Metamorphosis Ch. 04

Tina put on conservative clothes, and drove off to meet Phil at the restaurant the next evening.

Three hours later she came home elated. "I actually had a real dinner date with a guy! It was nice! I could get to like this!"

She got ready for bed, and met me there, and while lying in my arms told me all about her dinnertime adventure.

They met, she said, in the bar, and he was a perfect gentleman. They had a nice quiet dinner, and "I had to make up a lot of stuff. I pretended to be Betty again. He was a really nice guy, and he walked me out to my car after dinner. We just stood there in the parking lot for 15 minutes, talking, and doing a little flirting. He asked me if I'd go out with him again, Bob."

By now I had her nightgown completely off, and was paying intense homage to those wonderful breasts. I flattened one with my hands, had my mouth all over it, sucking, teasing her nipple, then lifted up enough to ask "What did you tell him?"

Her hands on my head forced my head back down again, as she answered. "I gave him my new phone number, honey, and told him I'd love to. I hope that's all right", she asked, as her hand traced down my body, to see what my penis thought, too. It was at full attention, and happy to begin getting attention from her hand. "I guess," she said between kisses, "this means it's very much all right. I just wish I understood why this stuff gets you so excited."

"I don't understand it, either, but it does. Like, thinking about you having sex with Joseph drives me crazy. . ."

"So I guess it's all right with you that when Phil tried to kiss me, I let him? He's a great kisser."

By now I had rolled onto her, and she guided my cock to her pussy. While we were making love - no, having sex - I looked down at her, looking up at me, and at her breasts, and stomach, with my groin and hers joined, moving together, and said "Do you realize that maybe if you like this Phil guy enough, you're probably going to have him doing this to you, looking at you, fucking you. . .?" and her legs wrapped around me like a vise, and she whispered "of course, and I'll bet you're going to be watching us doing this, fucking each other, and masturbating yourself while we do it won't you?" Our thrusts, our urgency, our orgasms, answered any questions about whether we thought it was a good idea.

Well, I had wanted her to be a better sex partner: she was getting there. And she was getting there fast.

Phil called the next day, asking for a second date. She agreed, gave directions to her "apartment", and confirmed a date for Saturday, five days from now. "I'll pick you up at 7, and I can't wait to see you again" were Phil's parting words. If he had wondered about how sexy Tina aka Betty sounded it might have been explained by my mouth sucking on her breasts and cunt while she sat there, spread legged, talking to him and her free hand directed my mouth to this place, and that place, and she managed to hang up just barely in time to not telephone the sounds of her orgasm.

Later she reminded me, "Don't forget I'm meeting Paul tomorrow night."

Tomorrow night came, and I got a quick kiss good-bye as she went out to have a drink with Paul.

Two hours later she came back, smelling of cigarette smoke and lipstick a bit smudged.

A few minutes later, again in bed, I heard of Tina's meeting with Paul, a handsome, light skinned black man, the manufacturing executive being transferred to Dallas.

Tina started out sitting across from, then beside him at the Smithtown Sheraton lounge. She told me of his arm around her shoulders, and a kiss, and another, and what it's like to kiss a man with a beard. She talked of how he suggested that since they were getting along so well, that they take a room "and get to know each other better" and how she declined and started to leave. Of how he asked if she'd go out with him again, and apologized for being so aggressive, and how she said "maybe" and how she gave him her "home" phone number. Of how she came home, and how right now she was seriously horny and how I'd better start doing something about that, and then I did start to do something about that only to have her "home" phone ring, it was Paul calling to be sure she got home, and could they go out again, and she agreed to see him again tomorrow, and gave him directions to pick her up.

Then we fucked like sex-crazed bunnies.

My wife was a very different person in bed, now, much more active, much more responsive, especially when she told me about her planned date with Paul. "This guy is a fast mover. I wonder if anything will happen tomorrow. . ." she muttered, as her mind focused on that thought while mine, well, mine was pretty much focused on that very same possibility, come to think of it.

The next morning, the morning of her second date with Paul, she awoke to find her cheeks reddened from being abraded by his beard. "I look awful!" she claimed.

Her date was for 7:30. I sat on the bed, watching as she chose a modest skirt and blouse, got that on over a bra and half slip, used lots of make-up on her cheeks, dabbed perfume everywhere (and I mean everywhere), and asked "Do I look all right?"

Now this is a very important moment, readers. My wife just asked me "Do I look all right?". The complete sentence, however, would have been "Do I look all right to go out and maybe screw some other man?"

Just how do you answer that?

The husband and the voyeur in me argued back and forth over it.

Guess who won.

I told her she looked great. And she did.

I watched as a late model Buick pulled up, and Paul got out, and walked around the house to the apartment door.

I could hear that door bell ring, and in a few minutes watched Paul and Tina leave the house.

I did a few things around the house, waiting, alert, until hours later the same Buick pulled into the driveway.

Tina and Paul had returned from their dinner. The question now is: would she invite him in?

Maybe: he opened the car door for her. She stepped out, and he took her into his arms for a kiss, but I saw her shake her head no, and took his hand, instead, and started around the house to the apartment.

I raced to our bedroom, and activated the monitoring channels. I looked into the living room in time to see her bring a couple of glasses of wine in from the kitchen, and hand one to Paul. He sat on the sofa, and she sat next to him.

Paul's wine was finished quickly, Tina's was going a little more slowly.

One of his hands went around her shoulder, the other to her cheek, turning her head turned toward him, and he leaned towards her: a gentle kiss. It felt so sexy, but a little weird, still, watching as yet another man kissed my wife, thinking she was single and available.

Well, he was half-right anyhow.

But - she pushed him away!

"Don't do that." The audio monitoring was as good as being in the room!

"Don't kiss you? What kind of bullshit is this?"

"My face got all irritated from your beard last night, Paul. Look at how red it is. Your beard is too rough for me."

"I don't need this crap."

He started to get up, only to have her pull him back.

"Paul, wait, don't go. I just don't want you to kiss my lips, that's all."

His hand went to her cheek, then to her throat, and hers covered his as it meandered.

"But are you telling me you're completely off limits?"

"No..."

The hand on her throat moved lower, until it was caressing her breast.

". . .I don't know," she answered, not stopping him.

Notice she *didn't* stop him!

"That's my girl" I thought. "On course and on time."

He got off the sofa, and knelt in front of her, leaning toward her, over her knees. She sat still, arms at her side.

His hands went to her shoulders, to her neck, and then met, under her chin.

His fingers were at the buttons on her blouse! There was certainly nothing subtle about this guy.

"Wait," I heard her say, and his hands dropped.

She stood, turned off the bright recessed lights, and turned on a smaller table lamp, setting the stage.

"That's better," she said, and sat down again.

And lifted his hands back to her blouse.

She leaned back on the sofa then, but she didn't do anything much to discourage him.

One button and another, and another, all gave way.

He tugged at her blouse, and she leaned forward so it could be pulled from under her skirt.

Now the final buttons were open, and he reached again, hands around her, she leaned toward him, he got his hands on the neckline of her blouse, and opened it, wide, to her shoulders. She cooperated by leaning forward, her arms still by her side, and allowed him to slide the sleeves down her lovely arms. She helped, pulling her arms free of the blouse.

His mouth moved to her neck, and then to her cleavage. She sat, leaning back against the sofa, passive, but seemingly enjoying the sensations.

"Is my beard too rough for this?" he asked, gruffly.

My own erection was massive, but I dared not move, my eyes were fixed on the monitor.

"No. . ."

"Feels sexy, not rough," she said to the top of his head as he nuzzled her between her breasts.

He moved back again, his hands meeting at the front clasp of her bra, between her breasts.

And he fumbled, and fumbled with it. Damn! How clumsy can this guy be? Hurry up, already! Let's see the goodies!

Finally, in a moment, it was undone, leaving her bra open at the middle, supported by her breasts.

His hand moved up and took one side of her bra.

"I want to see them."

He lifted one cup away, exposing her. He repeated the maneuver a second time, his hands moving to her shoulders, brushing the straps down her arms. She leaned forward again, and pulled her arms through the straps, and sat back again, breasts exposed to him (and me), nipples erect, arms at her sides, as she looked over his shoulder at the hvac vent, the camera, and right into my eyes.

And she smiled.

I watched him as he, kneeling in front of her, looked at this woman, passively sitting there, waiting for him to do something, waiting for - something more?

He moved up, again, hands resting on either side of her legs.

"Betty," he said, "I hope you don't expect me to be a gentleman with you. . ."

"Don't hurt me, Paul."

I knew it would happen. She leaned back, he followed, his mouth traced down to her neck.

And moving again so he was no longer kissing her neck, but her shoulder.

She was leaning forward again, lifting her shoulder, making it easier for him.

His head moved, from her shoulder, down, and I watched as his tongue traced out along the wonderful swoop of her breast, until it was teasing her nipple.

She put a hand under that breast, and lifted it to him, while the other went behind his head, pulling him to her, so now as much of her breast as could fit was in his mouth.

"So it's OK for me to kiss your tits, huh? That's OK for a *black* man to do?"

"I told you, it has nothing to do with your race - it has everything to do with how rough your beard is. What can I do to prove that to you?"

"Oh, I don't know. But I'm sure I'll think of something," he said, as he nursed at one breast, then the other, kneeling in front of her, as she sat back, her hands again behind his head, holding him to her.

While both my own hands were slow-stroking my penis.

He moved a little, and now his mouth was between her breasts.

She had a sexy smile on her face, as he enjoyed her body.

He moved again, his mouth and tongue still offering homage to her cleavage.

And then his hands were on her knees, parting them, so he could kneel between them, still kissing her.

She sat back passively, allowing him freedom.

He moved higher, so he could kiss her neck.

His hands, moved from beside her hips, where they had been supporting him, to her waist, touching her.

To the top of her skirt.

I watched as his fingers hooked, and jerked down, moving the top down about an inch.

The movement stopped there, stopped by the swelling of her hips.

"Come on now Betty, you have to cooperate if you want to make this good," he said.

Her own hands moved down to the side of her skirt.

"I will," she confirmed. "Here, let me help."

And there was a motion, as she released the clasp.

And there was another subtle motion as she released the zipper.

Now he could pull the skirt a few inches lower, down to her hips, exposing her navel.

But no further - she was sitting on her skirt.

I saw he had not only the skirt, but the top of her panty hose, too.

He pulled a little more.

"You have to lift up, Betty."

Sweet little Tina, ex-nun Tina, married Tina, living out her fantasies and acting the way she thought Betty would act, put her feet on the floor, tilted her pelvis and lifted her hips, so that this black stranger could undress her some more, and I watched as he moved the skirt and panty hose down, over my wife's quivering hips.

The bundle of material went lower, to her (trembling) knees,

then he was pulling the hose from her feet.

Finally, I watched as she sat there, breathing hard, totally naked in front of this man, her knees a few inches apart, again sitting back.

Looking at him. NOT looking at me.

Waiting.

He leaned over her knees, until, again, his mouth found her breast.

And in a moment, moved lower.

His hands moved from the sofa, to her hips, to her thighs, and he parted her legs again.

He was kissing her navel, and I watched as she leaned further back, and opened her legs even wider for him.

I watched as he moved lower, and traced his tongue over her leg and towards her center.

"Lift up, let me do this!"

And I saw her arch herself, supported only by her back and her feet with his head planted between her legs, and I knew his mouth had found its target!

And he used that pussy, and she used that mouth, for several, several long minutes!

"Why is it? " I wondered, "That everyone in the world suddenly wants to go down on my Tina?"

She moved, not letting him stop, until she was prone, and he was ministering to her from the side. Her head was to his left.

I watched as he knelt upright beside her, and looked at her, in front of him.

I watched as he put one hand under her left knee, and lifted it, so that her leg went up and rested its calf now on the backrest of the sofa.

He pulled at her right leg, until that foot was resting on the floor. Now she was totally exposed - her eyes closed, but both her mouth and her vagina were open!

He took her left hand which she had resting on her stomach.

Moved it, over her pelvis, down.

He guided her fingers there. "Put your fingers where my tongue was!"

She resisted a little, but then both his hands were busy - his right hand's fingers were probing inside her, his left hand was guiding hers, forcing hers, to do the same thing!

Tina was flushed all over her body, as he guided her fingers into her cunt, moving them against her clit, pushing them deeper in her.

Her body was moving a little against her fingers, and his, as she masturbated herself, and was masturbated, at the same time, and my own hand was busy, too, milking myself, as I watched, enjoying the show, waiting for more. . .

I watched them for what seemed like hours, seeing one convulsion after another, as her body and mind responded to what was happening.

"Just keep doing that!" he said, as he stood up.

She must have felt him move, her eyes opened, looking at him looming over her.

"Keep touching yourself, you have to get yourself ready for me."

Her hand started moving again, her other hand joined it, and both were busy, exciting her, one spreading, the other penetrating, while she watched him.

She watched him as he worked at his belt.

She watched him as the belt opened. . .

"Touch yourself now while I show you the prize you're about to get. . ."

He pulled his tie off, unbuttoned his shirt, and peeled it off.

Her hands were moving against herself again,faster now, as she looked at him, then over her shoulder towards the vent (at me), and again at him.

"Hurry" she whispered. "Please hurry."

He kicked free of his shoes, got unbuttoned, unzipped, and he pulled his slacks and shorts down, pulling one leg free, and then the other, and left them crumpled there on the floor.

All three of us were looking at his long, erect penis, bobbing in the air.

Her arms reached toward him, her left leg climbed higher on the back of the sofa, spreading herself wide, making herself a welcome place for him, exposing herself, ready.

He grabbed at both of her hands - pulled them to her pelvis. "Hold yourself open, guide me in!"

He moved onto the sofa, got between her legs, leaned over her again, moving, and shifting, supporting himself on his arms, his cock now lightly brushing at her cunt, her breasts just touching his chest, as he lowered himself, and she raised herself, still holding herself open, and that erect cock, incomplete without being in a pussy, and that pussy, incomplete without a cock, finally found each other.

I could see its head finally resting against its target, and his cock bending a little as he pressed forward, as its head pushed against that opening, and began moving into it, and finally that hard dark cock and that soft white pussy,

became complete.

He wasn't subtle at all - as soon as his cock's head found its way he just rammed it in. He wasn't even a good cocksman, the objective part of me thought, remembering how I'd treated women while I had sex with them. But my own cock was bursting, and his did, too. He was taking big, hard strokes, his shaft between her hands, between her cunt lips, him moving with an urgency, an excitement that was more like a teenager's, than a man who had to be thirty, a teenager whose only goal was to get off, to get the release he wanted, as he pushed in, injecting her, time after time, using her willing vagina as he might have used a tissue, as just another receptacle for his cock, a place to leave his cum, pushing into her, but only intent on satisfying himself, her pleasure was secondary, if even that. Probably not.

And then it was over, over after just a few minutes.

His disinterest in her, after filling her with his cum, was nothing short of amazing. He pulled out, still large but flaccid, and sat panting, dribbling cum on the sofa. "Hey! You're pretty good after all" he offered, catching his breath, while she lay there, one leg in his lap, another behind him, as he absentmindedly groped at a breast, and probed at her vagina. "I want to do this again sometime soon."

"Maybe," she said, watching him. Paul was dressed and gone in fifteen minutes, and a moment later my naked, freshly - fucked wife was with me in our bed.

"He wasn't nearly as good as you, honey. He was crude! That wasn't good sex at all - it wasn't erotic for me, it was just like being used. Do you think I did good? Was it OK for me to masturbate the way he wanted me to? I know I never did that for you. I must have really excited him, though, because he sure came pretty quickly, didn't he? The only thing he wanted was to have sex with me. . ." she said.

I was so horny, so erect, I could hardly wait, even though I had just masturbated watching them.

"No, not yet," she whispered, as she felt me trying to roll on top of her.

She put her hand on the top of my head, pushing me away from her lips, down, past her neck.

"Prove it's OK, what I did. Prove it like you did before. Do that, first. . ."

I understood.

Now this part was certainly never in my great master plan. Creampies are not on my list of favorite things. Still, Tina had given up so much of herself for me, I guess I could swallow my pride - and other things - one more time. For her. So, I closed my eyes, thought of England, and dove in,so to speak, determined to do my best.