An Unexpected Adventure

"I should, um, tell you something, Diane."

"Go on ... what is it?"

"Don't be mad at me ... please, Diane."

"Fiona, what the hell are you trying to tell me?"

"I ... I um, told my husband about us. He wants ... wants you to watch us again."

"WHAT!"

"Be here, tonight. Inside, not outside, at nine o'clock, please!" Click.

________________________________________

I panicked. There's no other word for it. Never had I regretted anything more than not having confessed what I'd done to Bob when I had the chance.

And now, what? I went about by daily errands like a zombie. Picking up the clothes from the cleaners, doing the weekly shopping, gassing up the car -- all on autopilot.

I fixed a light dinner for Bob and myself, topping it off with an expensive bottle of red wine.

We sat down to eat at seven sharp. On my third glass of wine (the last of the bottle) I began to tell him

"Wanna tell me about what's bothering you, Diane?"

For some reason I started to deny anything was wrong, but I paused, and then began to cry, "Oh, Bob ... I'm so ashamed. Please don't hate me...."

"Whoa, I don't hate you. I'd never hate you, Diane. Now tell me what's wrong."

It was like undergoing a root canal, but slowly, all the events of the past days haltingly slipped from my mouth. My little rebellion against Christy Canyon.

That drew a small smile from his mouth.

The face at the window, watching us. Put a sudden startled expression on his countenance.

And when I related Fiona's admission of guilt and subsequent invitation to watch her and her husband an astonished look crossed his face and I broke down and began crying again.

Bob had his arm around me, saying "There, there," over and over.

I blurted out that I had accepted her invitation and gone over. That I had watched them fornicating; that I had cum while watching them; that I had come home and after pizza and beer I had seduced him again while gloating over the fact that I had the real cock in my mouth and Christy Canyon was merely a celluloid ghost, doomed to repetitive, never ending rounds of regulated fucking.

"But I don't want to lose you, Bob. I love you!"

"It doesn't sound like you've done anything to be ashamed of," he said softly.

"But ... but they want me to go over there again --- tonight! He wants me to watch them --- inside their house --- in the same room!"

"If ... if that's the worst thing you do in our married life, Diane, I have no problem."

"What!"

"Was that the reason you did what you did the last two nights?"

"Yes," I replied in a small voice.

"Did you enjoy watching them?"

"Yes," my voice seemed even smaller.

"And you want to do it again?"

"Yes .... I ... I've never done anything so wild, so erotic. I don't think I'll ever be so tempted again. Something in me is telling me to go. To participate if asked, but I won't go if you tell me not too."

"Is John bigger than me?"

"God, no. You must be two or three inches taller."

I was stunned when he started laughing at me.

"No ... no, I meant his dick. Is it bigger than mine?"

"Oh ... no, dear. If anything, he's a bit shorter than you. Otherwise I'd guess you're about the same."

"So ... tell me in detail just what they did while you watched."

I did my best to recount their every action. I saw him grow hard at my words, and knew he was thinking it was him fucking Fiona while I watched. I was surprised that it didn't offend me, and added some details that may or may not have occurred to sustain his interest. I felt somewhat like Scheherazade regaling the King with fanciful stories in order to stay my execution.

I knew Bob wanted me then and there. I could see it in his eyes and the way he kept licking his lips. The bulge in his trousers was even more proof that he was ready to fuck me silly. But he poured himself a double shot of scotch and drank half contemplating me with a serious expression on his face.

"You have my permission to go. You don't need my permission, but I think you'll feel better if I give it. You know, umm, no recriminations after, and all that stuff."

He swallowed the remainder of the scotch and there was no reproach in his eyes.

"Bob!" I cried out painfully, "You don't understand."

"No, Diane, you'll always regret it if you don't do this. So let yourself go. I can live with it. Hopefully it will make our marriage stronger than it already is."

I was crying, tears running down my face, ruining my makeup. "If ... if I go over there ... he's going to fuck me. And it's possible that he'll make Fiona and me do things with each other," my voice was completely flat. "Is ... is that what you want?"

"It's not what I want, Diane. It's more a matter of your personal need, or needs. You can rest assured that I love you and will continue to love you after this. You're not in love with him, are you?"

"Lord no! I hardly know the man, Bob."

"But you have this ... feeling that attracts you to him, like a moth to a flame."

"It is kind of like that, yes. A kind of rush, you know? But it's certainly not love. It's like I want him to take me the way he took Fiona. There's something about him... if I go back ...."

Bob remained silent for a full minute, and then he smiled at me and said, "You were very young when I married you, Diane. You never had a chance to test sex before getting married. I did, and I know that having done so has kept me from straying over the years. It's a powerful inclination straying, for women as well as men. It's a very powerful pull that urge within each and every one of us.

"I want you to take this fling with them. It's okay with me. Try everything you can tonight, then and only then will I be assured you'll not wander off with some stranger that you meet at the market, or church, or some goddamn place when your hormones and the moon are in sync and you resent the fact that I've been with others and you haven't.

"I don't want you regretting not having taken the opportunity to do it. It would only cause you to do it later, without confiding in me first. And I do want to stress the fact that I appreciate your telling me all this before doing anything. It tells me you love me and more that you respect me. I feel the same about you. So do what you think you need to do.

"I'll be here waiting for you. Just come back to me."

A long silence filled the room.

"But, Diane ..."

"Yes, dear?"

"It's just this once."

"I understand, just this once."

________________________________________

I was standing at Fiona's front door, my finger inches from pressing the doorbell, frozen as myriad thoughts raced through my head. Bob's penis was the only penis I'd ever touched. He was, up to now, the only man who'd been inside me.

I cringed inwardly knowing I wanted to feel John's penis; wanted to taste him and place him in me. I also thought about the distinct possibility of having sex with Fiona. What would it be like to taste her, to have her touching me that way?

Pressing that bell would open much more than a mere door. It would open me to a world of wild, wanton licentiousness, possible anal as well as lesbian activities.

A little voice said: So, your husband approves, why not? How can he love me if he pushes me at another man? That same voice tormented me further, saying: Maybe it's because he does love you.

And a second later the voice said: And what if he changes his mind? Is it worth it? Then again, you may never have this chance again.

It took a conscious effort, but I managed to quell all further thought and pressed the bell.

The door opened immediately. Fiona had been waiting on the other side.

"I ... I didn't know if you would come," she said, her eyes had a strange look that I understood was fear.

"You look lovely, Diane," she said. "Virgin like."

"I thought I'd go for the look, you know, white stockings, lingerie, heels and of course the dress."

John entered the room at that moment, looking arrogant as well as the most sexual man I'd ever laid eyes on. Was this because I was going to let him fuck me?

He was far from the handsomest man I'd ever seen. Yet he excited me and had me thinking a lying before him, legs spread and wetter than I'd ever been before as I awaited his cock.

I wondered if they could smell my eagerness to get on with the fucking and rutting. I knew I was already slick with anticipation knowing he was going to fuck me in front of Fiona. And I'm going to let him!

Both of them had been talking to me, but I hadn't heard a word, until in normal conversational tone, John asked, "Are you wearing panties, Diane?"

I couldn't find my voice.

"I asked if you were wearing panties, Diane. Fiona isn't. In fact, she's nude under that dress. Turn around, Fiona, let her see for herself."

Fiona did a pirouette, smiling shyly as she did. I could see as she moved that she wore nothing, or almost nothing beneath the dress.

"Yes," I said, having recovered my voice.

"Since you are here to get laid, I suggest you take them off and hand them to Fiona."

"I'll do no such thing," I said defiantly.

"Show Diane that you are not wearing panties, Fiona."

A flush rose up her face as Fiona pulled up her dress, giving me a quick glimpse of her pubic hair before smoothing the dress back down over her thighs.

"Lose the panties or go home, Diane. His voice had just the right touch of cruelty in it that told me he meant every word.

I raised my dress and slowly peeled the lacy white material down until I could step out of them. I balled them in my hand, glanced briefly at the small white material there and handed it to him.

John looked me in the eyes as he accepted them and put them into his pocket. The tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.

I realized that I was acutely aware of my missing underwear. My dress covered me to a few inches above my knees, plenty to maintain modesty, but I was not there to protect my modesty. My breasts were swaying freely with each and every movement on my part, and that was by design, having chosen not to wear a bra.

We had several rounds of Champagne, and I felt sexier than I had in quite some time. I mean that I thought I appeared sexily attractive, not that I was particularly sexy, although I realized that both John and Fiona desired me. Yes, Fiona's brief touches on the arm and on my back had lingered a fraction of a second too long to be anything else but a message that we would be getting together before the evening ended.

"Dance, anyone?" John asked as he put his glass down. Fiona declined, saying that since I was the guest, I should be his first choice. I stood up and moved into his arms. A slow dreamy tune was playing on the CD player.

I was deeply conscious of his eyes straying to the bumps my nipples raised on the silky material of the dress as my breasts moved underneath. And his hand quickly made its way to my ass cheek and squeezed sending a lightning bolt directly to my sweet spot. Moments later he forced his thigh between mine, and leaned down to kiss my neck.

I couldn't help but moan at the contact, and glanced over at Fiona only to see her rubbing her cunt through her dress, not caring that either John or I might see her doing it.

Rather than revolting me, it excited me even more. I was so wet between my legs that I shuddered thinking how easily I could stain the dress I wore and that the others would know and laugh at me.

I needn't have worried on that account, for a moment later he had taken a fistful of my dress and hiked it up around my hips and sent an exploratory finger into my sodden cunt.

The realization that Fiona was watching him violate me brought me to orgasm then and there.

"She just came, Fiona," he shouted out, still fingering me.

"Did she?" Fiona said as she removed her dress and stood nude several feet from us.

"Can I see?"

"Be my guest," he replied and half turned me toward her.

"Oh, she is wet, John."

"She certainly is. Here, taste her," he said, offering Fiona his finger which she took into her mouth and murmured, "Mmmm, so good!"

I was aghast and yet thrilled by their actions.

"Let's suck her tits, shall we, dear? Fiona said, already breathing heavily.

The three of us moved slowly to the long leather couch and sat with me in the middle. My dress was bunched around my waist and John had my left breast totally exposed as he tendered it to his spouse.

The thought that Fiona was about to suckle from it was exhilarating. Her lips were hot, almost searing as they closed down on the nipple and gave suck. I moaned happily at the sudden sensations her mouth and tongue were generating.

John's fingers had returned to my cunt, probing even as I tried to spread my legs further apart only to be stymied by their presence on either side of me. John came to my aid, lifting a leg so that it rested on the top of the couch and placing the other so that it stretched out over Fiona's lap.

"Fiona, why don't you get yourself off?" John said softly. "Keep playing with her tits if you like, but I'm going to be busy with her for a while and I don't want you sulking."

"Yes, John," Fiona said weakly, and with a soft moan, let my nipple fall from her mouth and sent her hand to the freshly shaven juncture between her thighs and promptly sank several fingers into her cunt.

It was the strangest thing, feeling Fiona's fingers moving in and out of her cunt as my leg rested on her lap while her husband did much the same to me.

"Ugh ... ugh ... ugh" Fiona grunted as her foot came to rest against my exposed breast when she parted her thighs to gain greater access to her sex.

I wound up holding her knee in place as John slid from the couch to the floor, taking his fingers out of me and leaving me bereft at the loss.

"Ugh ... ugh ... ugh" became a kind of mantra from Fiona's mouth and for some reason I began caressing the leg pressed against my breast and smiled when Fiona sighed at my touch.

Meanwhile John's hand had not been idle. He had returned to me as soon as he was repositioned on the carpet next to us. He showed infinite patience in that he slowly ran his fingertips along the bottom of my slit, spreading the lubrication from end to end. Every so often he would tease my clitoris with his thumb, bringing me ever closer to another orgasm.

"Ugh ... ugh ... ugh" There it was again, only now I realized it was my voice grunting out it's satisfaction at being stimulated thusly. Off in the distance, Fiona was still making the same, if not eerily similar sounds.

My hand was now caressing the innermost part of Fiona's thigh, mere inches from her entrance, blocked from venturing further by Fiona's own wrist, which was forcing her fingers ever deeper into her sodden twat.

I was just about to cum when John stopped fingering me.

"What?" I murmured in a sexual haze.

"Finish me!" I thought I shouted, but it was more likely a quiet whine.

"John ... I need to finish!"

"No, I want you to finish Fiona."

"What?"

"Finish Fiona, then I'll finish you."

Dumbly I nodded my understanding, and grasped Fiona's wrist and pulled it away from her sex.

"Ohhh, Diane ... you're going to do me?'

"Yeah, I guess," I said, closing my eyes and placing a tender, liquid like kiss on Fiona's soft lips. I can only describe my memory of it as syrupy and saturated with warm saliva. Needless to say, it took my breath away. In my sexually driven desire, I found myself in a languid state of mind in which the only pertinent notion of the movement was the adhesiveness of our melded lips.

Off in the distance I heard John say, "Nice, but that's not getting her off, Diane."

I ended the morally degrading kiss, noting forever the dainty drool bridge that remained between her mouth and mine. Nevertheless what I felt at this salacious sight was an even greater need to rut with both of them long into the night.

I couldn't recall ever being this alive, and

thought is this real? As the overspill of Fiona's saliva dribbled down the side of my mouth.

Unconsciously, I collected the excess spittle and watched it seep through my curled up fingers. Lifting the bedewed fingers to my nose, I sniffed her drool then wiped the fingers clean on my tongue.

"Diane?" Fiona cooed.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me again."

"Why not?" I replied, causing John to laugh aloud, and swat me on the ass. It was more pleasurable than painful and I recall thinking I'd ask him to spank me properly before I returned home.

"Come on, Diane, give me another kiss," Fiona said insistently, extending her wet tongue to me. "Suck on it, you'll like it."

I was near the edge already and accepted her protruding tongue into my mouth, and drew it into mine. "Mmmm," the sound came from both of us.

I heard John laugh lewdly again....

"Nnnnggghhh ...that's better," Fiona giggled as we parted momentarily. The moment I opened my mouth to receive her tongue again, Fiona spit into it.

I accepted it and swallowed, thinking it wouldn't be the worst thing I'd do that night. And to prove it, I moved from her mouth to her armpit and licked it, noting the sour taste of her perspiration.

"What ... that tickles," Fiona giggled, but didn't pull the arm away.

I continued licking away, eventually covering the entire area, enjoying the raspy feel of her day old stubble as my tongue's taste buds sampled the sharp salinity of her sweat.

"Mmmm," I murmured in reply while her husband's hands caressed my ass and inner thighs. I wasn't sure which sensation had me purring so contentedly.

"She's definitely into it now," John said, his voice hoarse with desire. "Time to lead her to your cunt, Fiona."

And while I heard him speak, I continued licking Fiona's armpit, enthralled by the obscenity of what I was doing and the small semblance of control it gave me over Fiona.

And so I was surprised when Fiona abruptly placed a hand at the back of my neck and guided my head down to her navel.

"Lick my pussy!" she croaked.

Oh, ho, I thought, she wants me to go down on her!

In the deeper recesses of my consciousness I knew well that it would come to this, and I ventured forth only to encounter a cunt unlike what I expected.

I should mention that the only pussy I was familiar with was my own, having studied it at some length while using a mirror in my late teens, and again following our honeymoon. But Fiona's was vastly different than mine. For one, her clit was not a pea-sized bump at the apex of her sex; it was almost an inch tubercle of flesh that sat defiantly above her entrance.

My own labia are relatively thin, but Fiona's were at least twice the thickness of my own.

But being a woman, I knew well how to please Fiona, and set out to do it by gently caressing the pulsating nodule with my index finger.

Fiona shuddered at my touch. "Aghh!"

John's fingers slithered into my own nest, tweaking and probing, and I cooed with pleasure myself, making similar sounds as those pouring from Fiona's throat.

I should take a moment to describe how we were positioned at that point. Fiona was now at one end of the couch, legs splayed, one on the floor, one on the top of the couch, presenting me with a perfect target to lick and suck.

I was kneeling on the couch, one hand on her thigh, the other pressed into the cushion near Fiona's neck, supporting me, while my face was burrowing into her cunt.

John was behind me, working a finger into my anus and licking my pussy while fingering it at the same time. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would begin to fuck me.

In as much as this was my first time going down on a woman, I did some minor experimenting.

Impressed by the thickness of her labia, I squeezed the heavy lips together then carefully reopened them. I was reminded a famous painting of a blooming flower by a woman artist prominent in the 1930's whose name I cannot remember.