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From: anthony anthony <tonytony3@juno.com>
Subject: {ASSM} tonytony3's "Again?" a Wife watching story
Date: Sat, 5 Feb 2000 17:10:03 -0500
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"Again", a wife watching story from my files.
Enjoy!
tonytony3@juno.com
----------------------------------------------
It was scary.
Erotic, but scary.
Exciting, but scary.
Matthew "Matt to my friends, call me that,"
was a smooth dancer. Dancing was easy,
in the arms of a good dancer it's always
easy. Easy following his lead, easy making
your moves conform to his.
Easy being enveloped in his arms, held
tightly, feeling his arm around my back,
holding me tightly, guiding me.
He held me, pressed against me, I could
feel pressure along his body, my breasts
pressing against his chest, him, warm,
pressing against my groin. I couldn't be
surprised, I had invited it, that pressure,
returning his with my own, one of my legs
between his, one of his, between mine, a
mutual invasion, an intimicy in public.
It was a sexy, slow dance, our feet moved
hardly at all, our bodies only a little,
inspired by the music's rythym. His head
lowered a little, I could feel his lips, at least
his lips, maybe more than that, at my ear.
Pete was still looking at me, looking at us,
wrapped in each other's arms. I watched
him sitting at the bar, looking out over the
floor, I watched my husband watch a man
being increasingly bold with me.
I stood a bit taller so I could, with eyes wide
open, reach Matt's ear, too, and excite him
a little more, excite him while Pete watched
me do that, so that Pete would be excited,
too. The plan was that Pete me excite
another man.
That's what Pete wanted to see. That's not
exactly right, that's only the start of what
Pete wanted to see.
Pete asked me to do this, Pete, who
wanted us to "expand our sexual horizons",
who wanted me to "cooperate", to let him
be a voyeur.
Aren't the subjects of a voyeur's attentions
to be unknowing? Or is that a Peeking
Tom? Or is it in mostly in the mind of the
voyeur, the Peeking Tom, the Peeking
Pete?
It didn't matter.
We were here, Pete and I, on vacation, and
I was acting like I was here alone, acting
available, no, not acting available, being
available, acting newly seperated.
"Would it be premature to ask 'Your place,
or mine?'", Matt whispered, holding me
tighter still, pressing against me, pressing
against my own pressure.
Is that the way it is these days? Meet
someone in a lounge, dance with them for a
couple of hours, and the presumption was
that the night would end in sex?
The stories we read on the internet made
me think so. Some stories, some forums,
only have their subject wife watching and
wife sharing, and Pete and I thought those
stories were pretty exciting.
Exciting enough so that for a while we
pretended we were doing it, and finally,
pretending wasn't enough.
We were here, this St. Patrick's Day, here
in Savannah, intending to live out a fantisy.
We were going to try wife watching if we
could the right man, the right opportunity.
And, we may have. "Matt, I'm
uncomortable, no, I'd be really frightened
to go with you . . ." -- I could feel his
disappointment -- "to your room." I paused,
enjoying the power, the teasing. "Would
you mind if we went to" --I nearly said
"Ours!" -- "to mine, for a while?"
"I can deal very nicely with that, Marsha, I'd
love to go to your room, with you. That
doesn't frighten me."
"For a while," I reminded him.
"Yes, for a while," he confirmed, holding me
a little tighter, a little closer, "now?"
"Soon," I told him, "I'm nearly ready, would
after this dance be soon enough?"
"I can wait that long," he said, pressing
himself against me, his intentions and his
erection both obvious.
"Yes. Wait," I assured him, "I hope it'll be
worthwhile."
The music stopped. Matt, holding my hand,
led me to the table we'd been using as a
base, as a place to hold glasses, as 'our
place', for the past two hours, and signaled
for a check. The barman was at our table in
an instant.
Pete saw the action, could read the
meaning into it, and I watched him scribble
a signiture on his tab and leave the room.
He was off, to take his position for the next
chapter in his voyeurism saga, to watch me
take part in the next chapter of "Marsha the
newly single woman, of the experimenting
kind."
"Ready?"
. "I want to finish my drink, cocktails help
me feel comfortable in unusual
cuircumstances," I told him. Well, that was
true, but I really wanted to give Pete a
couple of minutes to get ready.
In two minutes I was in the elevator with
Matt. "What floor?" he asked, and I pressed
15.
"Oh, that's the same as mine!"
I got our room's door open.
I was so new at this, so nieve.
Matt turned to the door and set the night
latch. "No one's going to be coming in," I
told him, "I saw you put the 'Do not disturb'
sign out."
"No one, Marsha dear, is going to go out,
either, not for a while!"
I adjusted the room lights, leaving the room,
well, light enough for my husband, and dark
enough for me.
"Your room's as nice as mine," Matt said,
looking at the king bed, at all of the
luggage. We had only unpacked some of
my things, Pete's were still in his suitcase,
his stuff, and he, were both out of sight.
The drapes to the balcony were mostly
closed, a corner was artfully caught on a
chair, leaving a small gap of window
exposed. The dark night gave no hint of
what was out there, gave no hint that Pete
was there, lurking, watching, getting, he
hoped, one of his fanticies fulfilled.
I turned the tv on, it added light, and the
hotel information channel had backgorund
music playing, very dancable music.
"More dancing? We could have done that
downstairs. I'm not here for dancing."
Instead, he took me into his arms. His head
moved towards mine, and mine towards
him, until lips met, opened, tongues
touched.
I pulled away, the feeling was that erotic,
that shocking.
"You don't like kissing me?"
"Yes, I do, it's just that. . ."
"Yes, you told me, I'm the first man other
than your husband who's touched you, or I
guess kissed you, in a long time."
"Yes."
"But you're seperated from him, you're here
alone."
"Ah, yes. . ."
"So get back over here!"
I did, I moved closer to him again, and
again lips met, this time mine were as
willing as his.
My mind is still full of the sensation of the
pressure of his lips, of tongues touching, of
him pulling me to him tightly, of his erection
pressing against me.
"Have fun with him, be open, be free,", Pete
pleaded a couple of hours ago. "If you find
someone you like, have a good time with
him."
I would do that, that was my plan.
"That's nice," Matt said, pausing, lips
parted but bodies close.
"Yes, nice," I said, just a little breathless.
"I'm new at this," I told him again.
"It's easy, I'll show you."
He held me close to him with one arm, and
the other found my wrist at his waist.
"First, let me show you something," he said,
holding my wrist, and moving it and my
hand from his waist, up to his chest.
To his lips.
He kissed my fingers.
He was looking at me, watching me very
carefully, as he guided my hand lower,
under his suit coat, down, until it was on his
belt buckle.
And lower still, how warm it was, and lower,
until I could feel him, it, warm, hard, long.
His fingers closed over mine, so I could
trace its length along his leg, find its end,
his fingers over mine closed mine over its
head, stroking it.
He watched me carefully, as my hand
traced along its shaft.
"Can you tell I'm excited, that I'm ready for
you?"
I nodded. "Yes, excited, ready, I can tell."
He put his hands on my shoulders, and
pushed me until I was arm's length from
him.
"There's no graceful way to do this," he told
me, as he shrugged off his suit coat, and
put it on the dresser.
He began pulling at his tie, and stopped,
looking at me.
"You too, this is the next part, you have to
getmundressed."
"I'll go in the bathroom," I started to tell him,
but he shook his head no. "Do it here.
There's nothing to hide now, nothing I won't
be seeing and tasting and pleasuring in a
couple of minutes. Do it here."
His tie was off, he was working on his shirt
buttons.
Why fool myself? I was here for this. I
wanted to enjoy every moment.
I took his hand in mine, turned my back to
him, drew him close. I on purpose faced the
balcony.
Matt understood what I wanted, both his
arms were around me, under mine, tracing
up and down my body, throat, over my
breasts, to my groin, while he nibbled at my
neck.
"Sexy lady!"
"Yes, I hope so, I hope I'm sexy."
Delicious!
Erotic!
I knew Pete would be thinking the same
thing.
I reached behind my neck, and moved my
hair to the side.
"My dress has a clasp at the neck, Matt,
would you get it?"
It took him only a minute to get it undone.
"Zipper, too?" he asked, and not waiting for
an answer, lowered it as it would go.
That's a very sensual feeling, when you
feel the tension in a dress relax as it opens.
The dress's tension across me may have
relaxed, but I didn't!
Matt's hands went around me at my waist,
and released the dress's belt. Now the
garment just hung from my shoulders,
loose, soft.
His hands moved to my hips, a little lower,
and I felt him lift my dress, felt it slide over
my slip, felt him change his grip so he was
holding its lower hem, and lift higher, until
the hem was to my breasts, the dress partly
inside out, draping over me.
"Lift your arms, darling," he said, and I did,
and my vision of the gap in the curtain
where my husband was was blocked, as
the dress went over my face, and stayed
blocked until the dress's neckline lifted over
my head, and now I could see the gap
again, this time not wearing a dress.
"Nice," he said, turning me around, looking
at me, "pretty slip, pretty lady."
He looked, and while looking, pulled at his
shirt, until it was unbuttoned, and off.
No undershirt was there, just a man's chest.
"You're reluctant, I'll go first," he told me.
He lifted one leg, pulled off a shoe, a sock,
and repeated that with the other leg.
I couldn't help staring at him, watching him.
He just kept looking at me, as his hands
went to his belt, and released it.
He kept looking at me as he unbuttoned the
waistband of his slacks.
"I hope you're ready for this," he said, and
as I nodded yes he gripped his pants and
shorts at his hips, and pushed down,
exposing his cock, his erect cock.
And kept looking as he lifted a leg to
release his pants from that foot, and the
other leg, so he was naked.
"You're not surprised, are you," he asked,
looking at me while I stared at him,
standing there, so confident, so assured,
"that I'm aroused, that I have an erection?
After all, you caused it."
So sexy.
"Now you, your clothes."
He bent his knees, and reached toward the
lower hem of my slip.
He stood, lifting it, taking it off as it turned
inside out.
"Lift your hands, darling, like before."
I did, and again the world vanished, only
diffused light through the dark material was
visible, and then, I could see him again,
and the slip was off, and tossed onto a pile
of clothing.
"Am I really the first, since your husband, to
do this to you?"
I nodded.
"Good, it's almost like you're a virgen."
"Now, the bra."
"It fastens in back."
"So turn around, I'll get it. I don't want to be
the only one naked in this room!"
I did turn my back to him.
He didn't start by reaching for the bra, his
arms were on my belly, and then up, and
over my breasts. I'm sure Pete was
watching every move, as Matt's arms traced
along the top of my breasts, then followed
the bra straps back.
There was a moment's increased tension
as his fingers grasped the clasp, then a
complete loss of tension, as it was opened..
It's such an odd feeling, that of a bra being
opened like that by a stranger, of it being
held up by my breasts instead of supporting
them.
"Arms forward now," he commanded, and I
obeyed.
I distracted myself by trying to see Pete
through the gap in the drapery. Matt had no
distractions. He pushed at the shoulder
straps, exposing me. A shrug, my shrug,
and the bra slid from my arms to my hands,
where I caught it, and placed it with the
other clothes on the floor.
And his arms, on my shoulders, moved
down, under my arms, and around, until his
hands were over my breasts, cupping them,
weighing them, playing with them, to my
nipples, their projection a physical
manifistation of my arousal..
"The first man since your husband to do
this?" he asked, moving so close I could
feel his penis pushing at my buttocks.
"Yes, the first," I assured him, it seemed to
be important to him.
"That's so good," he said, as his hands left
my breasts --I didn't want them to, that was
erotic -- and moved down to my hips.
His fingers slid under the elastic waistband
of my pantihose, and continued to push
down on my skin, carrying the hose with
them.
Do you remember, lady readers, the feeling
of having a new lover do that, of that
material moving over your belly,
downwards, over the butticks, downward,
and that moment when the band is tracing
down the front of your thighs, leaving all
above it nude.
Delicious, isn't it?
"Turn around, sit."
I did, and he knelt at my feet, and pulled. I
lifted my feet, extended my toes, and
watched the hose move from calf,
to ankle,
to feet,
to off.
Now there were two nude people in the
room.
"I want to take my time with you," he told
me, pulling at the bed cover.
I stood, close to the drapes, and helped,
and then the bed was uncovered, ready,
too.
He reached for me, and I remembered Pete
outside, and wanted him to see, so I lay
down, my feet toward the drapes, with Matt
behind me.
He knee walked on the bed until he was
beside me, his knees at my hips.
And bet over, twisting, so we could kiss
again.
The kiss, I knew, was a preamble to sex,
sex outside marriage, sex with a stranger,
sex I wanted.
He moved, and was no longer kissing my
lips, but my ear. I turned my head, making it
easier for him.
The sensation was thrilling, but he moved,
too soon, and his mouth found my breast,
his teeth teased at it.
More exteccy. But he moved again, was
kissing my belly.
"Your hands, give me your hands," he said
between kisses and licks, each moving
lower.
I caputred his face between my hands, but
that wasn't what he wanted.
No, he wanted something quite different
than that.
He directed my hands lower, positioning
them on either side of my vulva.
I felt his breath on my hands, he had
moved that much lower, and I was hoping
Pete could see.
His hands were over mine now, suggesting
motion.
"Spread yourself, make it easy for me."
Spread myself??? Like a common slut???
But I did, I did spread myself, legs apart,
vulva lips apart, spread so that my husband
would see, could see, deep into me.
Spread so that Matt could see, too, and
Oh God,
taste me,
probe there with his tongue,
I could feel his face against my hands,
his breath.
And oh, his tongue, touching, teasing.
I rotated my hips up, towards him, holding
myself as open as I could, my forefingers
moving there too, opening me wide, and
oh, his tongue, what his tongue was doing
to me, to my clit..
Oh Pete, why haven't you ever gone down
on me like this, like Matt is?
Maybe he'd learn, I knew he was watching,
I could feel him watching.
I felt an involantary contraction begin - an
orgasm!
An orgasm by mouth!
That doesn't often happen for me!
"Resoposity?"
"Huh? What, Matt? What did you say?"
"Resoposity?"
"I don't understand."
He lifted up, and turned to face me.
And moved, still facing me, so that his
knees were on either side of my waist, his
penis touching my belly.
And he moved, leaning over me, his cock
tracing up, between my breasts.
I took it in my hands, pressed it onto a
nipple, feeling its heat, its smoothness.
Matt moved again. "Return the pleasure,
Marsha, take me in your mouth, too."
He was kneeling high, Ihis penis pointing
down, I was sure Pete, looking in could see
it, could see it at my neck, and then against
my cheek.
Matt lifted higher, his scrotum hanging
down, his penis at my lips.
"Take me, Marsha!"
And I did, holding him with both hands, not
allowing him in too far, I couldn't deal with
that, didn't know how to, but I could kiss,
and lick,
and suck,
and I did all of that.
I did it until he said, "enough!"
and pulled away, his cock throbbing, ready
to eject its fluid.
"I need a minute," he said, laying on his
back, his penis erect, he was holding it,
trying to prevent it from spilling over, trying
to hold back, so it -- he -- could be emptied
in me.
"My husband used to like me to do this," I
told him, deciding not to give him the time
out he wanted.
I straddled him, my feet beside his hips, my
arms supporting myself at his shoulders,
my own vulva above his cock.
I brushed it once, and again. I knew I was
wet, lubercated, dilated.
"Will you help?" I asked, pushing down
again, and he did, he steered himself so
that I could feel that blunt pressure exactly
where it belonged, and I squatted even
lower, increasing that pressure, going down
harder, until that magic moment happened,
and his cockhead seperated my lips, and
the pressure stopped, and a feeling of
spreading began,
and increased,
until I was fully on his pelvis, he was fully in
me.
"Good, that's good," he said, and I began
the movements that Pete loved so much,
up and down, back a few inches and
forward again, and Matt when I'd lift up
would thrust his hips higher, pushing into
me, and I'd lower myself, forcing his hips
back to the bed, and his cock deeper into
me.
"Good, it is good," I told him, I was covered
with a sheen of persperation, and he was,
too, and I could feel him get even bigger, if
that was possible, and it was possible, he
was getting bigger, and pushing harder,
thrusting to his own rythems, he was
ejacqulating in me.
The moment was too exciting, I couldn't
hold myself over him like that, I got my legs
extended along his, our bodies were
together, his hips were making small
movements, moving his softening cock in
me, and I knew, or thought I knew, that
Pete was looking between my spread legs,
and that cock's movement, seeing what he
wanted to see, making it all the more
exciting for me.
"Done. I'm done."
Matt was pushing at me, wanting me to
move off him.
I did, I rolled off so we were beside each
other.
He rolled on his side, his flacid, wet cock,
still pulsing a littlem extending toward his
hip. He reached between my legs, his
fingers began moving in me, continuing wht
his tongue and mouth and cock had been
doing.
It took only a minute of that until he felt me
go rigid, then relax, in a second orgasm. It
was a long time ago that I had two in one
love making session. But this wasn't
making love, was it, it was fucking.
"Taste us."
I must have had my eyes closed, I knew
Matt wasn't touching me.
I looked at him, to see his fingers over my
lips.
"Taste us. Taste sex, taste our sex.!"
His fingers were at my lips, then in my
mouth.
I never tasted my juices before, my juices
mixed with him, with his.
I did, it was a last bit of eroticism.
"If we wait an hour, I can do all of that
again, if you'd like," he said.
"Or, have you had enough?"
"Enough."
It's one thing, having an encounter with an
attractive man, a "zipless fuck". It's another
to have him next to you, sweaty and spent.
"I had enough, Matt."
He sat up. "You honored, me, Marsha, by
letting me be the first man since leaving
your husband. You're really nice, and great
in bed. Thanks. I'm sorry I'm leaving here
today, I'd like to spend more time with you."
"You're nice, too, Matt. Thanks."
"You said I could stay for a while. I guess
awhile's up, huh?"
"Yeah, Matt, I need some time in here
without you right now."
"I understand that," he said. Like hell he
did, I had a husband waiting on the
balcony, I don't think he understood at all."
He rested a few minutes, then got up,
pulled on pants, drapped a shirt over
himself, and gathered the rest of his
clothing. "I'm only down the hall, I don't
care if someone sees me like this, they'll
know what happened, and I don't care. I
hope someone does see, they'd be jelious!"
He looked at the clock radio on the bedside
table. "You know, the band will be playing
for a couple more hours. If I wasn't so used
up I'd ask you to go back downstairs for
awhile."
"It's a nice thought, but no thank you, Ted."
With that, he left, and the door didn't click
closed before the balcony door opened,
and Pete came in, most of his clothes in his
arms..
"I beat off out there three times watching
you two fuck!' was his first words.
It took him a second to get in bed with me.
But nothing happened.
"I don't have anything left."
"Are you mad, or just exhausted?" I asked
him.
"I can't be mad, I wanted you to do that. I
guess, just exhausted."
He paused. "You looked like you were
having a good time."
"It was different, Pete, he's a different man.
It was fun, it was exciting, doing that while
you were watching. Did you like it, too?"
"I'll tell you the truth. For a while it was
great, but then, after a while, Marsha, I
didn't like it at all. You're MY wife! But in
the end, while I was watching you and him,
I really, really, liked it, I liked how sexy you
looked, and how excited you made him. It
was great."
"Good, I'm glad."
"Yeah, I did. We did it, that's good. I liked
the number of guys that you talked to
downstairs, too. You picked a good one,
though."
"Yeah, flirting was fun. It was fun to do.
Maybe we'll do it again sometime."
"OK," he said, "maybe."
I rolled toward him, are were in each other's
arms, sleep was coming.
As his eyes fluttered closed, I whispered
"I'll do it any time you like, Pete, any time at
all."
His breathing smoothed out.
"Any time at all, honey," I whispered.
"Maybe even later this week."
His breathing was regular.
"Maybe, even," I was enjoying this, "maybe
even with one of those big black guys, the
ones who looked like football players, the
one who danced with me before Matt did."
He took another breath, sound asleep.
"I think I'd like that," I continued, enjoying
this game.
His eyes opened. He wasn't asleep.
He sat up. "Good. I'd like that too. There're
probably still downstairs. Let's clean up the
room, and do it again!"
------------------------------------------------------
If you liked this story, you'd probably like
"Voyeur's Wife's Story" and "How Wife
Watching Happens." You can find them at
asstr-mirror.org. Just do a search for tonytony3.
Asstr is free, with no advertising.
If you liked the story, or not, tell me at
tonytony3@juno.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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