Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 05

That evening passed in a routine fashion. Jill wore a sense of accomplishment that the weekly cleaning crew always left in her. Mistress of the manor, the executive oversight she employed to keep our home, our estate in a most pleasing light. Her domain. I wondered how much her glow of accomplishment was augmented by residual soreness in her pussy and mental replay of Larry Felt's ravishing of her yesterday afternoon. She cooked us a modest but gourmet supper, very attentive to me, like I was a guest of honor. A gracious, charming, beautiful woman, my wife.

We did our bathing. She put on a "baby doll" type of gown. We stretched out on the bed and lying on her back she said, "Would you like to hear about it?"

"Of course I would. You know I do."

The gown was cut in a way that allowed her breasts to tumble free. I freed them and took a nipple in my mouth, my finger tips captured the other one. The fingers of her right hand went to her clit to massage at her pace. This was a long established ritual we had created back when she first told me stories of her sexual past or invented fantasies.

"It was pure sex," she began. "Raw sex. A man and a woman in heated lust. There is no other way to describe it."

I gave her nipple a little painful bite, and she shuddered.

"My pussy juice was running down my leg before I knocked on the door. Our kisses were a form of fucking. Our bodies were on fire. We were naked so fast I can't remember how it happened. No foreplay. I almost came rolling the condom on him. We fell on the bed, I opened my legs wide for him, and he filled me with his big magnificent cock and fucked me like a demon. He was powerful, taking me, and I came quickly, and again."

Her finger on her clit had gone into a frenzy to follow her memory and telling, and she came for me and herself with pelvic hunches and that muscular seizure and that plaintive cry escaping from her throat.

She rested.

"And that was just the beginning," I said.

"Just the beginning," she sighed, most happily, with superior knowledge. "That Larry Felts is a fucking machine. With me, he was. Inexhaustible. And that's what we did all afternoon. Let it all loose animalistic sex. I'm not sure of the count... Let me think." She thought. "I think he came four times. I put four condoms on him, I'm sure of that. But one condom might have lasted and hour. He couldn't get enough of me and fucked me on and on, and all he could give me was not too much for me." Her finger was active on her clit again. "I wanted him to fuck me all day and all night. I was in pure slut space, and deliriously happy to be there. You would have loved to see it, wouldn't you."

"Yes. You totally diving into your slut space, all for me to see. My God yes! I'm seeing it now."

"There are no particular events to tell. Just his cock filling me up and moving in me. Sometimes slow and sweet, sometimes fast and furious. After he came we didn't talk much. Just rested. I used my mouth to make him hard again."

"And make a comparison?"

She laughed. "He was not as big as you, but close. Maybe he was as big as you, come to think of it. A little shorter, I think. His cock head was a mushroom shaped thing. Too big for my throat, but so very nice rubbing inside my pussy. I didn't want to suck him off. Just get him hard to fuck me again. Four condoms worth."

"A real Superman, four times," I said with genuine admiration.

"Lucky me. He couldn't get enough. I couldn't get enough. I was pure slut, Jack. The second time I got on my knees on the edge of the bed and he did me standing. That was the longest of all. He loved mashing against my ass, and said so. The third time he put my heels over his shoulders and bent me back double and I was pure receptacle for his driving cock. I could have been any woman. Which is alright. He could have been any man. His fucking and my being fucked was all that mattered. Pure sex and slut space. It was all in the world that mattered to both of us. I don't know how many orgasms I had yesterday afternoon. Twenty? Thirty?" I was periodically biting her nipple and pinching the other one, which sent zaps to her clit, where her finger moved harder and faster. "The last time I sat on him and rode him cowgirl. I'm not sure if he even came, but I certainly did." And her flying finger made her cum again.

When she caught her breath and settled down, she said, "And that's the story. The superman and his slut were totally spent. I could barely walk. I took a shower and while drying my hair he asked about getting together again. I told him I would let him know. And I also gave him lavish praise on his abilities and performance. Straight from the heart, honestly."

She opened her thighs and guided me on top of her. "Now I want to feel you in me."

I pushed my cock into her. The erotic excitement of her story filled me with happiness for her, that by the luck of the draw Larry Felts had rewarded her beyond all expectations. For the slut capacity in my wife was an awesome womanly mystery that I had gazed upon with a still reverence. I had seen it before, her slut surrender to the power of cock turning her into a mindless mass of wrenching sexual pleasures, when another man joined me in taking her, taking turns, till we all were spent and exhausted. I made love to my wife that night with my cock inside her and my lips kissing hers, with reverence.

*****

Jill didn't have to do her one and done talk with Larry on the phone. She never spoke with him again, and he apparently got the message that the horny housewife got what she wanted that afternoon in the Comfort Inn and had gone back to her real life. He no doubt proved himself in his conquest, pumped his pride, and knew he taken a fantastic piece of ass, for a woman of fifty. Larry Felts just disappeared.

Days, weeks, months passed. Our life went on as usual. We did't revisit her debauche at the motel, but there was a lingering effect lurking in the wings, sometime making a playful appearance. She began slutty games with me. Controlled, refined, exquisitely crafted slutty games, all within our normal exchanges of affection and sex, but bubbling with salacious, sexual, tantalizing allure. Certain eye contact. Arched brow. Her full cushioned lips making her kiss a slow fucking of my mouth. Spontaneous innuendos of sexual content snatched from the most innocent of conversations. Some new blouses and skirts a little more revealing of her breasts and ass. She always sucked me with a demeanor of devotion, but after Larry she went further, with sounds and slurp, a slut gone into cock worship. And sometimes when I fucked her she conveyed to me by unspoken signals that she was my vessel of pleasure, and all she wanted was for me to use her and fill her.

The beauty and sheer delight in all that was her skill in carrying it off. Jill could have been a superb actress on stage or in film. Her sense of timing was perfect. She knew exactly what to leave unsaid. Her body language conveyed what there were no words for. And her natural, innate playfulness was so artistically interwoven in her slutty games that I sometimes gasped at the effect. One night we went out for dinner and she wore a blouse of some shiny material that showed more tit than anything else she had in the closet. I expressed my slightly shocked delight. She pretended she had no idea what I was talking about. The waiter couldn't keep his eyes off her tits. Every man in the restaurant took long looks. She maintained, constantly, an air of oblivious unawareness, as though she was wearing a sweat shirt. Except for the occasional smile and eye expression she gave me. Just little hints of naughty daring, and enjoying it, in exposing her tits in public. She was a triumph of artistic sluttiness.

It crossed my mind that her slutty games were a form of practice, honing her resources and skills to seduce her next man the next year. But that didn't hold up. She didn't need practice for that. It was something more. And while Larry Felts had opened wide the door to her inner slut room, he was only the latest on the list of men that had done so, with me having a prominent and immovable place at the top of that list. It was more like artistic sluttiness was a new toy for her, like a woman's first vibrator, to be used when she felt like it, for personal and private needs. Except, her slutty games were created exclusively for me, for my benefit, for my tease and enjoyment. In conjunction with some new, or awakened, erotic currents of her own. I absolutely loved it. My darling wife and marriage partner of twenty three years, faultless mother of our children who were now out on their own, playing with me with artistic sluttiness.

I had no real idea just what and how much of her day with Larry she still carried within her. Sometimes she had a soft drift away look, and I wondered if she was remembering his tireless cock in her. But she could have been thinking of something else entirely. Any of a thousand thoughts that flit in and out of our heads every day. I could not exclude the bedrock fact that she had attained a higher level of consciousness, of personal realization, her dominion over the magnificent house and surrounding gardens we lived in, the nourishing love she shared with me every hour of every day, always and forever. That could account for all the ever increasing beauty that daily fell on her like summer air of June, giving to her ripened maturity of fifty years the birth of rose blooms opening their petals. But I could not exclude the fact of my gift to her to enjoy Larry Felts, and future men of her choice, from the limitless expansion of her beauty and grace, either.

One night I fucked her and hit a groove I don't find that often. Unexpected reserves of energy, the promise to last a long time, the stars aligned, my wife, my woman, my lover, and I had a sudden and vivid fantasy of Larry taking her. "I'm going to fuck you the way Larry did in the Comfort Inn."

"Oh yes. Do. Please do. Just like he did me."

Easy steady rhythm, pauses to kiss her, far more than Larry did, I was sure. Her ankles over my shoulders. Her forehead on the sheet and her glorious ass high for me to take her from behind. My cock big and hard and tireless. A fantasy slide show of Larry fucking her flitting now and then across my mind. I fucked her a very long time. We spoke no words. Her pussy, her body, her heart and soul totally open to me and my thrusting cock. Her orgasms were a roll of events, like crests at high tide rising and curling and crashing on a beach, one after the other. For a long time. I took her face to face for the final rush, her calves hugging my back, my thrusting at full gallop, my guttural masculine sounds and her high feminine ones fleeing our throats and splashing the bedroom night. Her orgasm convulsed her. Mine turned me inside out, shooting my soul and a great quantity of semen into her. We were fused together as one, and a good ten minutes passed before our fusion dissolved and we separated.

"That was wonderful," Jill purred. "That was marvelous. That was stupendous. That was goooooood. So very, very good." She sighed, and stretched, and did her internal well fucked hum, soft sounds and quivers and ripples playing last music on her body. "Did you fantasize me with him?"

"Quite a bit. Did you?"

"For a while. But he dissolved and it was all you. Just you. The most perfect lover any woman could ever have.

I believed that, I believed her. I too could be a superman. I was very happy. And I also had perfect, peaceful understanding that I too dissolved when she fucked Larry. And Roger. And for a time it was all them, they were all in the world that mattered. They too, in their hour, were perfect lovers that brought my wife to that peak of meaning of being a woman. And that was the meaning of my gift to her, and the meaning of my giving it.

"Next year, another man. Who will he be?"

"Who indeed?" She laughed, and stretched and purred some more. "So many out there to choose from. And you have given me any one I want."

"Roger again, if you want him."

"Don't thank that didn't occur to me. He was very good, but I've had him. One and done. Went shopping again, and Larry turned up. He was more than mind blowing, but one and done. You were right. Any sort of on going solo affairs with the same man would not work. But this way, once a year, the man of my choice once only... It couldn't get better than that. No risk of sticky emotional mess. The sweet excitement of flirtation, pursuit, courtship, or swift seduction as the case may be. The value of this gift you have given me is so enormous I can't fully wrap my mind around it."

*****

A new year rolled around. A new lover for my wife. It was like a fat dividend check she got in the mail yearly from ownership of a big bloc of blue chip stock. My gift. And a pattern of attitude seemed to have formed around the event. Jill never made direct reference to Roger or Larry. Sort of like she was indifferent to the history of them. Their main value being inspiration to continue playful, artistic sluttish games with me. Games of erotic suggestion. Her sexuality a bottomless well of experience and possibility. So many desirable men out there, and her new contract right to have anyone of them she wanted, when her green light to do so flashed on. But she carefully refrained from overdoing fantasy projections. A large part of her artistic erotic game playing with me. Dropping teasing hints when I least expected them. Keeping a keen edge on my awareness that she was quite content in biding her time, because of the lavish promise waiting to reward her patience. Her timing was masterful.

After two months or so, with no game playing hints at all, she dropped a biggie. We were at a company picnic in June. Guests of a competitor company, oddly enough. Beer kegs and barbecue, horse shoes, softball. Lovely girls and women with tanned legs, short shorts, pony tails falling from the back gaps of billed caps. Good looking males with tanned hairy legs in shorts, flat stomachs under T-shirts. We sat in canvas sling chairs, feasting on eye candy.

"That one," Jill said.

"One what?"

"With the sandy blond hair. Navy blue T-shirt. Gray satin shorts. Putting hits on that cluster of girls. I want him."

Her saying "I want him" put a tingle in my cock head before I located him in my field of vision. "He's bit young, isn't he?"

"He is adult enough for me. Oh my. Look at those firm buns under those satin shorts. I would love to caress and squeeze them. He might be that perfect cock size. For me to suck and deep throat. What do you think?"

Jesus! The tingle had rioted to a full boner in my shorts. "You are kidding, aren't you?"

"Am I? My new lover time is rapidly approaching. Any man I want. And he is absolutely gorgeous." She licked her lips, and sprawled lower in her chair. "I must plan a way to circulate and meet him. Lay the ground work for an affair. You will excuse me for a while, I'm sure."

But she didn't circulate, not toward the absolutely gorgeous young man, at any rate. She was teasing, playing her sluttish game with me, and I fell for it. Stayed fallen, and that night we put the young man in a fantasy creation of her sucking his ideal size cock, the shape and smell and coloration of it so irresistibly beautiful, her hands squeezing those firm round buns as the shiny blue-red head went into her throat, his orgasm spurting so much cum in her mouth she couldn't swallow it all.

*****

She curtailed her games when her calender year of freedom flipped over. "Serious roving eye time," she put it, and said no more. It was mid-summer when she made her choice. And that too was part of the developing pattern - that sudden out of the blue information for me to receive and absorb.

His name was Charles Moffit. She met him at the book store Cafe. He noticed the novel she had bought, and praised her literary taste. They had coffee and scones and discussed good books and good writers. He was an English Lit. professor at the university. Jill was impressed by his verbal fluency. Not that he used big words, but the exact right words in fresh and telling arrangements. He said the coffee shop was his second home. She said she visited there most every Wednesday afternoon. I will look for you next Wednesday, he said. The flirtation and exploration was under way.

I ask Jill to take snap shots of him with her cell phone so I could see what he looked like. She took them, with him unaware, and we viewed them together on the computer. He was tall and lanky, with a beak nose and two arrows of receding hair line high on his forehead. "What about him turns you on?"

"Hard to describe," Jill said. "But there is definite chemistry working. It is like he has read so many books he knows every thing in the world, and is a little bored with it. He is the opposite of Roger and Larry. He has beautiful hands, long fingers, that always seem to know what they are doing. He is married, but not happily married, I gather."

I gave Charlie's particulars to the background research company. Their report on him was benign. Jill indulged her brand new habit of going to the bookstore coffee shop every Wednesday afternoon. There were no excursions to the Botanical Gardens. Their courtship, such as it was, produced little for Jill to bring home and zap me with erotic voltage. I wondered if she was hiding something, in her acquired right to privacy? But no, that wasn't my Jill. I wondered more and more just what the hell did she see in this guy?

The big event. Another motel room no better or worse than the Comfort Inn. Jill went there with an excitement much greater than mine. There was something about this Charles Moffit that was too illusive for me to get a grip on. He was six feet four, and all those lengths of arms and legs had built in Jill an eager curiosity to find out what he would be like in bed. Come to think of it, they hadn't even kissed yet. My waiting for her to return was not like waiting when she was with Roger and Larry. I was equally curious to find out just what the tall, lanky professor would be like in bed. I really couldn't imagine. My wife would have to tell me. Waiting for her report gave me that erotic excitement my imagination couldn't produce. That, and the shivering reality that another man was fucking my wife at that very moment. My gift to her. I stroked my rigid cock and came.

Jill came home, very early. She did not have the look of a woman well fucked. Her look was so strange it was like trying to solve a problem in algebra. It sounded strange to my ears when I asked, "How did it go?"

"Oh God. You won't believe." She plopped in her chair and said, "I need a drink. A stiff one."

We had the mixing for Bloody Mary's, except for the celery stick. I doubled the vodka. I took readings of her face and body, searching for some clue to how tall, lanky Charlie had performed on her. I had no clue, and a heavy weight of uneasiness bore down. She was a coarse mix of emotions, like different colored yarns wound in a ball. Part puzzlement. Part chagrin. Part putting on a brave face. Part deeply embarrassed. And more that a little pissed off. She gulped a drink and looked at me and said: "It was terrible."

I felt a ball of ice in my gut. "Did he hurt you? I will kill that son of a bitch...!"

She held her palm up like a cop stopping traffic. "No, no, no. Nothing like that." Then she starting laughing. Shaking with laughter. What the hell?

She got serious. "Have I lost it? Those trusted instincts? That ability to look into a man and know all I need to know? After all the men I fucked in my single days, the men you have shared me with..." She slowly shook her hear in helpless wonder.

"Get to it. What happened?"

She laughed again. She got to it, on an oblique route so female, so Jill. "He had a little skinny dick. I wondered if the condom would stay on him."