full, was far enough away
from the cedar chest for my Mother to comfortably squat over it and grip
the edge of the chest; once squatting, she pulled her nightgown up with one
hand until the edges were all collected and yanked tightly against her
breasts; then she proceeded to empty her entire bladder into the pitcher.
In that one brief, surreptitious moment I saw far beyond my innocent
pleasures. For the first time, I knew that my Mother gave me the tube as
much for herself as for me. Her face at the moment of her bladder's
release softened and reddened, her eyes tightly closed in a strange rapture
of relief, her mouth hung open, and she slowly rolled her head from side to
side as the last sprays of her salty gold spasmed out from deep inside her
body.
Finished, she remained squatted above the pitcher, and I could see her
anus twitching, contracting. Mother ducked her head fiercely and held it
down, looking down at herself, I thought, and all I could see was the top
of her head and her anus flexing, flexing. Her breathing grew more
pronounced, and in a few seconds one--two--three squirts of a clear liquid
burst from her nether lips. Then I finally knew what that last sound was
which I'd agonized over trying to guess: she moaned, but she instantly hid
the moan inside her throat, a coughing that was mostly grunting, a hoarse
declaration of her love.
Mother picked up the much-heavier pitcher at that point, stood, and let
the hem of her nightgown fall back around her ankles. I thought briefly
about what her private parts had looked like--all that hair! But I wasn't
much surprised by that at that point in my late childhood. By then, I'd
seen the private parts of every female in our house except Mother. Yet, it
was quite special to finally see her, too. Admittedly, she kept her hair
longer and did not appear to ever trim it down there, but I imagined I
could quickly grow to love such a wild and musky patch as that.
She poured the strong mixture into the large rubber bag and hung it on
the pole. My mirror disappeared, and the rest of this ritual continued on
its familiar route. Mother sat down on the bed beside me and helped me
roll slowly onto my side. Then she stroked my hair and said, as always,
"Now comes the love of a Mother for Son," and she released the stopper on
the tube. "May you live forever pure."
Oh sweet love! Is there anything in the universe like the sensation of
being bodily filled with warm love like that? My body inevitably shuddered
through wave after wave of blinding happiness as the waters swept through
me like the surge of an omnipotent tide. Mother stroked my hair and sang
soft hymns, and I receded deep inside myself, trying in my mind to see what
I could more than feel. I wanted to find that throbbing ball of ecstasy in
my rectum and push on it myself, to fire the gun Mother had loaded. I
screamed inside to explode and paint the walls of my exterior world with
the joy of being full full full....
Finally I heard her speaking to me. Never did I know how long I
remained in my rapture, but inevitably her voice was what brought me back.
I imagine I made some noises in the midst of it all, perhaps I squirmed and
clenched my toes. Mother patiently waited for heaven to descend, and then
she brought me back. "You are a very good boy," she always said. Then the
tube, slow as a glacier, but hot, not cold, slid inexorably out into
Mother's supple hands. My anus clamped shut reflexively, but its erratic
spasms could not help but open it back up very soon.
"Let me help you," she said, and carried me gently to the pot in the
corner. Awkwardly, clenching, I touched down and sat on the cold pot. It
was high and deep and made with a special lid with one small hole through
which I expelled, limiting the amount of waste which splashed back up.
Forever shivering from this delicious relief, I spent quite some time
squirming atop the chamber pot. I had to wait until the last spasm and
squirt was wrung out of me, or else I'd regret it in public--or in my
sleep--later.
During this time Mother went about the business of cleaning her hands,
retrieving her robe, and putting away her equipment. Coming back to me,
she bent to kiss my forehead. "My perfect boy," she always whispered. "My
perfect man." With one more kiss she straightened and headed back to her
room. The pitcher, held negligently in one hand, dripped a wet trail after
her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2001 by bluepervina. bluepervinaATearthling
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09. Animated Dragonball Porn Z sex link
10. Animated Dragonball Porn Z sex link
by bluepervina - 2001 bluepervinaATearthling
( nosex, Fm, inc, enem, hist )
This story is Part 1 of what I hope to be an ongoing Victorian series.
This story will be the only one of the series without explicit sexual acts.
Adults Only! Do not read if you are under 18 years of age or
if you are offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.
My earliest memories are of the tube. Soft, yellowing, over one-half
inch in diameter, the tube was my childhood's most constant companion.
Every morning and every night the tube's end was polished up with bacon
grease and slid deeply up inside my rectum. There was delivered to me all
the warmth and good intentions of my Mother's love. I lay on my side,
knees tucked to my chest, eyes closed, mouth gone slack, and I loved it. I
loved my Mother for giving me the tube. It was but the first of her many
priceless gifts.
I have no memory of pain from the insertion of the tube. I have no
memory of worry, nor of fear, nor of shame. It was what all boys did, my
Mother had always assured me, smoothing out my hair as I lay there fetally,
breathing deep. It was what all young men did, too. How was I supposed to
know what they did in their private rooms, alone with wives, mistresses,
mothers? She asked, and I couldn't answer. I was no different from other
boys, so she had forever said, and how was I supposed to know different,
being so young?
The weight and bubbling in my stomach gave me some discomfort, of
course, but it always passed--just as headaches come and go, my Mother
said. A natural bodily state is nothing to worry about. A boy must be
clean inside, and the throb and gurgle of the water sweeping through my
bowels simply indicated that I was becoming, indeed, clean.
It was a splendid ritual, in its own right. Mother came to me alone,
the servants off cleaning elsewhere or preparing meals. She carried with
her a large pitcher of water, which she set above the coals in the corner
fireplace, heating it for a short while. As the water warmed, I settled
into position to receive her preparations for the tube. On my belly, knees
drawn up beneath my chest, arms stretched out upon the bed, my bottom
poking up nicely and bathing in the warmth of the fire. Mother went to the
smaller chiffarobe and extracted the necessary tools: rubber tube, rubber
bag, the bag's hanging pole, and the pail of bacon grease. The pole was
stood beside the bed. The tube, bag, and pail were placed upon the bed
down past my feet somewhere. Then Mother stepped away for a moment.
To make her work easier, Mother always came to me dressed only in her
nightgown and robe. As I always took the tube first thing in the morning
or last thing at night, she saw no sense in dressing up in clothes that she
would just have to take back off in order to service my health. The robe
fell to the floor behind her, and she was able then to move about me in
nearly the most free manner possible, since only her nightgown's silk
rustled between us. It was common in those days, and still is today, for
women to wear nothing beneath their nightgowns--a fact which stirs most
men, considering these times of hoop skirts, whalebone corsets, pantaloons,
and female overdressing in general, where all the public man sees of woman
is the shell around woman. My Mother gave me early the gift of knowing the
truest beauty of woman: skin, hair, musk, and sweat, the thin and
defenseless cling of a nightgown.
Mother climbed up on the bed behind me and, sitting on her knees, gently
rubbed and squeezed my buttocks with both hands. After nearly five full
minutes of soothing massage, she dipped her fingers into the bacon grease
and began to rub them over my anus. She always worked her fingers upon me
in the same manner: the right hand's first three fingers pressed against my
anus from the tips flat down to the second knuckle, rubbing and rubbing
counterclockwise. She went back for more grease twice always, and on that
final application her left hand invariably settled on the back of my
pelvis, just above the cleft in my bottom. As the right hand finished its
final tour around my softened anal border, the thumb of her left hand
smoothly, painlessly pushed its way through the relaxed ring of muscle.
Flexing her thumb for a few moments, Mother soothed my anus further,
stretching it some, and then the three fingers of her right hand returned
with more grease, slowly pushing in.
To this day I cannot imagine living without such love! My entire body
lay folded there, infinitely calm, pulsing with every beat of my heart from
head to toe. I could think of nothing but the hands working on my rectum.
I could feel nothing but the pleasure of those hands, which searched deeper
and harder inside me until the very core of a man's joy was reached.
Pressing, rubbing, just long enough for my breath to catch, Mother then
withdrew.
The terrible emptiness in those few seconds is what I have forever since
associated with the eternal punishment and of hell. All that gives
me happiness, hope, and meaning is taken away, and I am ignored and
abandoned and alone. Love disappears and has forsaken my spirit for all of
the rest of time.
But the tube! Quickly plunging to the deepest part of me, saving me,
bringing back to joy, back to my Mother, it pushes in and in and in. I
often wept to consider how life might be without such a salvation as this.
Often my sobbing only increased as Mother reached out to stroke my cheek
with her left hand. If my cries did not subside (and why should they, when
tears of gratitude are but the gifts of joy?) Mother often leaned up to me
and kissed my upturned cheek, her breasts heavy on my back, shoulder, arm
outstretched. Her nipples scraped across me through her nightgown as she
withdrew, and my sobs were caught and stilled, somehow, by that final
empathic touch.
Moving to the fireplace, Mother collected the pitcher and brought it to
the foot of the bed. Only once did I see what she did there, in my latest
teen years, after over a decade of frustrated wondering led me to hide a
small mirror in my hand in order to look back secretly upon her. She had
always spent those few minutes making very strange sounds behind me, and
with the mirror I discovered what they were. I'd known she did something
with her nightgown. I'd also known that the pitcher was placed on the
floor about two feet back from the cedar chest at the foot of my bed (I'd
inspected the ring of moisture the pitcher had left behind on the floor
after Mother had gone back to her room). I'd also always heard a familiar
hissing and the sound of pouring water. For years I agonized over what she
did there behind me, as I lay assuaged and waiting up on my bed. This is
what the mirror showed me: the pitcher, only half full, was far enough away
from the cedar chest for my Mother to comfortably squat over it and grip
the edge of the chest; once squatting, she pulled her nightgown up with one
hand until the edges were all collected and yanked tightly against her
breasts; then she proceeded to empty her entire bladder into the pitcher.
In that one brief, surreptitious moment I saw far beyond my innocent
pleasures. For the first time, I knew that my Mother gave me the tube as
much for herself as for me. Her face at the moment of her bladder's
release softened and reddened, her eyes tightly closed in a strange rapture
of relief, her mouth hung open, and she slowly rolled her head from side to
side as the last sprays of her salty gold spasmed out from deep inside her
body.
Finished, she remained squatted above the pitcher, and I could see her
anus twitching, contracting. Mother ducked her head fiercely and held it
down, looking down at herself, I thought, and all I could see was the top
of her head and her anus flexing, flexing. Her breathing grew more
pronounced, and in a few seconds one--two--three squirts of a clear liquid
burst from her nether lips. Then I finally knew what that last sound was
which I'd agonized over trying to guess: she moaned, but she instantly hid
the moan inside her throat, a coughing that was mostly grunting, a hoarse
declaration of her love.
Mother picked up the much-heavier pitcher at that point, stood, and let
the hem of her nightgown fall back around her ankles. I thought briefly
about what her private parts had looked like--all that hair! But I wasn't
much surprised by that at that point in my late childhood. By then, I'd
seen the private parts of every female in our house except Mother. Yet, it
was quite special to finally see her, too. Admittedly, she kept her hair
longer and did not appear to ever trim it down there, but I imagined I
could quickly grow to love such a wild and musky patch as that.
She poured the strong mixture into the large rubber bag and hung it on
the pole. My mirror disappeared, and the rest of this ritual continued on
its familiar route. Mother sat down on the bed beside me and helped me
roll slowly onto my side. Then she stroked my hair and said, as always,
"Now comes the love of a Mother for Son," and she released the stopper on
the tube. "May you live forever pure."
Oh sweet love! Is there anything in the universe like the sensation of
being bodily filled with warm love like that? My body inevitably shuddered
through wave after wave of blinding happiness as the waters swept through
me like the surge of an omnipotent tide. Mother stroked my hair and sang
soft hymns, and I receded deep inside myself, trying in my mind to see what
I could more than feel. I wanted to find that throbbing ball of ecstasy in
my rectum and push on it myself, to fire the gun Mother had loaded. I
screamed inside to explode and paint the walls of my exterior world with
the joy of being full full full....
Finally I heard her speaking to me. Never did I know how long I
remained in my rapture, but inevitably her voice was what brought me back.
I imagine I made some noises in the midst of it all, perhaps I squirmed and
clenched my toes. Mother patiently waited for heaven to descend, and then
she brought me back. "You are a very good boy," she always said. Then the
tube, slow as a glacier, but hot, not cold, slid inexorably out into
Mother's supple hands. My anus clamped shut reflexively, but its erratic
spasms could not help but open it back up very soon.
"Let me help you," she said, and carried me gently to the pot in the
corner. Awkwardly, clenching, I touched down and sat on the cold pot. It
was high and deep and made with a special lid with one small hole through
which I expelled, limiting the amount of waste which splashed back up.
Forever shivering from this delicious relief, I spent quite some time
squirming atop the chamber pot. I had to wait until the last spasm and
squirt was wrung out of me, or else I'd regret it in public--or in my
sleep--later.
During this time Mother went about the business of cleaning her hands,
retrieving her robe, and putting away her equipment. Coming back to me,
she bent to kiss my forehead. "My perfect boy," she always whispered. "My
perfect man." With one more kiss she straightened and headed back to her
room. The pitcher, held negligently in one hand, dripped a wet trail after
her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2001 by bluepervina. bluepervinaATearthling
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Thursday, July 29, 2004
Animated Dragonball Porn Z Sex picture
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Monday, July 26, 2004
Animated Dragonball Porn Z Sex story
Content Warning: This story contains depictions of
sexual acts. If it is either illegal or inappropriate for
you to be reading this, please stop now. Or at least
before you come to the good parts.
Author: Miles Naismith
( c ) 1998 Mnaismith
Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely
without modification on Usenet, Usenet II,
not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit sites,
and news archival services which offer free public
access to archived articles. All other rights
reserved.
LUCY STAYS
By
Miles Naismith
"She wants you to stay."
Lucy stopped, but she didn't turn around.
Her hand was resting on the doorknob. She knew
she should go, but fear and a prurient fascination
made her hesitate.
"Tell her." The deep voice was
commanding, arrogant.
"Please stay, Lucy."
Lucy's eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on the
knob tightened. But she didn't move.
"She wants you to stay and watch," came the
deep voice, smugly confident. "Tell her."
"Please stay, Lucy. I want you to,"
whispered her friend, low and pleading.
Lucy was torn. Prudence said to leave, and
quickly. Something more primitive said stay. She
was frozen between the two when she heard the
footsteps approach. She felt a large hand lift hers
from the doorknob, and pull her around toward the
living room.
As he led her across the room, she opened
her eyes. The scene was just as surreal as when she
had innocently walked in that door on an average
Tuesday in August to return a borrowed chafing
dish and some serving pieces to Anne. The man
leading her by her hand was still nude, still erect,
and still not Anne's husband. Across the room,
Anne's head was tilted down, but her eyes looked up
at Lucy. She had on a white terrycloth bathrobe.
Lucy's sense of unreality deepened as the man
bowed slightly and gestured at the window seat in
the bay window. As he turned and walked across
the room to Anne, the setting sun cast a pale, faintly
red light through the sheer curtains behind her,
washing out colors in the room and adding to the
surreal feeling.
At Anne's almost imperceptible nod, Lucy
abruptly dropped onto the seat, stiff and upright,
primly swinging her knees together and crossing her
ankles. In her pristine white cotton polo shirt and
pleated shorts, she was the epitome of the thirty-five
year- old soccer mom. Which was, of course,
exactly what she was: a demure, monogamous
mother of two confused as to why she was still here.
But her thoughts were not on her children, nor her
husband, nor even her own shock and surprise. In
reality, she had no coherent thoughts at all. Her
mind was simply filled, obsessed, with a snaky
intermingling of voyeuristic anticipation, fear that
the man would hurt her or Anne, and a morbid,
compelling sense of arousal, unlike anything she
had felt before, that shocked her by its very
presence.
Staring as if in a trance, Lucy watched the
man turn Anne to face her and bend to kiss her neck
from behind. Still kissing her neck, the man
brought his hands up, his hands folding under the
collar of the robe on either side. Anne stood
unresisting as the hands slid to the sides, over the
shoulders and down her arms, taking the lapels with
them. The robe pulled up from the belt and opened,
its fall halted short of her waist as the front hung
suspended for an instant on Anne's erect nipples.
Then it dropped again, only to be held at her waist
by the belt.
Lucy watched as Anne's hands twitched up,
a reflexive attempt at modesty, she supposed,
stopped by the sleeves that still covered Anne's
forearms. A petty thought,<My breasts are better; a
little bit smaller maybe, but I don't droop as much>
flicked quickly through Lucy's mind, just as quickly
forgotten as she watched Anne blush. The red flush
moved like a tide from Anne's cheeks down her
neck to her chest, momentarily stopping at the tops
of those pure white mounds that had never known
the sun. When the man used his forefingers and
thumbs to gently stretch the nipples toward Lucy,
the breasts themselves turned pink.
Lucy heard a small gasp, and realized it had
come from her. For a moment, her attention turned
inward. She hadn't noticed when her nipples had
become so hard, but now she was acutely aware of
the pressure of her bra against them. She realized
she had been gripping the edge of the seat with
white-knuckled strength and relaxed her hands,
letting her arms cross under her breasts, squeezing
the sides and lifting them a little. She squirmed on
the seat, trying to get comfortable. A gasp that
didn't come from her drew her eyes back to her
half-naked friend and to the naked man who stood
behind Anne.
The man's left hand had come around
Anne's left hip and disappeared under the flap of
the robe. Lucy could see nothing of it except a
terry-covered mound, a mound that pulsed in the
same slow rhythm as the wrist that moved forward
and back, in and out, from under the robe. She
watched the slow movements for what seemed a
long time. Another gasp caused her eyes to flick
back to Anne's face. Anne's mouth was open and
her head had arched back against the man's collar
bone. Lucy was sure Anne was about to orgasm.
With that realization, Lucy's mind began to
work again, if only for a moment. <I should leave
now. It'll be too personal if she knows I've seen her
come at the hands of this stranger. It'll affect our
friendship,> Lucy thought. <How could I explain
this to Fergus if he found out? How could I face the
neighbors?> Then she flushed with shame. Not for
Anne, but for herself. She was going to stay. She
was going to watch her friend stripped bare, body
and soul, before her. The thought excited her,
inflamed her. Nothing this exciting had ever
happened to her, and her mind was engulfed with an
erotic intensity that wouldn't let her leave.
The wrist was moving in and out of the robe
faster now, and Anne's panting kept pace. Lucy
watched as Anne stiffened and her face strained,
mouth wide open and eyes unfocused. She heard
Anne's breath catch, three times, almost like
hiccups. <How can she be so quiet?> thought Lucy.
<I'd be screaming.> Then she saw Anne's hand
flash down to pull the man's hand away. Lucy
nodded in sympathy. Fergus too often kept rubbing
her after an orgasm, after she had become too
sensitive.
Lucy's breath was coming more quickly
now. One thumb moved unnoticed up to her nipple
to caress, but she jerked it back down when she felt
it. The man was turning Anne's back to her. Anne
seemed almost passive. Lucy had never seen her
like this. The Anne she knew was active, confident,
always ready to do what needed to be done in the
community. She wondered what power the man
had over her.
The man put his hands on Anne's shoulders
and pushed gently. Anne bent forward at her hips,
spreading her legs slightly at the same time. Lucy
was presented with a featured view of Anne's
terry-covered rear. Lucy's eyes went up to the
man's face and, for the first time, she really looked
at him. He was tall, but not as tall or powerful as
Fergus. Black hair brushed straight back, with a
hint of five o'clock shadow. He had a trace of a
smile but it didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes were
hypnotic, deep and cynical. Lucy couldn't look
away. Movement finally drew her eyes back down,
as the man's hands slid down Anne's back, finally
reaching the fold where the robe doubled over the
belt. The hands pushed. The belt loosened, and
suddenly the robe was gone.
Lucy stared at her friend's sex, as if in a
dream. She saw the outer lips engorged, dusky with
desire. The inner lips had pushed up, blossoming
like a pink flower in the darker furrow. Anne's
lubrication gleamed in the light. <Is that what I look
like?> thought Lucy. <Do I look like that right now,
under my panties?> At the thought, Lucy again felt
the pressure of the bra on her nipples, and she knew
she was wet like Anne.
Lucy could not see Anne's face, but the wet
sounds and the small rocking motions of the man's
hips etched an image into her mind. She started to
get up, to walk closer, to see that shaft in her
friend's mouth, but she caught herself and sat down.
Lucy's eyes closed and she let passion well up,
listening to the nasty, dirty sounds that burned in
her brain.
A soft grunt focused Lucy's attention back
on the naked couple. The man's hands were on
each side of Anne's head as he pushed her back
from his pelvis. With a push on one side and a pull
on the other, he turned Anne to face Lucy. Without
prompting, Anne dropped to her hands and knees,
eyes fixed on Lucy, face red again. There was a
shiny streak of moisture on one cheek. The man's
eyes were on Lucy as well as he knelt behind Anne,
and he had that same tiny smile.
<He's going to fuck her now,> thought
Lucy, mildly surprised by her choice of words. It
was not her normal vocabulary even when thinking
of sex. Her eyes widened as the man drove his hips
forward. She saw Anne's mouth open, soundlessly
except for an explosive exhalation of breath.
<He's fucking her. He's really fucking
Anne. He's fucking Anne while I watch, and she's
letting him.> Lucy's attention to the scene before
her was total. Lucy didn't notice the thumb on her
nipple this time. She didn't notice that she was
rocking her hips, pressing against the seat's cushion
in time with the man's thrusts.
The movement of Anne's head was hypnotic
as it jerked forward each time the man's pelvis
slammed into her rear. Lucy watched as Anne's
stare lost focus, became glassy-eyed, and then
disappeared under closed eyelids. A guttural moan
escaped Anne's lips, and then Lucy again heard the
breath catch, more little hiccups this time, as Anne's
back and neck arched up stiffly for a small eternity,
and then collapsed.
The man stayed still in Anne until she had
finished her shudders. Then he withdrew and
allowed Anne to fall to her side, looking spent. As
the man stood, Lucy's eyes were drawn
compulsively to the man's penis, still standing
erect, shiny now with Anne's juices. <His thing, his
cock, is still hard! He must not have come,> she
thought. <Oh God, does he plan to do something to
me?> She forced her eyes away and looked at his
face. It was a mistake. His eyes captured hers again
and wouldn't let her go. He began to walk toward
her with a hard, thin smile. Lucy sat frozen in her
seat.
Lucy looked again at his erection. The
window seat was low. She knew that if she leaned
forward a little, her face would be level with his
penis. <He's going to put it in my mouth,> she
thought, <covered with the taste of Anne.> She
shivered and wondered whether she would let him.
Whether she could stop him.
Instead, he stopped and offered his hand.
Unthinkingly she placed hers on his palm. He
pulled her up and turned her to face Anne in a
motion that couldn't have been smoother if they had
been dancing. Lucy felt those hands each grab a
handful of cotton knit, and then her arms were
forced up, over her head, as he pulled her shirt off.
Almost before the shirt hit the floor, his hands made
the return trip down to her waist, pushing her arms
back down, with his thumbs hooked in her bra
straps. Lucy stood shocked, breasts bare to her
friend, bra inside out around her waist, still
fastened.
The abruptness filled her with excitement.
He hadn't asked permission. It would be like rape if
it were not for the fact that she had not fought it,
had thrilled to it. She felt passive, helpless,
although she was not actually restrained. The
feeling filled her with both dread and arousal. So
caught up in her need was she that she didn't even
blush when she saw Anne, head propped up in her
hand, watching his hands move up to play with her
nipples.
Lucy hadn't noticed when one hand had left
her breast, when it had undone the top button on her
loose fitting shorts. The other hand on her breast
and the sight of Anne's hand moving to slide
between parted thighs had captured Lucy's
attention.
But she did notice when the hand slid under
the waistbands of both shorts and panties, down
through her bush, and along her sensitive folds to
the entrance to her vagina. Even as her hips surged
forward to help impale herself on the finger slipping
inside her, even as a moan escaped her mouth,
reality hit her like a splash of cold water.
Sanity exploded in her brain with blinding
suddenness, and she knew she couldn't do this. The
husband and family that she had quite literally lost
in his eyes flashed into her brain, and the thought of
consequences overruled desire.
She turned to the side, jerking his arm out of
her shorts with both hands. She raised her arms to
bring her bra into place and snatched up her shirt.
Her shorts had fallen to her hips; she pulled them to
her waist and held them with one hand. She heard
Anne call out as she ran to the door, but the words
didn't register. In seconds she was driving away in
her bra, the crumpled shirt pressed tightly to her
chest over it. A block from her home she stopped
and pulled on the shirt, thankful that there was no
one to see her. She sat there trying to think, trying
to decide what to do.
Anne would call tomorrow, and
Lucy still had the chafing dish in her car. She
would have to talk to her, to see her, sometime, but
she had no idea what she would say. She decided
not to think about that now. More pressing was the
question of whether, and what, to tell her husband.
And when. Her mind whirled, tumbling turbulently
from one thought to another. She finally decided
she'd have to figure out what to do about her
husband later as well. She drove the short distance
home and went in the door.
Steeling herself to face her husband, she
opened the door and announced her arrival, only to
be met by silence. Walking to the kitchen, she saw
the note under the refrigerator magnet: "Took the
kids to pick up Chinese. Back soon." Breathing a
sigh of relief, she made for the shower, as if to wash
off any evidence of events. In a white terrycloth
robe very like Anne's, over a tee-shirt and panties,
she was still towel drying her short, brown curls
when the silence was shattered by the chatter of her
children and her husband's hello. She went through
the usual routines of greeting and serving the food
without any of them noticing that she was mentally
absent. When her husband and kids elected to plop
themselves in front of the television to eat, she took
her plate into the den, ostensibly to check her email.
She was staring at the screen saver when the
kids bounced in to kiss her good night. After trying
to sort out her feelings, she had finally decided that
she would wait until after she had talked to Anne
before tackling Fergus. She rationalized this by
worrying about what Fergus might tell Charles, his
golfing buddy and Anne's husband. <After all,> she
thought, <I didn't really do anything wrong. I
didn't cheat. I don't tell Fergus every time someone
hits on me or tries to cop a little feel at a party. This
isn't so different as long as I didn't do anything.>
Having made the decision to procrastinate,
she leaned back in her chair and began think about
what had happened. She closed her eyes and
remembered, remembered how much more intense
her arousal had been than anything she had felt in
years. <Fergus is a fine lover,> she chided herself,
<he makes me come every time. He knows just
what makes me feel good. He's very considerate
and gentle. He loves me and he's faithful.> Even as
she tried to believe it was enough, she heard a
second dialogue in the background, saying, <Yeah,
but it's the same every time. The same foreplay,
the same positions, the same conversation about
getting ice water afterwards. He makes you come,
but he doesn't make you want to come. He
doesn't drive you out of your mind with desire, with
wanting.><How can he? We've been married
thirteen years. I've seen him grunt on the toilet
seat. What chance does he have to create such
excitement. We know each other too well. It's not
fair to compare.> <But you can still feel that
consuming passion. You felt it today. Today was
hot, today was lust. Don't you need some of that
too?> And all the while, like a video loop, image
after image flashed fleetingly through her mind.
Anne's wet vagina as she sucked the man's penis
<no, his cock>, she corrected herself. The
open-mouthed surprise on Anne's face when he
drove that cock into Anne from behind. Her own
hips thrusting forward against his hand, driving the
finger inside her.
She first noticed the smell. Herbal Essence.
Shampooed hair. Even as she began to break out of
her erotic fugue, her husband's hands encircled her
from behind, cupping her breasts as he always did,
<even around the kids when he thinks they aren't
looking, > the old peeve appearing like a Pavlovian
response. Cupping her breasts was just routine
now, after all the years. Kissing her neck, he said,
"Good night, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late."
Tonight, however, the hands on her breasts
and kiss on the neck, so perversely like and unlike
the scene at Anne's, pulled the trigger on her desire.
Quickly she spun the desk chair around and jerked
his open his robe. The boxers he used as pajamas
were at his knees before he could react. She
grabbed the flaccid penis and sucked it into her
mouth. Fergus's face looked blank,
uncomprehending, at this wanton act, but his penis
knew how to react. She felt a sense of power and a
surge of desire, both at how quickly the shaft
hardened to its full length in her mouth, and at
knowing it would be entering her body soon. Once
it was hard, she backed all the way off and then let
it part her lips as she moved her head forward. Like
it was a first touch. She knew HE would already be
hard when HE brought HIS <cock> to her. She
wondered what HIS cock would taste like. She
struggled to remove her robe while she held his
erection in her mouth. Seeing her problem, Fergus
grabbed robe and shirt and pulled both up. As the
shirt came through, she had to let his erection fall
from her mouth. She raised her rear from the seat
and pushed down her panties. Without ever fully
standing up, she dropped to her hands and knees in
front of Fergus. Wanting to feel wanton, lewd, to
show her sex as Anne had, she let her head drop to
the floor, presenting her rounded ass to her husband.
"Fuck me, Fergus! Dear God, put it in me
now. Please," she pleaded. In her head she heard,
<What's come over me? I must look like an idiot.
What will he think of me. What am I doing?>
If Fergus didn't know why, he knew what to
do. Lucy grunted as she felt him shove his <cock,
dick, prick> into her <pussy>. She closed her eyes
and it was HIM behind her. <He's fucking me, just
like Anne. And I'm letting him! Letting him fuck
me!>Then she remembered the eyes, the knowing,
cynical smile. She came for the first time. As she
felt the cock churn in an out of her channel, she
thought she heard a groan, like Anne might make
fingering herself as she watched. She came again.
She was building up to another when her husband
grabbed her hips and pulled himself as far into her
as he could go. <Not now,> she groaned to herself,
<just a little more and I'll be there again.> She tried
to shake her hips back and forth on his cock to get
that final friction, but he held her too tight as his
convulsive jerks signaled his climax. Suddenly he
let go, pushing himself abruptly back, apparently
too sensitive to let it go soft in her the way he
usually did. They lay panting on the floor.
"Do you want some ice water," came the
familiar refrain after a few minutes.
"Yes, please."
She retired to the bathroom, back in their
comfortable routine again, to clean up before sleep.
As she went through the motions, her mind was
troubled. She knew she hadn't really been with her
husband in any way that really mattered. She had
been with HIM. It felt like cheating.
The water was waiting when she emerged,
and so was Fergus.
"Jesus, that was great. What brought that
on, Sweetheart?"
"I don't know," she lied. "I was reading a
hot romance on the web, maybe it worked me up
without my realizing it. Or maybe you just caught
me during that fifteen minute period once a month
when a woman really wants a man, like those two
comediennes talk about, the Mommies or whoever
they are. All I know now is that I need to sleep."
With a tender kiss and a whispered, "Thanks,
Honey," Fergus turned over and was soon dead to
the world. It took Lucy a lot longer.
BRRRRINNNGGG. Lucy stirred groggily.
BRRRRINNNGGG. She reached over to the
bedside table and jerked the phone off its cradle
before it could ring again. "Hello," she said,
unenthusiastically.
"Uh, Lucy . . . uh, it's me, Anne. Uh, oh
shit, are you still speaking to me?"
"Yes, Anne. You're my friend. But what
the hell was that?" Lucy was wide awake now.
"Oh Lucy, I'm so sorry. I didn't do it on
purpose. We didn't have it planned or anything, it
just kind of happened."
"Quit sniveling, Anne. You're forgiven.
But if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going
to come over there and strangle you!"
"Well, you sort of walked in on me and my
lover."
"I guessed."
"Charles is away for the week. In New
York. Couldn't take me though, just had to
concentrate on business." A hint of bitterness. "I
invited Wade over to help console me."
"You invited him? The way you were
acting I thought he must be blackmailing you. Or
threatening you somehow. I've never seen you that
way. Are you OK?"
"Yeah, ungh, I'm fine. It's just that he.
Makes. Me. Want to let. Him. Take me."
"What's wrong Anne," asked Lucy,
suspecting she already knew.
"NOTHING," squealed Anne, then lower,
"Just thank you. For. Staying. . .Oh God . . ."
"You're doing it, aren't you. Right now on
the phone. Jesus, Anne. . ."
"Yeeesss. Oh yes. . ." Lucy heard the phone
thump. She heard Anne panting in the background.
Then she heard HIS voice.
"She wants you to watch again. Tonight.
Be here at nine o'clock." Click.
Lucy was preoccupied as she went about her
errands. Picking up the clean shirts from the
cleaners, doing the weekly grocery shopping,
gassing up the car, picking up the kids from the
mini-sports camp at the country club - all were
accomplished on a kind of autopilot. The kids were
a little puzzled when they received no reply or a
distracted, "Huh, what did you say again?" to each
anecdote of camp events or request for some
privilege. But they happily settled into something
as near to quiet as they ever got when Lucy let them
start eating the french fries from the McDonald's
drive in window in the car as they drove home.
Once home, the kids took their burgers and
shakes into the living room to watch TV. Lucy
went through the motions of fixing a light dinner for
Fergus and herself. Ripe tomatoes and fresh
mozzarella sprinkled with basil and olive oil. Salade
Nicoise. A bottle of blush wine. Closing arguments
to the jury.
<He's an arrogant asshole. He just told you
what time to be there like there was no question that
you would come. What are you going to do if he
grabs you this time? He isn't worth cheating on
Fergus. What kind of pervert wants to see her
friend get screwed any way? What would Fergus
say if he knew? Can you imagine the talk if anyone
found out? You're a thirty-five year old mother - act
like one.>
<So you tell him no touching. It's not
cheating if you don't do anything with HIM. So
you like to watch, so what. Who will tell? Who
will know? You don't want to be afraid to live, to
have to follow every little rule of propriety for the
rest of your life. You weren't like that when you
were younger. You'll feel that old excitement, that
thrill of doing something dangerous and new again,
tonight, but maybe never again if you don't go now.
How many chances will you ever get? You want
to go.>
She managed to hold up her end of the
dinner conversation with Fergus despite her
distraction. But her mind was focused on the
invitation.
Her third glass of wine, two more than
usual, found her decision made.
"Honey, Charles is off in New York all
week, so I asked Anne over for later. Her sister
found her a tape of The Moonspinners and you
know how she loves Hayley Mills. I told her I'd fix
popcorn and watch it with her. I hope you don't
mind."
"Tonight? Tonight is supposed to be the big
grudge race in the go-cart game on the Nintendo,"
Fergus complained. "I promised the boys. They
think they can beat me this time. I thought I
mentioned it to you."
<You did. I'm counting on it.> thought
Lucy, as she said aloud, "If you did, I forgot. Well,
I'll just call Anne and cancel. If you promised the
boys, you've got to keep it."
"We can just explain to them . . ."
"No," said Lucy, "I'll call Anne and
reschedule."
Lucy walked into the den and mumbled into
the phone while the dial tone hummed in her ear.
Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she yelled to
the kitchen, "Fergus, Anne has invited me over
there to watch it. I may be late if we sit and talk.
Would you mind? The boys will need a shower
before bed."
"Go ahead, Honey," Fergus yelled back.
"We can handle it. Don't be too late without
calling, now."
"Yes, Daddy, sir," Lucy mugged, "I'll be
home by curfew. Love you."
Lucy walked into the living room to the
sounds of ersatz engines revving. "See you later,
guys. I'm going over to see Miss Anne. You be
good for your Dad. And don't beat him too badly,
you know he pouts when he loses."
"See ya' Mom," the boys said in unison.
Then Teddy said, "Too bad Mom, but Daddy's
gonna' be toast.""You too, nerdface, you'll never
catch me.""Eat my dust, dirtball.""Watch this . ."
The boys didn't notice that their mother had left.
It was exactly nine when Lucy pulled into
Anne's driveway. It was ten minutes later when she
finally decided that she wouldn't chicken out and
walked to the door. A shouted "Come in" answered
her knock. HIS voice. She went in.
The room was shadowy. Only a small lamp
on an end table provided any illumination. It was
enough as her eyes adjusted. The man was sitting in
a low upholstered arm chair that faced the entrance
hall from the other side of the living room. His
knees were spread and Anne knelt between them,
her hands on his thighs, her head bobbing up and
down in his lap. They were both naked.
"You're late." Accusatory.
"I, uh . . ."
"It doesn't matter. Take off your clothes."
"What?"
"Take off your clothes. Or leave."
"Good bye, asshole." Lucy turned to leave.
"Wait, Lucy," said Anne. "Please stay. He
won't touch you, I promise. But it's too weird if
you just sit there and watch with all your clothes
on."
"That's right, Lucy," he said, with a hint of
disdain, of sarcasm, "I promise not to touch you.
But you look at us, we look at you. That's the
deal."
"Please, Lucy."
Lucy stood at the entrance hall, looking
uncertainly first at the door, then back to the two
faces across the room. <This is too much.><It's not
cheating if he doesn't touch you.><I can't just strip
in front of Anne.><She's naked in front of you
now.><I didn't shave my legs today.><How many
chances will you ever get?> She turned her back to
them and pulled her shirt out of her waistband.
Slowly she crossed her arms in front of her and
grasped the bottom of the shirt. Up and off it went.
Her bra fastened in the front. It quickly joined the
shirt on the floor. With her thumbs under both
waistbands, panties and shorts slid together to the
floor. Two small backward steps out of her sandals
and she was bare. Instinctively, one arm moved
across her breasts while the other hand covered her
mons. She heard the man snigger behind her.
Standing to her full five foot six, Lucy put her arms
at her sides and turned around.
"Satisfied?"
"Lovely." A hint of worldly wise amusement in
his voice. Then commanding, "Go sit in the other
chair." It was close to the one they occupied,
separated from it only by a small lamp table.
Summoning her will, Lucy walked proudly
across the room, chin up and chest out. She stared
directly into his eyes, and for the first few steps felt
she could stare him down this time. The feeling
didn't last. His eyes held hers the length of the
room, but she had to look away. Flick to his cock,
erect in his lap. Flick to Anne's face, looking back
at Lucy over her shoulder, hands still on his thighs,
her eyes checking out Lucy's body. Flick to his
eyes again. Still right on hers. By the time Lucy
reached the chair, she knew he planned on having
her. She knew it with certainty. The knowledge
made her nipples grow erect and she began to
lubricate. He wanted to make love to her. <No, to
fuck her!> She didn't know if she could stop
him. She was glad when she reached the chair, glad
to have a reason to turn away. She sat.
The man put his hand on the back of Anne's
head and loosely gathered a handful of her hair as
he pushed her down toward his lap. His eyes were
on Lucy's. Lucy's eyes were on his erection. And
the lips about to engulf it. Lucy's eyes widened as
his hand kept pushing Anne down until Lucy was
sure Anne would choke. But Anne's eyes were
closed and she showed no sign of discomfort. He
pulled her head up until only the tip was in her lips,
and then slowly down again.
"She really likes you to watch, you know,"
he said conversationally, as if it were quite normal
for him to have his penis in the mouth of a fortyish
blonde suburban housewife. Down and up. "Look
at her hands." Down and up. Lucy saw that the
hands were no longer on his thighs. She fleetingly
wondered why she hadn't noticed them leaving.
One of Anne's hands now gently pinched her right
nipple. The other was sliding between her legs.
"Anne swallows it all when I come in her
mouth." Down and up. "Do you swallow your
husband's come, Lucy?" Down and up.
Lucy's shook her head a tiny bit. No.
"Well, you'll swallow for me when the time
comes." It was not a question. Down and up.
"I like to watch too, Lucy," he said. Down
and up. "Show me how you would like me to touch
your breasts." Down and up.
As if by a mind of their own, Lucy's hands
moved to her breasts. Keeping her eyes on Anne's
mouth moving up and down, Lucy's finger tips
glided over the whole of her breasts, just barely
touching, everywhere except the nipples. She
started to trace a path around each breast, a path that
slowly spiraled in toward her nipples. As the finger
tips reached the edge of her small areolae, she
looked up into his eyes. With a shudder of desire,
she closed all five fingers of each hand around her
nipples, still just barely touching, and pulled each
nipple up ever so slightly.
The sudden motion of his hand in Anne's
hair pulling her completely off his cock pulled
Lucy's eyes to the other chair. Lucy's hands froze
on her breasts in mid-caress as he stood.
"I think it's time to let Anne come. Don't
you, Lucy?" the deep voice inquired. "How would
you like to see her fucked tonight?"
"Wwwhat do you mmmean?" Lucy
stammered.
"I mean it's your choice tonight, Lucy.
Missionary, sidesaddle, whatever you want. I'll
take her ass if you tell me, Lucy." Anne's eyes
widened at that last and her head jerked around to
glare at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but
Lucy's voice intervened.
"God no! Doggy. Do her doggy style. But
not in her ass. Please?"
"You heard the lady, Anne. Kneel in front
of Lucy. Hands and knees."
Anne's face was inches from Lucy's knees,
looking down at the rug. The hair on the top of her
head almost touched Lucy. The man knelt behind
Anne and his hand again closed in that hair. He
gently pulled her face up to look at Lucy. Anne's
face was blushing red. The man suddenly thrust his
hips forward. Anne's breath puffed out, blowing on
Lucy's knees, and her eyes widened. He let go of
Anne's hair, but her head stayed up, looking at
Lucy. The man continued to thrust in and out, but
slowly now.
It was deja vu. Again, in Lucy's mind the
same litany as before: <He's fucking her.
He's fucking her right in front of me. He's fucking
her so close that I can almost touch it. He's fucking
Anne right in front of me and she's letting him!>
Without conscious thought, her left hand moved to
her left breast and pushed it from the side, then
cupped it, the thumb moving to the nipple. Her
right hand slid between her closed thighs to press
gently on the closed lips of her sex.
"Open your legs, Lucy." The man continued
to thrust very slowly.
Lucy shook her head no.
"You watch us, we watch you. That's the
deal. Open your legs, Lucy."
"Please, Lucy," Anne whispered.
With a flush of shame and a shudder of
excitement, Lucy closed her eyes and opened her
legs.
"Put them over the arms of the chair, Lucy."
Shaking again with shame and arousal, she
did. She opened her eyes and looked down. Her
hand was still at the top of her slit, but her lips, her
slick protruding lips, were uncovered, flaunted,
inches from Anne's face, close enough for HIM to
touch if he reached out. Her hand began to move up
and down. The man began to thrust harder. Lucy
shook on the brink of orgasm, watching her hand
move, watching as each hard thrust pushed Anne's
face a little closer to that hand.
His voice stopped her short of orgasm,
drawing her eyes to his. His eyes seemed to
increase in intensity as he spoke. "Take your
fingers away, Lucy. Put them in your mouth." Still
caught in his eyes, she slowly tasted herself on her
fingers. She felt the tongue on her vagina then. She
started to panic. <I'm not gay> her mind screamed.
<Why am I pushing my sex into a woman's tongue.
I AM NOT A LESBIAN!> Then, as her excitement
continued to build, she knew. It might be Anne's
tongue, but Lucy was reacting to HIM. Lucy closed
her eyes and began the climb to release, but
suddenly the tongue faltered and then it was not
there at all. She didn't have to hear the little
hiccups to know why when she saw Anne's face.
Watching Anne orgasm increased her own need.
Still thrusting in Anne to that slow rhythm,
he reached out and took Lucy's hand in his. Her
eyes widened with fear. He had promised not to
touch her. But all he did was put Lucy's hand on
the back of Anne's head and then he withdrew.
With a little moan, Lucy closed her eyes, ashamed
that she wanted Anne's tongue so badly. Ashamed,
but close to release. She pulled Anne forward,
directing her to her clitoris again. Lucy closed her
eyes and put her head back.
"Lucy, look at me."
Stiffly, muscles tense under the influence of
Anne's fluttering stimulation, Lucy turned to the
sound and saw his erection close, very close, to her
face. Jumping slightly with his pulse, slick with
Anne's lubrication. Approaching the edge, the
point of no return on her orgasm, Lucy stared.
The deep, self-assured voice again. "Lean
forward, Lucy. Take me in your mouth."
And suddenly that was just what Lucy
needed, to have HIS cock, to taste HIM. Her hand
came up and encircled his base. She leaned
forward. She was sticking her tongue out to barely
touch the tip, moving her hand up the shaft at the
same time, when the cock in her hand stiffened even
more, and she felt the first pulse of his come hit her
lips. She licked and swallowed reflexively, pushing
his penis down as she threw her head back and
moaned out her ecstasy in response to Anne's tongue
forcing her over the edge to orgasm. Arching and
bucking her hips into Anne's face, she didn't feel the
semen that hit her neck and her breast. Finally,
convulsively, she pushed Anne away and slumped in
the chair.
Dazed by the intensity of her orgasm, she sat
motionless for a timeless interval. When she finally
gathered herself, she was alone in the room. She
walked like an automaton to the entrance hall and
put on her clothes, trying not to think. As she sat
motionless in the driver's seat, she couldn't keep
her thoughts in check any longer. <Oh God, what
have I done? I've cheated on Fergus. This time I
did do something, I touched HIS cock. I swallowed
his come. I've committed adultery. Will Fergus
forgive me? What if he wants a divorce? What
about the kids? What am I to do?> Sitting in the
driver's seat, her mind in turmoil, she slumped
forward and cried.
Fergus was asleep when Lucy got home.
She took a shower in the children's bathroom so as
not to wake him. He groaned softly and turned
toward her when she slipped into bed. His arm
moved and he rested his hand lightly on her hip.
Then his breathing resumed slow regularity. She
laid motionless on the bed, his hand burning her like
a hot iron, until sleep finally overtook her chaotic
thoughts.
BRRRRRNNNNNG. Lucy opened her eyes
blearily. She didn't have to look to know that
Fergus was not in the bed. BRRRRRNNNNNG.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited, hoping
someone else would answer. BRRRRRNNNNNG.
Giving up, she lifted the handset to her ear.
"Lucy?" said Anne.
"I'm not coming back, Anne. I'll talk to you
later," said Lucy, wearily.
"Wait Lucy, he's gone for the day. I need to
talk, just the two of us. Can I come over?"
Lucy shuddered in revulsion. She didn't
want Anne in her house right now. "Not now," she
said. "I'll meet you for lunch at the Trellis. One
o'clock."
"Oh Lucy, thanks," said Anne with relief.
"See you there."
Stumbling to the bathroom, Lucy noticed it
was already almost ten. Fergus must have taken
care of the kids again this morning, letting her sleep
in again. She thought to herself that she should be
grateful to have the extra time to decide what to say
to him, but she simply couldn't muster the energy to
think. She felt like she had a hangover, although
she hadn't had that much to drink the night before.
She palmed a couple of aspirins into her mouth and
washed them down with water from the sink. Then
she ran her bath.
Forty-five minutes later, she emerged,
washed but not fresh. Despite the fact that she
knew it would do no good, she felt as if she should
return to the bath. Instead she brushed her teeth
again.
At one o'clock, she was sitting on the terrace
at the Trellis, waiting for Anne. She had no distinct
memories of how she got there, having dressed and
driven with little conscious thought. She pushed
her glass of white wine back and forth, and nibbled
out of habit rather than hunger on the Irish soda
bread. Five minutes later, Anne arrived.
Anne sat opposite Lucy at the table. As
their eyes met, Anne's face turned red. Lucy felt
her own face heat up. Anne spoke tentatively, "Hi,
Lucy. Are we still friends?"
"Of course we are, Anne, but I need to know
what's going on."
Just then, the waiter arrived, and the
intensity of the moment was shattered by his query
as to whether Anne wanted a drink. The two friends
embraced the mundane task of ordering as a
welcome delay before they returned to face their
uncertainties and wariness of each other. When he
had gone, Anne spoke.
"You sort of got caught up with me and my
lover," said Anne.
"But you and Charles . . ."
"I love Charles, Lucy. This was just
something that got out of hand. I don't want to hurt
Charles. I just couldn't stop myself."
"Is he blackmailing you? Threatening you?
I've never seen you like that."
"It is kinda different from the 'Let's make
Anne chairman of the fundraiser' image, isn't it,"
Anne smiled. "I think that's why it was so
seductive. With Wade, he takes charge. He
commands me, no discussion, nothing to think
about. I can do things with him that I don't think I
could do with Charles because I don't have to
worry what he will think of me. . . . Like with you."
The last was delivered in a very small voice.
"Oh God, Anne," said Lucy, distressed, "are
we gay somehow?" Lucy's face got red again. "I
came when you were . . . you know." An even
smaller voice.
"I don't think so, Lucy. It's him. It's Wade.
He makes me want to give myself to him, makes me
want what he wants. You felt it too, didn't you?"
"God, yes! I felt him like a hand in my
brain, pushing me. And I wanted to be pushed. I
thought I was going crazy!"
"I'm sorry I got you into this," said Anne,
head down. "It was a mistake. He's going to break
it off. I guess he's beginning to get bored with me.
But I could hear that old fascination in his voice
when he called out to you. I just wanted to make it
last a little longer. I'm sorry."
"I don't blame you, Anne. Nobody made
me stay. I hate to admit it, but I wanted to stay. I
wanted to see. I wanted you to see. I've never done
anything wild in my life."
Lucy turned her head from Anne, looked
away, and spoke, "That's what makes me feel so
bad. I chose to do it. I betrayed Fergus' trust. But
I'm afraid I'd do worse, if I go back. I won't, you
know? Watch again, I mean."
"I didn't think you would, Lucy. That's not
why I had to talk to you. I have to know if you are
going to tell Fergus. He and Charles are too close.
I don't want Charles to find out from Fergus. I'd
rather tell him myself, if I have to."
Lucy twisted the rings in circles around her
left ring finger. "I have to tell him, Anne. I just
couldn't live with myself if I didn't. I just hope
he'll forgive me."
"Can you wait until Saturday? Please?
Wade will be gone forever Saturday afternoon, and I
can tell Charles when he gets back that night. I
don't want to have to tell him over the phone.
Please?"
"OK, Saturday." Lucy was surprised at how
much relief she felt at having a reason to delay
telling Fergus. She knew it was a mistake, but it
was so much easier to delay.
"Don't you worry about AIDS, Anne? And
what if he tells people? Do you trust him?"
"I do trust him, Lucy. I trust him to be just
who he is. He's too careful to be a big AIDS risk.
He's a health nut. Besides, I got myself tested a few
months after he first took me. Negative. And I
don't think he'll ever tell. He's an arrogant,
infuriating, egotistical jerk, but he sees himself as
honorable. It's always a risk, but I think this one is
small."
"Well, I think you are fooling yourself, but
it's your life. You don't sound too sad that he's
leaving you."
"I'll miss the sex, the intensity, but I don't
love him. He took me on some kind of roller
coaster ride inside, but it wasn't the one I had when
Charles and I first fell in love. This was dark, sort
of dangerous feeling. But it's mostly worn off. It
was exciting, but I'm not sad that it's almost over."
"Would he really have tried to take you in
your rear?" Lucy whispered, face red again.
"We did that once," whispered Anne,
blushing in return, "and I made him use a condom
that time. But I told him never again."
"What was it like? I've never done it?"
asked Lucy, curious.
"Well, he used lots of lubrication, so it
didn't hurt too much, just when he was pushing in.
After I got used to it, it just felt strange, like I had to
go or something. Full, like."
"Did you orgasm?"
"Yes," said Anne, blushing even more
deeply, "but not from that. He made me play with
myself while he did it."
The waiter arrived with food, occasioning a
temporary end to conversation, and then departed.
Both were relieved to have successfully dealt with
their secret, and the talk reverted to their norm for
the rest of the meal. In due course, Lucy was off to
pick up her kids from day camp again, feeling much
lighter in spirit than she had before.
The lightness of spirit lasted until Fergus
threw open the door shouted his hellos. As Lucy
gave him a dutiful kiss, she knew she couldn't wait
until Saturday to tell Fergus. The sick feeling of
guilt inside wouldn't let her. Overshadowed by
dread, she sleepwalked through her evening routines
until it was time for bed.
When she emerged from the bathroom, teeth
brushed yet again, Fergus was sitting up against the
headboard, half under the covers. He turned out the
light as soon as she slid in. She felt his arm slip
under her, pull her against his side. From the dark,
his voice came, "Wanna tell me about it?"
"What do you . . . ," Lucy started in
automatic denial, then paused, and sobbed, "Oh,
Fergus, I"m so ashamed. Please don't hate me. . ."
"Whoa, Lucy. I'll never hate you. Now tell
me what's wrong."
Slowly, haltingly, the events at Anne's
house came out. All except the tongue touch to his
erection and the semen on her lips that she had licked
and swallowed. She just couldn't bear to tell Fergus
that. She rarely took Fergus in her mouth, even less
frequently let him finish there, and she never
swallowed. She just couldn't tell him she'd started to
do it with another man, had almost taken him into her
mouth. That she had had HIS semen on her tongue,
her neck, her breasts.
"Please don't hate me, Fergus. I love you. I
don't want to lose you. Please forgive me."
"You are stuck with me, Lucy. I love you
too. I'll never hate you."
"But can you forgive what I've done?"
"Hmmm, that would be watching Anne,
getting pawed by surprise, letting Anne make you
come, and putting your hand on his erection," said
Fergus. "Just terrible. Shoot, woman, if that's the
worst you do in your life, you'll be a saint. But I do
want to know why."
"I truly don't know," said Lucy. "I was
taken by surprise at first. It was nasty, dirty. I
couldn't imagine letting anyone watch. I had never
done anything like that in my life."
"That's the first time," said Fergus, "but you
went back."
"I wasn't going to. But I just got to thinking
that I had never done anything wild, you know,
really wild, in my life. My mind was telling me I'd
never have another chance. I'm sorry, Fergus, I
don't even know why it mattered. I'm happy with
you. I don't know why I thought I needed to do it at
all."
"So that was the reason for that episode in
the den?"
"Yes," said Lucy in a small voice.
"Did you enjoy being with Anne? Do you
want to do it again?"
"No," mumbled Lucy, blushing, "I'm not
interested in women."
"Then why?"
"It was him. I don't know how to explain.
His eyes, the way he looks at me. It's like my will
drained away. Somehow he made me want it. He's
scary . . . no, dangerous. Anne feels it too."
"What does he look like?"
"He reminds me an older Gabriel Byrne.
Dissolute or something. Except the eyes. The eyes
are the same . . . dark and deep."
"How big is he. Is he bigger than me?"
"No, you're taller, and he's not as powerful
looking."
"That's not what I meant. Is he bigger than
me?"
Lucy blushed again as she understood what
Fergus was asking. She blushed because she was in
a position to know the answer. Because Fergus
knew she could answer. "No, Fergus, he's about the
same. Maybe a little smaller." Instinctively she
knew this was the right answer, even though Wade
had seemed thicker, somehow.
"So Anne has a playmate," mused Fergus.
"Does Charles know?"
"Oh God, no," cried Lucy, "and please don't
tell him. I promised Anne I'd wait until Saturday to
tell you, so she could tell Charles herself when he
gets back Saturday night. Wade will be gone for
good by then."
"Wade?"
"That's what she called him."
"Ah, Wade!" whispered Fergus as he rolled
out of the bed and stood up. Suddenly the bedside
light flicked on. Fergus was nude, erect. "Take off
your nightgown, Lucy." A command. Still shaken,
unsure of what he thought of her, she complied.
"So Anne took him in her mouth, eh. Show
me Lucy. Show me what you saw. . ."
Fearfully, Lucy moved over to the edge of
the bed. What was Fergus doing. Was he trying to
punish her, somehow? She stopped close to him,
her head down.
"Take it, Lucy. Show me what Anne was
doing."
Slowly Lucy raised her head, her eyes bright
with moisture. She leaned forward and took him in,
feeling the slippery preejaculate against her tongue.
Fergus moaned and pushed his hips toward her.
"So you watched Anne on her knees, sucking him?
Just like this?" He groaned.
And suddenly Lucy knew that Fergus wasn't
punishing her; he wasn't even thinking of her. He
was thinking of Anne! Thinking what it would be
like to put his <cock> in Anne's mouth. For a
second, she was washed with anger, and then
realized how ludicrous that was. Then she thought
of HIM, of taking Wade into her mouth, just like
Anne. Just like this. Suddenly the beginnings of
excitement overtook her for the first time that night.
It was like his fantasy freed her for hers, and she
responded by taking him farther into her mouth,
swirling her tongue around the underside. Fergus
groaned again.
Then her mouth was empty. "Turn around,
Lucy. Put your ass up for me like Anne did."
Lucy was only too happy to comply. On hands and
knees, she let her head droop to the mattress, until
the crown was touching the sheet. Behind her she
felt Fergus moving, lining up his penis, then
thrusting forward.
A vision of him plunging into Anne formed
in her brain. She looked at own her breasts,
bouncing back and forth in time with Fergus'
thrusts, but she saw Anne's breasts. The thought of
her husband roughly taking Anne opened some final
barrier to pleasure in her mind, and released her to
think of HIM. For the next few moments, each of
them used the other as a proxy, joined only at the
loins, not in mind or spirit. Each coupled with
someone who wasn't there. It was wild, wanton,
mindless release. Lucy slammed her body back
against Fergus' pelvis and keened a song of
abandon. Without warning she froze, moaned, and
felt her vaginal muscles spasm rhythmically.
Lucy began to relax and fall forward, but
Fergus grabbed her hips and pulled her forcefully
back, impaling her again. And again. Lucy came
again. She was just finishing her contractions when
Fergus began pumping in short quick strokes,
finally holding her tightly to his body as his hips
jerked spasmodically. "Oh Lucy, my love, oh
God," he cried at his release.
Lucy fell forward, turning on her side as she
did. Fergus crawled beside her and made spoons,
hugging her tightly to him from behind. Neither
spoke as their breathing slowly subsided. Fergus
got up, saying, "Back in a sec."
Lucy knew he had gone for ice water, and
tonight she needed it. A thin sheen of perspiration
covered her, less from the temperature than from
her excitement. She pondered Fergus' cry at
climax. <Maybe he wasn't with Anne . . . > she
mused, pleased at the thought but guilty as well,
because she had been with Wade in her mind.
She sat up when Fergus returned through the
door, dropping her calves over the side of the bed.
He handed her a glass, but not the usual tumbler of
ice water.
"After all that, I thought you needed
something more than water," he said. "It's Stoly
from the freezer. Cock the wrist and one motion,
just like they showed us at the Serbian Crown."
Remembering the waiter that had put his
arms around her from behind to show her the proper
motion to throw down the shots of iced vodka that
flowed freely that night, and who incidentally
managed to cop a feel of her breast as he pulled
away, Lucy smiled and downed the vodka in her
glass. It burned in her throat, but it felt good,
different from the cloying routine they had
developed. She hoped it was a harbinger of other
changes.
"Now I really do need some water," she
said.
Fergus grinned as his other hand proffered
the glass. "After something like that, you can have
anything you want from me. I've never seen you so
passionate. It was great."
But his face was serious as he sat on the bed
beside her. "You can go back tomorrow, if you
want. Lucy, I listened to what you told me and it
sounded to me like you will always regret it if you
don't let yourself go at least once in your life. I can
live with it, if it's just this once."
"I can't go back, Fergus," said Lucy, eyes
downcast. "You don't understand."
"Then explain," said Fergus.
"Fergus, if I go back, I am going to be
fucked. Is that what you want?" Her voice was flat.
Fergus looked surprised. Lucy normally
didn't talk like that. "You managed to avoid it so
far. What would be different? You're not falling in
love with him, are you?"
"Oh Lord, no, Fergus. I am not in love with
him. But the feeling around him is like that except
dangerous and dirty. It's the same feeling of a rush,
except it's not like love. It made me feel . . . I came
close, Fergus. I wanted to let him have me, just like
he had Anne. You just don't understand. There's
something about him. It took all my strength to pull
away. If I go back . . "
Fergus was silent. Finally, he spoke,
"You can go back if you need to, Lucy. Even if you
can't resist him. I took you off the market before
you had a chance to experiment, and now you're
regretting it. Have a fling if you need it. It's okay.
It's better than knowing that you are living with
regret at not taking your chance. Maybe coming to
resent me for it. Just come back to me."
"Don't say it," whispered Lucy. "I'm not
going back."
"I love you, sweet wife," said Fergus,
pulling her into his embracing arms.
"Oh I love you so much," answered Lucy.
They sat together for quite a while, then rose
to slide into the bed. Eventually they slept.
Friday night found Lucy alone in the house
when she arrived home from her job as an
occasional fill-in at an exclusive women's shop. She
didn't really need the work, but she loved the
employee discount. Fergus had left with the kids
before she had arrived, taking them first to race real
go-carts at a track an hour away, and then another
hour on to visit the cousins at Jane and Bob's. They
would return late the next afternoon.
Breezing into the kitchen, she found a note
on the refrigerator door telling her she would find a
chef's salad within. She spread the evening paper in
front of her on the breakfast table and read through it
randomly while she ate. She felt much more
relaxed now that she had decided not to go back.
Maybe Fergus had meant what he said the night
before, and maybe her nipples hardened even now
as she thought of spreading her legs for HIM, of
letting HIM enter her, but it was so much easier just
to say no. No to the worry. No to complications.
<No to the only other cock you'll ever have the
chance to experience?> came the insidious inner
dialogue.
His was not the only penis she had touched
or seen when she had married Fergus, but his was the
only penis that had ever been inside her. The
thought used to make her feel proud. Now it made
her feel confined. <Fergus told you to go. Don't
blow this chance.> said the inner voice, <You
want to feel it, you want to let go, to be wild
and wanton just once. When will you ever have this
chance again? And with your husband's
approval?><And what if Fergus changes his mind,>
came the response. < What if he finds he doesn't
want a wife who isn't surprised or seduced, but
deliberately goes to Anne's house, knowing she is
going to give herself to HIM. Is it worth it? What
if they make you have oral sex with Anne this time?
Do you want that? Act like an mature adult.>
With conscious effort, she quelled these
thoughts. "I'm going to take a long, hot bath, put on
my nightgown, and eat ice cream in front of the TV
tonight," she said aloud to the silent walls. She
smiled and walked into her bedroom.
Only to be plunged back into turmoil again
when she saw the bed. Or rather, what had been
placed on the bed. Elastic top white stockings.
White high heels. White silk bikini panties. And
her short white silk dress with the high neck and
low back. The one Fergus loved so much because
she couldn't wear a bra with it. All white, like a
virgin bride.<Or a virgin sacrifice.> The inner voice
was amused. But Lucy was not. <How can he love
me if he pushes me at another man? What kind of
crap is this?><Maybe it's because he does love you.
Maybe he knows you want just once to break out
and be wild. Can you doubt now that he wants you
to go? You may never have this chance again.>
"But I can't go now. I told Anne no," she said out
loud.
Turning from the bed, she threw off her
clothes, uncharacteristically letting them stay
wherever they hit the floor. She took her long hot
bath, unconsciously diligent to wash and shave with
unusual care and thoroughness, using the body
lotions until she felt soft and smelled sweet in
every nook and cranny of her body. She was still
naked, blowing her hair dry in the bathroom, when
the phone rang. Thinking it might be Fergus, she
rushed to pick it up.
It was Wade. "Anne told me you are alone
tonight. She wants you with us. We'll pick you up
in twenty minutes." Click.
Numbly she replaced the phone on the hook.
She turned her head to her left, slightly, to see her
reflection in the big mirror doors of the closet. She
saw a woman with uncertainty etched into her face,
and, as glaring as a neon sign behind her, the
white patchwork on the dark bedspread. Suddenly
she knew why her ablutions had been so thorough,
why her bikini line was freshly shaved. She put on
the white panties. Twenty minutes later she was
being driven away in the back seat of Anne's car,
listening to Mozart from the speaker.
He had arrived in a huge red Cadillac
convertible, something from the sixties
with fins on the back. Seeing his eyes when he
opened the door of his car for her, she knew he
planned to take her that night. If there had ever been
any doubt, it had been dispelled once and for all
when he spoke over the soft rumble of the car
engine, "Tonight I am going to fuck you, Lucy.
Even as your wedding ring sparkles on your finger,
you will spread your legs for me and guide my cock
into your pussy. With your left hand, Lucy, the
hand that wears that ring. And you will come,
Lucy. As you will come again in the morning when
I fuck you in your own bed, after I drive you home.
That is what will happen if walk through the door at
Anne's. Make up your mind before we get there."
His arrogance was both infuriating and
exciting. She thought about the image he described,
her legs apart, guiding his cock into her, and felt
demeaned. And aroused. She knew that if she
rubbed her finger over the crotch of her panties she
would find it slick with lubrication. A new litany
began in her mind, so close to the previous one, but
with one ever so important difference: <HE's going
to fuck me. HE's going to fuck me right in front of
Anne. HE's going to put his cock in me and fuck
ME. And I'm going to let him.>
An icy finger of fear caressed her spine
about five minutes from her house. "This isn't the
way to Anne's. Where are you taking me?"
"Why, tonight is Friday night, Lucy. Date
night. I am taking you dancing."
After the Mozart in the car, the raucous rock
band was almost a physical assault when he opened
the door to the club. Taking one woman on each
arm, he steered them to the bar. Anne and Lucy sat
on stools, while he stood between them.
"You ladies look as though you could do
with a cocktail. Allow me. Stingers all around," he
ordered, doing a passable Cary Grant imitation.
Lucy was irritated that he had ordered for
her without asking, but smiled at the Cary Grant
accent. It never occurred to her that Wade might be
charming. She had never tried a Stinger. She was
surprised when it turned out to be good. The first
one went down easily, and he ordered a second
round.
For the next hour, the three of them bantered,
laughing and joking at each others' witticisms. Lucy
found that she was really enjoying herself, and
marveling at a wonderfully engaging side of Wade
that she never would have guessed existed. She
began to see how Anne could have been attracted to
him in the first place.
Then, in the middle of a pleasant and quite
ordinary exchange, in a normal conversational tone,
he said, "Are you wearing panties, Lucy?"
Her head jerked around to see if anyone had
heard. No one appeared to be looking at them.
"I asked if you were wearing panties, Lucy."
"Since you ask, yes," she said defiantly,
matching the conversational tone.
"You don't need them. Take them off and
give them to me, Lucy."
"I'll do no such thing," said Lucy.
"I want you to be acutely aware that you are
here with me to be fucked tonight, Lucy, just as
Anne is. Are you wearing panties, Anne?"
"No," Anne replied in a small voice.
"Show Lucy that you are not wearing
panties, Anne."
Anne looked around the bar area
uncertainly, and then pulled up her skirt, giving
Lucy a quick glimpse of her pubic hair before
smoothing the skirt back down over her thighs.
"Your choice, Lucy. The panties or I will
take you straight home."
Lucy grew annoyed again at his arrogance,
at this public display, but she was excited by the
prospect as well. Up to this point, she had given no
overt sign that she might actually accede to his will,
other than simply by coming along. If she did as he
asked, she would have to admit to herself that she
was here because she wanted him to take her.
And he would know it too. But it was so sordid.
She left for the ladies room without a word. Anne
started to follow, but the man put his hand on her
arm.
In fact, she needed to use the facilities. She
pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties to her
knees before sitting on the toilet. She sat, staring at
the panties, well after her need had been relieved.
When the door banged as another patron entered,
she was jarred back into focus. She wiped herself
and then stood. Then bending down to her knees,
she pushed the panties the rest of the way to her
ankles and stepped out of them. She balled them in
her hand and looked at the whiteness showing in her
palm. The realization was slow and deliberate:
<I'm going to let him have me.> Anne's bag on the
vanity told her who had just entered, and she
hurried to rinse her hands and to return to the bar.
At least she could get this over with without having
to do it in front of Anne.
Arriving at her stool, she held out her balled
fist, bracing herself for the embarrent she
expected. She expected him to shake them out in
front of him, letting anyone who looked figure out
what she had done. Instead, he looked her in the
eyes as he took them from her in his own balled fist
and put them directly into his coat pocket. The
tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.
Lucy found that she was acutely cognizant
of the missing underwear, just as he had wanted.
The short pleated skirt covered her to a few inches
above her knees, plenty to maintain modesty, but
she had to consciously resist the urge to tug it down.
She became very precise in her movements, taking
great care to keep her knees together. She couldn't
remember ever being out in public without panties,
and it amazed her how different it felt. She amazed
herself that something that was no more than barely
naughty could make her so aware of her sexuality.
When Anne returned, Wade turned the
women away from the bar. With one hand one
Lucy's elbow and one on Anne's, he steered them
through the Friday night crowd to a more sparsely
populated alcove filled with tables. Without
hesitation he guided them to a table where four
twenty-something businessmen, ties loosened and
coats off, sat with their beers.
Looking at one of them, he spoke, "Excuse
me, uh? . . ."
"John."
"Excuse me, John, but I need your help. I
am going to dance with Anne," nodding toward her,
"but that will leave Lucy without a partner."
Lucy's mouth opened at the at this new
presumption, but before she could speak, John
had risen and smilingly offered his hand. "I would
love to dance with you, Lucy."
"Uh, thank you," her voice said. <What the
hell> her inner voice said. <You like to dance and
it's been a long time.>
When she and John had returned from the
floor, she was intr
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sexual acts. If it is either illegal or inappropriate for
you to be reading this, please stop now. Or at least
before you come to the good parts.
Author: Miles Naismith
( c ) 1998 Mnaismith
Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely
without modification on Usenet, Usenet II,
not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit sites,
and news archival services which offer free public
access to archived articles. All other rights
reserved.
LUCY STAYS
By
Miles Naismith
"She wants you to stay."
Lucy stopped, but she didn't turn around.
Her hand was resting on the doorknob. She knew
she should go, but fear and a prurient fascination
made her hesitate.
"Tell her." The deep voice was
commanding, arrogant.
"Please stay, Lucy."
Lucy's eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on the
knob tightened. But she didn't move.
"She wants you to stay and watch," came the
deep voice, smugly confident. "Tell her."
"Please stay, Lucy. I want you to,"
whispered her friend, low and pleading.
Lucy was torn. Prudence said to leave, and
quickly. Something more primitive said stay. She
was frozen between the two when she heard the
footsteps approach. She felt a large hand lift hers
from the doorknob, and pull her around toward the
living room.
As he led her across the room, she opened
her eyes. The scene was just as surreal as when she
had innocently walked in that door on an average
Tuesday in August to return a borrowed chafing
dish and some serving pieces to Anne. The man
leading her by her hand was still nude, still erect,
and still not Anne's husband. Across the room,
Anne's head was tilted down, but her eyes looked up
at Lucy. She had on a white terrycloth bathrobe.
Lucy's sense of unreality deepened as the man
bowed slightly and gestured at the window seat in
the bay window. As he turned and walked across
the room to Anne, the setting sun cast a pale, faintly
red light through the sheer curtains behind her,
washing out colors in the room and adding to the
surreal feeling.
At Anne's almost imperceptible nod, Lucy
abruptly dropped onto the seat, stiff and upright,
primly swinging her knees together and crossing her
ankles. In her pristine white cotton polo shirt and
pleated shorts, she was the epitome of the thirty-five
year- old soccer mom. Which was, of course,
exactly what she was: a demure, monogamous
mother of two confused as to why she was still here.
But her thoughts were not on her children, nor her
husband, nor even her own shock and surprise. In
reality, she had no coherent thoughts at all. Her
mind was simply filled, obsessed, with a snaky
intermingling of voyeuristic anticipation, fear that
the man would hurt her or Anne, and a morbid,
compelling sense of arousal, unlike anything she
had felt before, that shocked her by its very
presence.
Staring as if in a trance, Lucy watched the
man turn Anne to face her and bend to kiss her neck
from behind. Still kissing her neck, the man
brought his hands up, his hands folding under the
collar of the robe on either side. Anne stood
unresisting as the hands slid to the sides, over the
shoulders and down her arms, taking the lapels with
them. The robe pulled up from the belt and opened,
its fall halted short of her waist as the front hung
suspended for an instant on Anne's erect nipples.
Then it dropped again, only to be held at her waist
by the belt.
Lucy watched as Anne's hands twitched up,
a reflexive attempt at modesty, she supposed,
stopped by the sleeves that still covered Anne's
forearms. A petty thought,<My breasts are better; a
little bit smaller maybe, but I don't droop as much>
flicked quickly through Lucy's mind, just as quickly
forgotten as she watched Anne blush. The red flush
moved like a tide from Anne's cheeks down her
neck to her chest, momentarily stopping at the tops
of those pure white mounds that had never known
the sun. When the man used his forefingers and
thumbs to gently stretch the nipples toward Lucy,
the breasts themselves turned pink.
Lucy heard a small gasp, and realized it had
come from her. For a moment, her attention turned
inward. She hadn't noticed when her nipples had
become so hard, but now she was acutely aware of
the pressure of her bra against them. She realized
she had been gripping the edge of the seat with
white-knuckled strength and relaxed her hands,
letting her arms cross under her breasts, squeezing
the sides and lifting them a little. She squirmed on
the seat, trying to get comfortable. A gasp that
didn't come from her drew her eyes back to her
half-naked friend and to the naked man who stood
behind Anne.
The man's left hand had come around
Anne's left hip and disappeared under the flap of
the robe. Lucy could see nothing of it except a
terry-covered mound, a mound that pulsed in the
same slow rhythm as the wrist that moved forward
and back, in and out, from under the robe. She
watched the slow movements for what seemed a
long time. Another gasp caused her eyes to flick
back to Anne's face. Anne's mouth was open and
her head had arched back against the man's collar
bone. Lucy was sure Anne was about to orgasm.
With that realization, Lucy's mind began to
work again, if only for a moment. <I should leave
now. It'll be too personal if she knows I've seen her
come at the hands of this stranger. It'll affect our
friendship,> Lucy thought. <How could I explain
this to Fergus if he found out? How could I face the
neighbors?> Then she flushed with shame. Not for
Anne, but for herself. She was going to stay. She
was going to watch her friend stripped bare, body
and soul, before her. The thought excited her,
inflamed her. Nothing this exciting had ever
happened to her, and her mind was engulfed with an
erotic intensity that wouldn't let her leave.
The wrist was moving in and out of the robe
faster now, and Anne's panting kept pace. Lucy
watched as Anne stiffened and her face strained,
mouth wide open and eyes unfocused. She heard
Anne's breath catch, three times, almost like
hiccups. <How can she be so quiet?> thought Lucy.
<I'd be screaming.> Then she saw Anne's hand
flash down to pull the man's hand away. Lucy
nodded in sympathy. Fergus too often kept rubbing
her after an orgasm, after she had become too
sensitive.
Lucy's breath was coming more quickly
now. One thumb moved unnoticed up to her nipple
to caress, but she jerked it back down when she felt
it. The man was turning Anne's back to her. Anne
seemed almost passive. Lucy had never seen her
like this. The Anne she knew was active, confident,
always ready to do what needed to be done in the
community. She wondered what power the man
had over her.
The man put his hands on Anne's shoulders
and pushed gently. Anne bent forward at her hips,
spreading her legs slightly at the same time. Lucy
was presented with a featured view of Anne's
terry-covered rear. Lucy's eyes went up to the
man's face and, for the first time, she really looked
at him. He was tall, but not as tall or powerful as
Fergus. Black hair brushed straight back, with a
hint of five o'clock shadow. He had a trace of a
smile but it didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes were
hypnotic, deep and cynical. Lucy couldn't look
away. Movement finally drew her eyes back down,
as the man's hands slid down Anne's back, finally
reaching the fold where the robe doubled over the
belt. The hands pushed. The belt loosened, and
suddenly the robe was gone.
Lucy stared at her friend's sex, as if in a
dream. She saw the outer lips engorged, dusky with
desire. The inner lips had pushed up, blossoming
like a pink flower in the darker furrow. Anne's
lubrication gleamed in the light. <Is that what I look
like?> thought Lucy. <Do I look like that right now,
under my panties?> At the thought, Lucy again felt
the pressure of the bra on her nipples, and she knew
she was wet like Anne.
Lucy could not see Anne's face, but the wet
sounds and the small rocking motions of the man's
hips etched an image into her mind. She started to
get up, to walk closer, to see that shaft in her
friend's mouth, but she caught herself and sat down.
Lucy's eyes closed and she let passion well up,
listening to the nasty, dirty sounds that burned in
her brain.
A soft grunt focused Lucy's attention back
on the naked couple. The man's hands were on
each side of Anne's head as he pushed her back
from his pelvis. With a push on one side and a pull
on the other, he turned Anne to face Lucy. Without
prompting, Anne dropped to her hands and knees,
eyes fixed on Lucy, face red again. There was a
shiny streak of moisture on one cheek. The man's
eyes were on Lucy as well as he knelt behind Anne,
and he had that same tiny smile.
<He's going to fuck her now,> thought
Lucy, mildly surprised by her choice of words. It
was not her normal vocabulary even when thinking
of sex. Her eyes widened as the man drove his hips
forward. She saw Anne's mouth open, soundlessly
except for an explosive exhalation of breath.
<He's fucking her. He's really fucking
Anne. He's fucking Anne while I watch, and she's
letting him.> Lucy's attention to the scene before
her was total. Lucy didn't notice the thumb on her
nipple this time. She didn't notice that she was
rocking her hips, pressing against the seat's cushion
in time with the man's thrusts.
The movement of Anne's head was hypnotic
as it jerked forward each time the man's pelvis
slammed into her rear. Lucy watched as Anne's
stare lost focus, became glassy-eyed, and then
disappeared under closed eyelids. A guttural moan
escaped Anne's lips, and then Lucy again heard the
breath catch, more little hiccups this time, as Anne's
back and neck arched up stiffly for a small eternity,
and then collapsed.
The man stayed still in Anne until she had
finished her shudders. Then he withdrew and
allowed Anne to fall to her side, looking spent. As
the man stood, Lucy's eyes were drawn
compulsively to the man's penis, still standing
erect, shiny now with Anne's juices. <His thing, his
cock, is still hard! He must not have come,> she
thought. <Oh God, does he plan to do something to
me?> She forced her eyes away and looked at his
face. It was a mistake. His eyes captured hers again
and wouldn't let her go. He began to walk toward
her with a hard, thin smile. Lucy sat frozen in her
seat.
Lucy looked again at his erection. The
window seat was low. She knew that if she leaned
forward a little, her face would be level with his
penis. <He's going to put it in my mouth,> she
thought, <covered with the taste of Anne.> She
shivered and wondered whether she would let him.
Whether she could stop him.
Instead, he stopped and offered his hand.
Unthinkingly she placed hers on his palm. He
pulled her up and turned her to face Anne in a
motion that couldn't have been smoother if they had
been dancing. Lucy felt those hands each grab a
handful of cotton knit, and then her arms were
forced up, over her head, as he pulled her shirt off.
Almost before the shirt hit the floor, his hands made
the return trip down to her waist, pushing her arms
back down, with his thumbs hooked in her bra
straps. Lucy stood shocked, breasts bare to her
friend, bra inside out around her waist, still
fastened.
The abruptness filled her with excitement.
He hadn't asked permission. It would be like rape if
it were not for the fact that she had not fought it,
had thrilled to it. She felt passive, helpless,
although she was not actually restrained. The
feeling filled her with both dread and arousal. So
caught up in her need was she that she didn't even
blush when she saw Anne, head propped up in her
hand, watching his hands move up to play with her
nipples.
Lucy hadn't noticed when one hand had left
her breast, when it had undone the top button on her
loose fitting shorts. The other hand on her breast
and the sight of Anne's hand moving to slide
between parted thighs had captured Lucy's
attention.
But she did notice when the hand slid under
the waistbands of both shorts and panties, down
through her bush, and along her sensitive folds to
the entrance to her vagina. Even as her hips surged
forward to help impale herself on the finger slipping
inside her, even as a moan escaped her mouth,
reality hit her like a splash of cold water.
Sanity exploded in her brain with blinding
suddenness, and she knew she couldn't do this. The
husband and family that she had quite literally lost
in his eyes flashed into her brain, and the thought of
consequences overruled desire.
She turned to the side, jerking his arm out of
her shorts with both hands. She raised her arms to
bring her bra into place and snatched up her shirt.
Her shorts had fallen to her hips; she pulled them to
her waist and held them with one hand. She heard
Anne call out as she ran to the door, but the words
didn't register. In seconds she was driving away in
her bra, the crumpled shirt pressed tightly to her
chest over it. A block from her home she stopped
and pulled on the shirt, thankful that there was no
one to see her. She sat there trying to think, trying
to decide what to do.
Anne would call tomorrow, and
Lucy still had the chafing dish in her car. She
would have to talk to her, to see her, sometime, but
she had no idea what she would say. She decided
not to think about that now. More pressing was the
question of whether, and what, to tell her husband.
And when. Her mind whirled, tumbling turbulently
from one thought to another. She finally decided
she'd have to figure out what to do about her
husband later as well. She drove the short distance
home and went in the door.
Steeling herself to face her husband, she
opened the door and announced her arrival, only to
be met by silence. Walking to the kitchen, she saw
the note under the refrigerator magnet: "Took the
kids to pick up Chinese. Back soon." Breathing a
sigh of relief, she made for the shower, as if to wash
off any evidence of events. In a white terrycloth
robe very like Anne's, over a tee-shirt and panties,
she was still towel drying her short, brown curls
when the silence was shattered by the chatter of her
children and her husband's hello. She went through
the usual routines of greeting and serving the food
without any of them noticing that she was mentally
absent. When her husband and kids elected to plop
themselves in front of the television to eat, she took
her plate into the den, ostensibly to check her email.
She was staring at the screen saver when the
kids bounced in to kiss her good night. After trying
to sort out her feelings, she had finally decided that
she would wait until after she had talked to Anne
before tackling Fergus. She rationalized this by
worrying about what Fergus might tell Charles, his
golfing buddy and Anne's husband. <After all,> she
thought, <I didn't really do anything wrong. I
didn't cheat. I don't tell Fergus every time someone
hits on me or tries to cop a little feel at a party. This
isn't so different as long as I didn't do anything.>
Having made the decision to procrastinate,
she leaned back in her chair and began think about
what had happened. She closed her eyes and
remembered, remembered how much more intense
her arousal had been than anything she had felt in
years. <Fergus is a fine lover,> she chided herself,
<he makes me come every time. He knows just
what makes me feel good. He's very considerate
and gentle. He loves me and he's faithful.> Even as
she tried to believe it was enough, she heard a
second dialogue in the background, saying, <Yeah,
but it's the same every time. The same foreplay,
the same positions, the same conversation about
getting ice water afterwards. He makes you come,
but he doesn't make you want to come. He
doesn't drive you out of your mind with desire, with
wanting.><How can he? We've been married
thirteen years. I've seen him grunt on the toilet
seat. What chance does he have to create such
excitement. We know each other too well. It's not
fair to compare.> <But you can still feel that
consuming passion. You felt it today. Today was
hot, today was lust. Don't you need some of that
too?> And all the while, like a video loop, image
after image flashed fleetingly through her mind.
Anne's wet vagina as she sucked the man's penis
<no, his cock>, she corrected herself. The
open-mouthed surprise on Anne's face when he
drove that cock into Anne from behind. Her own
hips thrusting forward against his hand, driving the
finger inside her.
She first noticed the smell. Herbal Essence.
Shampooed hair. Even as she began to break out of
her erotic fugue, her husband's hands encircled her
from behind, cupping her breasts as he always did,
<even around the kids when he thinks they aren't
looking, > the old peeve appearing like a Pavlovian
response. Cupping her breasts was just routine
now, after all the years. Kissing her neck, he said,
"Good night, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late."
Tonight, however, the hands on her breasts
and kiss on the neck, so perversely like and unlike
the scene at Anne's, pulled the trigger on her desire.
Quickly she spun the desk chair around and jerked
his open his robe. The boxers he used as pajamas
were at his knees before he could react. She
grabbed the flaccid penis and sucked it into her
mouth. Fergus's face looked blank,
uncomprehending, at this wanton act, but his penis
knew how to react. She felt a sense of power and a
surge of desire, both at how quickly the shaft
hardened to its full length in her mouth, and at
knowing it would be entering her body soon. Once
it was hard, she backed all the way off and then let
it part her lips as she moved her head forward. Like
it was a first touch. She knew HE would already be
hard when HE brought HIS <cock> to her. She
wondered what HIS cock would taste like. She
struggled to remove her robe while she held his
erection in her mouth. Seeing her problem, Fergus
grabbed robe and shirt and pulled both up. As the
shirt came through, she had to let his erection fall
from her mouth. She raised her rear from the seat
and pushed down her panties. Without ever fully
standing up, she dropped to her hands and knees in
front of Fergus. Wanting to feel wanton, lewd, to
show her sex as Anne had, she let her head drop to
the floor, presenting her rounded ass to her husband.
"Fuck me, Fergus! Dear God, put it in me
now. Please," she pleaded. In her head she heard,
<What's come over me? I must look like an idiot.
What will he think of me. What am I doing?>
If Fergus didn't know why, he knew what to
do. Lucy grunted as she felt him shove his <cock,
dick, prick> into her <pussy>. She closed her eyes
and it was HIM behind her. <He's fucking me, just
like Anne. And I'm letting him! Letting him fuck
me!>Then she remembered the eyes, the knowing,
cynical smile. She came for the first time. As she
felt the cock churn in an out of her channel, she
thought she heard a groan, like Anne might make
fingering herself as she watched. She came again.
She was building up to another when her husband
grabbed her hips and pulled himself as far into her
as he could go. <Not now,> she groaned to herself,
<just a little more and I'll be there again.> She tried
to shake her hips back and forth on his cock to get
that final friction, but he held her too tight as his
convulsive jerks signaled his climax. Suddenly he
let go, pushing himself abruptly back, apparently
too sensitive to let it go soft in her the way he
usually did. They lay panting on the floor.
"Do you want some ice water," came the
familiar refrain after a few minutes.
"Yes, please."
She retired to the bathroom, back in their
comfortable routine again, to clean up before sleep.
As she went through the motions, her mind was
troubled. She knew she hadn't really been with her
husband in any way that really mattered. She had
been with HIM. It felt like cheating.
The water was waiting when she emerged,
and so was Fergus.
"Jesus, that was great. What brought that
on, Sweetheart?"
"I don't know," she lied. "I was reading a
hot romance on the web, maybe it worked me up
without my realizing it. Or maybe you just caught
me during that fifteen minute period once a month
when a woman really wants a man, like those two
comediennes talk about, the Mommies or whoever
they are. All I know now is that I need to sleep."
With a tender kiss and a whispered, "Thanks,
Honey," Fergus turned over and was soon dead to
the world. It took Lucy a lot longer.
BRRRRINNNGGG. Lucy stirred groggily.
BRRRRINNNGGG. She reached over to the
bedside table and jerked the phone off its cradle
before it could ring again. "Hello," she said,
unenthusiastically.
"Uh, Lucy . . . uh, it's me, Anne. Uh, oh
shit, are you still speaking to me?"
"Yes, Anne. You're my friend. But what
the hell was that?" Lucy was wide awake now.
"Oh Lucy, I'm so sorry. I didn't do it on
purpose. We didn't have it planned or anything, it
just kind of happened."
"Quit sniveling, Anne. You're forgiven.
But if you don't tell me what's going on, I'm going
to come over there and strangle you!"
"Well, you sort of walked in on me and my
lover."
"I guessed."
"Charles is away for the week. In New
York. Couldn't take me though, just had to
concentrate on business." A hint of bitterness. "I
invited Wade over to help console me."
"You invited him? The way you were
acting I thought he must be blackmailing you. Or
threatening you somehow. I've never seen you that
way. Are you OK?"
"Yeah, ungh, I'm fine. It's just that he.
Makes. Me. Want to let. Him. Take me."
"What's wrong Anne," asked Lucy,
suspecting she already knew.
"NOTHING," squealed Anne, then lower,
"Just thank you. For. Staying. . .Oh God . . ."
"You're doing it, aren't you. Right now on
the phone. Jesus, Anne. . ."
"Yeeesss. Oh yes. . ." Lucy heard the phone
thump. She heard Anne panting in the background.
Then she heard HIS voice.
"She wants you to watch again. Tonight.
Be here at nine o'clock." Click.
Lucy was preoccupied as she went about her
errands. Picking up the clean shirts from the
cleaners, doing the weekly grocery shopping,
gassing up the car, picking up the kids from the
mini-sports camp at the country club - all were
accomplished on a kind of autopilot. The kids were
a little puzzled when they received no reply or a
distracted, "Huh, what did you say again?" to each
anecdote of camp events or request for some
privilege. But they happily settled into something
as near to quiet as they ever got when Lucy let them
start eating the french fries from the McDonald's
drive in window in the car as they drove home.
Once home, the kids took their burgers and
shakes into the living room to watch TV. Lucy
went through the motions of fixing a light dinner for
Fergus and herself. Ripe tomatoes and fresh
mozzarella sprinkled with basil and olive oil. Salade
Nicoise. A bottle of blush wine. Closing arguments
to the jury.
<He's an arrogant asshole. He just told you
what time to be there like there was no question that
you would come. What are you going to do if he
grabs you this time? He isn't worth cheating on
Fergus. What kind of pervert wants to see her
friend get screwed any way? What would Fergus
say if he knew? Can you imagine the talk if anyone
found out? You're a thirty-five year old mother - act
like one.>
<So you tell him no touching. It's not
cheating if you don't do anything with HIM. So
you like to watch, so what. Who will tell? Who
will know? You don't want to be afraid to live, to
have to follow every little rule of propriety for the
rest of your life. You weren't like that when you
were younger. You'll feel that old excitement, that
thrill of doing something dangerous and new again,
tonight, but maybe never again if you don't go now.
How many chances will you ever get? You want
to go.>
She managed to hold up her end of the
dinner conversation with Fergus despite her
distraction. But her mind was focused on the
invitation.
Her third glass of wine, two more than
usual, found her decision made.
"Honey, Charles is off in New York all
week, so I asked Anne over for later. Her sister
found her a tape of The Moonspinners and you
know how she loves Hayley Mills. I told her I'd fix
popcorn and watch it with her. I hope you don't
mind."
"Tonight? Tonight is supposed to be the big
grudge race in the go-cart game on the Nintendo,"
Fergus complained. "I promised the boys. They
think they can beat me this time. I thought I
mentioned it to you."
<You did. I'm counting on it.> thought
Lucy, as she said aloud, "If you did, I forgot. Well,
I'll just call Anne and cancel. If you promised the
boys, you've got to keep it."
"We can just explain to them . . ."
"No," said Lucy, "I'll call Anne and
reschedule."
Lucy walked into the den and mumbled into
the phone while the dial tone hummed in her ear.
Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she yelled to
the kitchen, "Fergus, Anne has invited me over
there to watch it. I may be late if we sit and talk.
Would you mind? The boys will need a shower
before bed."
"Go ahead, Honey," Fergus yelled back.
"We can handle it. Don't be too late without
calling, now."
"Yes, Daddy, sir," Lucy mugged, "I'll be
home by curfew. Love you."
Lucy walked into the living room to the
sounds of ersatz engines revving. "See you later,
guys. I'm going over to see Miss Anne. You be
good for your Dad. And don't beat him too badly,
you know he pouts when he loses."
"See ya' Mom," the boys said in unison.
Then Teddy said, "Too bad Mom, but Daddy's
gonna' be toast.""You too, nerdface, you'll never
catch me.""Eat my dust, dirtball.""Watch this . ."
The boys didn't notice that their mother had left.
It was exactly nine when Lucy pulled into
Anne's driveway. It was ten minutes later when she
finally decided that she wouldn't chicken out and
walked to the door. A shouted "Come in" answered
her knock. HIS voice. She went in.
The room was shadowy. Only a small lamp
on an end table provided any illumination. It was
enough as her eyes adjusted. The man was sitting in
a low upholstered arm chair that faced the entrance
hall from the other side of the living room. His
knees were spread and Anne knelt between them,
her hands on his thighs, her head bobbing up and
down in his lap. They were both naked.
"You're late." Accusatory.
"I, uh . . ."
"It doesn't matter. Take off your clothes."
"What?"
"Take off your clothes. Or leave."
"Good bye, asshole." Lucy turned to leave.
"Wait, Lucy," said Anne. "Please stay. He
won't touch you, I promise. But it's too weird if
you just sit there and watch with all your clothes
on."
"That's right, Lucy," he said, with a hint of
disdain, of sarcasm, "I promise not to touch you.
But you look at us, we look at you. That's the
deal."
"Please, Lucy."
Lucy stood at the entrance hall, looking
uncertainly first at the door, then back to the two
faces across the room. <This is too much.><It's not
cheating if he doesn't touch you.><I can't just strip
in front of Anne.><She's naked in front of you
now.><I didn't shave my legs today.><How many
chances will you ever get?> She turned her back to
them and pulled her shirt out of her waistband.
Slowly she crossed her arms in front of her and
grasped the bottom of the shirt. Up and off it went.
Her bra fastened in the front. It quickly joined the
shirt on the floor. With her thumbs under both
waistbands, panties and shorts slid together to the
floor. Two small backward steps out of her sandals
and she was bare. Instinctively, one arm moved
across her breasts while the other hand covered her
mons. She heard the man snigger behind her.
Standing to her full five foot six, Lucy put her arms
at her sides and turned around.
"Satisfied?"
"Lovely." A hint of worldly wise amusement in
his voice. Then commanding, "Go sit in the other
chair." It was close to the one they occupied,
separated from it only by a small lamp table.
Summoning her will, Lucy walked proudly
across the room, chin up and chest out. She stared
directly into his eyes, and for the first few steps felt
she could stare him down this time. The feeling
didn't last. His eyes held hers the length of the
room, but she had to look away. Flick to his cock,
erect in his lap. Flick to Anne's face, looking back
at Lucy over her shoulder, hands still on his thighs,
her eyes checking out Lucy's body. Flick to his
eyes again. Still right on hers. By the time Lucy
reached the chair, she knew he planned on having
her. She knew it with certainty. The knowledge
made her nipples grow erect and she began to
lubricate. He wanted to make love to her. <No, to
fuck her!> She didn't know if she could stop
him. She was glad when she reached the chair, glad
to have a reason to turn away. She sat.
The man put his hand on the back of Anne's
head and loosely gathered a handful of her hair as
he pushed her down toward his lap. His eyes were
on Lucy's. Lucy's eyes were on his erection. And
the lips about to engulf it. Lucy's eyes widened as
his hand kept pushing Anne down until Lucy was
sure Anne would choke. But Anne's eyes were
closed and she showed no sign of discomfort. He
pulled her head up until only the tip was in her lips,
and then slowly down again.
"She really likes you to watch, you know,"
he said conversationally, as if it were quite normal
for him to have his penis in the mouth of a fortyish
blonde suburban housewife. Down and up. "Look
at her hands." Down and up. Lucy saw that the
hands were no longer on his thighs. She fleetingly
wondered why she hadn't noticed them leaving.
One of Anne's hands now gently pinched her right
nipple. The other was sliding between her legs.
"Anne swallows it all when I come in her
mouth." Down and up. "Do you swallow your
husband's come, Lucy?" Down and up.
Lucy's shook her head a tiny bit. No.
"Well, you'll swallow for me when the time
comes." It was not a question. Down and up.
"I like to watch too, Lucy," he said. Down
and up. "Show me how you would like me to touch
your breasts." Down and up.
As if by a mind of their own, Lucy's hands
moved to her breasts. Keeping her eyes on Anne's
mouth moving up and down, Lucy's finger tips
glided over the whole of her breasts, just barely
touching, everywhere except the nipples. She
started to trace a path around each breast, a path that
slowly spiraled in toward her nipples. As the finger
tips reached the edge of her small areolae, she
looked up into his eyes. With a shudder of desire,
she closed all five fingers of each hand around her
nipples, still just barely touching, and pulled each
nipple up ever so slightly.
The sudden motion of his hand in Anne's
hair pulling her completely off his cock pulled
Lucy's eyes to the other chair. Lucy's hands froze
on her breasts in mid-caress as he stood.
"I think it's time to let Anne come. Don't
you, Lucy?" the deep voice inquired. "How would
you like to see her fucked tonight?"
"Wwwhat do you mmmean?" Lucy
stammered.
"I mean it's your choice tonight, Lucy.
Missionary, sidesaddle, whatever you want. I'll
take her ass if you tell me, Lucy." Anne's eyes
widened at that last and her head jerked around to
glare at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but
Lucy's voice intervened.
"God no! Doggy. Do her doggy style. But
not in her ass. Please?"
"You heard the lady, Anne. Kneel in front
of Lucy. Hands and knees."
Anne's face was inches from Lucy's knees,
looking down at the rug. The hair on the top of her
head almost touched Lucy. The man knelt behind
Anne and his hand again closed in that hair. He
gently pulled her face up to look at Lucy. Anne's
face was blushing red. The man suddenly thrust his
hips forward. Anne's breath puffed out, blowing on
Lucy's knees, and her eyes widened. He let go of
Anne's hair, but her head stayed up, looking at
Lucy. The man continued to thrust in and out, but
slowly now.
It was deja vu. Again, in Lucy's mind the
same litany as before: <He's fucking her.
He's fucking her right in front of me. He's fucking
her so close that I can almost touch it. He's fucking
Anne right in front of me and she's letting him!>
Without conscious thought, her left hand moved to
her left breast and pushed it from the side, then
cupped it, the thumb moving to the nipple. Her
right hand slid between her closed thighs to press
gently on the closed lips of her sex.
"Open your legs, Lucy." The man continued
to thrust very slowly.
Lucy shook her head no.
"You watch us, we watch you. That's the
deal. Open your legs, Lucy."
"Please, Lucy," Anne whispered.
With a flush of shame and a shudder of
excitement, Lucy closed her eyes and opened her
legs.
"Put them over the arms of the chair, Lucy."
Shaking again with shame and arousal, she
did. She opened her eyes and looked down. Her
hand was still at the top of her slit, but her lips, her
slick protruding lips, were uncovered, flaunted,
inches from Anne's face, close enough for HIM to
touch if he reached out. Her hand began to move up
and down. The man began to thrust harder. Lucy
shook on the brink of orgasm, watching her hand
move, watching as each hard thrust pushed Anne's
face a little closer to that hand.
His voice stopped her short of orgasm,
drawing her eyes to his. His eyes seemed to
increase in intensity as he spoke. "Take your
fingers away, Lucy. Put them in your mouth." Still
caught in his eyes, she slowly tasted herself on her
fingers. She felt the tongue on her vagina then. She
started to panic. <I'm not gay> her mind screamed.
<Why am I pushing my sex into a woman's tongue.
I AM NOT A LESBIAN!> Then, as her excitement
continued to build, she knew. It might be Anne's
tongue, but Lucy was reacting to HIM. Lucy closed
her eyes and began the climb to release, but
suddenly the tongue faltered and then it was not
there at all. She didn't have to hear the little
hiccups to know why when she saw Anne's face.
Watching Anne orgasm increased her own need.
Still thrusting in Anne to that slow rhythm,
he reached out and took Lucy's hand in his. Her
eyes widened with fear. He had promised not to
touch her. But all he did was put Lucy's hand on
the back of Anne's head and then he withdrew.
With a little moan, Lucy closed her eyes, ashamed
that she wanted Anne's tongue so badly. Ashamed,
but close to release. She pulled Anne forward,
directing her to her clitoris again. Lucy closed her
eyes and put her head back.
"Lucy, look at me."
Stiffly, muscles tense under the influence of
Anne's fluttering stimulation, Lucy turned to the
sound and saw his erection close, very close, to her
face. Jumping slightly with his pulse, slick with
Anne's lubrication. Approaching the edge, the
point of no return on her orgasm, Lucy stared.
The deep, self-assured voice again. "Lean
forward, Lucy. Take me in your mouth."
And suddenly that was just what Lucy
needed, to have HIS cock, to taste HIM. Her hand
came up and encircled his base. She leaned
forward. She was sticking her tongue out to barely
touch the tip, moving her hand up the shaft at the
same time, when the cock in her hand stiffened even
more, and she felt the first pulse of his come hit her
lips. She licked and swallowed reflexively, pushing
his penis down as she threw her head back and
moaned out her ecstasy in response to Anne's tongue
forcing her over the edge to orgasm. Arching and
bucking her hips into Anne's face, she didn't feel the
semen that hit her neck and her breast. Finally,
convulsively, she pushed Anne away and slumped in
the chair.
Dazed by the intensity of her orgasm, she sat
motionless for a timeless interval. When she finally
gathered herself, she was alone in the room. She
walked like an automaton to the entrance hall and
put on her clothes, trying not to think. As she sat
motionless in the driver's seat, she couldn't keep
her thoughts in check any longer. <Oh God, what
have I done? I've cheated on Fergus. This time I
did do something, I touched HIS cock. I swallowed
his come. I've committed adultery. Will Fergus
forgive me? What if he wants a divorce? What
about the kids? What am I to do?> Sitting in the
driver's seat, her mind in turmoil, she slumped
forward and cried.
Fergus was asleep when Lucy got home.
She took a shower in the children's bathroom so as
not to wake him. He groaned softly and turned
toward her when she slipped into bed. His arm
moved and he rested his hand lightly on her hip.
Then his breathing resumed slow regularity. She
laid motionless on the bed, his hand burning her like
a hot iron, until sleep finally overtook her chaotic
thoughts.
BRRRRRNNNNNG. Lucy opened her eyes
blearily. She didn't have to look to know that
Fergus was not in the bed. BRRRRRNNNNNG.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited, hoping
someone else would answer. BRRRRRNNNNNG.
Giving up, she lifted the handset to her ear.
"Lucy?" said Anne.
"I'm not coming back, Anne. I'll talk to you
later," said Lucy, wearily.
"Wait Lucy, he's gone for the day. I need to
talk, just the two of us. Can I come over?"
Lucy shuddered in revulsion. She didn't
want Anne in her house right now. "Not now," she
said. "I'll meet you for lunch at the Trellis. One
o'clock."
"Oh Lucy, thanks," said Anne with relief.
"See you there."
Stumbling to the bathroom, Lucy noticed it
was already almost ten. Fergus must have taken
care of the kids again this morning, letting her sleep
in again. She thought to herself that she should be
grateful to have the extra time to decide what to say
to him, but she simply couldn't muster the energy to
think. She felt like she had a hangover, although
she hadn't had that much to drink the night before.
She palmed a couple of aspirins into her mouth and
washed them down with water from the sink. Then
she ran her bath.
Forty-five minutes later, she emerged,
washed but not fresh. Despite the fact that she
knew it would do no good, she felt as if she should
return to the bath. Instead she brushed her teeth
again.
At one o'clock, she was sitting on the terrace
at the Trellis, waiting for Anne. She had no distinct
memories of how she got there, having dressed and
driven with little conscious thought. She pushed
her glass of white wine back and forth, and nibbled
out of habit rather than hunger on the Irish soda
bread. Five minutes later, Anne arrived.
Anne sat opposite Lucy at the table. As
their eyes met, Anne's face turned red. Lucy felt
her own face heat up. Anne spoke tentatively, "Hi,
Lucy. Are we still friends?"
"Of course we are, Anne, but I need to know
what's going on."
Just then, the waiter arrived, and the
intensity of the moment was shattered by his query
as to whether Anne wanted a drink. The two friends
embraced the mundane task of ordering as a
welcome delay before they returned to face their
uncertainties and wariness of each other. When he
had gone, Anne spoke.
"You sort of got caught up with me and my
lover," said Anne.
"But you and Charles . . ."
"I love Charles, Lucy. This was just
something that got out of hand. I don't want to hurt
Charles. I just couldn't stop myself."
"Is he blackmailing you? Threatening you?
I've never seen you like that."
"It is kinda different from the 'Let's make
Anne chairman of the fundraiser' image, isn't it,"
Anne smiled. "I think that's why it was so
seductive. With Wade, he takes charge. He
commands me, no discussion, nothing to think
about. I can do things with him that I don't think I
could do with Charles because I don't have to
worry what he will think of me. . . . Like with you."
The last was delivered in a very small voice.
"Oh God, Anne," said Lucy, distressed, "are
we gay somehow?" Lucy's face got red again. "I
came when you were . . . you know." An even
smaller voice.
"I don't think so, Lucy. It's him. It's Wade.
He makes me want to give myself to him, makes me
want what he wants. You felt it too, didn't you?"
"God, yes! I felt him like a hand in my
brain, pushing me. And I wanted to be pushed. I
thought I was going crazy!"
"I'm sorry I got you into this," said Anne,
head down. "It was a mistake. He's going to break
it off. I guess he's beginning to get bored with me.
But I could hear that old fascination in his voice
when he called out to you. I just wanted to make it
last a little longer. I'm sorry."
"I don't blame you, Anne. Nobody made
me stay. I hate to admit it, but I wanted to stay. I
wanted to see. I wanted you to see. I've never done
anything wild in my life."
Lucy turned her head from Anne, looked
away, and spoke, "That's what makes me feel so
bad. I chose to do it. I betrayed Fergus' trust. But
I'm afraid I'd do worse, if I go back. I won't, you
know? Watch again, I mean."
"I didn't think you would, Lucy. That's not
why I had to talk to you. I have to know if you are
going to tell Fergus. He and Charles are too close.
I don't want Charles to find out from Fergus. I'd
rather tell him myself, if I have to."
Lucy twisted the rings in circles around her
left ring finger. "I have to tell him, Anne. I just
couldn't live with myself if I didn't. I just hope
he'll forgive me."
"Can you wait until Saturday? Please?
Wade will be gone forever Saturday afternoon, and I
can tell Charles when he gets back that night. I
don't want to have to tell him over the phone.
Please?"
"OK, Saturday." Lucy was surprised at how
much relief she felt at having a reason to delay
telling Fergus. She knew it was a mistake, but it
was so much easier to delay.
"Don't you worry about AIDS, Anne? And
what if he tells people? Do you trust him?"
"I do trust him, Lucy. I trust him to be just
who he is. He's too careful to be a big AIDS risk.
He's a health nut. Besides, I got myself tested a few
months after he first took me. Negative. And I
don't think he'll ever tell. He's an arrogant,
infuriating, egotistical jerk, but he sees himself as
honorable. It's always a risk, but I think this one is
small."
"Well, I think you are fooling yourself, but
it's your life. You don't sound too sad that he's
leaving you."
"I'll miss the sex, the intensity, but I don't
love him. He took me on some kind of roller
coaster ride inside, but it wasn't the one I had when
Charles and I first fell in love. This was dark, sort
of dangerous feeling. But it's mostly worn off. It
was exciting, but I'm not sad that it's almost over."
"Would he really have tried to take you in
your rear?" Lucy whispered, face red again.
"We did that once," whispered Anne,
blushing in return, "and I made him use a condom
that time. But I told him never again."
"What was it like? I've never done it?"
asked Lucy, curious.
"Well, he used lots of lubrication, so it
didn't hurt too much, just when he was pushing in.
After I got used to it, it just felt strange, like I had to
go or something. Full, like."
"Did you orgasm?"
"Yes," said Anne, blushing even more
deeply, "but not from that. He made me play with
myself while he did it."
The waiter arrived with food, occasioning a
temporary end to conversation, and then departed.
Both were relieved to have successfully dealt with
their secret, and the talk reverted to their norm for
the rest of the meal. In due course, Lucy was off to
pick up her kids from day camp again, feeling much
lighter in spirit than she had before.
The lightness of spirit lasted until Fergus
threw open the door shouted his hellos. As Lucy
gave him a dutiful kiss, she knew she couldn't wait
until Saturday to tell Fergus. The sick feeling of
guilt inside wouldn't let her. Overshadowed by
dread, she sleepwalked through her evening routines
until it was time for bed.
When she emerged from the bathroom, teeth
brushed yet again, Fergus was sitting up against the
headboard, half under the covers. He turned out the
light as soon as she slid in. She felt his arm slip
under her, pull her against his side. From the dark,
his voice came, "Wanna tell me about it?"
"What do you . . . ," Lucy started in
automatic denial, then paused, and sobbed, "Oh,
Fergus, I"m so ashamed. Please don't hate me. . ."
"Whoa, Lucy. I'll never hate you. Now tell
me what's wrong."
Slowly, haltingly, the events at Anne's
house came out. All except the tongue touch to his
erection and the semen on her lips that she had licked
and swallowed. She just couldn't bear to tell Fergus
that. She rarely took Fergus in her mouth, even less
frequently let him finish there, and she never
swallowed. She just couldn't tell him she'd started to
do it with another man, had almost taken him into her
mouth. That she had had HIS semen on her tongue,
her neck, her breasts.
"Please don't hate me, Fergus. I love you. I
don't want to lose you. Please forgive me."
"You are stuck with me, Lucy. I love you
too. I'll never hate you."
"But can you forgive what I've done?"
"Hmmm, that would be watching Anne,
getting pawed by surprise, letting Anne make you
come, and putting your hand on his erection," said
Fergus. "Just terrible. Shoot, woman, if that's the
worst you do in your life, you'll be a saint. But I do
want to know why."
"I truly don't know," said Lucy. "I was
taken by surprise at first. It was nasty, dirty. I
couldn't imagine letting anyone watch. I had never
done anything like that in my life."
"That's the first time," said Fergus, "but you
went back."
"I wasn't going to. But I just got to thinking
that I had never done anything wild, you know,
really wild, in my life. My mind was telling me I'd
never have another chance. I'm sorry, Fergus, I
don't even know why it mattered. I'm happy with
you. I don't know why I thought I needed to do it at
all."
"So that was the reason for that episode in
the den?"
"Yes," said Lucy in a small voice.
"Did you enjoy being with Anne? Do you
want to do it again?"
"No," mumbled Lucy, blushing, "I'm not
interested in women."
"Then why?"
"It was him. I don't know how to explain.
His eyes, the way he looks at me. It's like my will
drained away. Somehow he made me want it. He's
scary . . . no, dangerous. Anne feels it too."
"What does he look like?"
"He reminds me an older Gabriel Byrne.
Dissolute or something. Except the eyes. The eyes
are the same . . . dark and deep."
"How big is he. Is he bigger than me?"
"No, you're taller, and he's not as powerful
looking."
"That's not what I meant. Is he bigger than
me?"
Lucy blushed again as she understood what
Fergus was asking. She blushed because she was in
a position to know the answer. Because Fergus
knew she could answer. "No, Fergus, he's about the
same. Maybe a little smaller." Instinctively she
knew this was the right answer, even though Wade
had seemed thicker, somehow.
"So Anne has a playmate," mused Fergus.
"Does Charles know?"
"Oh God, no," cried Lucy, "and please don't
tell him. I promised Anne I'd wait until Saturday to
tell you, so she could tell Charles herself when he
gets back Saturday night. Wade will be gone for
good by then."
"Wade?"
"That's what she called him."
"Ah, Wade!" whispered Fergus as he rolled
out of the bed and stood up. Suddenly the bedside
light flicked on. Fergus was nude, erect. "Take off
your nightgown, Lucy." A command. Still shaken,
unsure of what he thought of her, she complied.
"So Anne took him in her mouth, eh. Show
me Lucy. Show me what you saw. . ."
Fearfully, Lucy moved over to the edge of
the bed. What was Fergus doing. Was he trying to
punish her, somehow? She stopped close to him,
her head down.
"Take it, Lucy. Show me what Anne was
doing."
Slowly Lucy raised her head, her eyes bright
with moisture. She leaned forward and took him in,
feeling the slippery preejaculate against her tongue.
Fergus moaned and pushed his hips toward her.
"So you watched Anne on her knees, sucking him?
Just like this?" He groaned.
And suddenly Lucy knew that Fergus wasn't
punishing her; he wasn't even thinking of her. He
was thinking of Anne! Thinking what it would be
like to put his <cock> in Anne's mouth. For a
second, she was washed with anger, and then
realized how ludicrous that was. Then she thought
of HIM, of taking Wade into her mouth, just like
Anne. Just like this. Suddenly the beginnings of
excitement overtook her for the first time that night.
It was like his fantasy freed her for hers, and she
responded by taking him farther into her mouth,
swirling her tongue around the underside. Fergus
groaned again.
Then her mouth was empty. "Turn around,
Lucy. Put your ass up for me like Anne did."
Lucy was only too happy to comply. On hands and
knees, she let her head droop to the mattress, until
the crown was touching the sheet. Behind her she
felt Fergus moving, lining up his penis, then
thrusting forward.
A vision of him plunging into Anne formed
in her brain. She looked at own her breasts,
bouncing back and forth in time with Fergus'
thrusts, but she saw Anne's breasts. The thought of
her husband roughly taking Anne opened some final
barrier to pleasure in her mind, and released her to
think of HIM. For the next few moments, each of
them used the other as a proxy, joined only at the
loins, not in mind or spirit. Each coupled with
someone who wasn't there. It was wild, wanton,
mindless release. Lucy slammed her body back
against Fergus' pelvis and keened a song of
abandon. Without warning she froze, moaned, and
felt her vaginal muscles spasm rhythmically.
Lucy began to relax and fall forward, but
Fergus grabbed her hips and pulled her forcefully
back, impaling her again. And again. Lucy came
again. She was just finishing her contractions when
Fergus began pumping in short quick strokes,
finally holding her tightly to his body as his hips
jerked spasmodically. "Oh Lucy, my love, oh
God," he cried at his release.
Lucy fell forward, turning on her side as she
did. Fergus crawled beside her and made spoons,
hugging her tightly to him from behind. Neither
spoke as their breathing slowly subsided. Fergus
got up, saying, "Back in a sec."
Lucy knew he had gone for ice water, and
tonight she needed it. A thin sheen of perspiration
covered her, less from the temperature than from
her excitement. She pondered Fergus' cry at
climax. <Maybe he wasn't with Anne . . . > she
mused, pleased at the thought but guilty as well,
because she had been with Wade in her mind.
She sat up when Fergus returned through the
door, dropping her calves over the side of the bed.
He handed her a glass, but not the usual tumbler of
ice water.
"After all that, I thought you needed
something more than water," he said. "It's Stoly
from the freezer. Cock the wrist and one motion,
just like they showed us at the Serbian Crown."
Remembering the waiter that had put his
arms around her from behind to show her the proper
motion to throw down the shots of iced vodka that
flowed freely that night, and who incidentally
managed to cop a feel of her breast as he pulled
away, Lucy smiled and downed the vodka in her
glass. It burned in her throat, but it felt good,
different from the cloying routine they had
developed. She hoped it was a harbinger of other
changes.
"Now I really do need some water," she
said.
Fergus grinned as his other hand proffered
the glass. "After something like that, you can have
anything you want from me. I've never seen you so
passionate. It was great."
But his face was serious as he sat on the bed
beside her. "You can go back tomorrow, if you
want. Lucy, I listened to what you told me and it
sounded to me like you will always regret it if you
don't let yourself go at least once in your life. I can
live with it, if it's just this once."
"I can't go back, Fergus," said Lucy, eyes
downcast. "You don't understand."
"Then explain," said Fergus.
"Fergus, if I go back, I am going to be
fucked. Is that what you want?" Her voice was flat.
Fergus looked surprised. Lucy normally
didn't talk like that. "You managed to avoid it so
far. What would be different? You're not falling in
love with him, are you?"
"Oh Lord, no, Fergus. I am not in love with
him. But the feeling around him is like that except
dangerous and dirty. It's the same feeling of a rush,
except it's not like love. It made me feel . . . I came
close, Fergus. I wanted to let him have me, just like
he had Anne. You just don't understand. There's
something about him. It took all my strength to pull
away. If I go back . . "
Fergus was silent. Finally, he spoke,
"You can go back if you need to, Lucy. Even if you
can't resist him. I took you off the market before
you had a chance to experiment, and now you're
regretting it. Have a fling if you need it. It's okay.
It's better than knowing that you are living with
regret at not taking your chance. Maybe coming to
resent me for it. Just come back to me."
"Don't say it," whispered Lucy. "I'm not
going back."
"I love you, sweet wife," said Fergus,
pulling her into his embracing arms.
"Oh I love you so much," answered Lucy.
They sat together for quite a while, then rose
to slide into the bed. Eventually they slept.
Friday night found Lucy alone in the house
when she arrived home from her job as an
occasional fill-in at an exclusive women's shop. She
didn't really need the work, but she loved the
employee discount. Fergus had left with the kids
before she had arrived, taking them first to race real
go-carts at a track an hour away, and then another
hour on to visit the cousins at Jane and Bob's. They
would return late the next afternoon.
Breezing into the kitchen, she found a note
on the refrigerator door telling her she would find a
chef's salad within. She spread the evening paper in
front of her on the breakfast table and read through it
randomly while she ate. She felt much more
relaxed now that she had decided not to go back.
Maybe Fergus had meant what he said the night
before, and maybe her nipples hardened even now
as she thought of spreading her legs for HIM, of
letting HIM enter her, but it was so much easier just
to say no. No to the worry. No to complications.
<No to the only other cock you'll ever have the
chance to experience?> came the insidious inner
dialogue.
His was not the only penis she had touched
or seen when she had married Fergus, but his was the
only penis that had ever been inside her. The
thought used to make her feel proud. Now it made
her feel confined. <Fergus told you to go. Don't
blow this chance.> said the inner voice, <You
want to feel it, you want to let go, to be wild
and wanton just once. When will you ever have this
chance again? And with your husband's
approval?><And what if Fergus changes his mind,>
came the response. < What if he finds he doesn't
want a wife who isn't surprised or seduced, but
deliberately goes to Anne's house, knowing she is
going to give herself to HIM. Is it worth it? What
if they make you have oral sex with Anne this time?
Do you want that? Act like an mature adult.>
With conscious effort, she quelled these
thoughts. "I'm going to take a long, hot bath, put on
my nightgown, and eat ice cream in front of the TV
tonight," she said aloud to the silent walls. She
smiled and walked into her bedroom.
Only to be plunged back into turmoil again
when she saw the bed. Or rather, what had been
placed on the bed. Elastic top white stockings.
White high heels. White silk bikini panties. And
her short white silk dress with the high neck and
low back. The one Fergus loved so much because
she couldn't wear a bra with it. All white, like a
virgin bride.<Or a virgin sacrifice.> The inner voice
was amused. But Lucy was not. <How can he love
me if he pushes me at another man? What kind of
crap is this?><Maybe it's because he does love you.
Maybe he knows you want just once to break out
and be wild. Can you doubt now that he wants you
to go? You may never have this chance again.>
"But I can't go now. I told Anne no," she said out
loud.
Turning from the bed, she threw off her
clothes, uncharacteristically letting them stay
wherever they hit the floor. She took her long hot
bath, unconsciously diligent to wash and shave with
unusual care and thoroughness, using the body
lotions until she felt soft and smelled sweet in
every nook and cranny of her body. She was still
naked, blowing her hair dry in the bathroom, when
the phone rang. Thinking it might be Fergus, she
rushed to pick it up.
It was Wade. "Anne told me you are alone
tonight. She wants you with us. We'll pick you up
in twenty minutes." Click.
Numbly she replaced the phone on the hook.
She turned her head to her left, slightly, to see her
reflection in the big mirror doors of the closet. She
saw a woman with uncertainty etched into her face,
and, as glaring as a neon sign behind her, the
white patchwork on the dark bedspread. Suddenly
she knew why her ablutions had been so thorough,
why her bikini line was freshly shaved. She put on
the white panties. Twenty minutes later she was
being driven away in the back seat of Anne's car,
listening to Mozart from the speaker.
He had arrived in a huge red Cadillac
convertible, something from the sixties
with fins on the back. Seeing his eyes when he
opened the door of his car for her, she knew he
planned to take her that night. If there had ever been
any doubt, it had been dispelled once and for all
when he spoke over the soft rumble of the car
engine, "Tonight I am going to fuck you, Lucy.
Even as your wedding ring sparkles on your finger,
you will spread your legs for me and guide my cock
into your pussy. With your left hand, Lucy, the
hand that wears that ring. And you will come,
Lucy. As you will come again in the morning when
I fuck you in your own bed, after I drive you home.
That is what will happen if walk through the door at
Anne's. Make up your mind before we get there."
His arrogance was both infuriating and
exciting. She thought about the image he described,
her legs apart, guiding his cock into her, and felt
demeaned. And aroused. She knew that if she
rubbed her finger over the crotch of her panties she
would find it slick with lubrication. A new litany
began in her mind, so close to the previous one, but
with one ever so important difference: <HE's going
to fuck me. HE's going to fuck me right in front of
Anne. HE's going to put his cock in me and fuck
ME. And I'm going to let him.>
An icy finger of fear caressed her spine
about five minutes from her house. "This isn't the
way to Anne's. Where are you taking me?"
"Why, tonight is Friday night, Lucy. Date
night. I am taking you dancing."
After the Mozart in the car, the raucous rock
band was almost a physical assault when he opened
the door to the club. Taking one woman on each
arm, he steered them to the bar. Anne and Lucy sat
on stools, while he stood between them.
"You ladies look as though you could do
with a cocktail. Allow me. Stingers all around," he
ordered, doing a passable Cary Grant imitation.
Lucy was irritated that he had ordered for
her without asking, but smiled at the Cary Grant
accent. It never occurred to her that Wade might be
charming. She had never tried a Stinger. She was
surprised when it turned out to be good. The first
one went down easily, and he ordered a second
round.
For the next hour, the three of them bantered,
laughing and joking at each others' witticisms. Lucy
found that she was really enjoying herself, and
marveling at a wonderfully engaging side of Wade
that she never would have guessed existed. She
began to see how Anne could have been attracted to
him in the first place.
Then, in the middle of a pleasant and quite
ordinary exchange, in a normal conversational tone,
he said, "Are you wearing panties, Lucy?"
Her head jerked around to see if anyone had
heard. No one appeared to be looking at them.
"I asked if you were wearing panties, Lucy."
"Since you ask, yes," she said defiantly,
matching the conversational tone.
"You don't need them. Take them off and
give them to me, Lucy."
"I'll do no such thing," said Lucy.
"I want you to be acutely aware that you are
here with me to be fucked tonight, Lucy, just as
Anne is. Are you wearing panties, Anne?"
"No," Anne replied in a small voice.
"Show Lucy that you are not wearing
panties, Anne."
Anne looked around the bar area
uncertainly, and then pulled up her skirt, giving
Lucy a quick glimpse of her pubic hair before
smoothing the skirt back down over her thighs.
"Your choice, Lucy. The panties or I will
take you straight home."
Lucy grew annoyed again at his arrogance,
at this public display, but she was excited by the
prospect as well. Up to this point, she had given no
overt sign that she might actually accede to his will,
other than simply by coming along. If she did as he
asked, she would have to admit to herself that she
was here because she wanted him to take her.
And he would know it too. But it was so sordid.
She left for the ladies room without a word. Anne
started to follow, but the man put his hand on her
arm.
In fact, she needed to use the facilities. She
pulled up her skirt and pushed her panties to her
knees before sitting on the toilet. She sat, staring at
the panties, well after her need had been relieved.
When the door banged as another patron entered,
she was jarred back into focus. She wiped herself
and then stood. Then bending down to her knees,
she pushed the panties the rest of the way to her
ankles and stepped out of them. She balled them in
her hand and looked at the whiteness showing in her
palm. The realization was slow and deliberate:
<I'm going to let him have me.> Anne's bag on the
vanity told her who had just entered, and she
hurried to rinse her hands and to return to the bar.
At least she could get this over with without having
to do it in front of Anne.
Arriving at her stool, she held out her balled
fist, bracing herself for the embarrent she
expected. She expected him to shake them out in
front of him, letting anyone who looked figure out
what she had done. Instead, he looked her in the
eyes as he took them from her in his own balled fist
and put them directly into his coat pocket. The
tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.
Lucy found that she was acutely cognizant
of the missing underwear, just as he had wanted.
The short pleated skirt covered her to a few inches
above her knees, plenty to maintain modesty, but
she had to consciously resist the urge to tug it down.
She became very precise in her movements, taking
great care to keep her knees together. She couldn't
remember ever being out in public without panties,
and it amazed her how different it felt. She amazed
herself that something that was no more than barely
naughty could make her so aware of her sexuality.
When Anne returned, Wade turned the
women away from the bar. With one hand one
Lucy's elbow and one on Anne's, he steered them
through the Friday night crowd to a more sparsely
populated alcove filled with tables. Without
hesitation he guided them to a table where four
twenty-something businessmen, ties loosened and
coats off, sat with their beers.
Looking at one of them, he spoke, "Excuse
me, uh? . . ."
"John."
"Excuse me, John, but I need your help. I
am going to dance with Anne," nodding toward her,
"but that will leave Lucy without a partner."
Lucy's mouth opened at the at this new
presumption, but before she could speak, John
had risen and smilingly offered his hand. "I would
love to dance with you, Lucy."
"Uh, thank you," her voice said. <What the
hell> her inner voice said. <You like to dance and
it's been a long time.>
When she and John had returned from the
floor, she was intr
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