A husband becomes disenchanted with his pretty wife

“DON”T leave the kitchen sink in such a mess like that!”

“What mess? Its just a few leftover soap suds.”

“It drives me nuts.”

Well, she drives me nuts, too.

Once again, I couldn’t get anything right. Why can’t she just chill out, lighten up, stay cool, or whatever slang the youth of today would use to describe it?

It was obvious to anyone who cared to listen to us that my wife and I did not get on very well anymore. In fact for some time it seemed we had been drifting further and further apart.

We could put it down to any number of things. The pressures of modern life. Our competitive work environments. We were city-dwelling thirtysomethings, both at the height of professional careers that took a lot out of us. We routinely needed a whole weekend to “veg out” and recuperate from each working week.

And sex? Forget it! In times of stress my own libido increases, but hers fades away to nothing. She only feels horny when everything is perfect and in its place, and all is right with the world. Nowadays these conditions seldom apply to our situation. Take the soap suds, f’rinstance.

I can’t blame her, it is just the way she is. A Catholic upbringing combined with an over-developed work ethic. She must love me if she kept me hanging around, unless it was just out of force of habit. I mean, I don’t know for sure because she seldom says so out loud these days. But I couldn’t imagine myself living with anyone else but her. She is one of the smartest people I know. On an intellectual level, we have always clicked.

In fact, that was how I beat off the competition and won her over in the first place. Although short (five foot two), not large in front (32B) and not conventionally pretty, she oozes a certain spunkiness and there have always been guys interested in her. In high school she was dating the captain of a sports team, while I was a nobody. But at University I came into my own. Her sports jock had to leave town for a year and in that time I was somehow able to fascinate her.

When he came back, things got a little tense. I was away for a month myself at that time, and he came calling for her. Afterward she confessed to me that while I was absent she had been in a dilemma. She had gone out with him a few times “for old times sake”, and there had been a certain amount of kissing while in his car. Well, that was her story anyway, and what could I do but take her word for it?

Funnily enough, I felt no anger at her two-timing like that. I was strangely fascinated by the thought of her getting passionate with another while supposedly being in love with me. She is normally sensible and with good self-control, very conscious that she should do the “right thing”. I almost wished I could have been there to see her get so physically worked up over someone; worked up enough to let down her guard and misbehave like that. Anyway, she came back to me and I forgave her completely.

She could never really be described as a sex machine. I mean, not the stuff of which wild erotic stories are based, though how good an indication is that of the average joe? I found her very physically attractive and would always want to perform all kinds of undignified acts upon her person. She liked me doing stuff to her, but was herself quite passive in bed and never that inspired to explore what kind of things might make *me* climb the walls in a frenzy. A lazy lover, I suppose.

She had not been a virgin when we started up with each other, but had not enjoyed oral and hadn’t yet had an orgasm. Not by herself, or with anyone else. I felt quite proud that I was the first one to go down on her properly, to produce for the first time that characteristic shortness of breath, clutching at the sheets, trembling of the hips, and inner cunt squeezing that indicates she has just gone over the top. Nothing spectacular, not like anything you might see in an Ed Powers video, but she was certainly capable of enjoying herself.

So we had done a bit of exploring of our sexuality since we first got together, but it had mostly been me exploring her sexuality, and I found it to be pretty “straight”. We usually did foreplay until she came, and ended up with my still-hardening prick getting slipped into her for a traditional missionary-style finale. She has never come from having a cock inside her. She likes to hold my cock in her mouth while we do 69, and says that doing so seems to make her orgasm more intense. But she never wanted to get vigorous enough to make me come in her mouth. She had already been rooted up the arse by her sports jock, quite clumsily it seemed, since she did not care to repeat the experience. My own ambition to someday try a rear entry has had to remain unfulfilled.

But now, ten or so years down the track, things were getting worse rather than better. Quality had not improved, and quantity had dropped to almost zilch. Our sex life seemed still-born. So much yet to explore. And with jobs like ours, so little time.

Sex is not the be-all-and-end-all, but I still think it is pretty important. After having sex, I really feel like I am ready to mount my foaming charger and rush off to slay dragons for her. During long periods of sexual drought, I can’t be bothered very much with her, or with my work, or with much of anything else really. I end up feeling most uninspired.

But sex was not the only problem, it was just part of the bigger problem, that we talked less and less, would hardly ever hug or kiss or hold hands. I’d found myself avoiding her so that I wouldn’t get my head bitten off over stuff like a few soapsuds.

I found all this pretty depressing. It was the first time in my life I’d ever had to deal with real depression. You know, what doctors might refer to as “clinical depression”. Not that I was certain what that means, but it was like something was eating at me. I felt angry with her, with myself, I thought I must be some kind of a loser, I wanted to hurt myself, get the urge to suddenly drive my car into a power pole, or one day just walk out with nothing but my passport and credit card. All pretty cowardly responses, I have to admit.

And it was two-way thing. There must have been fault with me as well as her. When I am angry or depressed I get crabby, say things that are sarcastic, let things she says or does wind me up more than they should. None of this would have helped me to stay on her good side.

But why wouldn’t she talk about it? It was like a news blackout, we had to pretend that this was normal, or wasn’t happening! It is easier to put up with lack of physical contact, if the person you are accustomed to contacting would just say “I’m really sorry, I’m going through a bad patch, I hope you can bear with me, I really appreciate it that you are not cheating on me or running after prostitutes in the meantime, someday we will get it on again”. But no, there was nothing to indicate that this was a storm worth weathering.

After a time I would let myself get crabbier and crabbier, just trying to get a rise out of her, trying to get some kind of acknowledgment that we had a problem here. But neither of us dared to say anything out loud, maybe fearing that we’d find out there was really nothing left for us.

Finally, it came to the surface. Out of the blue she asked me, “Are you going to be around for very much longer?”

We were in the car when she said it, but I can’t drive and deal with emotional turmoil all at the same time. I pulled over.

“Do you want me to go?” I asked.

“I’ve thought about it, and the answer is no, I don’t.”

“Why are we so miserable, though?”

“I dunno. I’m always so tired. There are never enough hours in the day. Or maybe I don’t have enough hormones, or something.”

“Why can’t we take time out? Just for each other?”

“You know what my job is like. It’s full on, one slip and you’re dead.”

“Sometimes I wish I were dead.”

This was hard, I was on the verge of tears and couldn’t think straight. There seemed to be no way out.

I said “You don’t want to be touched anymore.”

“Yes I do. I miss being hugged.”

“It never seems to suit you when I want to.”

“Well, keep trying, don’t give up.”

So after that I did keep trying but it was like trying to hug a wooden post. And she didn’t talk about it any more. I gave up. I no longer expected anything physical from her. In fact, as the weeks became months, I did my best to stop thinking of her in a physical way altogether.

I thought of other people though. Sex became like an obsession. I would fantasize about anyone, and anything, except my wife. Fat ladies. Skinny ladies. Black ones. Asian ones. Ones with big tits. Ones with small tits but puffy nipples.

I started surfing the net using my computer at work, going to all manner of XXX sites. This was risky, since my transmissions were not necessarily private. It became like an addiction, and ate into my productivity. It was crazy and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop. Bill Clinton and I could have had a lot to talk about. My desk drawer was loaded with disks of images of fat ladies, midgets, pregnant ladies, bd-sm, sex between women and dogs, people pissing on each other, it was weird what I was downloading and jacking off to. I had retreated into a private dreamworld.

It reminded me of a book I once read about the Mafia Boss of Bosses Paul Castellano, who supposedly told some FBI agents that he started an affair with his Columbian maid because one morning in bed he looked down at his wife and came to the realization that he never ever wanted to make love to her again.

I was now looking at my wife in that same way, and was wondering what to do next with my life. I couldn’t bring myself to touch her any more. One of these days I would either be outta here, or else swinging from a rope.

She knew things were frostier than ever, and made one more attempt to get us back on track.

“Lets get away for a bit. Take some time out. Get to know each other again.”

So as soon as there was a lull in the fighting at our workplaces, we took off to a tropical resort.

We started off guardedly, but gradually relaxed a bit more as the truce took hold.

On the first night we had dinner on a candlelit terrace, a bit of wine (not too much, because it can make her sick), and started off talking mainly about work but at least we were talking. And that was another thing that persuaded her to take me on in the first place; generally I am a pretty good listener.

A stroll along the sandy beach afterward in the darkness, holding hands, looking at the stars, feeling balmy tropical breezes, listening to the faroff bass- boom of the surf, the nearer bass-boom of the resort niteclub, and so on and so forth, you get the picture!

I had to admit she looked nice, with a new haircut and long evening dress that hugged her figure, still pretty trim after all this time. Any man should be proud to be in her company.

But I was still awkward about touching her, and was just holding her hand lightly in mine, not taking things any further. Even being this close somehow felt embarrassing.

We made our way back to our room and got ready for bed.

I showered first, and she went next while I hopped into bed and read a magazine. When she came out of the bathroom, she was completely naked, and she leapt straight in under the covers.

In case you missed the significance of that, she is a person who ALWAYS sleeps with t-shirt and panties on. Getting into bed naked is her way of saying that she is ready for sex.

Problem is, I didn’t know if I was.

She waited expectantly, but I couldn’t yet move a muscle.

“Come on” she said, “tonight you get lucky!”

Well, thanks a bunch.

She was only partly covered by the sheet, and I could see her breasts. When she lies on her back they flatten out to nothing, but she has very big nipples. Almost the size of grapes, and constricted at their base which makes them even more berry-like.

There was a time when I would gladly dangle off the end of one, teasing and tonguing until they were both hard like bullets.

But not tonight. I just felt empty, devoid of arousal, incapable of regarding her as a sexual being. In fact, more than empty, I almost felt disgusted. It was as if I had kissed my own grandmother, and she had slipped me some tongue.

“Don’t go to any trouble, I think I’ll pass.”

“WHAT!”

She was giving me a funny look.

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“You’re serious!”

“Sorry, afraid so.”

She was silent for a while, but looking at me hard.

“Why not?”

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just not used to thinking of you in that way anymore.”

“At least try hugging me. Please.”

I compromised and held her hand, but stiffly and awkwardly. She knew I was holding back, and wasn’t happy about it.

“Why can’t you hold me?”

Why not indeed. I seemd to have shrunk that part of my brain away to almost nothing, filling those spaces instead with all sorts of weird and poisonous rubbish, various kinks and vices the like of which the internet seems to have something for everyone. Maybe if I tied her up, put a bag on her head, and covered her with jello first? She would never go for it, and quite frankly, neither would I.

“I could hold you, but my heart would not be in it. And I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That if I do start to like it again, things will soon be back to normal and I will have to go through another six months of learning to go without you again.”

She was starting to get annoyed now.

“So what will it take?”

“I really don’t know, there’s been a lot of damage done. Maybe we need some kind of a fresh start.”

“You can be a real bastard!”

“I’m not trying to be – honest!”

“Fresh start – I’ll give you a bloody fresh start!”

I half-expected her to try and hit me. She was capable of it when really furious. Sometimes it was only by physically hurting me that she could calm down again.

She sat up, keeping herself covered with the sheet.

“So you can’t be loving towards me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You think we need a fresh start?”

“Looks like it.”

She got up and pulled on a pair of panties. Her Long, clinging dress pulled back on over her head. No bra, as none was necessary.

“If you want a new start, then come on downstairs and get it!”

“What?”

“I’m going down to that niteclub. I’ll wait at the bar for you to come and pick me up. Pretend you never met me before. Forget who I am, look at me as someone new. Come and chat me up, or feel me up, then if it’s not too much trouble, see if maybe you can fuck my brains out!”

She was opening the door.

“And if you decide that its not worth a try, then don’t be still here when I come back.”

The door closed, and she was gone.

I lay back and stared into space for a while. It looked like things had finally come to the crunch. And I couldn’t blame her for laying down an ultimatum. A girl has a right to expect that her man will love her to bits, and if I was incapable of expressing that love then there was really nothing left for us.

After a while, and in a bit of a daze, I pulled on a shirt and long trousers, and got ready to go down to this niteclub. I got there about half an hour after she had stormed out of the room.

The place was full, it was Saturday night. I didn’t see her straight away, she was not at the bar like she said she would be.

Then I spotted her among the dancers, with a dark and reasonably handsome stranger. I guess I should have realized that a lone woman of her charms was not going to be ignored for very long in a place like this.

I took up a position at the bar and ordered a rum and coke, then gazed at the dancers.

He was quite good, at least, better than me, and she has always been good on a dancefloor. She has the rhythm, and moves without seeming to move, nothing flashy but very sexy. Even in my currently jaded state, I had to admit that much. Add to that the fact that her plain-coloured clinging dress made it very obvious that she didn’t have a bra on, and I could see why this chap had made a move on her. I caught him glancing more than once at her big pointy nipples.

She saw me at the bar, though she didn’t make it obvious to him. She looked away, then looked back at me, no doubt wondering why I didn’t go over and try to cut in.

I was in no hurry. It had been a while since I had seen her in action, and I was curious to see how she would handle any attempts by this fellow to get better acquainted. It was all pretty harmless at the moment, just your regular disco boogie stuff, which allows looking but no touching. A slow dance would get more interesting.

They were finished dancing, heading for a booth at the back. She sat opposite him and they were deep in conversation. Just occasionally she glanced my way, wondering why the heck I didn’t come and extricate her. But it appeared to me she was getting on just fine with this guy. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed at something he said, and she was doing more than her bit to hold up her end of the conversation.

A slow number, and this time she tugged him to get up and dance. It started off okay, just a conventional ballroom-dance hold on to each other, but before long the hand on her waist had descended to a buttock. She made no attempt to stop it, though she looked at me as if to say “You better hurry up.”

But I was fascinated by the sight of this stranger moving his hand lightly across my wife’s arse. I wondered what she thought of it? She must be trying to make me jealous; well, it was working to a certain extent but I was also finding the spectacle quite erotic. And for someone who claimed to have hormone trouble, I wondered how far she would be willing to go.

That slow dance was followed by another, the DJ no doubt encouraged by the good turnout of couples who wanted to rub up against each other. This time our gentleman friend had both hands on my wife’s bum, pulling her closer to him. I don’t know if she was creating any state of arousal in him or not, but if he sported any kind of erection at all then it was by now firmly pressed against her stomach. Her hands were up on his hips, a fairly safe area, but not exactly fending him off strenuously.

They sat down again, this time closer together in the booth, and my wife’s body language had changed from reserved to intimate. Their conversation was again deep, and I had no idea what they were saying but they seemed to have much to talk about. His hand was on hers, while she was looking into his eyes and glancing at me less and less. Well, if she was trying to make the point that *someone* out there found her attractive, she was certainly rubbing it in.

They sat out a couple of rocky numbers, and got up again for the next slow dance. Same as before, her bottom was being firmly gripped by a strong pair of hands as she leaned against him. He tried to kiss her on the mouth, but she turned her head so that all he got was the soft skin at the side of her face, below her ear. I saw a tongue momentarily flicker at her earlobe.

About an hour had passed by this time, as the social barriers between them slowly melted. I wondered what my wife was trying to prove by all this. was she provoking jealousy but hoping I’d come to claim her? Or was this her way of calling it quits, I was too late?

After this dance ended, they were heading to the exit. He was leading her along by the hand. I gave them two minutes head start, then went outside myself.

I couldn’t see which way they went at first, then caught a glimpse of her pale dress between the palm trees as they disappeared toward the beach. I followed, only just keeping them in sight. I wanted to make sure he was not some kind of a serial killer. And I wanted to see what they got up to.

A lot of cloud cover had come over, so the night was almost pitch black apart from a glow of city lights on the far horizon. I could only just make out the fact that they had made their way to a short wooden pier. The soft sand hid my footfalls, so I arrived undetected on the beach by the base of the pier, well hidden in shadow, and sat on the sand.

I could see them vaguely outlined against the horizon, standing about forty feet away, and from time to time could hear a low murmur of their voices. Then silence, and I could see that they were closely intertwined.

I have always had a voyeuristic streak in me. I felt anger and jealousy, but it was tempered by a fascination with what my wife might be doing with this man. I could barely see what was going on, though my imagination was running riot. There was lust in the air, and my cock was beginning to stir in my pants.

She had her back to me, and their heads were together. Her pale dress was barely outlined in the darkness, and gradually its shape changed, getting smaller and smaller until it was half its size. A starker white triangle materialized in the darkness, but this too began to change its shape, turning into a thin horizontal line that floated downward to about knee height.

They held this pose for about five minutes, and I could only wonder what orifices were being explored during that time.

Then things suddenly changed. I could now only see one upright torso, and from the broadness of the shoulders it had to be a male one. I got up to my knees to try and see more, then made out the pale outline of my wife’s dress again, rising up barely to his waist this time. His arms were directed downward to her head, or was it her shoulders, guiding, aiming, pulling her to him. They stayed like this for another five minutes or so. I couldn’t work out if there was really movement going on, or was it just my image of them shimmering in the dim light? I had my cock out in my hand, and was slowly stroking it.

Then they were both down on the deck, and now I couldn’t see anything. I could tell only roughly where they were, and their forms were fused in a way that made it difficult to distinguish one from the other. After straining my eyes for another couple of minutes, I gave up and turned to go.

I went back to my room and lay there on the bed, still dressed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. The enormity of what I had witnessed was still only just sinking in. And rather than try and stop it, I had allowed it to carry on. Not because I felt powerless; because it was turning me on. I still had a big hard- on, that occasionally twitched in my pants.

I was as much revolted as I was pleased, by this apparent ability to get aroused over my wife fucking another man. God, I must be sick! But you can’t argue with a hard-on.

I heard the sound of her key in the door. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at me. There was a long silence.

“You were supposed to come and get me.”

“I did, but you seemed occupied.”

“Well, I decided to check that I wasn’t losing my touch. But I wanted you to come and take over.”

“I wanted to see how far it would go.”

“It went past the point of no return, thanks to you!”

“You could have stopped anytime.”

“I guess so. But he was very charming, and you were just a misery-guts, and I wanted to feel wanted, and I was mad with you, and I wanted to make you jealous … and I thought we might be all finished with each other anyway … I don’t know, there’s several things I could say to you … though nothing would make it right.”

“So what did the two of you go and do?”

“He got sucked, and I got fucked.”

“Well, that’s it, then. It should now be all over between us.”

“Yes, it should, and I’m fully expecting you to kick me out. But I can’t help wondering, why do you have such a big hard-on?”

Sure enough, I was still just about busting through my trousers, as even the most casual observer could plainly see. To confirm her suspicions, she put her hand on my fly and gave my turgid dick a brief squeeze.

“Well, its because, I can’t help wondering what your pussy looks like right now.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, I do. Show me.”

She stood, and hiked her dress up above her waist. She no longer had any panties on. She has long, straggly pubic hair, confined to a neat but densely- packed bush. I was able to see a definite parting down the middle.

“Lie down.”

She eased herself onto the bed and lay back. I sat at the foot and guided her knees until her legs were bent back and widely seperated.

Around her vagina, she was a sticky mess. Her bush was flattened out, the long black hairs pasted down wetly against her puffy outer lips, glistening with the same moisture that made her pretty inner lips gleam in the light of the bedside lamp. She reached with her hands and spread her pussy, to show me inside. Her gaping pinkness got sloppier the further up I looked.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve just been fucked by a total stranger! Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Well, yes, I suppose it does. And I want to remove all traces of it. Mind if I lick?”

“You’re weird! I didn’t know I was married to such a weirdo!”

“There’s a lot you don’t know. It might be worth finding out. Now, sit across my face!”

She obliged, getting up and planting her knees either side of my head, lowering her slushy pussy onto my mouth. I inhaled deeply, drawing in a good whiff of the salty smells that emanated from her insides.

And now I could taste her, licking and dabbing with my tongue, slurping up the sex fluids that had left her genitals feeling so slick and lubricated. I tried to penetrate her with my tongue as deeply as I could, forming it into a stiff little cock that thrust up into her pulpy interior.

She leaned forward and, fumbling with my pants, freed my aching prick. She lay down full-length upon me, turned her head to the side and pulled my cock into her mouth. The second prick she had put in her mouth tonight. She suckled on me gently, not enough to make me come, but then she never did. I find it hard to concentrate when my mouth is full of pussy anyway.

My saliva was combining with the various juices already present, and I used my tongue to smear it over her clitoris, peeping at me from under its little hood. I zeroed in upon it and my tongue did a dance against the apex of her crevice that soon had her sucking my dick in the same rhythm. My hands encircled her thighs and reached up to spread her buttocks apart, giving me more room to move and allowing a finger to probe between vagina and arsehole.

She was enjoying it, and soon started to grind her mound more firmly against my face, adjusting the angle of contact, holding my cock in her mouth in a gentle suction that tugged at it as she rocked her body up and down me. She would press down, then pull away, controlling the buildup of feelings in her loins, delaying the inevitable moment for a good ten minutes or so. Then I felt her convulsing and her thighs gripped my head tighter for a minute or so. She lay on me like a dead weight, and my cock flopped out of her mouth.

We were silent for a minute or two.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Did that other fella make you come?” I asked.

“Yes, sort of. He fingered me while we were standing up and kissing. It was nice, but not as good as this one. I really like having your cock in my mouth while you lick me.”

“I know. And I really like having my cock sucked. But you always give up too soon.”

“Don’t you prefer fucking? I thought guys always like cocks in pussies the best?”

“Well yes, ultimately, but not right away! Guys need lots of foreplay too! An orgasm delayed is an orgasm enhanced. Besides, do you know I have never ever had a chance to come in your mouth?”

“Ooh gross! Is that what you want?”

“Just this once.”

“Okay then, by way of an apology …”

She got up slowly beside me on her hands and knees. Holding my dick straight up with one hand, she lowered her open mouth over its end and wrapped her lips about the shaft. She started slowly bobbing her head up and down, which felt very nice, but her teeth were catching me under the rim of my cockhead. I winced each time it happened.

“Is that how you did it to him?”

“Yes, why?”

“He must have been a true gentleman if he didn’t mention the pain your teeth would’ve been inflicting.”‘

“Oh, sorry! No wonder he was in such a hurry to put me on my back. And I just thought all you men were like that!”

“All us men can happily have their cocks sucked for hours. But no teeth, please.”

She tried again, covering her teeth with her lips this time. Much better! I could really feel her sliding up and down my shaft. But the cockhead could do with some more friction, otherwise we would be here all night.

“See if you can apply some suction each time you pull your head away”, I suggested helpfully.

“No wonder I’ve never been keen on this, all you do is complain!”

But she was only joking, and showed no signs of wanting to give up, like she usually would.

Oh, beautiful! Absolutely spot on! Her cheeks clung to my pole as she pulled her head away each time, the soft linings sliding deliciously over my cockhead. Of her own volition she started doing the occasional tongue-swirl over its swollen helmet. I reached down to where her breasts dangled over me, grasping her big berry-like nipples and gently fondling them. She looked so beautiful, her eyes closed in concentration, lips tight-stretched around my upright penis, body rocking as she bobbed her head up and down along my length. I was in heaven! She had never gone on for this long before without quitting.

“Play with my nipples” I whispered, pulling up my shirt. I just *love* it when there is a fingernail being flicked across one nipple while my cock is being sucked. I reached out an arm so that I could get my hand between her legs, cupping her mound and inserting a finger deep into her soft, open passage. The combination of cock-sucking and nipple-tickling was causing a stirring in my balls, where a head of steam had been building up nicely.

“I’m going to come soon. Whatever you do, DON”T stop sucking!”

She looked at me in slight trepidation, but didn’t slacked her pace.

Whoops! Thar she blows! I jerked my hips in time to her head-bobbing, taking care not to go in too deep but wanting to increase the speed of her oral movements at that critical moment, when everything tingled and buzzed and began to get very sticky. She kept going, and took it all, until I was done and my dick started to shrivel.

She pulled away, and long threads of semen swung between her lips and my cockhead, before snapping back onto her bosom. She started pushing big clots of my load out of her mouth with her tongue, and it dribbled down her chin. She only looked slightly disgusted.

“Here, allow me.”

I held out my arms toward her, and she lay upon my chest, bringing her sticky mouth onto mine. What’s good enough for the goose is good enough for the gander. We french-kissed slowly but deeply, so that I could lick and suck at her mouth until it was clean of all peckersnot. We carried on kissing for sometime after that.

Finally she buried her face into the side of my neck and we just held each other.

She spoke first.

“You’re not mad at me for screwing that man tonight?”

“You’re not mad at me for being such a shit-head?”

“I could never be mad for long, if you made it a more regular habit to eat me out like that.”

“And while you’re giving me blowjobs like that one, I could follow you to the ends of the earth!”

She giggled at the mental picture conjured up by that last remark. Then she got more serious.

“Did it really turn you on to know that someone had just pronged me?”

“It turns me on to know that you are capable of such passion. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Actually, neither did I.”

“What happened out there. What was different?”

“Well, I’ve never been one to flirt. I wouldn’t dream of it, whether you were watching or not. I’m normally so sensible, plus I feel like I’m kinda plain-looking anyway. But tonight I decided to flirt in front of you, just to teach you a lesson. And I got excited about it! Especially about you watching. I suppose I went on a bit of a power trip.”

“Power, how?”

“Well, power over you, since you couldn’t screw me yourself but as soon as I started flirting you followed us around like a dog after a bitch on heat.”

“And power over him. He kept staring at my tits. I never thought my tits were worth looking at. But I realized he could see my nipples, and I liked showing them off to him! It was power to keep him dangling, just-about tripping over his hard-on like that. When we danced, I rubbed my tits against him, and I could feel his cock poking into me. When his thigh started pressing me between my legs, well, it started an itch that had to be scratched!”

“So … are we going to do this again?”

“Get out! I’m not screwing a different man every week just to make you happy! I could catch some nasty diseases that way.”

“No, I wouldn’t recommend it either. But this flirting. This showing-off. I would love to watch you showing off to other men. If it really makes you horny, I will be only too pleased to fuck you silly afterwards.”

“Well, there could be room for some exploration here. Provided we can find the time in our busy schedules.”

“Honey, we will *make* the time!”

“And do what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We could go shopping. Buy you a few choice outfits. You could flash at a couple of people, under controlled circumstances of course. Just see what reaction you get! Maybe go dancing, wear something sexy, show your tits, see if guys want to rub up against you … .”

My imagination was starting to overheat.

“Tease them. But if you want to fuck, do it with me!”

“Poor guys! Isn’t it kind of exploiting them a little, leaving them high and dry like that?”

“You’ll be giving them something to jack off about; believe me, they will appreciate it!”

“Hmmm … it would be kinda nice to know that little- old-me had been the inspiration for a mess in somebody’s shorts …”

At that, our conversation tailed off. She was slowly drifted off into a contented sleep, her arm linked into mine. I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shouders. It looked like we had just dicovered something new about ourselves. Even if we did have to learn it the hard way. Even if we didn’t know how far it would go or where it might all end up. We were still together, and had something else to look forward to besides work.