## Archive-name: turmoil

From: shig@indirect.com (Martin Malone)

Subject: turmoil1 (mf, eventual mm)

TURMOIL: step one
Trace killed the can of soda and turned to walk back to his small office. Engineering had been a good field for him. He was well-paid and had a surprising amount of free time for such a demanding field. He re-checked his work from the previous assignment and spent his idle moments sketching. If his boss saw that he was sketching vibrators and butt-plugs on company time, he'd probably have a stroke. "Good," Trace thought, "That would be the first action his more intimate parts have seen in a while."
Trace looked up to see his clock and realized quitting time was fifteen minutes ago. He put his regular sketch pad as well his "personal" one into his case and reached for his jacket. His boss was barreling down the hall like the locomotive he slightly resembled when on the move. Not a tall man, Reese was built about like a fireplug. He had a slight gut but was still reasonably fit for a man in his late forties who spent ten hours a day sitting on his butt at a desk.
Trace tried to pretend he didn't see his boss as though that might cause the man to continue by. Trace knew well enough what it meant when his boss came looking for him this late in the day. Something had to be fixed and he was going to be asked to work late. "Fuck! Why didn't I watch the clock?!" he thought.
The part that pissed him off most was that he'd be looking at someone else's work. He'd be expected to dig through it to find a mistake that anyone who wasn't close to the work would see.
"Trace. Just the man i wanted to see," Reese said, in a reedy voice.

"Uh, Reese, I'd like to chat but the wife's expecting me home soon."

Reese chuckled and said, "I'm not here to mess up your weekend again, Trace. I just wanted to ask you to help out with a new guy we're bringing in next week. He'll be working on some new projects but he's still kinda green and needs to see the way things are done here."

Trace breathed a sigh of relief and said "No prob, Reese. Monday morning?" "Well, how are you coming on that current design?"

"It's done. Just finished checking it for mistakes."
"Good. That wasn't due for another week. I'll just keep you free on Monday so you can show the new guy around."

Trace nodded.

"See you on Monday."

Trace drove home listening to public radio. He choked down another antacid and felt tried to relax. He was always on edge lately. And there seemed to be only one thing that relaxed him.

Sex.

Brenda pretended to complain. She said he was "an animal" and that he was "insatiable". She always tossed her hair and smiled her best "I'm horny" smile when she said it. This usually meant that the next hour would be taken up by the two of them trying to knock the pictures off the wall with the headboard.

He had traced it back to last week when the next-door neighbor's kid arrived to stay with his dad for the summer. Dennis was a nice kid of about seventeen. He was outside tending to yardwork while Trace was insulating his windows. He knew the kid well enough from his previous visits so he struck up a conversation over the fence.
They talked about school, work and all the things that make up small talk. While they talked, Brenda drove up. She got out of the car, carrying a bag of groceries. Dennis' voice trailed off as noticed her. She smiled at her husband and his companion but waved Trace off when he started toward her to get the bag. She was looking about as she walked but settled her gaze in Trace's general direction. She flashed a smile and continued into the house. Trace was a little puzzled at her expression, which almost coy, until he realized that Dennis had been following her intently with his eyes. Dennis started when he realized that Trace was looking at him and apologized if he'd offended Trace.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Reed. But you're a lucky man."

"Your mom has brought you up well. Very diplomatically put," Trace said, grinning.

The young man reddened and looked away.

"No need to be embarrassed, Den. I've been married to her for five years and i still stare sometimes."

The young man sighed and said, "I can see why."

Dennis shifted weight and moved the rake he had been using, adjusting himself as subtly as he could manage.

As Dennis continued looking at the side door where Brenda had disappeared, Trace found himself staring at the boy. He was just shy of five foot ten with a cafe' au lait complexion and green eyes he'd inherited from his mother. He was pretty decent high school running back and had obviously spent a bit of time in the weightroom. He had to weigh around two-ten or so. Trace was just noting a rivulet of perspiration rolling down the kid's wide back when he realized Dennis was speaking.

"Your wife just kinda reminds me of my girl back home. Didn't mean to stare." "Stop apologizing, Den. No man has to apologize for being a man, I don't care what that PC bullshit says," said Trace with a grin.

They laughed and both adjusted themselves, rather openly and for somewhat different reasons.

"Yeah, well, I should be getting back to this yardwork. You know how Dad is about keeping the place neat."

Trace knew well that Armstrong was not one to let his place go to pot. He would spend an hour after a hard day's work as head of a security firm wandering about his yard, clipping and trimming, his muscles rippling in the light of dusk. He gave Dennis a great deal of freedom during his summer visits, even the use of the baby blue Mustang in the garage. But he expected alot from Dennis in return and tolerated nothing but the utmost courtesy. He probably would have had a fit if he knew Dennis had cussed in front of Trace. Armstrong was that way.

Trace had spent a evening hanging out with Armstrong when Brenda was out of town. They had a few beers and talked about women, trading stories about sex, Armstrong surprising Trace with his frankness. Armstrong talked about his ex-wife, Dennis's mother, a curvaceous brunette Trace had seen only a few times. He described sex acts Trace had not even had the guts to talk about with his wife. Trace watched Armstrong's rather substantial piece rise under his sweatpants. His huge hand gripped his cock through his sweats for a second and he continued his story. Trace imagined the dark man with that woman of the flawless alabaster skin and jade green eyes and began to grow deliciously tense. Trace rubbed his own cock but looked at Armstrong's crotch just a tad too long. Armstrong looked at him questioningly and Trace smiled and made some excuse about spacing out. After a bit, Armstrong remarked on the time and they stood up and said their goodbyes. They shook hands and Trace staggered home, hardly thinking of what had just transpired.
Armstrong was friendly but a bit more formal, normally. They still told dirty jokes to each other over the fence when Brenda wasn't close by, though.

Now, he was looking at this kid in open admiration and didn't have the Lowenbrau to blame. He stepped back a pace and nodded to Dennis.

"See ya around, Den."

"Later, Mr. Reed"

"Trace."

"Ok, Trace."

Trace went into the house with a hard on like granite. He walked down the hall, the scent of his wife's favorite shampoo wafting down the hall. He walked into the bedroom to find her wrapped in a towel and blowdrying her hair. She smiled at him as she turned the dryer off and said, "So, what did you have in mind tonight, love? A movie or just watching tv?"

Trace kicked off his sneakers and stalked towards her, eyes smoldering.

"Um...Trace?" she said, eyeing him cautiously. He slipped his arms around her and stared into her eyes. He brushed his lips against hers. She sighed. He inhaled sharply, drawing her breath into him and sealing their lips in a passionate kiss. She wrapped her arms around him pressed herself to him. He slid his hands down her back and over her ass. He began tugging at the towel desperate to get at her. She pushed herself away from him, breaking the kiss, and tore the towel away.
He unfastened his pants and dropped them to the floor, his fat cock straining against his briefs. She dropped to her knees in front of him and started mouthing his cock through the cloth. He shuddered and pressed his groin into her face. She felt his precum against her cheek and tugged at his cock with her lips. He hooked his thumb over the waistband and peeled his underwear past his hips. Brenda hooked her fingers over the waistband and pulled his underwear to his knees in one deft movement.
She grasped his cock and circled the head with her tongue. She wrapped her lips around just the head sucked hard on it. She suddenly pushed her mouth onto him, making a moaning sound as she gobbled his dick. He thrusted into her, his hands at his sides as he fucked her mouth. He moaned as his balls lightly slapped her chin.
He pulled out of her mouth and said, "Stand up." She stood and he spun her around quickly, facing her toward the bed. She gasped at his forcefulness but he seemed not to notice. He wrapped his arms around and slipped his cock between her thighs. The wetness of her pussy drenched his cock as he thrusted again and again. "Put it in," she moaned, "Fuck me!"
He bent her forward at the waist and positioned his cock at her dripping pussy. He slipped in smoothly, the both of them moaning as he sank his cock into her. He grasped her hips and thrusted into her steadily. Her back arched as she pushed back onto his cock grunting. "Harder, baby!" she screamed, "Ahhh!"
He stopped thrusting for a moment and grabbed her wrists. He pulled back and drove his cock into her hard. She grunted and bent forward at the waist. Trace began fucking Brenda savagely, pulling her onto his cock. She moaned incoherently and her pussy spasmed. Trace's balls swung freely as he pounded into her rhythmically. He growled as she screamed and clenched her pussy on his cock. She shuddered and went limp.
He eased her onto the the bed in front of them and eased his hard cock out of her. He pushed his cock between her buttcheeks and brought it against her asshole. "Fuck my ass, baby! Do it!" she hissed.

He pushed forward and her hole opened around his cock. She flinched for a moment and he kissed the back of her neck. He slid in slowly, Brenda grunting as her ass opened to accomodate him. He bottomed out in her and buttfucked her slowly, feeling her squeeze him. He fucked her tight ass with increasing speed, Brenda's groans of pleasure filling the room. She bucked while he rode her, grunting like an animal. She shook violently as her orgasm took her. She tensed and went limp, panting. Trace felt his balls squeeze as he shot his load in her. They lay there a few moments, wracked in spasms of pleasure, moaning and rubbing against each other.

"God! That was so good! Oh!" Brenda said breathlessly.

He pulled out of her and he helped her to her feet. They moved into the shower together, kissing as they soaped each other up. After they finished showering, Brenda pulled on some sweats and went to make dinner while Trace dressed in some shorts and a tee and went outside.

Dennis was sitting in a lawn chair in his own yard, drinking iced tea and grinning at him.

Trace puzzled at this until Dennis jerked his head toward Trace's house. Trace looked back at his house to see that he'd left the window of the bedroom open. The double-paned windows normally kept private stuff private. At least, they did if the window was closed. Dennis had heard his "encounter" with his wife in all its glory.

Trace sighed and winked.

Dennis winked back and held up his glass in salute. He then turned in his chair just a little so that Trace saw the outline of a rather obvious hardon. Trace chuckled and offered Dennis an off-handed salute, grinning.
He turned and went back into his house.

Funny that Dennis had heard him making love to his wife. Even funnier that Dennis would show him his hardon. He'd never known another guy to do that except back when he was a kid and he and his friends were talking sex and getting erections. Had Trace been so obvious in his admiration that Dennis had registered it as attraction?

And what about the vision he had when while he and Brenda were fucking?

For just a moment, as he shot his load into his wife, Trace imagined that he'd looked down...and seen Dennis under him.

TURMOIL: step 2 : here's to good friends

Trace sat on the floor of his basement, staring out into the darkness. The wind howled outside as he killed his fourth beer.

There didn't even seem to be any reason for him to be upset about what ws going on upstairs in his bedroom and in his very own bed. He'd been certain that something was going on for the longest time but had never said anything. He tossed his empty can across the room into a dark corner and missed the plastic waste basket. As the can clattered against the wall and the cement floor of the unfinished basement, he heard alarmed whispers from upstairs. Trace chuckled, wondering if Brenda would think it was a prowler or simply that he was home and that she'd been caught.
He was certain that the nameless, faceless man who had been enjoying his wife's favors was staring out the window into the dark, empty driveway. He imagined the man turning back to her and saying that "he" had not arrived. Trace looked at glowing dial of his watch and noted that he would have been expected about now. As though reading his thoughts, his wife and her visitor seemed to moving around in a frenzy, getting the house in order or whatever.

Trace pushed the remaining beers away and rose to his feet. Who could have guessed that his car breaking down would get him home early? He called her at work and told her that he couldn't say when he'd get home. She asked all the right questions and made all the right concerned noises, just as might be expected. He assured her that he'd take care of the car and be home when he could. But then, Roger offered to drop him off after work.

To hell with it.

He wasn't even upset really. There had been alot of time to get used to the idea. Besides, he still loved her and was sure that, in her way, she still loved him. He was all but certain he knew who it was, anyway. It had to be Dennis from next door.

The kid had been admiring her for a while and she was not unflattered by his attentions. They had talked a little over the fence, something Trace had wondered about since he first saw the way Dennis had looked at her.

Trace pulled on his raincoat and moved out the basement door. He didn't really see any need of creating a confrontation inside the house.
As he walked out across the yard, he saw a pair of lights coming down the street. The lights caught him full on as the car turned into the driveway next door. The garage door slowly rose, spilling dim light across the light blue hood of the car.

Light blue?

Armstrong had a light blue, late model Mustang but he almost always used the dark blue sedan during the week. As Trace reached the edge of the driveway, the garage door started to slide down. But as Trace stepped into the street, he saw a little splash of of dark blue behind the rapidly dropping garage door. He also saw a pair of bright red, leather court shoes walking behind the car.

Wait.

Both of his neighbor's cars were home

And those garishly colored sneakers belonged to Dennis, didn't they?

He had to be sure if what could be an unfair assumption had any truth to it. What was there to stop Armstrong from wearing his son's shoes or something, after all?

He went up his neighbor's front walk and pushed the buzzer. The blowing rain kept any noises from inside the house from reaching him. Light from the fixture above him spilled out onto the front yard suddenly and the big wooden door swung open. Dennis stood there, grinning broadly at him.

"Trace? What are you doing out in this shitty weather?" Dennis said, brightly.
Dennis stepped to one side and motioned him into the house. With the kid using language like this, one thing was certain : Armstrong definitely wasn't home.

"Oh, i just wanted to see your dad about some security equipment," Trace lied, "Is he around?"

"His car is but he's not in the house. He might be out walking," said Dennis, taking Trace's coat.

Must be, thought Trace, wondering.

"Can i get you something? A soda or coffee?" Dennis asked, sitting down to take off his red basketball shoes.

Normally, he was offered a beer in this household but Dennis, no doubt, could smell the beer on his breath. Trace could see why Armstrong trusted his son so. He was certainly responsible.

"Come on into the kitchen," said Dennis. The kid walked down the carpeted hall in his stocking feet, casually stretching as his tight shorts rode up slightly. They entered the brightly lit kitchen and Dennis rounded the counter, motioning Trace to a stool. Dennis popped open the soda he'd taken out and poured it into a glass. He took a sip, washed his hands and returned to the cutting board he'd been using to chop some peppers.

"I thought Dad wired your house last year some time," Dennis said, knife flashing as he worked.

"Uh, yeah, he did. I was looking at maybe a motion detector for the corners of the house," Trace said, quickly.

"The windows at the corners are wired aren't they?" asked Dennis, as he guided the chopped peppers into bowl and then dumped them into a steaming pan.

It seemed that Trace had picked the wrong lie as Dennis knew his dad's business well enough.

"Well, it's for Brenda, really. She wanted something more since she's home alone sometimes."

Dennis nodded and covered the pan and wiped his hands on the towel across his shoulder.

"I think i could use a soda after all," Trace announced, hoping he'd not have to field more questions.

Dennis walked over to the refrigerator and ducked his head, looking in.

"Hit the remote and put the TV on channel 43, wouldja?" said Dennis from behind the door.

"Sure," said Trace, looking back toward the kid after doing so.

Dennis was visible only from the waist down behind the door of the fridge. Trace admired the powerful legs and the rounded butt. His eyes traced the separations between the muscles of his legs, the lovely brown shading of his skin.
"We got Coke, Pepsi, grape, orange and ginger ale," came the muffled voice from inside the fridge.

"Coke, please," said Trace, still admiring Dennis.

Trace turned back to the tv set on the shelf. It had lit up and was depicting a black man and an Asian woman doing things that came naturally.
Trace was surprised.

"Your dad lets you watch porn?" asked Trace.

"Yeah. He says it's just fucking and he'd rather have me watching that than some movie where people were getting their heads torn off," said Dennis, matter-of-factly.

Dennis set the soda can and a glass in front of Trace. Dennis took a seat beside Trace, watching the action on the screen intently. He reached for his own glass and took a sip, rubbing his crotch casually. Trace watched this out of the corner of his eye. Dennis rested his hand on the bulge in his shorts, squeezing gently. Trace adjusted himself and tried maintain his composure. Dennis smiled and said, " Dad says this is a man's house and not to be ashamed of stuff like that."

Dennis glanced down at Trace's swelling bulge and then looked back at the screen. Dennis squeezed his own bulge again and shifted in his seat. He leaned back and set his elbows on the counter behind him. Trace did the same and glanced down at Dennis' crotch.

From just under the leg of his shorts, there was a bit of white showing.
Trace looked again and felt his pulse quicken. The bit of white was head of Dennis' cock, encased in his white cotton briefs and pushing out further with each second.
Trace shuddered for a moment, torn. Was this an invitation or just Dennis' understanding of "guy stuff"? Did Dennis want him to make a move or would he lose it completely and kick his ass? The kid could certainly do it, were he of such a mind. Dennis chuckled and said, "I could use a blow right now."

Dennis said, "But, oh well, no one here to do that." Trace's heart sank until Dennis said, "Not in the kitchen anyway."

Trace looked at Dennis uncertainly. Dennis said nothing and Trace took a stab. He got up and walked out into the hallway. Dennis didn't move a muscle and Trace kept walking. He stepped into the dim light of the den and sat in an overstuffed chair and waited, hoping he hadn't misinterpreted.

Dennis filled the doorway. Silhouetted in the light from the kitchen, he looked a young god, wide shoulders and narrow hips. His huge arms out to his sides supported him against the doorway.
He padded in, seemingly fumbling with his zipper. Trace could see almost nothing in the near-darkness. Then a warm and quite substantial something smacked Trace's cheek. Dennis' hands grasped Trace's head gently rubbing his fat cock against Trace's face.

"Suck it," Dennis growled.

Trace mouthed the side of Dennis cock hungrily, moving toward the head. Trace was on fire. He wanted this so badly. He'd never felt this way. Women were wonderful but this was so...overwhelming.
Dennis moaned as Trace slipped his mouth over the mushroom head. Trace opened his mouth wide and tried to take more. The head of Dennis' cock hit the back of his throat and Dennis thrust into Trace's throat. Trace fought back the urge to gag and sucked hard on Dennis.
Dennis pulled his cock from Trace's mouth and ground his crotch into Trace's face. Trace flicked his tongue out, lapping Dennis' balls and teasing the underside of the fat pole.
Dennis moved away from where Trace sat and flopped down onto the couch. he leaned back and raised his hips, sliding his shorts down to his ankles.
"C'mere, Trace. C'mere get some," Dennis teased.

Trace made as if to stand and Dennis whispered, "On your knees." Trace slid out of the chair and crawled over to where Dennis sat, stroking his cock. The light from the kitchen filtered in, and only shone on Dennis from the waist down. Trace watched the big brown cock as Dennis stroked. His eyes traced the veiny surface as he got closer.
He licked the underside of the cock and rose onto his knees, waggling his tongue against Dennis' cock.
Trace slurped at the head and pushed his mouth down the shaft. Dennis flexed his butt and pushed his cock in further. Trace gagged but didn't let go.
Dennis began fucking Trace's mouth, groaning. Trace held still and sucked for all he was worth. Dennis grasped Trace's head and shoved his cock deep. Trace felt the thick, sweet load splash against his throat.

Dennis groaned loudly and Trace's throat was hit with a torrent of hot cum. It filled his mouth and started to run down his chin as Trace swallowed as fast as he could.

Trace slid his mouth off after the last squirt and Dennis sat forward and pushed himself to his feet. He put his cock back into his short and extended a hand to Trace. Trace took it and Dennis pulled him to his feet. Dennis pulled the towel from his shoulder and handed it to Dennis, smiling broadly.
Trace wiped his mouth and chin and slung the towel over his shoulder. Trace tried to say something but Dennis put a finger to his lips and smiled. Dennis turned and walked into the hallway and toward the kitchen.

What did this all mean? WAs Dennis gay? No, he wanted Brenda and that was obvious. Was he bi? Why did he leave the way he did? Trace shook his head and tried to clear it.
What did this mean for HIM? What was HE? He had never touched another man and he had just sucked another guy's cock for all he was worth and loved it.
Trace turned and flopped on the couch looking out the window into the darkness. It took in the carefully, panted flowers that Dennis' dad worked on diligently. It also displayed part of Trace's house. Trace was just looking out idly when he saw a figure behind his house. He started until he watched the casual way that the figure moved. It was a man and pretty big man at that.
The figure casually slid the basement door of Trace's house closed. The man started walking across the wet grass toward Trace. Trace watched, fascinated. The man put a hand up and vaulted the the fence into yard. When the figure got with in six feet of the house the security lights flashed on.
The man fumbled at something around his neck and the lihts winked out instantly. Trace nodded at this.

"Hello Armstrong", Trace thought, smiling faintly.

Turmoil 3: Naked to the World

"Dennis?" Armstrong called out from the front door.

"In the kitchen, Dad" Dennis called back.

Trace got up from his seat in the den and moved to the hallway. He peered toward the front door and saw Armstrong with his back turned to him, hanging up his coat. Trace turned down the hallway and went into the kitchen where Dennis had resumed his duties as cook. Dennis smiled a mischievous smile and concentrated on stirring a pan of something that smelled delicious. Trace sat at the counter and picked up his glass of soda, which was still cool. The television was now tuned to some sports channel, which Dennis periodically looked up from his work to study.
As some faceless commentator picked through the finer points of high school cheerleading to the contortions of a slender but delightfully flexible young woman, Armstrong entered the room. He padded over to the stove in his stockinged feet and slipped his arm over Dennis' shoulder and down his chest, hugging him.

"Did you follow the recipe this time? No improvising?" Armstrong asked in mock-accusation.

"Oh, come on, Dad. I thought you liked hot peppers."

"I like fast cars, too. But i don't want to wake up behind the wheel and doing ninety," Armstrong laughed.

"Point taken," Dennis said, smiling. Over his shoulder, he called, "You staying for dinner, Trace?"

Armstrong whirled around to see Trace sitting at his counter, engrossed in the vagaries of doing splits. Trace nodded to Armstrong and said, "Hi Armstrong. Just came by to see you about some added security. Been talking to Dennis about man-stuff."

Armstrong looked at Trace uncertainly and said, "Oh..uh..hi, Trace."

After a moment, he turned back to Dennis and said, "And since when he have you been calling him Trace?"

"I said it was alright, Armstrong, " Trace said, defusing the situation. Armstrong could surprisingly strict about little stuff.

Armstrong nodded to Trace and let the matter drop.

"So where's that lovely wife of yours this evening, Trace?"

"At home, I should think."

Like you don't know, Trace thought. Whatever his feelings on what his wife was doing, being treated like the typical cuckolded husband had no appeal at all.

But, oh well...

"Dad, you want to eat in the kitchen or the dining room?" Dennis asked.

"The dining room, I think. You still running the cable from the dining room to your room or did you get around to hooking up those transmitter things?"

"It's in my room. I was gonna hook them in tomorrow.

"No problem. We'll just eat in here."

The doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Dennis said, already halfway out the door.

"So, what was that you wanted to talk to me about? Your house has a pretty good system, if I do say so myself."

"Maybe some motion sensors for the corners. I had something like your setup in mind."

Armstrong frowned for a moment.

"My setup?"

"Yeah. I mean how you have security lights that you turn off with a remote."

Armstrong frowned again.

"Denny talks too much."

"Actually, I saw you use it a little bit ago. You know, when you came out of -- "

"Hi, honey!"

Brenda walked in with Dennis trailing behind her. Armstrong's head snapped in her direction. Trace casually turned to her and smiled. She wore a tight yellow t-shirt and blue jeans. She walked over beside him and gently kissed him on the lips.

"I was wondering where you were," she said, in mild reproof. "When Roger called a few minutes ago and asked if you'd need a ride tomorrow, I told him I'd ask when you got home. He told me that he'd dropped you on his way home."

Trace nodded.

"Thought I'd walk around a little and I thought of something I wanted to ask Armstrong. So, I dropped by here," Trace said.

Brenda nudged him and smiled, saying, "Well, next time, at least let me know you're home."

"Yes, ma'am," Trace said.

"So, are you both going to eat with us tonight? We've
got plenty, thanks to Dennis'...enthusiasm for cooking," Armstrong boomed as he turned off the stove's burners. He smiled at his son. Brenda looked at Trace but he shook his head.

"Nah, we'll just be heading home now. Thank you for your hospitality."

Brenda looked slightly disappointed but Trace was in no mood to care.

"Perhaps, Brenda might want to stay after all. I've got some things I need to tend to at home. I'll see you at home, dear."

Trace got up from the counter and made for the door. He was halfway down the hall before he heard his wife calling after him.

"Trace? Wait up."

Trace slipped into his coat and turned to her, his expression blank.

"Thought you were of a mind to stay," he said.

"Honestly, I don't know what wrong with you tonight, Trace."

He shrugged and opened the front door.

"Nothing, babe. I'm just kinda tired. I'll see you later tonight," he said kissing her on the cheek. He turned and stepped out into the blowing rain, pulling the door closed.

He was working on his third glass of port and listening to a Stanley Jordan CD when he heard the front door open. Brenda entered the room, shaking out her hair. She sat in a chair close to him and said, "Trace, we need to talk. What's wrong?"

Trace turned the stereo down a little and put the remote on the couch beside him.

"Please, have your say, dear," he said coolly.

"You've been drinking. I can't talk to you when you're like this."

"I'm quite lucid. Spit it out."

"Trace...I.."

Trace put down his glass and motioned for her to sit beside him. She moved over to the couch, picking up the remote and turning down the stereo a bit more.

" You were so distant earlier. There didn't seem to be any reason for it. What's going on with you?" she asked.

Might as well get it out in the open, Trace thought.

"You remember that call from Roger? The one where he told you that he dropped me off?"

Brenda nodded.

"He dropped me off probably about an hour before he called. I came in the back door and up the stairs to put my stuff away. You weren't trying to be quiet, y'know."

Brenda sat motionless and without expression for several seconds. Trace leaned back into the cushions of the couch, letting it sink in for her. She bowed her head and looked at the floor, dry-eyed.

"What do you want me to say?" she choked out.

"How long has it been going on?" Trace asked.

"Maybe a month. He and I were talking about the trip up to see his cabin. Remember?"

Trace nodded. He'd had to cancel because his boss asked him to work overtime that Friday. They'd gone up with Armstrong the next morning.

"Well, we spent the evening talking about the cabin and what he was going to do with it. I said it sounded romantic and he laughed. 'Just more homey,' he said. We talked about romance and then, sex. The stuff we'd done and hadn't done and all that. I'd never even heard him cuss before that and he was casually talking about 'fucking'. It was, I don't know, refreshing, I guess. We'd been talking for a few hours and since you still weren't home, we had dinner at his house. We talked some more and then, I thought it was time for me to be getting home. We were saying our goodnights when he kissed me."

Trace shifted in his seat, his brow starting to knit.

"He didn't grab me or anything," she said, quickly. "He just kissed me and I kissed him back. I said I'd see him tomorrow morning and he smiled. For some reason, I guess since he and I had never talked like that before, I turned to him, meaning to hug him goodnight. The door was even halfway open."

Trace nodded, taking her hand in his as he listened.

"We hugged. But we didn't break the hug. We just stood there like that. We stood there until he reached behind me and pushed the door shut again."

Trace sighed, his finger teasing over the wedding band on her third finger.

"And since then?"

"We've done it five or six times. Oh, Trace, we...I didn't want to hurt you," she said, tears running down her cheeks, her voice breaking up. He let go of her hand and put his arm around her. She lay against his chest as he stroked her hair.

"It's nothing, babe. It's nothing at all. I love you," he said kissing her forehead. She sat up and searched his face. He smiled and kissed her. She beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

There was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it," Brenda said.

"I'll do it," said Trace, disentangling himself from her grasp. He touched her cheek, wiping away a tear and went out into the hallway. He looked through the peephole and saw Armstrong standing outside, shifting his weight nervously. Trace unlatched the door and pulled it open.

"Come on in," Trace said as Armstrong stepped into the foyer.

"Just came by to bring Brenda's coat. I guess she forgot it since it wasn't raining when she left."

Trace smiled and hung the coat on the coat rack next to the door.

"Sit and talk for a minute?" Trace asked.

"Well, I should be getting back."

"Dennis is a big boy, Armstrong. He'll be fine."

Armstrong laughed.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about my day tomorrow. But I can spare a few minutes to talk, I guess."

Trace smiled and gestured down the hall to the den. Armstrong led the way. As they entered, Brenda was bent over at the stereo, changing the CD. When she stood, Anita Baker was belting out something from her newest release. She turned to see Armstrong standing in front of her and Trace walking in behind him.

"Oh! Hi, Armstrong," she said.

She'd dried her tears but her eyes were still red. Armstrong looked at her uncomfortably.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked.

"Nah. Have a seat, " Trace said.

Armstrong sat and leaned forward, intently studying his hosts. Trace sat on the sofa and Brenda sat with him, a little distance away.

"I was wondering about some motion sensors with some lights attached. Like the ones you have."

"Yeah. They're pretty simple, really. Convenient for when you can't get to a switch and getting the attention of anybody wandering around your property. I put some in at the cabin yesterday after work. Takes less than hour. I brought you a pamphlet on them. The ones with the mark beside them are what I have in stock but I can get anything you think you need."

Armstrong proffered the booklet and Trace took it and placed it on the coffee table.

"Now, how did you know about my lights again? Dennis said you mentioned something for the corners of your house but I know you're pretty well wired-in everywhere. And I just put those lights in day before yesterday. I remembered I hadn't even mentioned them to Dennis."

"I was thinking about them earlier today. I saw yours come on earlier tonight. Remember when you crossed the fence coming home for dinner?

"But I--"

Trace gave him a somewhat patronizing smile as he watched him fumble for words, uncertain of what Trace knew or didn't know. Trace held up a hand as if to say, "Spare me," and smiled.

"I know, Armstrong. I got home early tonight and came upstairs for a minute."

Armstrong was stunned for a moment, trying to read Trace's apparent calm.

"Trace, we never meant...I mean, Bren and I, we..."

"Yeah, she told me that."

"So, um, what does this mean? For you, I mean."

"What are you asking exactly, Armstrong?"

"I mean the two of you. I..."

"We're going to be fine."

Trace smiled at Brenda. She returned the smile.

Armstrong relaxed but still a little puzzled.

"You're not mad?"

"No. No point in being mad. In fact, the thought of you two together had entered my mind before."

Now, it was Brenda's turn to look puzzled.

"Oh?" she said.

"Yeah," Trace said, reaching out for her. She scooted over to him and he put his arm around her. Armstrong smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"I see," Armstrong said.

"Do you?" said Trace.

"Come again?"

Trace smiled.

"It's not a big deal. If that's what she wants, that's what she gets."

Trace leaned over to Brenda and kissed her gently. She snuggled closer to him and started to rub his crotch. Trace was startled as this was something she only did when she was horny but never had she done it in front of anyone. He pondered this now-shared bit of intimacy. Then, he laughed silently at himself. She'd FUCKED this guy. She, surely, didn't hold many mysteries for him by now. He glanced at Armstrong as Brenda's hands moved lower. Armstrong was watching interestedly, rubbing his cock through his slacks.

Trace took a deep breath and said aloud, "Maybe you'd be more comfortable over here with us."

Brenda raised her eyes and looked at Trace. Whatever her original intent, the smile on her face told him that she approved.

Armstrong rose from his chair and took a seat on the other side of Brenda. He placed his hand on Brenda's thigh and began to stroke it. Brenda spread her legs a little and Armstrong's hand moved down onto her inner thigh and up toward her pussy. Trace turned to her and kissed her again, fondling her breast. She moaned softly as she reached for Trace's cock.

She inhaled sharply as Armstrong's hand began kneading her mound. Trace slipped his hand down her back and pulled up her shirt, little by little.
Armstrong mouthed at her other breast through her shirt as he undid her pants with one hand. Brenda lay there, writhing. She kneaded the bulge in his pants as she did the same to Trace. As he slipped his hand into her pants, rubbing her mound more directly, his eyes caught Trace's. As Trace looked into his friend's eyes, taking in his dark features as the two of them fondled his wife, a stirring passed through him like nothing heÕd known. He managed a smile and was met with a sort of a mischievous smile that he'd seen before. Now I see where Dennis gets it, Trace thought.

Trace pushed Brenda forward gently and gripped her shirttail. As he pulled her shirt over her head, Armstrong went to work undoing her bra with his free hand. As the snaps came loose, Trace pulled her bra off, freeing her heavy breasts.

Armstrong covered a nipple with his lips, suckling at it gently. Brenda arched her back, grasping their cocks and squeezing hard. Armstrong did something with the hand he had in BrendaÕs pants and moaned loudly and started to hump his hand. Trace moved down and lapped at BrendaÕs other nipple before wrapping his lips around it and letting his hand trail down her belly. When his hand covered Armstrong's, he looked up to see Armstrong staring back.

Armstrong's teeth flashed as he nibbled at Brenda's nipple. Brenda grunt and humped herself faster against his hand. Armstrong smiled at Trace and Trace worked his hand under Armstrong's, teasing Brenda's clit as Armstrong finger-fucked her. Brenda wailed as her body shook. She tossed her head and all but clawed at the two men through their pants. When her orgasm subsided, she looked down at Armstrong and smiled weakly. He grinned at her as he circled her nipple with his tongue. She turned to Trace who let go of her nipple long enough to give her a quick kiss on the lips. She looked deeply into his eyes and mouthed the words "I love you."

Trace pulled his hand out of her panties and let go of her nipple. He sucked at his finger, still wet with her juices. Armstrong did the same, sucking at the two fingers he'd had inside her. Trace slid off the couch and reached up to tugged Brenda's pants and panties off. Brenda raised her hips and Armstrong kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. Trace crawled between her legs and traced the edges of her pussy lips with his tongue. Armstrong kicked off his shoes and went to work on his own pants. He pushed them and his underwear to his ankles, exposing a thick, dark cock that resembled a nightstick. Trace's eyes bulged for a moment, but, recovering, he reached over to Armstrong and tugged his pants the rest of the way off.

Trace spread Brenda's pussy lips and dragged his tongue up and down slowly. A little moan escaped her lips as he tongued her clit. Brenda grasped Armstrong's pole and stroked it slowly as he continued exploring her mouth with his tongue. Trace circled Brenda's clit and slid his tongue back down, and pushing it inside her. She moaned and slid forward on the couch, pushing her hot pussy into his face.
Armstrong broke his kiss with Brenda and looked down at Trace. Trace winked and pushed his tongue deeper into his wife's wet cunt. Armstrong stood up, naked from the waist down but for his socks, and turned to set one foot on the couch. He climbed on to the couch and stood there facing Brenda, his fat cock against her cheek. She turned her her to lick at it and grasped it firmly in her hand. Trace watched this from his kneeling position, his cock rock-hard cock now freed from his pants. Trace squeezed his cock and wiggled his tongue as he sucked Brenda's pussy. Brenda's eyes rolled back as she scooted forward, pushing her pussy at Trace. She put her lips over the head of Armstrong's thick cock and worked her mouth back and forth over it. Armstrong groaned but did not push forward letting her suck at his cockhead. Trace nibbled lightly at her pussy lips as he watched his wife devour Armstrong.
She stopped for a moment and slid her mouth further onto Armstrong's pole, bobbing slowly and taking more and more in. Armstrong's composure started to melt as he thrust into her mouth, Brenda's cheeks stretching to accommodate him. Trace sucked her clit and shoved his tongue back in as she bucked her hips. Armstrong held her head steady as he fucked her mouth. Brenda shook as she came again, splashing her husband's face. Armstrong was driving the whole of his big cock down her throat, Brenda moaning on every outstroke. She reached up and put her hand on his thigh, pushing him back gently. Armstrong paused and pulled his cock out of her mouth.
She said, between panting breaths, " Fuck me. I want to ride you."

Trace moved back and Armstrong climbed off the couch and sat down beside Brenda. She draped one leg over his and climbed onto his lap. She reached forward to Trace and he pulled her to her feet. Armstrong stroked his cock a few times and held it steady as Brenda hovered over it.
With one smooth motion, Brenda impaled herself on Armstrong's dick. A deep satisfied groan came from both of them as she settled onto him. She leaned back onto Armstrong's chest as he wrapped his arms around her. She moved her hips, working his cock around inside her. Trace shucked his pants and stared as the bright pink of his wife's pussy worked itself over Armstrong's thick, black cock. Trace took in the blissful look on his wife's face. Just then she locked eyes with him. She held out a hand to him and he leaned forward to take it. Again, she mouthed the words, "I love you."

Trace let go of her hand and set both his hands on Armstrong's knees, pushing them apart. Armstrong offered no resistance at all as Trace moved between his legs. Brenda leaned back on Armstrong's chest and was sliding up and down his cock slowly. The sounds of her slurping pussy were just audible over the soft music.
Trace licked Brenda's clit and she let out a whimper. He stroked her thighs and lapped at her clit, just avoiding touching Armstrong's cock. Trace leaned back a moment to watch Brenda plunging onto her lover's cock, still rubbing her thighs. Trace felt something nudging him and turned to see it was Armstrong's knee. He looked at Armstrong and Armstrong said softly, "You afraid of something?"

Trace looked at Armstrong, confused. Armstrong grinned and raised his hips off the couch, driving his cock deep into Brenda. He shook his body, working it inside her while she moaned incoherently, her pussy spasming around his cock.
Trace tentatively moved a hand down Brenda's thigh and onto Armstrong's. Armstrong grinned at him and swung his hips back and forth, eliciting moans from Brenda. Trace tongue Brenda's clit again. He moved his hand up to cup Armstrong's balls and squeezed them gently. Armstrong growled and flexed his cock inside Brenda's pussy. Trace kissed Brenda's clit and slid his tongue over it and down onto Armstrong's shaft. Brenda raised her head and gave Trace a surprised but delighted smile when she saw what he was doing. Trace grinned at her and dragged his tongue over her clit and back down Armstrong's shaft.

"Mmmmm. That looks good, " she said. She clenched her pussy around around Armstrong's cock and shook her hips, making him moan.

"I want you both," she said.

She pushed Trace back a little and Armstrong supported her as she rose off his cock. She stepped over him and pulled him toward the floor. He lay down on the floor on his back and stroked his throbbing member. Trace decided to take the opportunity.
He crawled over beside Armstrong and put his mouth over the head of his cock. Armstrong grabbed his head and shoved his cock in further. Trace took as much as he could and slid off again, tasting Brenda's juices and Armstrong's precum.
Brenda straddled Armstrong and slid onto his cock again. Armstrong put his hands on her butt and began thrusting into her. Armstrong paused as Trace straddled his legs and pushed Brenda forward. He pushed his cock between her asscheeks as she moaned. He pushed into her asshole as she took deep breaths. He and Armstrong began a slow thrusting as Brenda adjusted to having two cocks inside her. Her grunts turned to moans as she pushed back against them.

"Fuck me, damn it!! Fuck the hell out of me!" she screamed.

Trace pulled half way out of her ass and drove his cock in hard. Brenda grunted and pushed back. Armstrong arched his back, pounding into Brenda's pussy as she grunted on each thrust. Trace could feel his cock almost rubbing against Armstrong's inside her, their ballsacs rubbing against each other as they fucked his wife. Brenda threw back her head, her mouth open open wide as her passionate gasps drowned out the music.

"Uhnn..Uhnnn..."

She moaned, slamming herself back onto them as they fucked her in lustful frenzy. With a last gasp, she collapsed atop Armstrong, shaking violently.

Armstrong spewed his load into Brenda, wracked by his orgasm. He pushed his cock deep into her as her own near-sobs of pleasure filled the room. Trace thrust into her a few more times and unloaded, kissing and biting her neck.

He pulled out of her and she rose off of Armstrong's now-limp cock. They lay there, Brenda in the middle, touching each other. Trace looked into his wife's eyes.

Armstrong smiled at the both of them.

"Denny said you two had a nice...talk earlier, Trace."

Trace blushed.

Brenda pushed herself up onto her elbow.

"The best kind," Armstrong said. Trace and Armstrong smiled at her and she blushed.

"Hon, you finish work early tomorrow, don't you?" Trace asked, a gleam in his eye.

"Yeah."

"Perhaps, you two should...talk," Trace said.

Armstrong burst out laughing.

"Maybe you should, Bren. I know he and his girlfriend haven't done a whole lot of anything. Hardly anything except she lets him eat her and, sometimes, she blows him."

"We'll see. But let's just kinda play it by ear," Brenda said.

Shig
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Last modified (12/24/96 14:19:47) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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