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From: "First Name Last Name" <marchase@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Watching the Watcher, a wife sharing/voyeur story 1/2 by Marc
Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2000 06:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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I was tired.

   Why did I decide to drive from San Fran to LA?  I know, the Coastal
Highway is a great road (not nearly as nice as the Cabot Trail, Cape
Briton, NS, but nice enough), and I had the weekend to burn before some
meetings in LA.  Never the less, it was a grinding drive this weekend.  Oh
well, I'd be back home Wednesday.

   It was my practice to visit important customers at least once a year,
and this was the West Coast loop.  It's lonely work, sometimes.

   Anyhow, the Sheraton in Santa Barbara was nice enough.  I sat at the
chair on the room's balcony, looking over my notes, and staring vacantly
out at the parking lot.  It wasn't the best room, but it was available, and
in my state of mind, that was all that was important.  The sun had just
set: I didn't know what passed for nightlife here, but whatever it was, it
would have to happen without me.

   I was beat.

   My attention was drawn to a mid sized Lexus that was being driven
strangely.  It pulled into the lot, then after a few minutes, out again. 
Finally, after another couple of minutes it returned, and parked not too
far from my balcony.  No one came out for what seemed a long time, but it
might have been only a couple of minutes.

   Finally, the driver exited.  He looked to be about 50, he was tall, with
not a lot of hair.  "Baldy," I decided, would be good name for him.  He
went around the car, opened the passenger side door, and drew out a woman
who was obviously reluctant to be there.  She could have been in her 30's.
They weren't arguing exactly - he was, if I read the body language
correctly, trying to convince her of something.

   Finally she nodded yes, he picked up a bag from the trunk, and they
started toward the hotel's lobby.

   There was more body language that suggested they were married - I
decided she must be a trophy wife.  Well, good for him.  He wouldn't be
alone in his bed tonight as I would be.  He brought - "Trophy" - I decided
to call her.

   I sat for another half hour on my balcony, watching the light of the day
fade.  Now what?  I could go to the in-room bar, pop open a couple of mini
bottles of rum, and get relaxed enough to get to sleep early.  Or, I could
go down to the lounge, and drink there.

   I thought drinking alone in my room bordered on sick behavior: I'd drink
alone in the lounge instead.  Yeah, I know, those are strange standards.

   The lounge was actually a kind of club, fairly empty.  Well, it was
early.  There were a few couples dancing to a not-so-bad group playing some
sugary slow music, and a few others, couples and singles, scattered about
the bar and tables.  It fit my mood.

   The barman delivered my first rum-coke, and meandered off to tend to
other customers.

   I had my back to the bar, people watching, when "Trophy" came in.

   "Where's Baldy?" I wondered: were they having an argument or something?
Was she after -- what did people call it -- space?.

   Trophy made her way to the bar --not a table?  -- and sat down a half
dozen stools from me.

   That was odd.

   She gestured to the barkeep, and before long was sipping what had to be
a white wine of some kind.  It was a token drink, more a prop while for
waiting for her husband than anything, I was sure.

   She was facing the bar, looking at the reflection of the crowd, when
after a few minutes I saw Baldy enter.  I had another sip of rum/coke --
the world was whole again.

   He walked toward the bar.  They made eye contact via the mirror, but
there was no overt sign of recognition between them.

   He walked past her!  Odder still.  Finally, Baldy settled onto a stool a
couple of seats on the other side of me -- what the hell was going on? 
They must have had some fight!

   I turned toward the mirror, and watched him for a moment.  He seemed to
meet her gaze, and seemed to gesture impatiently to her.  She in turn
seemed to nod.  OK, it was clear I wasn't confused, this was the Baldy and
Trophy I saw in the parking lot -- they did have a relationship, but they
were concealing it here.  Santa Barbara is full of strange people.

   Maybe not so strange.  Trophy was talking to someone who came up beside
her, and in a moment left her seat to dance with him.  The expression on
Baldy's face was priceless!

   They're playing THAT game.  That wife-watching I-wanna-be-a-cuckold
game.

   The evening is going to be interesting, after all.  He's a wife-watcher,
and I'll be a wife-watcher watcher.

   Trophy returned from the dance floor alone, and I saw her subtly shake
her head "no" to the reflection of her husband.  His expression grew angry,
it was obvious to me, and I'm sure Trophy saw that, too.

   She spent a moment dabbing at her eyes - could she have been crying?  -
then with a noticeable deep breath, turned to face the people in the
lounge. "Lonely", her attitude cried.  "Come talk to me," it screamed.

   No takers!  Trophy was going unnoticed.  What a waste.

   She turned back to the bar, a discouraged and sad expression on her
face.

   She looked again at Baldy's angry face, then her eyes met mine.

   Wait a minute.  Just because I knew they were playing the game didn't
mean I couldn't play!

   I didn't do what most would, and avert my gaze.  Instead, I raised my
glass to her image, offering a token toast.

   She paused for a moment, then raised her glass, too -- she may have been
thinking she was returning my toast, but I read it as "Invitation -- come
join me."

   So I moved next to her.  "Hi, I'm Bill.  If you'd like a little company,
I'd love to talk with you.  On the other hand, if sitting quietly is what
you're wanting, I'll go away.  That would ruin my day, maybe the whole
weekend, or even the rest of my life, but I'd go away.  Could you be that
cruel?"

   Her face transformed itself into a lovely smile.  What a trophy she was.
"Bill, I wouldn't want to ruin your whole life.  Sure, sit with me for
awhile.  I'd like that.  I'm Maureen."

   Her offered hand was wonderfully soft.

   We exchanged resumes: mine was truthful.  "This is just a transient
stop, LA for a couple of days, then home to Chicago.  The little software
company I have there is doing OK while I'm gone, but my VP sometimes gets
sidetracked, and the guys will be off solving some problems that don't
matter."

   "How many guys?"

   "Thirty five programmers on that project.  I have a couple of hundred
people working there."

   Her story didn't fit the facts as I knew them.  "Just took a taxi from
the airport.  My husband will be coming here tomorrow to meet me, then
we're off to look at real estate in the area."

   I thought I'd test that.  "Santa Barbara is a nice place.  I'd like to
live here.  You and your husband are lucky to have the chance.  I'll bet
you and he were childhood sweethearts."

   "No, it turns out we were both divorced, we met a couple of years ago,
and we've been together for less than a year."

   Trophy wife, I was absolutely sure of that now.  Married to a guy who I
think is a voyeur, too.  Time to test that theory, too.

   "Well, even if you are married," I said, "you can dance with me, can't
you?"

   "Yes, yes I can," she agreed.  I had seen Baldy's image in the mirror
make small encouraging gestures while we were talking.

   So, we danced -- formal dancing with formal distances between us. 
Still. I liked holding her, and really liked the expression on Baldy's face
as I moved on the floor with her.

   After a few numbers we returned to the bar.  "Should I get a table for
us?" I wondered aloud.

   Maureen paused a moment.  "Yeah, do that.  I've got to go to the lady's
room, I'll find you when I come back."

   I was sure she'd leave and never return -- Baldy would take her
upstairs, and act out what the voyeur in him wanted to see.  Sure enough, a
minute after she left, Baldy did too.  Too bad.  It was entertaining for
awhile.

   I was finishing my drink, getting ready to leave, when I noticed Baldy
through the lounge door, going to the elevator.  Alone.

   Another minute passed, then Maureen came in, and found her way to the
table.  Her eyes were a bit red, as though she had been crying.  "Can we
dance some more?" she asked, standing beside me.

   I took her to the floor -- she kept her head averted, but we were
dancing closely, holding on tight.

   A moment of that kind of contact went by, and then the game changed -- I
was sure I heard her sob.

   "Maureen, are you all right?"

   "I shouldn't be doing this," she said, not quite the answer to my
question, but it confirmed everything I suspected.

   "Maureen," I said, holding her firmly, providing a strong lead to the
dance, but not letting her pull away, which I thought she might do,
"Maureen, I know what's going on."

   "You couldn't possibly know what's going on," she sobbed through her
tears.

   "If you mean I don't understand about voyeur husbands asking their wives
to entertain them by having sex with someone else, you're wrong -- I do
understand.  Maureen, I saw that man, the one I think is your husband" --
she started to pull away, but my hold on her, masked by dancing, was too
strong to allow that -- "bring you here.  I saw him watching you, then
watching us.  Does he expect you to seduce me?"

   She stopped moving to the music.  There was a long pause, then she
sighed: "Yes."

   "And he wants to watch?"

   "Yes."

   "And you agreed to try, to try to please him?"

   "I said I'd try, yes, to excite him."

   "Excite him?"

   "He has some trouble sexually, he thinks this would help."

   "Watching would help?"

   "Yes, he asked me to do that.."

   I let a minute pass.

   "Maureen, if you want to please him, to put on a show for him, I'll
help. We'll make it good for him, and I'll try to make it good for you,
too."

   "How could you," she wanted to know, "agree to do something like that
when you know he'll be watching?"

   "I think it'll make it more exciting," I said, "especially knowing that
you're wanting to do it to please him."

   "I don't think I can do it," she said.

   "He'll keep asking until you do.  Take me to your room, I'll make it
easy, I promise."

   The music was all that spoke for a few minutes, then she pulled away a
little, and looked me in the eye.

   "It would only be a show, huh?"

   "Nonsense," I told her.  "It would be a show for him, but I'd love
sharing sex with you -- that it's a show would only make it better.  How's
he going to watch, anyhow?"

   "Our room has a balcony: he thinks he can sit on a chair out there and
look in through the window drapery."

   "I guess he tried that out already, huh?"

   "Yeah, before we came down here."

   "Did he ever ask you to do this before?"

   "No: I told him it was going to be a one time thing only, if I do it at
all, and he agreed."

   "Do you believe him?"

   "Yeah, I really do."

   "You know he'll keep after you until you do something.  Get it over
with."

   "I'll have to, sooner or later.  I guess now's as good a time as any. 
At least it's all out in the open."

   We left the lounge, and walked like two business associates to the
elevator, then to her -- their -- room.

   "Before we go in, should we set up a plan?"

   "The only plan I want is to get this over with as soon as I can."

   "That won't work.  Look, play it out.  Let yourself go.  Have fun.  I
think if you make it quick, he won't be satisfied.  You used to be single
-- act that way.  This is a fling, OK?"

   She thought that over.  "Act single, huh?  A fling?  I did that before,
and you know, it was fun.  OK.  better than that, I'm a wife on a fling. 
Give me a minute or two to get into that scene."

   She stood there, shook her hands a bit, getting into character.

   "I'm ready.  Starting now, it's show time."

   She stood on her toes a little, and planted a kiss on my lips.  She took
her card key from her purse, swiped it through the reader, the green LED's
announced the door was unlocked.  My mind has funny insights, sometimes.  I
think in this case a red light would have been more appropriate.

   "Improv time.  Come along, Bill."

   She took my hand and led me through the door.

   "'Welcome to my web,' said Maureen the spider to Bill the fly," she said
with a smile, closing the door.

   "Nice room -- bigger than mine," I said as we walked into the main part
of the suite.  The drapes to the balcony were closed except for a small
gap, where they were casually held back by a chair.

   Maureen got the bright lights out, and lit only a small bedside one. 
"That sets a nice mood, doesn't it?"

   "It does," I said, and took her into my arms.

   "I couldn't do things like kiss you down stairs," I said.

   "Like I told you," she said, setting the scene, speaking loud enough for
him to hear, "I'm mad as hell at my husband, and this is my way to get
even. Sure, kiss me. . ." she couldn't finish, the last part was muffled
because my mouth covered hers.

   "Oh, that was nice.  He hasn't kissed me like that for a long time.  Can
I have another?" she asked when we parted.

   "Oh, at least one other," and we embraced again.

   "You're pretty good at that," she said, "I hope you're good at more than
just kissing.  It's warm here.  Shouldn't you take off your jacket?" I
complied, and she kicked off her shoes at the same time.

   She came into my arms again, her arms around my neck, ready to kiss.  I
bent a little at the knees, though, and supporting her back with one arm,
and reaching behind her knees with the other, picked her up.

   "Oh, the big bad man is sooo strong," she said as I moved to the single
king sized bed and placed her in the middle of it.  "Big and strong, but
maybe he's not thinking ahead.  I'd rather be on the sheet than the bed
cover."

   She rolled off the bed, and pulled at the cover and blanket on one side.
I worked on the other, and in less time than it takes to say it the bed
became an altar, covered in white, ready to accept whatever sacrifice we
cared to make.

   "Now," she said, coming over to me again, "want to try that again?  Want
to show me why you put me on the bed?"

   And again, I had her in the middle of the bed.

   She looked wonderful there, her hair long enough to spread on the sheet,
long legs covered by her dark dress, legs shimmering in nylons.

   "Now what?" she asked.  "What's the big bad man going to do now?"

   I leaned toward her, wanting to lay there, to hold her, but as I got
close enough she pulled at my tie.  "It's not formal in here, now," she
said, working at it.

   It took a moment to get it off and on the floor.

   "If it's not formal," I said, "then you're a bit over-dressed, too."

   "Oh?  What are you going to do about it?"

   I moved on the bed again, and knelt at her feet.

   I slid my arms up along the outside of her ankles, beside her knees,
under her dress, up along her thighs, to her hips.

   "Lift up just a little."

   She did, lifting her hips, and I pulled, drawing pantyhose down, inside
out, over knees, over ankles, and with a flourish pulled them off her feet.

   "I don't think you'll be needing those."

   "Are you being presumptive?" she asked with a smile, as she arranged her
dress over her knees.

   "Uh, Ms Maureen, I don't think I noticed resistance when I did that."

   "Of course not, Mr.  Bill, we southern women are taught to be kind to
our gentlemen friends.  Besides, that makes me feel really erotic."

   I did some gentle pushing so that she was across the bed, instead of
laying along it.  Her feet were facing the balcony now.

   I moved beside her: "Hey, you're good at this," she whispered, and
rolled on her side, moving her leg over my hip as I pulled at her knee.

   There was time for another kiss in this most intimate of clothed poses.

   During the kiss she freed her upper arm, and pushed at mine, the one
that was holding her at the small of her back.

   The kiss broke - she pulled away just a little.  "I want to excite my
husband," she whispered, and she pushed that arm down, over her hip, over
the dress covering her thigh, to her knee, and an inch or two lower, until
it was past the lower hem of her dress, directly on her upper calf.

   "Can you kiss me again?" she whispered again, "while you touch me?"

   I did meet her lips , and while I did, I let my hand move behind her
knee, and pulled that leg even more over me.  It came freely.

   And I began moving up along the back of her leg, getting halfway up her
calf until the dress became tight and tangled between us.

   We ended the kiss, and she looked carefully at me for a moment.  "I have
to make some adjustments, if the gentleman is going to be able to do what I
think he wants to do," she said, lifting her hips, pulling at her dress.

   "There.  Let's try again."

   We did, and my hand, on the back of her leg, was free to move higher.

   It did.

   She was whispering again: "pull my dress up, OK, make sure he can see."

   I did, then felt moist warmth, felt her move even more over me, her legs
spread wide now, and my fingers were grazing soft hair, then her vulva's
lips.

   I knew she was uncovered, I knew her pose let her husband look at my
hand, so he had to have seen my fingers moving along those lips, back and
forth, being warmed, getting more and more moist.

   In another moment she pulled her lips from mine.  She was almost
breathless.  "Don't tease me like that, please don't tease."

   "OK." The fingers, almost of their own will, moved again, and were no
longer tracing along the outside of those lips.  Instead they found her
clit, engorged, wet.

   "OH!!!"

   "OH!"

   My fingers were caressing, touching clit, pushing in, busy as could be.
Her hips were pushing against my hip, responding.  "I never expected this
to be so exciting," she whispered, her voice quivering.

   The next kiss was full of passion, with gasps included as I touched one
sensitive spot, then another.

   "Think he likes the show?" I whispered.

   "He'd better!  I like putting it on!"

   I'm sure she had an orgasm.  Maybe more than one.  "OK.  I need to come
up for air," she told me, pushing me away, onto my back.

   She propped her head up with one hand, and looked at me.  "That was
great.  You're pretty good, aren't you?"

   "I try to be."

   "My turn," she continued, "to give pleasure."

   She used her free arm to push at my legs so they were a little apart,
still aimed at the balcony.

   I reached for her -- "Be still!" she commanded, as she fumbled with my
belt, until it was open.

   "Just lay there."

   I did.  She bent over me, so our lips met again.  I felt her hand on my
stomach, then pushing under the waistband of my slacks.

   Then under my briefs!

   "Let's see how you like it," she said, and I felt those fingers going
lower.  I closed my eyes as they found my penis, and moved out along it,
until her fingers wrapped around my cock.

   She lowered her head, so she was kissing me while her had did magic. 
"I'm losing control," I said, struggling, then felt her hand firmly around
my cock, squeezing.  "This'll stop that."





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