Alpha Rivals

"Oh, I think any woman can muster a little competitive spirit, Eric. Especially if she sees another woman doing to her husband what I'm doing to you. Besides, didn't you invite me over, tonight, with the idea that she just might catch us in the act?"

"I just don't think Janey would play that game, darling." "From what I've seen," Devon said, "she can play the game even better than your first two wives, Eric. And be honest. Wouldn't you love to watch the two of us going at it for the right to take you for the evening?"

Going at it? She really did mean to enact our duel, tonight.

"The thought's arousing, I admit it," my husband said. "But I doubt she'd fight for me. I just can't see her making a fuss."

Grrr! I couldn't stand it any longer. Barging through the doorway, I said in my calmest, most composed but forceful tone, "A fuss, Eric? You can't see me making a fuss? Who is this person! With her mouth all over your cock, I might add!"

Eric sprang to his feet from the large leather Chesterfield couch in front of the fireplace, but the woman rose slowly and with surprising dignity, given the activity she'd been doing. "My god, Janey!" my husband croaked. Devon was barely suppressing a smile.

Eric at least had the good grace to look nonplussed and ashamed, finally stammering, "Janey, it's not what it looks like!"

There was an uncomfortable, silent moment, after which my rival and I both exhaled decidedly unfeminine snorts, trying to keep our composure—partly from nervousness, partly in response to the ridiculous cliché contained in the moment, and partly in reaction to the unintended humor in Eric's startled protest.

When we recovered, I said, "Eric, it's exactly what it looks like: a suspicious wife, surprising her husband while he's getting head from his mistress. If ever anything was exactly what it looked like, this is it!"

Eric was dumbstruck; the woman was now frankly grinning; and I was trying to decide what to feel. It was not anxiety exactly, nor anger, but a number of emotions, all at once. More than I was used to, anyway.

I looked at Devon. We were indeed dressed alike, except that her lingerie was burgundy and she'd shed her teddy, revealing her lacy, sheer bra. She smiled outright, now, and, turning to my husband, said, "Eric, why don't you make a couple of drinks for Janey and me. We have some things to talk over." Then, turning to me, she offered her hand and said, "Janey, I'm Devon. It's nice to meet you at last."

Automatically, I took her hand but then dropped it like a hot coal. "Nice to meet you, Devon," I replied between clenched teeth. "Now get out of my house."

"Throwing me out? You disappoint me, Janey. Given the cleverness of our duel so far, I would have expected better."

"Duel?" Eric looked up, puzzled. He'd been attempting to stuff himself back into his trousers, but without success."

"The drinks, please, Eric," Devon reminded him.

"Never mind the drinks, Eric, Devon won't be staying. If she doesn't leave, I'll telephone the police."

"And tell them what?" Devon said, hands on her hips. "That you're throwing out a guest invited by your husband? I doubt they'll take that seriously."

I studied Devon's face and realized that she felt no anxiety. She wasn't going anywhere, unless I threw her out myself. "Eric, Devon's right," I hissed. "I am being a poor hostess. Please pour us both drinks, while we figure this out."

Slowly, I took two steps toward her, until we were only a couple of feet apart. Our eyes traveled down each other's bodies, scanning for imperfections, our chests thrust toward one another in an implied challenge.

Devon looked to be in her early forties, much older than I'd anticipated, but she was obviously in good shape and quite pretty. Her luxurious auburn hair was cut simply but elegantly to shoulder-length, framing an expressive face, with lovely green eyes and full lips. Her skin was pale and flawless, down to the cleavage of her breasts, which were revealed in their sheer brassiere. A c-cup, I was guessing, like mine. She was an inch shorter than my 5'5" but perhaps a few pounds heavier. She wore it well.

My breasts were slightly smaller but higher, and my legs, just slightly longer, judging from the tops of our stockings. My shoulder length dirty blonde hair and blue eyes were assets in comparison, I thought, but something about Devon's attitude told me not to underestimate her.

Eric brought us drinks—we both drank scotch and ice, no big surprise—and we pulled two chairs together so we could sit closer to one another, our knees almost touching. Dismissed, my husband sighed and wandered back to the couch.

After a moment and several sips of scotch, Devon started, "Janey, how are we going to settle this? You may think you want me out of the picture, but I survived the first two Mrs. Cartiers, and I'll survive you, too."

"Devon," I said, reaching down to massage my toes casually, "whether you're in or out of the picture is entirely up to you and Eric. I just need you to know who's on top. I'm Eric's wife, and I come first."

Devon crossed her legs, and, in turn, casually massaged one of her stockinged feet. She had made no attempt to reclaim her teddy, and, as she leaned forward, the message was plain: "In your face, girl." I noticed that Eric, who'd been nervous as a cat, a few minutes earlier, was now clearly enjoying the game of mutual intimidation his wife and his mistress were playing.

"I can live with your coming first, when he's with you, if you can live with my coming first, when he's with me," she said, "and, tonight, he's with me."

"Whatever sordid pleasure Eric pursues to amuse himself when he's not with me is entirely up to him, but this is my home, and I don't want you here ever again, unless I invite you." Retrieving her teddy from the floor, I tossed it to her, and said, "So why don't you just put this on, get dressed, and leave quietly by the back door."

"Hmmm, well, we do seem to have some differences," Devon murmured. "But, actually, I won't be needing this for a while," she said, tossing the teddy on the sofa near Eric. With that, she raised her arms over her head in a slow, luxurious stretch, accenting her lovely pale bosom through her sheer bra, along with the slightly darker rings of two incredibly hard nipples. Thrusting her breasts toward me, again, she smiled, "Perhaps we should consider settling this, woman to woman."

I gulped, probably audibly. "I never had the chance to reply to your challenge," I said.

"What you're wearing is sufficient reply, Janey. I'd say we have the opportunity, here, to settle a few things between us and give Eric a thrill in the process."

My husband started to say something, but Devon wagged a finger at him. "Stay out of this, Eric, it's between Janey and me." Turning back to me, she stage whispered, "Don't you want to throw me out? Admit it, Janey, wouldn't you love to slap my face and get your hands in my hair? To show me who's on top, as you so quaintly put it?"

My mouth fell open, but, before I could say anything, Devon continued, "I'll tell you what, sweetheart. Take that teddy off, and, if your nipples aren't as hard as mine are, then I promise you: I'll get dressed and leave."

I hesitated briefly, swallowed, and then slowly, with a smile appearing on my face, pulled my teddy over my head. As the silk rippled over my breasts, my already hard nipples got incredibly tight, and I thought they might actually burst through my bra.

Instinctively, Devon and I both stood, as my teddy drifted to the floor, and I thrust my breasts right back at my adversary, until we were actually touching nipples. The sensations were electric; and, for several moments, we rubbed into each other, lightly and slowly, as our breath mingled.

She broke the spell by stepping back, just an inch, and whispering again, as we stared into each other's eyes, "We've definitely got Eric's attention. His poor cock is dribbling in anticipation."

I glanced at my husband, who was making no attempt to hide his erection. "I'll take care of you, darling, as soon as I've thrown this tramp out," I said. "And as soon as I've bathed you," I added, noting Devon's shade of lip gloss, up and down his shaft.

Devon leaned forward, until our breasts were touching again. Our lips were only an inch apart, and I could feel and smell her hot breath, as she said, "I'm so glad you're entering into the spirit of this, Janey. Because, frankly, I'm tired of tasting your saliva and juices, whenever I want a taste of Eric. I want you to keep your nasty mouth off him, when he's coming to see me."

She reached up to my shoulders, as if to embrace me, but instead hooked her fingers into my bra straps. I was afraid, for a moment, that she might pull my bra down, but she adjusted her fingers for a good grip and then simply rested her hands on my shoulders. I slid my fingers through her straps, as well, and we began a slow, tight dance, still gazing intently into each other's eyes. The tension was building inexorably, like a storm, and the first droplets were already forming in my panties.

"And I want your lipstick off his cock, Devon. Permanently. I can still smell the cheap whore scent, even after he's showered."

"Oh, that was beneath you, Janey. I'm going to enjoy humiliating you in front of Eric."

"Play nice, girls," Eric interjected, raising his glass to us.

"We'll be careful, darling," Devon said, as we continued moving slowly in our tight circle. "We'll observe the rules, and no one will get hurt, except the loser's pride, of course."

"Eric knows about the rules?" I asked.

"He even thought of some of them, Janey. You think you're the first of his wives to settle things, woman to woman, with me? I've been his lover for fifteen years."

Now it was my turn to be nonplussed. "You mean you fought with Ellen and Amy, too?"

"Of course. Whenever there was an issue to be settled." Turning to Eric, Devon said, "Why don't you get things set up for our little spat, darling, so we can get started."

Eric obediently rose and began pushing the furniture to the walls.

I looked at my husband and asked, "Is this what you want?"

In reply, he shrugged and raised his palms; but, before he could say anything, Devon jumped in, "This will be more enjoyable for Eric, if it stays between you and me, Janey. Woman to woman. If you win, I'll stay out of your house. If I win . . . well, let's just say I'll finish what I started, tonight."

Grrr! That did it! "I'm going to love putting you in your place, while my husband watches, Devon."

"And I'm going to enjoy wiping that smug smile off your face, Janey," Devon replied. Then she winked at me and said, "I'm going to do to you the most humiliating thing a woman can do to her rival."

I must have looked puzzled, prompting her to add, "I think the last photographs we traded will give you some ideas, Janey."

I remembered our exchange of polaroids, offering our backsides to each other. "So . . . optional rules are in," I said. "Looks like the metaphor is about to become a reality. You're going to get a fresh taste of what you had, earlier this week," I said, offering her my best heavy-lidded smile.

"We'll see who ends up with whose end where," she replied with that same self-satisfied, annoying grin I'd seen several times already.

Eric had finished clearing our makeshift arena and was busy setting up his digital camcorder. "This'll just take a minute, you two," he said and continued his fiddling. Suddenly, images of Devon and me flashed on our big plasma wall screen.

As my husband retired to an overstuffed leather chair by the fireplace, Devon let go of my brassiere, and I followed suit, as we moved back to face each other, six or seven feet apart. Instinctively, we both crouched, and I found myself thinking: How in the world did I get here? I was planning to throw this woman out on her ass—metaphorically, of course—and here I was, dressed only in lingerie and prepared to enter a humiliating contest with her.

Even more puzzling and outrageous, I was beginning to feel the unmistakable symptoms of intense sexual arousal, and I wondered if my adversary was as turned on as I was.

"Just for the record," Devon said, "this will decide guest privileges in Eric and Janey's home. If Janey wins, I can visit only when she invites me. If I win, I come whenever Eric says it's okay. And the winner," she smiled lasciviously at me, "gets to finish what I started, tonight."

"Agreed," I nodded.

"Oh, and if I win, no more surprise blow jobs, before Eric visits me. And . . . I leave wearing whatever I like from Janey's closet."

"What!" I started to protest, just as Devon moved forward and landed a stinging slap across my left cheek, sending me sprawling backward several steps. I recovered quickly, but she pressed her advantage, and we exchanged slaps furiously for nearly a minute—mostly landing blows on each others' arms but occasionally connecting with one on the face or breasts, as we thrashed wildly about the room. I finally landed a solid one on Devon's cheek, and she staggered backward, raising her hand to her face.

We began to circle each other slowly, our breath coming in little gasps now, and I said, "Looks as if we've started."

We were both massaging our cheeks and breasts to relieve the sting, and Devon answered, "May the better woman have the drier face at the end."

As our circle grew smaller, we both reached for handfuls of each other's hair and began to struggle in an awkward dance, trying to throw each other to the floor. Neither of us could get sufficient leverage to unbalance the other, though, and Devon suddenly released my hair, pulling me close in a bearhug. Continuing to struggle, I realized her strategy, as I felt her hands working busily behind my back on my bra clasp. Determined not to be the first to lose her brassiere, I redirected my efforts to her clasp; but, seconds later, she pulled away, popping my beautiful breasts free with a jiggle.

"First blood!" Devon whooped, swinging her lacy trophy over her head. "Let's see them, Janey!"

I had covered my bosom with my hands, feeling embarrassed by the sudden nudity, but now I cupped my breasts and pointed them toward my rival, saying, "Take a good look, Devon. Eric dreams about them."

We came together, again, each with two handfuls of hair and wrestled each other to the soft room-sized Persian carpet, rolling over several times before Devon managed to wind up on top. She scooted forward, quickly, trying to pin my arms with her legs in what I knew was called a schoolyard pin; but I pulled her head down and got my arm over her neck in a front headlock. We grunted a few times, and then I felt her hand reaching between my legs to snatch at my panties.

Before she could get a good grip, though, I popped her clasp and pushed her off. As she rolled away, I scrambled to my knees, bearing my own lacy trophy, which I tossed to Eric, who raised his glass to me with a grin.

Devon scrambled to her knees and turned to face me, just out of reach. We both struggled to catch our breath and glanced momentarily at the plasma screen to see two bare-breasted combatants, chests heaving, hair wildly askew. The erotic nature of our fight was palpable, and I had felt another wave of wetness in my panties, as Devon had tried to pull them off.

Turning our faces toward each other again, we eyed each other's breasts in a jealous comparison. Devon's nipples were pinkish, large and erect, a perfect complement to the classic teardrop shape of her breasts. My nipples were just as erect, but just slightly smaller and pinker, with a gentle upturn that made my own pale breasts the object of frequent surreptitious glances in the women's locker room at my health club.

"Get a good look at them, Devon," I taunted her. "They're firm and sweet."

"They're nice enough, Janey," she hissed, "but Eric never tires of kissing and sucking mine."

The thought of my husband's lips and tongue on her breasts filled me with frustration and resentment, and I shook my breasts at my rival in jealous outrage. Devon shook hers at me in return, and we closed the few feet between us, until our tits began to touch and smack gently against each other. I couldn't remember my nipples ever having been this erect, and I was aware of powerful sensations in them, radiating all the way to my loins. Judging from my rival's erratic breathing, she was similarly aroused, and we continued to slap our breasts together in this fashion for several minutes with our arms in a loose embrace.

Our faces were inches apart, and each of us felt the other's moist, hot breath on her cheek and neck. Suddenly, Devon hugged me to her more firmly and whispered breathily in my ear, "I'm going to make you come, Janey. You know that don't you?" My body responded instantly, before I could think what to reply, and I felt Devon's wet, open mouth covering mine in a deep, slow kiss. We both moaned involuntarily, as our hands caressed each other's backs and buttocks and our tongues entwined and writhed sensuously in each other's mouths.

Reluctantly, we pulled apart just enough to cup each other's breasts and begin to massage each other's nipples with our thumbs. Our eyes met with the implied challenge of seeing who would pull away first, as we continued to rub and stimulate each other. Each of us realized that we dare not inflict outright pain, knowing that, with her nipples in the hands of her rival, the retaliation would be swift and severe. So the stimulation grew slowly and by degrees, as we began to pull and pinch and twist with increasing ardor.

Our breathing had become ragged, and Devon suddenly grabbed my hair and pulled me down all the way to the floor. We lay there, side-by-side, faces to breasts, and I felt her hugging me to her, as her mouth explored my bosom for a nipple. Suddenly, her lips found their prize and closed over me, and she began to suck and flick her tongue expertly. In turn, I hugged her tightly with my free arm and found an exposed nipple to torture with my lips and tongue. The room was quiet, except for our licking and sucking noises and the occasional moan, as one of us experienced a moment of sensitivity, whether pleasure or annoyance.

I did not want to be the first to pull away, but I knew I could not last much longer. Then, I noticed that I could work my other arm—the one I had been lying on—up to Devon's crotch. I could not get her half-slip or panties down, from that angle, but I could get my hand past the waistbands of her slip and panties and between her legs. She was soaked, and I gave myself a moment to fondle and get to know her pussy. She seemed to lose her concentration for just a second, but then I felt her hand sliding down, past my own waistbands, until her fingers were exploring my own wetness.

We were both clean-shaven—my husband has an aversion to hair in his mouth—and I suppose we could have clenched our legs together in an effort to keep each other out; but instead we each parted our legs slightly, allowing the other free rein. I could only guess that her reasons were the same as mine: It felt so incredibly good! Still, I was in a fight for alpha status, and I wanted her to be the first to orgasm, so I massaged her button gently with my thumb, while working my middle finger in and out of her pussy in search of the elusive Graefenberg. We lost interest in nipples, as we grunted and panted; and the little sucking noises were ultimately displaced by little squishing sounds, as we each massaged with one hand while trying to roll her adversary onto her back with the other.

Just when I began to feel I could not tolerate the sensations any longer, Devon pushed me away with all her strength, covering her breasts with one hand and holding her crotch with her other, contorting her face with her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth slightly open. I stared, alarmed that I had somehow hurt her, until a rush of breath emerged and her eyes opened. Then I realized I had just given her an orgasm.