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From: FDDH53D@prodigy.com (Hunter Jackson)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST: The 4th Ring 1/3 (wife)
Date: 4 Apr 1996 22:49:08 GMT

   THE FOURTH RING

   Copyright 1995 Hunter Jackson



   A typical Friday.  Too many deadlines, too many phone calls, too many
emergencies.  Although a few of these deadlines and emergencies were the
result of my representation of Contrax Industries, I was still looking
forward to lunch with Contrax's president, Rick Robertson.  While Rick
always attended to business, he was also a bit of a "rounder", and damn
proud of it.  Given my rather staid sexual relationship with my wife, Anne,
I enjoyed living vicariously through Rick's exploits.

   This lunch fit the normal pattern.  Rick and I spent the first 45
minutes analyzing and dissecting the antitrust implications of a possible
acquisition by Contrax.  After beating that dead horse one last time, Rick
ordered us a couple of Absolut Citron's with soda and embarked on a
recounting of his latest conquests.

   "Married pussy!" Rick exclaimed.

   "What do you mean, Rick?" The non-sequitor confused me.

   "Married pussy is the easiest, hottest, wettest pussy in the world."

   "Rick, as a married man, I can speak with some experience and certainty
on this subject.  Married pussy is anything but easy, and rarely hot or
wet." My reply was authoritative, but in retrospect I led with my chin on
this one.

   "Bill, for such a smart lawyer who charges $350 an hour, you are a total
dumbshit."

   I like Rick, but he also is a bit abrasive and arrogant.  Sometimes he
can really push my buttons.

   Rick continued, "When I speak of married pussy, I'm talking about
fucking pussies that are married to other men.  More times than not, a
married woman is dying for a thorough fucking from a real man, not just the
weekly ten minute diddle they are used to from their husbands."

   "Well, I imagine that there are some dissatisfied wives out there, but
as your friend and attorney, I strongly advise against propositioning
married woman.  You'll end up with, at least a bruised cheek from her slap
and, at worst, excruciating pain from her knee to your groin."

   Rick chuckled, but quickly dismissed my cautions.  "Bill, you don't even
have a clue.  In the past three months, I have approached eight different
married woman, and I'm batting a thousand.  I've concluded that there isn't
a married woman out there, who given the opportunity, would turn down a
sexual romp with a good-looking man."

   "I don't know what world you've been living in, Rick, but I suspect that
if you approached any of the married women that I know your batting average
would quickly drop to the point that you would be sent back down to the
minors."

   "Like who?" Rick stared at me confidently.

   I was totally dumbfounded.  I didn't expect to be challenged on this
point.  My mind went blank so I tried to avoid the question.  "Look, Rick,
you know damn well that there are so many frigid wives living in the
suburbs that your theory can't hold water."

   "Who?" Rick wasn't going to let the question slide.

   My mind was slowly starting to reason again.  I didn't really want to
give Rick the names of any of the married women that I know.  Rick's the
type of guy who jumps at every challenge.  I certainly didn't want him
hitting on the wives of any of my friends.  Common sense suggested that the
safest thing to do was rely on my wife, Anne.

   Anne and I have been married for twelve years, with two kids to show for
the venture.  Anne is not exactly frigid, but she is also rather
conservative when it comes to sex.  Pretty much straight intercourse, with
very rare oral sex, and certainly no anal.  From the perspective of
frequency, we will usually have sex 3 or 4 times a month.  I knew that Anne
would never stray.  In fact, she was a virgin when we married.

   "Well, Rick, like my wife, for example.."

   Rick smirked.  "You mean Anne?"

   Rick had met Anne at a few business functions.  Ceertainly, nothing
untoward occurred.  Anne is always the epitome of propriety.  Not that she
isn't strikingly beautiful, but she masks her 5 foot, five inch, 115 lbs.
frame and 35-21-36 figure in expensive and conservative attire.  One of my
unspoken complaints has always been that Anne's delectable ass is never
displayed in a manner befitting its magnificence.  Of course, her dark
brown, shoulder length hair is always perfectly coiffed and frames her high
cheek-bones, porcelin skin and full lips.

   "Bill," Rick shook his head in a condescending fashion, "do you really
think for a moment that Anne hasn't fucked around on you?"

   Not wanting to give any credence to Rick's outrageous suggestion, I
tried to remain composed when I confidently replied, "I know she has never
cheated and would never cheat.  That's why your hypothesis about married
pussy is fatally flawed."

   "Well, Bill, if Anne hasn't taken on any other men, it's only because
she has never been presented with the right opportunity."

   "Sure, sure, Rick,whatever you say..." My cynical response only served
to heighten Rick's competitive nature.

   "Look, I'll prove it to you if you doubt me...but its got to be a fair
test.  You can't purposefully intervene or interfere.  You just give me a
reasonable chance to prove my point without letting Anne know that's
something's up, I'll admit I'm wrong if I fail.  Hell, I'll even let you
handle drafting the Berringer contract at double your hourly rate."

   It sounded like a deal to good to be true.  I'm sonewhat ashamed to
admit it, but I really wanted the Berringer contract, and double my hourly
rate would pay for a nice ski vacation.  Yet, I recognized that Rick is a
shrewd man.  "What happens if your right?" The lawyer in me always tries to
weigh all the variables.

   "See, your already afraid that I'm right!  A second ago, you thought I
was full of shit....I'll tell you what I'll make it an easy wager.  If I'm
right, you agree not to interfere and let what ever happens to happen. 
OK?"

   Less than enthusiastically, I said, "Deal."

   For some unexplainable reason, I looked at Anne differently that night
as she emerged from the shower.  I wondered how she would react to Rick
coming on to her.  I wondered whether her nipples would become erect in
response to his flirting, whether her pussy would involuntarily lubricate.
As I daydreamed about the possible scenarios, I suddenly imagined Anne
naked, laying on her back, her legs spread wide, bucking her pelvis wildly
to meet the thrusts of Rick's invading cock.  Certainly, I had never
witnessed such a scene when Anne and I make love.  It dawned on me - as
these illicit thoughts cluttered my mind - that my own dick was hard beyond
any normal erection.

   That night I attacked Anne with a fervor.  I wanted to reassure myself
of my potency.  But, Anne reacted as always, reservedly and in control. 
Even though I fucked her with what I thought was superhuman intensity, she
laid there, moving slowly, waiting for me to finish.  At the ordained
moment, Anne reached up and began to fondle my balls and the sensitive skin
between my scrotum and asshole.  Anne knows that this sensation always
sends me over the edge.  Even though I desparately wanted to hold off until
her belly rippled with an orgasm, the sensation was too great, and at the
last moment, the image in my mind returned to Rick slamming his dick into
Anne's cunt.  I climaxed violently and collapsed.  With her normal grace,
Anne slipped out from under me and rolled over to go to sleep.  Yet, for
me, these unsettling images continued, until I too fell into a deep sleep.

   For the next week, I continued to be haunted by these perverse images of
Rick and Anne in the throes of all varieties of sexual couplings.  I found
myself masturbating with a fervor that I hadn't known since adolescence. 
Of course, Anne was oblivious, remaining the picture of propriety.  Perhaps
fortunately, I didn't have occasion to speak with Rick during this
timeframe, either.  The situation began to take on the hazy quality of a
wicked nightmare.  That is, until a local charitable cocktail party.

   It was a typically staid affair, with all the frigid wives parading in
their diamonds and designer duds.  The husbands, with their fat wallets and
brokerage accounts, sucked down fine whiskey while sharing off-color jokes
about their bimbo secretaries.

   Anne was in her element.  She was dressed impeccably in a black,
backless number bearing some French designer's moniker.  Actually, it was
rather unusual for Anne, for it displayed her cleavage and a healthy dose
of leg.  Of course, Anne had a unique way of looking classy and not the
least bit sensual.

   After a couple of vodka and tonics, I was startled by Ricks booming
voice.  It was quite a surprise since Rick normally eschewed these
suaree's. "More boring than trolling for babes at a convent," I remember
Rick once saying.

   "Rick, what the Hell are you doing here?"

   "Bill, you cynical bastard!  I'm here because I care deeply about the
very same things that everyone else here cares about"

   "Oh, and just what would that cause celeb be, eh Rick?"

   "Something about irradiating the Bosnian, homosexual humpback whales, I
think." Rick smirked, and in a sotto voice said: "You know, Bill, I've
changed my take on these society bashes.  While I still believe that the
vast majority of pussies present haven't had a good ploughing in the last
decade, I've concluded that this fact presents someone like me with endless
possibilities."

   "God, Rick, you are such a complete predator!" I replied.

   With that comment, Rick glanced over towards Anne, who was engaged in
some banal conversation with the hostess of the party, and remarked: "So,
speaking of cunts yearning to be filled, how's our little girl, Bill?"

   Flushed with anger and indignance, all I could muster was: "Fuck you,
asshole!"

   "Now, now, Ricky boy, remember our wager.  Besides you're so confident
about Anne's fidelity that there's nothing to worry about, right?"

   With that, Rick made a beeline towards Anne.  On the one hand, I felt
like intervening.  On the other, I truly wanted the vindication of Anne
spurning Rick's base advances.  In the end, I drowned my indecision in more
vodka and tonics.

   As the evening wore on, my stomach felt oddly queasy.  This feeling was
exacerbated every time I lost sight of Anne.  Yet, throughout, I could not
ignore the aching in my balls.

   To my frustration, Rick had succeeded in cornering Anne into a long one
on one conversation.  This was quite surprising since Anne was notorious
for her ability to work a crowd.  Many times, people would come up to Anne
and apparently interject themselves into the conversation.  Normally, Anne
would use the interruption as an opportunity to move on.  At the very
least, Anne would always graciously welcome the new party into the
discourse.  Yet, on this evening, Anne's body language caused the
interlopers to move on after only a comment or two, leaving her and Rick to
themselves.

   Finally, the event was coming to an end, and the caterers began to pack
up.  Anne remained clearly in sight, and fully clothed, albeit in
conversation with Rick.  At last, I felt a sense of relief and victory, as
Anne left Rick and walked over to me.  My elation was short-lived, however.

   "Honey, I don't feel like calling it a night yet.  Rick's invited us to
join him for drinks and dancing at a club.  What do you say, it'll be fun,
especially after you've had to put up with this boring purgatory for
hours."

   I had no choice but to agree.  I certainly couldn't beg off and tell
that I had wagered her fidelity for some good billable work.  Likewise, I
would be breaching the deal with Rick if I interfered.

   "Sure, honey, that sounds great." While I was less than enthusiastic, I
rationalized away the risk that Rick might actually succeed.  After all
Anne had done nothing improper, yet.

   Perhaps ill advisedly, I had more vodka and tonics when we reached the
club.  The dim lights and smokey air of the club further clouded my self
induced alcoholic haze.  The loud music also rang in my ears and distorted
the conversation.  Rick had strategically sat next to Anne in the booth,
relegating me to the other side of the table.  My inability to make out or
participate in the dialogue heightened my paranoia.

   Rick was chatting up Anne with aplomb, and had even manuvered his arm
around her shoulder.  When it came time for dancing, I was in no condition
to spell Anne from Rick's devious onslaught.  Putting aside my agreement
not to intercede, my cordination was completely shot from the drinking.  At
first, it was fast dancing, leaving Rick little opportunity for bodily
contact.  However, late in the evening, the music slowed and Rick pressed
himself close to Anne.  My senses may have been dulled, or my paranoia
rampant, but I could swear that I saw Anne gring her belly into Rick's
bulging groin.  Maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself, but as I downed
my n-teenth vodka and tonic, I began to visualize illicit pictures of Rick
fucking Anne ferociously with Anne bucking back like a thousand dollar
slut.

   Rick and Anne had, meanwhile, danced their way to the most remote and
dark corner of the dance floor.  Again, my perceptions might not have been
acute, but I am sure I saw Rick and Anne engaged in a never ending, french
kiss while Rick slowly stroke her ass and fondled the sides of her breasts.

   Blessedly, closing time finally arrived.  As we staggered to the door, I
surrendered to Anne the keys to the car.  Rick said something about a
nightcap at his place and, for an instant, my heart stopped.  But, for some
reason, Anne declined.  I poured myself into the leather passenger seat of
our BMW.  Before Anne got in she said, "Ooops, just a second I think I left
something in the club."

   I was able to watch Anne in the passenger rearview mirror as she walked
back to the club.  But, she didn't go in.  Instead, she went up to Rick as
he was unlocking the door to his Mercedes.  Again, they kissed...not very
long though.  I could see Anne and Rick exchange brief words.  With a sly
smile, Rick placed his hand on Anne's right tit as she turned to walk back
to the car.

   Anne made a little small talk on the drive home, but her thoughts were
clearly elsewhere.  Although my cock was turgid all evening long, the
alcohol caused me to elect sleep over a desparately needed fuck once we got
home.  Yet, during the night, I slept fitfully, awakening often.  At least
twice, I heard Anne breathing heavily and the rhythmic sound of her hand
vigorously at work between her legs.

   The next day, Rick called and invited me to lunch.  I hoped that he
would simply take pleasure in the fact that he had groped my wife, and let
the "wager" drop.  But, this hope was dashed almost immediately.

   "Billy boy!  How're you feeling after all that booze.  Probably not as
good as I was "feeling" last night, if you catch my drift."

   The sinking feeling in my stomach again sank in, and I could actually
feel my manhood shrink.

   "Look," I implored, "why don't we just call the bet a draw?"

   "No go, Billy.  That wouldn't be very sporting.  Especially after all my
hard work.  But, I'll tell you what: Let me try to ask Anne out alone just
once.  If she turns me down, I yield the point."

   "Okay.  It's a deal." I reluctantly agreed, believing that Anne would
never risk being seen alone, in public, with Rick.

   Rick was smirking like a cat with canary feathers hanging out of its
mouth.

   "What the hell are you smiling about!"

   "Well, Bill, I forgot to share one little fact before you agreed: I
already asked and Anne accepted.  We're going out tonight."

   I felt as if I was going to implode.  That morning, Anne had asked for
me to watch the kids because she was going to have a girl's night out with
her best friend, Kathy.  We had allowed one another "night's out" since our
last child was born as a method of preserving our sanity.  I never dreamed
that Anne might use this arrangment to fool around on me.  Of course, Rick
could be bullshitting me.  I'll never put that above him.

   "Tell you what Bill," Rick continued, "at the end of the evening I'll
give you a call to let you know that Anne's on the way home.  Just to make
it interesting, I'll let the phone ring once if nothing happens, twice if
she only allows a little petting like last night, three times if she blows
me, and four rings if she is well fucked."

   When I got home that evening, Anne was busily getting ready to go out.
But, she didn't act or dress any differently than on other occasions.  I
rationalized that Rick was simply torturing me, and that Anne was going out
with Kathy.

   On the way out the door, Anne gave my her traditional peck, and said:
"Kathy and I are going to catch that new French film and maybe go out for
dinner and drinks afterwards.  It's a three hour movie, so I'll probably be
late...  no need to wait up."

   Initially, ignorance was bliss.  I chose to disregard Rick's
boastfulness and, instead, trust Anne's honesty.  Yet, once I put the kids
down, my mind began to wander.  A combination of jealousy and uncertainty
gnawed at my brain.  But, at the same time, I felt bad about doubting Anne.

   By 10:30 PM, my stomach became unsettled in the same fashion as the
night before when Anne and Rick were on the dance floor.  By 11:30 PM, my
paranoia overcame reason and I thought about ways to confirm Anne's
fidelity.

   So, in a very sophamoric manner, I called Kathy's telephone number. 
Embarrassed, I almost hang up after the second ring, but then a groggy
voice answered "hello".  It was unmistakably Kathy's voice, and it sounded
as if I had awakened her from a deep sleep.  Flabbergasted, I set down the
receiver without saying a word.

   To my ironic dismay, I had proven that I wasn't paranoid.  Anne was out
with Rick.

   As midnight eased into the early morning hours, my mental imagery was
torture.  I would alternate between fantasies of Rick fucking Anne in all
different positions, with fantasies of Anne resolutely turning down Rick's
advances, saying, "No, I'm a married woman!"

   Tellingly, my cock was rock hard as I imagined Rick ploughing into
Anne's pussy.  With guilty perversion, I stroked myself to an incredible
orgasm, which brought on sleep.

   Suddenly, I awoke with the sound of the telephone.  I looked at the
clock; it was 2:26 AM!  It seemed like an eternity before the phone rang
for a second time.  I quickly rationalized that Anne had already engaged in
a heavy petting session with Rick, so this second ring should not be that
surprising.  But, just then, the phone rang for a third time.  The shock of
the thought of Anne sucking on Rick's dick staggered me.  I waited with
dreaded anticipation, wondering if the caller had hung up.

   BBBRRRRIIINNNGGG!  The fourth ring pierced through the darkness of my
bedroom.  Instantaneously, my cock erupted in another climax without the
aid of manual stimulation.

   There I laid in the dark.  My belly covered with my own cum.  The phone
hadn't rung a fifth time.  Yet, I still wondered whether Rick was
intentionally torturing me.  After all, this was hardly evidence that Anne
had succumbed to Rick's seduction.  At most, it merely suggested that Rick
and Anne had been together.  While their being together was not
particularly comforting, it certainly didn't prove infidelity.
   So, I waited for Anne to get home.  
   
   Continued in part 2 


  
Fourth Ring 1 by Hunter Jackson