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From: Desdmona22@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Peach Satin and Ecru Lace by Desdmona (MF rom voy)
Date: Wed, 31 Dec 2003 19:10:03 -0500
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The following story contains scenes depicting sex. If you're 
not supposed to be reading this then don't.

Relationships can be a killer, but Liz has been lucky. 
She has an understanding husband and a best friend who are 
both willing to let Liz explore her fantasies.


**************************************************
Peach Satin and Ecru Lace
By Desdmona


Pamela Howard was my best friend. She acquired that label
the day she was assigned the locker next to mine on her
first day on the job. We were lab bunnies. The name, "lab
bunny," was attached to any female who worked in the lab at
Zytech. It didn't matter that it was an antiquated idea; our
lab was old school and scoffed at political correctness,
when given the chance. We could have made an issue of it,
after all, we had the same degree as every man in the
place. We'd gone through the same screening. We'd had the
same training. But "lab bunny" was just a name. The truth
was, respect was earned in the lab no matter what your
gender, so we "bunnies" figured there was nothing wrong with
a little Playboy humor.

Working in our clinical environment meant you changed from
street clothes into white jumpsuits provided by the company.
The jumpsuits weren't any more sterile or functional, but
white seemed to appease the minds of the bureaucrats. For
us, it meant less time and money spent on buying work
clothes, and the company did the laundry.

I'd started fresh from college, still believing I was one
short discovery away from ridding the world of disease. By
the time Pam hired on, I'd been there eighteen months and
was still working on the same project: saliva testing for
MHP--male hormone panels.

Pam came from a sister company where she'd worked for five
years. I learned later that she'd left Zycomp because her
husband, Duane, had had an affair with one of the "bunnies"
there. The whole department knew of his indiscretion so Pam
decided it was time for a change.

On her first morning, crammed into the six-by-eight locker
room, we exchanged names and cursory hellos. You learn
quickly that there is very little room for modesty when
you're shoulder to shoulder with a perfect stranger in your
bra, panties, and socks. While balancing on one foot, I
tried to take my pants off. My foot got caught in the hem,
and I accidentally fell against Pam. Without missing a beat
she said, "If I'd known we were going to dance, I would have
shaved my legs." I burst into giggles, which she echoed, and
our friendship was born.

 From then on, we shared everything: our daily routines, our
time, and our hobbies. Pam and Duane were trying to work
things out. My husband and I were as happy as any upper
middle-class couple with two kids and a mortgage. She was a
die-hard antique nut, and I just loved to shop, anywhere,
anytime. We went to soccer games, dance recitals, birthday
parties, and summer beach trips. There was very little I
didn't know about Pam, and I'm sure she felt the same about
me.

Sometime later, Pam started having affairs--clandestine
dinners, secret rendezvous', and on a couple of occasions,
overnight trips--with me as her alibi. None of the affairs
were significant, and only one lasted longer than two weeks.
According to Pam, she was only after what she wasn't getting
at home--sex!

Her relationship with Duane had never healed, but it wasn't
until Pam and I were on a "ladies night out" that I learned
just how truly damaged their relationship was. The
conversation started with Pam giving me the juicy details of
her latest sexual liaison.

"He's skinny. Skinnier by far than anyone I've ever had sex
with." Pam took a hit off her cigarette. "I'm used to
muscle, or at least a lot more fat."

"Was it so different?"

"Yeah, it was. Nothing got in the way of his long dick."

Don't misunderstand, Pam and I didn't need booze to talk
openly. This was our natural way of discussion. She had the
affair, and I got off on the details. We were both
satisfied.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know, no belly that cuts off another inch and a half
from getting all the way inside."

I did know what she meant, but I'd never thought about it
until now. "So he was well-endowed, huh?"

"Long and skinny, just like him." Pam tapped the butt of her
cigarette in the ashtray and took a sip of her beer. Her
eyes shone bright over the edge of the mug.

"So, what do you think? Does size really matter?" I had my
own opinion, but I was interested in what Pam had to say.

"Let's just say he touched me in places that Duane could
only dream about. If Duane were to dream of me at all." She
took another sip of the beer but this time her eyes were
downcast. "And he had no trouble finishing."

"Finishing?"

"Duane says I'm too loose, that the babies did a number on
me and it's like a tunnel through a mountain. He has trouble
`finishing' if you know what I mean. Didn't seem to bother
Mr. Skinny though."

I never cared much for Duane. He'd tried to cop a feel once
when Pam and I had met him at a local bar after a football
game. Duane had drunk himself into liquid meltdown, so I
offered to drive his car home. He opted to ride with me. His
hands were on me like an acidic solution eating away an
outer layer. At the time, I chalked it up to too much beer,
but I made sure never to be alone with him again. From then
on, there was little doubt that Duane was a full-fledged
jerk.

"He actually said that? About the tunnel?"

"Oh yeah, more than once."

"Why do you stick with a man like that, Pam?"

"He's my husband, the father of my children. It's easy.
We're Catholic. I don't know, take your pick."

"He's a bastard!"

"I'm not exactly angel material, Liz."

My best friend instincts kicked in. "Oh, I don't know.
Angels like to fly. Isn't that what you're trying to do?"

Pam smiled. "Maybe." She changed the subject, and I let her.
This was supposed to be a night of fun. Talking about Duane
wasn't fun for either of us. "Mr. Skinny wants to meet
again."

"Are you going to?"

She shrugged and finished off her beer, then signaled to the
waiter. I wasn't much for alcohol. I was still nursing my
first umbrella drink. The waiter, a college guy, teased a
little and gave us his white, orthodontic smile. Anything
for tips, I supposed.

"How about him?" Pam asked as we watched the college boy
walk away.

"Too young."

"He's serving drinks. He has to be at least twenty-one."

"Way too young."

"God, Liz. You're only thirty-three."

"I like my men to be older than my underwear." It was a long-
standing joke.  We both laughed. "You never answered. Are
you going to meet Mr. Skinny again?"

"I think so. I told him about you."

"What about me?"

"That you were a voyeur, and I would be telling you
everything."

I could have argued the voyeur part for propriety's sake,
but why argue the truth? I loved hearing the details of
these rendezvous probably every bit as much as Pam loved
going on them. Maybe more. We both knew it.

"And he didn't mind?"

"Heck no! He offered to let you listen in the next time."

"Listen in?"

"Sure, you know when I make my check-in call, instead of
hanging up, I'll just leave the phone off the hook."

For as long as Pam had been meeting these men, we had a
routine. She would tell me where she was going, when she got
there, and when everything seemed OK, she would call and
tell me, "Everything was a go." It wasn't a completely
secure setup, but it was better than nothing.

The idea of listening to my best friend having sex made my
face flush. I downed my remaining drink and immediately felt
dizzy. I blamed it on the rum that had settled to the bottom
of the glass. "I don't think I can do that, Pam."

"Why not?"

Body and mind struggled with individual reactions. "I don't
know. It just doesn't seem right." My stomach fluttered and
little tremors made their way between my legs. "Wouldn't you
be uncomfortable?"

"It's not any different than me giving you the play-by-
play."

"It's a little different." I fidgeted with the umbrella and
wished the cute waiter would come back. I was feeling warmer
by the minute.

"Mr. Skinny liked the idea." She was looking at me again.
Her amber eyes were glossy from drink and what I guessed was
desire. "So do I," she said.

I tried to think of all the reasons why I shouldn't. There
was only one--my husband, Mike. I wondered if he might think
of it as some sort of cheating. Listening to Pam tell her
exploits wasn't the same thing as actually being there, on
the phone. I'd been honest with Mike, up to a point. He knew
Pam was messing around, and he also knew about Duane. I'd
told him about the groping incident in the car, and he'd
fumed a little, but he let it go at my request. Mike also
knew how Pam's adventures affected me. I was horny, and he
benefited. But would he think this was going too far?

`I-I don't know, Pam. Mike might get upset."

"So don't tell him." She looked at me and must have known
immediately that that wasn't an option. "Or, tell him and
let him listen, too."

"You're kidding?"

"Yeah, I suppose I am."

We were quiet for a few minutes. Oddly, I felt jealous. I
figured this part of the game was meant for her and me, not
Mike or anyone else.

"Can I think about it? When are you planning to meet him
again?"

"Wednesday. Think about it. Let me know Monday at work."

The rest of the evening went as usual. More drinks, more
teasing with the waiter, and occasional offers to dance by
some of the men in the place. Pam danced. I watched.

***

When I got home, Mike was in bed, watching TV. I started to
go for a shower, but he hopped up from the bed and pulled me
close.

"I smell like smoke," I said.

He ran his hands through my hair and sniffed. "Yeah, you
do."

"Let me shower."

"I don't mind the smoke." He nuzzled through my hair and
kissed my neck. His skin was damp, and he smelled of fresh
soap.

"The kids in bed?" It was a reflexive question.

"Tucked in tight." His hand slipped under my shirt and
cupped my breast. "I've been waiting for you to get home."

"I feel grimy. Let me shower. You've had one."

"No shower." He kneaded my breast and then made his way down
the front of my pants. "A shower might wash away this."
Before I could say a word, his fingers were inside my
panties slipping through the puddle of moisture that had
collected. "I knew you'd be wet," he whispered.

I might have told Mike then about the possible phone call,
but I didn't. Instead, I opened my legs, offered myself to
his hand, and enjoyed his lust-directed fingers. I'd been
teetering on the edge of climax all night. With Mike's
exquisite touch, I could have tumbled over that edge
effortlessly. I didn't want to.

"Don't make me come, Mike. Make me wait."

He pulled his fingers from between the folds and dallied in
my pubic hair, tugging at it and swirling among the
follicles, occasionally dipping into my slit and nudging my
clit with tender reminders his fingers were never far away.

His busy hand caused the heavy denim to pull and the seam
worked its way between my ass cheeks, teasing along my
backside. I wouldn't last long no matter how much direct
stimulation he avoided.

"Mike..."

"Yeah, baby, I know."

And he did know. He knew me like a favorite movie--every
line, every act, every scene. He slipped his hand up, pulled
open the snap, and jerked down the zipper. Within seconds I
lay naked, stretched on the bed watching Mike slowly remove
his clothes. He ran his hands over his chest and down his
thighs where his pants had been. His hard cock bobbed
between.

When he grabbed his shaft, I followed each detail--how tight
he grasped, how fast he stroked, and how the tip of his
thumb arched back while the pad of it rubbed through his
precum and spread it around. I was afraid to look away,
afraid I'd miss something important. I glanced only to his
eyes and in them discovered a deeper intimacy. Yes, Mike
knew me, knew what I liked, and as always, wanted me to know
him.

He stroked until he was as close to the edge as I was before
he abruptly stopped and climbed onto the bed with me. On me.
And in me.

***

Monday rolled around, and I still wasn't sure what I was
going to tell Pam. Great sex with Mike and a couple of
family weekend days had dulled the initial excitement of her
idea, but squeezed next to her in the locker room had me
thinking about it all over again.

"Have you talked to Mr. Skinny?"

"His name is Chet."

"Chet?"

"Hmm. I figured you should know, just in case."

"I told Mike." It was easy to tell him snuggling naked in
bed after our heady lovemaking. He hesitated at first, and
then wondered if we could get the kids out of the house.

"You did? What did he say?"

"He told me to do what I wanted." What he'd actually said
was do it if it meant I'd be as wet as I was on Friday. No
wonder I loved my husband.

"So does that mean yes or no?"

I said, yes. Listening to sex might be as interesting as
reading an Anais Nin story and filling in the blanks with my
own imagination. After all, reading is voyeurism at its
best. But something told me Pam badly wanted me to listen. I
wasn't sure of her motive, but in the long run, I didn't
think it mattered. The whole idea was arousing.

Unfortunately, by Tuesday at lunch, while we discussed the
details of how and when, the affair started to take on a
clinical feel--too much preparation, too many do's and
don'ts. Pam wasn't sure she would talk. She didn't think I
should talk to Chet. I should only listen. By the time the
planning was done, I wanted to forget about the details and
just let it happen.

But changing in the locker room Wednesday morning had me
looking at Pam in a way I'd never looked before, and I began
to get excited again. She was in her bra and panties. They
matched--light, peach satin with ecru lace. Her breasts
swelled above the demi-cups.  Freckles, the color of her
eyes, dotted her chest, like stars in a winter sky. I had an
urge to trace along them to discover a hidden constellation.
Was Chet the sort of guy who would want to do the same?

Her nipples, barely covered thanks to the half-cup bra,
strained against the edge of creamy fabric. I could see the
rosy hue of her areola. This teasing glimpse was every bit
as provocative as a completely naked view might have been.
Heat rushed to my face and sweat tickled my underarms. It
hit me. Pam was sexy. Not Victoria-Secret-model-sexy, but
real-woman-sexy.

She caught me looking.

To her credit, she blushed--a soft red across her cheeks,
down her neck and over her upper chest. But she didn't cover
herself. Not immediately. She stood perfectly still and let
me look. Her breathing turned heavy and a further bit of
nipple poked above the fabric. She had the type of breasts a
lot of women can only have surgically--full, round, and
perfect.

I didn't know if her openness extended to a lower look, but
I took the chance and glanced to the triangle of peachy
satin covering her delta. Dark pubic hair lay just beneath
its surface in swirls of tamed rebellion.

Pam's voice sliced across the heavy air. "Now you'll know."

"W-What?" I was too stunned to catch her meaning at first.

"Later, when you hear, you'll know," she whispered.

I looked at her face--eyes shining, cheeks flushed, and lips
moist. "Yes, I'll know," I said. What else was there to say?
Except, "Thank you, Pam."

"Good grief! Don't thank me." She stepped into the white
jumpsuit and pulled it up as usual--quickly. "You'll have me
thinking of this as a service I'm doing you instead of the
other way around."

"Well, isn't it?"

"Not exactly, well..." she paused and ran her hand through
her hair to fluff it up. "Let's just say it works for both
of us."

"Are you going to wear the peach satin?"

"Huh-uh. Black lace. Do you think he'll like it?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Really?"

"I'm sure of it."

The rest of the day was filled with busy work, but in the
moments when my mind wandered I would see Pam as I'd seen
her in the morning--a mix of sexual bravado and
vulnerability. It heightened my expectations for the night
to come.

***

After Mike dropped the kids off at my parents and
deliberately set out with his buddies to give me time alone,
I began to get jittery. I'd asked him if he wanted to stick
around and participate, but when he'd said, "No, I'll just
come home for dessert!" I was glad. Like the moment in the
locker room, it was an intimacy that would lose its clarity
if I shared it too quickly. I wanted to think about it,
ruminate over it, and memorize every detail, like a form of
masturbation.

Pam wouldn't be calling until she and Chet were at his place
and already beginning their play, or so was the plan. It
gave me time to bathe. The water was warm and fragrant and I
lounged in it. My breasts bobbed just above the surface
where puffs of bubbles spread along the water line. Any
movement and water would lap up higher on my chest like high
tide along a sandy beach. I didn't have as many freckles as
Pam, nor were my breasts as full and round as hers, but I
did have two freckles, one on each breast. Mike had
pointed them out in the early years of our marriage. He called
them the Alpha and Omega. With his tongue, he would start at
one and lick every inch before ending at the other. I felt
cherished every time he did. Would Pam feel cherished if
someone traced along her smattering of freckles?

The phone rang just as I was toweling off.  I was Pavlov's
dog, salivating and tingling just from the sound of the
ring.

"Hello."

"Liz?"

"Yes?"

"Liz, I'm here. Chet is here." Pam's voice was raspy and
guttural, like Kathleen Turner's would be during sex. "He's
sucking my tit." She drew out every syllable.

I could hear his slurping sounds and his muffled, "great
tits" as he sucked. My own nipples immediately tightened and
ached.

"I can't talk, Liz. I can't talk."

"Don't talk. I'll listen."

Tiny moans escaped with an occasional yelp. I pictured Pam's
tit flesh falling out of peach satin, and then remembered
she was wearing black lace. I heard a shuffling of sounds,
as if the phone were being moved, or dropped.

"C'mon Pammy, baby let's give her a real show." Chet's voice
was heavy and accented. I imagined his lips were wet and
swollen from sucking. "I'm gonna fuck you long and hard for
your friend, Pammy, girl. Turn over." There was more
shuffling and moaning. "That's it sweet girl, stick that ass
up in the air for me."

"Oh, god!" she screamed. "Yes! Do it!"

"You like ol' Chet's long pecker, don'tcha girl?"

"Mmm!" Pam's voice was even more muffled with what I could
guess was her face buried in a pillow.

"In and out. In and out. Gettin' honey from the pot. Buzz,
buzz, buzz."

The smack, smack, smack grew louder and quicker like a train
picking up speed.

"I see that purty rosebud winkin' at me. Maybe we'll try
that hole next time, Pammy girl. Whatcha think?"

His crudity nearly made me smirk, but there was no denying
it was a turn on. The sound of slapping flesh battled with
Pam's moans as each grew louder, but both were lost with the
deafening yell from Chet as he climaxed.

Everything was quiet afterward. Only slow, heavy breathing.
I waited, not knowing if I should speak or just hang up.

"Liz? You still there?"

"Yes."

"See, I told you he had no trouble finishing."

"No, I guess not."

The heat of the moment passed and Pam's words settled over
me like fresh-falling snow. Was this what this was all
about?

"Are you OK, Pam?"

"Oh yeah! I'm fine. I'm going to go now though; Chet and I
might have some things to finish up."

"All right. Talk to you later?"

"You bet."

The phone clicked dead.

Pam was my best friend and no doubt we would discuss every
detail of what we'd just shared. I would remember to tell
her how husky her voice had sounded, how exciting it was to
visualize Chet sucking her breasts, or to think about her
ass propped up in the air while Chet pounded into her
depths. We might even laugh over Chet's quirks. I would try
to relay every finite detail so she'd realize how incredibly
sexy she was, no matter what Duane had led her to believe,
because I'd seen her in peach satin and ecru lace, and she
was a vision.

Mike was my husband, my lover, and my soul mate, and he
would be home in a few minutes. Suddenly, I couldn't wait.


********************
This story was originally posted at www.ruthiesclub.com where it 
was marvelously illustrated by dAVID.
-- 
Desdmona's FishTank: 
http://www.desdmona.com/fishtank.asp 

and

Desdmona's Contest: 
http://www.desdmona.com/contest.asp
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