tagExhibitionist & VoyeurNuts to Newton - Stephie Ch. 01

Nuts to Newton - Stephie Ch. 01

byJohnBous©

My thanks to all those who have offered advice, encouragement, criticism and praise. I have read all of your messages and, hopefully, I have learned and applied the lessons. This little tale was the result of a request – and I hope, Georgie, it meets with your approval. To Chip – I'll be back with the old gentlemen very soon.





Newton's Third Law of Motion states that "Every action has and equal and opposite reaction". With what I know now, I can categorically state that this is total rubbish.

As my story will show, every action can have a reaction that goes in exactly the same direction – and one that just prompts even more action...

It started one evening last summer, an otherwise normal, unremarkable evening in July. Paul and I had spent the day up to our knees in mud in the garden, digging, raking, sowing, pruning – enjoying the sun and enjoying our efforts at making our new home even lovelier than we already thought it was. By eight o'clock we were both exhausted and headed inside, where I prepared a light meal and Paul uncorked a bottle.

After we ate we tossed a coin to see if we would wash up straight away or leave it until the morning – and lost. Paul and I had been married three years the previous month, and together for two years before that – since university, in fact – but we still fooled around all the time. That night was no different, and what started as me accidentally splashing him ended up in an all-out water fight. Well, Paul's a lot bigger than me and it wasn't long before I was soaked, my t-shirt sticking to my body and my bra beneath it totally drenched.

Paul stood back and grinned at me, "Stephs, you'd win any wet t-shirt contest, anywhere."

"In your dreams, buddy!"

Even the thought of such a thing had me blushing. As Paul knew all too well, I was far too demure for anything like that. It wasn't anything to do with my looks because I considered myself quite attractive in a small sort of way, but rather it was just that I was excruciatingly shy and had been even since I was a kid. Even a bikini in my own garden was too daring for me. Paul, bless him, was very understanding about it and had never once pressured me to loosen up save for the very occasional tease – like now.

"Well you would win easily, whatever the competition looked like."

"Let's just hope your life never depends on me winning one."

Paul dragged me into his arms, "I guess I'm the privileged one and only then."

"Too right you are."

He kissed me deeply, a flash of tongue sending tingles up my spine, "Then I suggest we have an early night and you show me just how privileged I am."

As normal with Paul, my interest was suddenly aroused – among other things – and I just nodded against his shoulder, "Good idea, husband."

Even though I'd only had one sexual partner before him, I knew from conversation, from magazines – and from my own body's reaction to him – that Paul was an attentive lover, passionate and not at all self-interested. Making love with him was a luxurious experience and we never rushed, never settled for anything other than mutual pleasure.

That night was no different and I was already close to orgasm by the time Paul had finished teasing with his tongue and teeth, and finally, thankfully, entered me. He was stroking gently but deeply, moving to a rhythm that brought soft waves of pleasure with every easy thrust. After a while he slowed, teasing me I thought at first, and then raised himself up on his hands, smiling down at me.

"I was serious about that contest." His eyes travelled down to my boobs.

"And so was I about it being in your dreams."

"I know," he nodded, "but how about I invoke the f-fantasy?"

The f-fantasy was a new game to us. If either of us wanted to play and the other one agreed, then they would relate a fantasy while we made love – no comebacks afterwards, no pressure or promises. What played in the fantasy, stayed in the fantasy. It was fun, and Paul had always been very gentle with his mind-games. That night, with him teasing me so, it sounded like the perfect way to bring matters to a mutually satisfactory conclusion, so to speak.

"Ok then," I told him, "What's on your mind?"

"You of course." His eyes left mine and moved down to my boobs, "You really have the most gorgeous figure."

"Thank you. Are you going to tease all night, or are you going to tell me what little scene we're going to play?"

For a second, he hesitated and for some strange reason that got my heart fluttering. When he spoke, it was in urgent tones, "Earlier, when you were all wet, you looked so stunning. I'm so lucky and so proud to know that you're mind..."

"Likewise, and thanks. Now come on!"

"I'd love to show you off, let some other guy see just how lucky I am."

Somehow I must have known, at least subconsciously, what was on his mind and part of me was prepared for his admission, "Let them see me all wet you mean?"

"Yeah, or like this, your naked form."

The very thought had my pulse racing with nervousness, my mind conjuring an image of what that would feel like. But this was fantasy, and I was safe here with Paul stroking slowly and surely within me, "You'd like that a lot would you?"

"I'd do anything for you if you'd do that for me."

The seriousness in his voice sent a thrill through me, "Well... maybe if it was a total stranger that I'd never see again, and if it could be arranged so that it looked accidental..."

"Oh yeah! No problem. Maybe when we go and stay at Fran and Jimmy's place next week. There'd be bound to be a chance then..."

"And you promise you'll do anything I want to repay me?"

"Anything!"

"Ok, then. I guess we could invite some insurance salesman over of something like that. And when he arrives I could be upstairs in the shower and won't hear him arrive."

When I started telling Paul how I could play out his fantasy I could feel his excitement mounting. As big as he already was inside me, I could feel him hardening further and his strokes become firmer. His reaction surprised me, but my reaction surprised me even more. I was getting more excited by the second, by the word.

I let out a moan and continued, "I could come downstairs in just my flimsy little bra and panties, walk straight in to where you two are talking..."

Paul was thrusting hard now, "Oh yeah, Stephs, perfect. Or... maybe if you didn't want to wear such flimsy panties you could maybe have a towel around your waist and... well..."

"Compensate? You'd like that wouldn't you, Paul? No bra? Completely topless?" As Paul's excitement reached new heights – as his reaction to my words became apparent in every thrust – mine own excitement grew. This was no opposite reaction to him, it was feeding on his. "I think I'd like to do that. Like to see your reaction when I walked into the room."

"Oh god, Stephs. I'd love it."

I could tell as his balls slapped against me with every hard, fast stroke. I was gasping for breath now, scarcely able to believe how big – how massive – he felt inside me. "If I knew you were going to be this enthusiastic, it would be easy. I'd even make sure my hair was wet and walk in the room with a towel over my head, drying it. Make sure the guy got a good, long look."

Paul was pounding so hard the bed was banging against the wall, his pelvic bones grinding against mine. With a guttural cry he thrust deeper than ever, filling me – and then filling me as he came hard. The sheer intensity of his passion tipped me over the edge into an orgasm like none I'd had before. Wave after wave crashed through me, each peaking higher than the last. My ears sang and my vision clouded and all I really remember clearly was pulling Paul hard against me as I convulsed beneath him, my fingernails digging into his back.

Afterwards, after all of the aftershocks had subsided and we lay panting, tangled in the sheets and in each other's arms, I kissed the top of his head. "Some fantasy, husband."

"The best," he said, kissing the upper slope of my left breast.

"Yeah," I nodded. "The very best."

Exhausted and sated, we slept.

*****

As I said before, the f-fantasy rule was that whatever played in the fantasy, stayed in the fantasy. But all the next day I kept having flashback memories of our latest session. Despite my best efforts at suppression, each time I had a recollection of Paul's passion, or a sudden memory of the feel of him inside me, so hard and massive, shivers would run up my spine. If that was his reaction to my fantasy play, what would happen if I really played it out?

I tried my damnedest to suppress those thoughts because I knew that I could never actually do such a thing. The trouble was, every time I had another flashback, my certainty slipped a little more. The central fact that I could no longer ignore was that Paul's reaction to my proposed, fantasy action just made me react even more – which in turn increased the level of his reaction...

By nightfall I was thoroughly confused. My so-called logical brain was faced with an impossible dilemma. I was far too shy to go through with something like the fantasy – but equally, I now knew that I just had to play it out if that was how Paul was going to react. It was Paul who offered me a solution.

By the time we got to bed that night, I had become increasingly distracted and self-absorbed, and Paul was concerned for me.

"Stephs? What's up?"

I sat up in the bed and offered him a wry smile, "I keep thinking about last night."

"I thought you enjoyed it. I mean, I'm sorry if it got a bit too-"

"No, I did enjoy it. That's the trouble, I think." With a sigh I told him all about how I felt.

Concerned for me or not, by the time I'd finished Paul was flushed and tremulous, and the reaction to my words was visibly tenting the sheet. "You mean... you'd really consider doing it?"

The hope in his voice made me smile, "Isn't that what I've just been saying?"

"For real?"

I groaned, "I wouldn't be this bothered by a fantasy, would I?"

"Wow... Maybe..."

"Maybe?"

Paul looked into my eyes, "My offer really does stand – I'd do anything if you tried it – and I think maybe I know a way..."

My mutinous body was suddenly very awake and growing more excited by the second. I had to clear my throat before I could encourage him to go on.

"Well," he said, sliding on top of me, "How about we try it just the once and I'll never, ever mention it again?" He positioned himself and gently slid the tip of his engorged cock into my welcoming pussy.

I moaned loud and long as I realised that he was once again massively erect, "Just the once?"

"Yeah, I swear on my life if you don't like it I'll never even say a word about it again. And... and if you like, if it makes it easier, you can wear a bra to do it. How about it, Stephs?"

As he waited for my answer, he barely moved, but every little twitch of hic cock had my heart racing. I thought about the fantasy, about baring myself to a complete stranger and how hard that would be. And then I thought about Paul's reaction, about his cock and how hard that would be. As my blood pounded in my ears I slowly nodded. "Ok."

"You mean..."

"I mean yes, I'll do it. Once."

"Oh Stephs..." The look of shock mixed with delight that was pasted across his face was wonderful to behold. "You are incredible!"

"Just make sure that you never, ever again ask me whether I love you!"

"Don't worry, I know there's no need now." He began to move hard and fast inside me.

"And Paul?" I heard myself say as my excitement reached a dizzying height, "Since it's a one-off I might as well do it properly. No bra."

Paul groaned with delight, "Oh boy. I'm in heaven."

"You know it."

Neither of us could walk comfortably the next day.

*****

The next week, the week before we were due to house-sit for Fran and Jimmy, I had to reassure Paul a hundred times that I hadn't changed my mind. The sheer desperation of the poor guy could have grated, but for some reason it only served to reassure me that I was doing the right thing. Even so, I managed to get guarantees from him that there would be no physical contact, that the show would only last for a few seconds, and that if I changed my mind at the last moment, there would be no sulks or repercussions. By the time we actually got to the house, I think I was as excited as Paul.

I still couldn't quite believe I was going to be doing this, and even after a rehearsal on our first morning there it didn't seem real. Sure, I felt as naked and exposed as I ever had in my life, but all the time it was just Paul's eyes on me the whole exercise was too close to fantasy.

Paul went into the local town the next day and came home in a fever of excitement. As he pounded away at my grateful pussy five minutes after walking in through the front door, he explained that he'd organised an appointment with a double-glazing firm for the next morning. He'd insisted on an experienced representative, and the stage was now set.

With the stage set in such a way, so came the stage-fright. The next morning I awoke and the nerves set in straight away. Paul was little better, but his shivers were pure excitement – and that was enough to get me ready for the little show. Well, his excitement and a frantic bout of love-making...

Ten minutes before the guy was due to arrive I was in the bathroom, the shower already running, and naked but for the towel that was securely wrapped around my waist. Paul was with me, making sure I was sure about the performance, and being so sweet that I couldn't have backed out for anything.

He left me and went downstairs to set the scene while I listened out for the salesman's car, ready to switch on the radio to add to the general racket from the shower. My hands were shaking so badly and my stomach felt as if it had been invaded by a swarm of butterflies. Or eagles.

Every time the doubts assailed me, I told myself that it was a one-off, that I'd never see the guy again, that it would look accidental in any case... and when those reasons failed me, I just thought of Paul and his reaction.

All of which didn't stop me from letting out a small scream when I heard the crunch of tyres on the driveway.

I flicked on the radio at the third attempt and tried to swallow my heart which had become lodged in my throat. Dunking my head under the shower seemed to help a bit, but my heart rate must have topped three hundred beats per minute when I heard the distant ringing of the doorbell.

I began to count, panting like a racehorse, and then took a dozen deep breaths. I steeled every nerve in my body and then stepped from the bathroom, heading for the stairs as if on auto-pilot. I knew that I could still back out, and I came very close at least three times on that downward journey. Only Paul's face and the memory of his passion kept my feet moving.

I had planned to pause for a couple of seconds outside the living room door but something in my subconscious propelled me onwards – and probably saved me from running back to the bathroom like the petrified chicken I really was. I stepped through the doorway, my breasts completely bare and the towel draped over my head, hands rubbing at my damp tresses.

"Paul!" I called, my voice more tremulous than I would have liked, "What time did you say the guy is coming about the windows?" I stopped moving, unaware of where the guy was or even if he was able to see me, feeling so totally exposed, so totally naked.

"Stephs!" Paul laughed, close by, "He was due five minutes ago. And he was on time..."

I dragged the towel off my head and looked towards where Paul stood, a look of mock-confusion on my face. I did a double-take that must have looked silly and then turned to my left where the salesman stood, his eyes on stalks. "Oh shit!"

I felt a surge of excitement the like of which I'd never even come close to feeling before, and I swear I could almost feel the guy's eyes crawling across my naked breasts. In that sudden swell of heat I froze for a few seconds – I mean totally froze. I never heard Paul say to the guy "This is my gorgeous wife", and similarly didn't hear the guy reply "She sure is" – I only have Paul's word on that. My ears were ringing and my heartbeat deafening.

After the freeze came the panic and I yanked the towel I had been drying my hair with over my bare boobs, blushing and stammering apologies. I paused long enough to shoot Paul a you-should-have-said-he-was-here (faking all the while, of course) and spun on my heels, heading for the door.

As soon as I was outside, euphoria took over. I stumbled up the stairs and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. One look at myself in the mirror and I was trembling all over – partly adrenaline and partly excitement of an altogether different kind. I'd actually done it!

Oh, and that look on the guy's face... it was (and is) something that will live with me forever!

I tried to calm myself and get back to the plan. We had agreed that I would come back downstairs (dressed, of course) and mumble my apologies to emphasise that it was all a terrible accident, and beg him not to go telling all his mates. The only trouble was, my hands were shaking so bad I couldn't get my bra fastened!

I gave up trying in the end and chose a different dress from the one I had planned, the new one being thick enough to mask the fact that my nipples were rock-hard (not that it helped the tingling). I clattered down the stairs on shaky legs and swallowed hard before striding into the living room, full of apologies. My cheeks were flaming, but I guessed the guy would read that as embarrassment rather than the excitement I truly felt.

He was very kind and apologised himself for staring (not that his eyes didn't wander to my mercifully covered boobs every now and again). He also readily agreed not to tell anyone about my little 'accident' – although I guess that promise lasted as long as it took him to send his first email back at the office!

Paul played the concerned, doting husband, his arm protectively around me all the while. I felt on top of the world. My only problem was that I was trying not to whimper with excitement – a situation made worse (better?) by the fact that it was very difficult not to stare at two very conspicuous bulges – one by my side and the other across the room...

I guess I had always been... well, scared in a sense, of my own sexuality. It wasn't just simple shyness. Now I was itching for the salesman to be gone – not out of embarrassment (although there was more than just a trace of that), but rather because I wanted to see what Paul would do when the door was closed. I wanted to see just how big a reaction I had managed to bring forth through my boldness.

It seemed like forever before the guy finally got the message and headed out to his car. I left Paul to see him out and stood waiting in the living room, desperate and panting with excitement. Paul didn't disappoint.

He rushed back into the house and into the living room, grabbing my head and pulling me into a jaw-wrenching kiss, his tongue probing deep into my mouth. There was no foreplay – unless you count him tearing my dress off – and I was on my back on the sofa in seconds, my legs spread and my arms open, desperate for him. His jeans disappeared over his shoulder, briefs and socks tangled together with them, and he pretty much leapt on top of me, his cock harder and bigger than I'd ever seen it before.

His very first thrust buried that gorgeous cock deep inside me, but I was too wet to feel any discomfort and too desperate for it to care in any case. We were thrusting together in seconds, hard, hungry and desperate, and when he punctuated a couple of particularly savage thrusts with 'thank-yous' I shook my head.

"No – thank you!"

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