Installment 2

 

 

So this led to the first serious time that I coerced her to put on a "show" for me.  The first of several until she refused to do anymore.

 

This first time was an obvious ploy for me to play on Annie, because she was still sexually intrigued by my friend, whom I will call Gary.

 

Gary had been my friend even before he was hers.  I had known him since I was a teenaged boy, and in fact he had joined me in peeping into our neighbor girl's window more than once.  He always claimed he saw more than I did, swore he saw her take her bra off, but I did not believe him.  He lied about things like that a lot. 

 

Gary had dated Annie before I did, as I said, and of course he had tales to tell, about what she let him "do" and what she let him "see."  But that was a long time ago.  Gary was not guy to get a lot of girls, in truth. But I knew he still had a "hard-on" for Annie.  For that matter, a lot of my friends did, trying to cop a feel when we were drinking together.  And she being the only girl in the crowd and a "good sport" and being the only married woman they knew, made her a great attraction.  If other girls they knew might refuse them because they were virgins, they did not have to worry about that with her, and—hey—if she got pregnant, who is to know who the daddy is?  Somehow too the idea that she was regularly fucking meant she was available to fuck, even if she was married.  What's another fuck to a married woman who gets fucked all time? That was the mindset, I think.

 

So Gary was at her often, she admitted.  And so were the others. It was something of a thing to talk about among them.  There were some exaggerated stories. But Gary had had some success to brag about and particularly the idea that she willingly gave him a blow-job and, he claimed, swallowed it, that was the like Holy Grail of sex—to find a pretty girl to do that, who enjoyed doing that, who swallowed it—that was the what each wanted more than anything.  Forget falling in love. If my wife would suck them off, she would be their favorite girl.

 

So in the twisted view of all my male friends, my wife was like hunting a doe, and stalking her sexually was the main recreation for them that summer.  My working days (while most of them still lived at home, sponging off their parents) meant she was just easy prey for them; besides she had shown she was ready to be pursued.  How often had they found her in her flimsy nightie, with or without me around? How often had she let them put their hands up her sweatshirt when I was out of the room?

 

When I finally did it with her the first time, it was on an impulse.  Gary had come over on a Thursday night and we had been drinking, although I had to work the next day and really should not have been, but he could get me started, so there you go. Annie came home about ten from her waitress job and changed clothes—not putting on her nightie, like I had hoped she would—but put on one of my t-shirts and some shorts and joined us on the sofa and tried to catch up with our drinking. We had no air-conditioning. It was a warm humid night.  We had all the windows open to get what breeze we could.  But just sitting there we were all perspiring.  The TV had on reruns of Happy Days.

 

Annie was up to our level drunkenness in a hurry.  She was always a cheap date.  A few drinks would do her.  I suppose the notion I had of her doing a "show" had been on my mind since Gary had come.  I was disappointed she had not come out in her nightie, but the way Gary was looking at her, and her sitting next to him so comfortably, feet tucked up under her on the sofa, laughing and teasing him when he flirted with her, I think it was just too much.  I went to the bathroom and came back, hoping to find something going on, but nothing doing.  I motioned for her to come over and talk to me.  That is when I told her what I wanted; she looked at me seriously; she did not object; all she said was: "Are you sure?"  I said: "Yes... If you're sure?"  She looked at me seriously and repeated: "You're sure?"  I kissed her and told her it was what I wanted.  She turned from me slowly and went back to the sofa. 

 

I pretended that I was going to bed.  That is what she would tell Gary.  I didn't turn the light on in our bedroom. I stood on the bed and removed the screen from our window and hoisted myself out onto the lawn between the apartment buildings and crawled along, taking care to stay out of direct light showing up against the brick wall of the next building, creeping close enough to peer into the windows over our sofa where Annie had come to sit again, as she was before, holding now another drink.  She and Gary watched TV.

 

Nothing happened.  I almost thought I was going to have to crawl back through the window and get her to come in the bedroom and explain it to her, to get her to start something.  But I did not need to.  I think she was just thinking it over and waiting for Gary to make the first move.  Gary was probably waiting to make sure I was asleep.  I could hear the TV.  They did not talk.  I didn't know for sure what she told him.  Had she told him I was going to sleep? Then during a commercial it started: he turned and put his hand on her thigh and leaned toward her and kissed her.  She kissed him back He put his hand on her front.  She did not remove it.  She was stilling kissing him without resistance. She was still holding her drink.  It was awkward but he fumbled to put his hand under the T-shirt, feeling her bare waist and raising his hand slowly..   Still kissing.  She said something I did not hear.  She was smiling at him.  She shook her head.  What did that mean? 

 

But he took her drink from her and put it on the coffee table while she looked at him, smiling.  Then as he was not looking at her, she glanced up at the window.  I don't think she saw me, but she must have known I was there.  Gary had turned back to her and sat closer to her on the sofa and leaned in to kiss her; she leaned back against the arm of it, putting her hands up as he leaned against he body to kiss her warmly; she, closing her eyes, kissed him back.  He put his hand under her T-shirt and raised it easily to feel her breasts; still she did not resist, or refuse, and still she kissed him warmly.

 

I suppose Gary was guessing he had better press his advantage, but I expect he was also thinking that she would put a stop to it, like she always had, although there must have been at least the one time where she gave in and he had got what he was after. Because of that, he wanted to try again.  He said things to her I did not hear.  She looked warm, flushed; she nodded. I saw but did not hear her say: "Yes." And as she looked into his eyes, he took the bottom of the T-shirt and lifted it up, pausing to look at her bare tits, with her head trussed up inside it, and to suck up a nipple, and lick around the other one, and then pulled the shirt off her head and tossed it to the floor.  She, leaning back again, smiled at him as he looked at her tits and said something, looking at her face now and feeling her breasts, lightly teasing her nipples.  The main TV program had come back on.

 

They talked like this.  He, playing with her breasts; she smiling at him, replying.   My wife, by the way, had small breasts in those days, before she had kids, and they got milk-filled and her nipples widened and darkened.  In those days they were a soft bouncy balls, with puffy nipples the size of walnuts, a pale plum color, and his attentions to them drew them to wet puckered points.  He took off his shirt.  The both of them were glowing with perspiration.  He wanted to fuck her.  I think he told her so.  She smiled at him but shook her head.  He was not going to give up. He took hold the waist band of her shorts—and underpants too—and drew them off her hips, out from under her as she sat, not fighting him, and with one hand immediately plunged between her legs, his other stripped her shorts and underpants away and to the floor.  She parted her legs to let him finger her; she was obviously sexually aroused.  She was caressing his neck as he kissed her, feeling her cunt, two or three fingers deep in her, and began to earnestly finger-fuck her.  She looked ready to fuck.

 

He must have thought so.  He stood and pushed his pants and undershorts down to show her his erection.  This was actually the first time I had seen another man's erection in the flesh.  Not Annie's first time.  She had seen this one before.   He was smaller than me, but it stuck out straight up, circumcised, its randy knob darker than the shaft.   She stared at it, smiling, while he stared between her wide-open legs, as she laying back on the sofa and left herself exposed to him on purpose.  He moved to mount her, leaning over her, and laying on top of her. 

 

His back was to me and I could not see her face.  She did not put up her hands to stop him. She did not resist. He was between her legs, her legs parted wider for him, to receive him.  He pressed himself against her.   He must have put his cock up inside her.  I could not see it go in, and wished I could, that is how intently I was watching and wishing her to do this.  I started masturbating myself.

 

Her right hand went lightly to his back, she gently held him.  He began fucking her.  His buttock clenching as he hunched and pushed for penetration.   He stroked it several times.  But her left hand now pushed against him.  She pushed him to back off and sit down.  His penis slipped out, waggled where he sat, I could see it as he sat back, wet with her.  She sat up and if she said something to him, I did not see it or hear it.  Perhaps she just guided him gently, but she leaned forward, over his lap, taking his penis in her hand, feeling it lightly with her fingertips as she gazed into his eyes and then leaning so that her breasts grazed his thighs, she put her mouth on his erection, taking it in by half, closing her eyes as she did, and began to bob her head smoothly on it and using her tongue on it (or so I guessed by his pleased response). His hand went to the top her head, his eyes closed.  She began to suck him off, lightly bobby her head on his prick as he sat back, as he relaxed and enjoyed it.  He spoke to her.  She did not take her mouth off of him.  She almost smiled.  Her eyes closed, flushed, she caressed his penis as she sucked on it; she pumped it with her hand now as she bobbed her head on it.  His eyes closed tightly.  He stiffened.  He held her head tightly with both his hands, though he did not need to, and he came freely in her mouth. She stiffened also.  She, very flushed, holding his penis in a fist, swallowed it.  I could see how she swallowed it.  She continued holding his penis tightly, not moving her head on his penis, but obviously moving her tongue, obviously sucking eagerly, while he let out the breath he had been holding since he began to ejaculate into her mouth, and sighing and smiling broadly, he said something endearing to her as he stroked her hair and watched her face, her mouth smiling on his spent penis, finished.  She lifted her head from it, looking at it, squeezing it, kissed the head of it, and then glanced up at me knowingly, at the window where I was hiding, as if to say: "Are you happy now?"

 

 

She looked at Gary sheepishly and laughed at something he said, putting her fingers to her mouth to wipe what she thought might be on her lips.  She cleared her mouth of the taste of him and reached for her drink and sipped it, while he reached under her leaning torso and felt her dangling breast.  She picked up her T-shirt from the floor, stood and pulled it over her head and smoothed it to her body.  It did not quite cover her front completely.  She went to the kitchen as she was; he looking at her bare ass as she walked away and made herself another drink; he, studying her pussy as she returned with a fresh drink, said something and she laughed and shook her head of hair and smoothed it from her face and said something sweetly to him.  The both of them looking down at his still erect penis and he said whatever it was again and she laughed and shook her head and sipped her drink. He sighed and stood and pulled up his undershorts over his erection, then pulled up, zipped up his pants.  He sat.  She tucked her feet under her legs, her thighs bare, a bit of her tummy showing under the T-shirt, but how she sat her sex was modestly hid from him, but for the showing a portion of pubic hair.  They talked quietly.  The TV was still on.  Another rerun of Happy Days was starting.

 

I crept back into the bedroom. Got into bed and masturbated a second time.  She did not come to bed until well after 3 am and I wondered then if she had let him fuck her after all, or sucked him off a second time.  I had hardly slept and when she got into bed I awoke and I immediately and passionately fucked her; it felt like I had been the second one inside her that night, which made me only more passionate. And for her part, she could not get enough.  I called in "sick" for work in the morning, went back to bed and fucked her to wake her up and fucked her again before we got up for breakfast.  We fucked all day.