Role Reversal

You will be disappointed if you want sex right away. This story has a long build and a conflicted main character -- it's meant to be more than a quickie. Marriage is a serious thing, and playing along its edges has consequences that should require serious thought. I think you'll like the ending though -- I would.

C.

*

Nerves. Looking around the room, she took a big sip of wine. Her bedroom. Her husband's bedroom. Candles burning in half a dozen places cast a shadowy amber glow. She drank more wine, sucking it down fast, for once not noticing its taste. The house was empty and silent except for the sounds coming from the bathroom, male sounds, sounds of a man consciously being polite while peeing. She had heard him unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He was sitting, she was sure, taking care not to splash. A good thing, she thought. It showed concern for the moment, and she was glad for that. Although the man was not a stranger, this evening had shown her there was a lot she didn't know about him. Or herself.

She wondered, nearly out load, pacing, "This isn't me. What the fuck am I doing?" She thought about what led up to this moment, wondered if it was too late for her to back out, to return to normal. Everything about this evening was a departure, a fantasy being played out. While they'd played out his fantasies before, he'd always led her through them. She had thoroughly enjoyed the others, which had taken her to sexual heights she'd never imagined. Of all her lovers, she'd married the best, and 20 years of marriage had only improved the sex. It often left her drained, exhausted, and entirely sated by a series of orgasms. But this was the first time his fantasy had moved beyond the idea of monogamy. And on top of that, although it was his fantasy, this time she was the lead actor in an improvisational play. This time, the fantasy was of her with another man.

Adultery did not seem to fit them. No one who knew them would expect either the husband or the wife to have any sexual relationship outside their marriage, although both had lovers before it. Neither the husband nor the wife had any real thoughts of greener pastures. Their marriage was the central fact of their lives. But the power of fantasy depends on how far it takes us beyond our day to day. For the husband, the thought of his wife with another man was powerful indeed. On top of that, his wife's utter faithfulness left him with no worries that his fantasy of an adulterous tryst would damage their marriage.

The wife was less certain. The idea left her both excited and discomfited, although she liked how it amped up her husband. That the idea aroused him didn't really surprise her. From the beginning, he'd liked to hear her tell of her other lovers, although it was an effort for her to tell those stories. She would go into detail only when they were most intimate, and after a considerable amount of wine.

During one such recent moment he'd said, "God, I love hearing about you fucking other guys."

"Why do you think that's so hot?"

"I guess it's that it makes you seem sexier. Most women I've been with have been uncertain. They just go where they're led, like they're afraid to act sexually. I'm sure it's got to do with their upbringing. But the first time we were together, you started playing with my cock. No girl ever did that before without me guiding them. You have a carnal side. Most women want to call it "making love." You like to fuck. You like to be told what to do, and you just do it. Most men would kill for a woman like you. And it's an ego boost. You've had other guys, yet you're with me."

"I love you. I haven't wanted anyone else since we got together."

"Me either, really. But it goes beyond love to some level that's just sexual, kind of animal. That's one of my favorite things about you. I think about watching you fuck another guy, or having you come home and tell me about it."

"Really? It wouldn't make you insane?"

"It might. But, God, it would make me horny. One side of the equation would be different, so you wouldn't fuck him the way you do me. What the differences would be fascinates me. I'd love to know what you did with him and not me, or what he might do with you that's new. Don't you think it would be hot to watch me with another woman? To see how I acted with someone else?"

"It would be hot, but it would drive me insane." She dragged her fingernails across his thigh as she said this.

"That might be a fun kind of insane. God, if you were with someone else, I'd want to fuck you so hard afterward. I'd want to hurt you with my cock."

"I'd like that part," she said. "It would be like I deserved it."

He went on. "It would be just as hot if you only sucked his cock. You are so good at that. Nobody has ever sucked my cock like you do. You could control any guy. I think I'd like that even better, for you to make some horny bastard into jelly."

"I don't know if I could do that. Controlling somebody? I love sucking your cock. I get so wet, and it's hot when you cum in my mouth. You get really hard right before, it just makes me melt. But a big part of what I like about it is pleasing you. That wouldn't be the same with someone else. Apart from everything else, I'd feel like I was using him."

"Yeah, like any guy would object to being used like that. And you would be pleasing me, in an abstract way. One of the things I love about us is how you'll try things because I want to, how you let me fuck you how and when I want to. That power just, oh my God, it makes my cock hard. Knowing that you would be with another guy only because I wanted it might be the biggest turn-on of my life. While it was happening, I'd be like a bull penned up away from the heifers. I wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else. I'd pace around with a stiff cock until I got to bury it in you. Fuck, I would be so turned on."

That conversation had ended with him driving his cock into her very wet pussy with the greatest intensity he'd ever displayed. His orgasm had seemed to last for minutes. He'd replayed that conversation a number of times in the next few months, going into depth and constructing a scenario where she spent a long time teasing and controlling a faceless man before giving him release with her mouth. She didn't discourage him -- A hard man is good to find. And in truth, she was turned on by the fantasy too. But she couldn't see herself betraying their marriage, and even if she could get past that, she didn't know anyone to play it out with. Strangers were dangerous. And friends, well, she wasn't attracted to any of their friends, and in any event, the potential complications were huge.

Some time after their initial conversation, her husband resolved the problem of who the man might be. At first, she turned down his solution. But to her surprise, that was more because she wasn't comfortable playing a role than because she didn't like the idea of sex with the man he suggested. She knew the man, and found him attractive. But adultery? Even as a fantasy it disturbed her. How do you set aside the basic tenet of your life to have sex with someone other than your spouse? Her husband talked through the scene again and again, often whispering to her while they lay together. She became more comfortable with it, to the point where she would have to admit it excited her viscerally. But four decades of life provides a lot of training in how to subdue the visceral. However, one night, after a lot of wine, the joy she knew would find in giving her husband what he wanted combined with the prospect of a hard punishment fuck later to overcome her doubts. She acceded to playing out his fantasy.

*********

They'd met for dinner at a Thai restaurant. She wore a skirt and a simple blouse that accented her breasts. He greeted her enthusiastically. "You look beautiful tonight. Wow! That blouse looks great on you."

His compliment embarrassed her nearly as much as it pleased her. Most of the times they'd met before, he had not commented on her looks. But tonight, both of them knew why they were meeting. It had all been arranged and the ground rules set up. Her day had been dominated by a hanging sexual energy that left her bouncing between arousal and guilt and anger and even foolishness for considering such a risk.

Sensing her mood, he immediately tried to put her at ease by acknowledging the elephant. "Listen, this could be really awkward. Let's just take it slow and get comfortable. It's important you're okay with this. We don't have to follow through with the whole thing tonight. Or ever."

She was grateful for that, and said, "Thank you."

He smiled, and said, "Drinks with dinner?"

"God, yes."

They ended up chatting like old friends. They ordered drinks, shared their dinners. She felt herself warming to the adventure. After their meals they had another drink at the bar -- she a margarita and he a draft beer. He was funny, and she liked him, and she tried to put the rest out of her head, tried not to think about her husband. Perhaps helped by the alcohol, she did find him attractive, and found her mind drifting toward sex. But her husband kept popping into her head, and she'd trade the thread of the present for that of the conversation with her husband when she'd agreed to this tryst.

------------------

They had been in bed. He'd been kissing her neck and her breasts, and rubbing and pinching her ass while she toyed with his cock and nipples, occasionally taking him into her mouth and sucking him until he was close to cumming. They'd been playing a long time -- an hour or more, and her cock play had put him again in the mood to talk again about her with the man her husband had mentioned before.

"I tell you, the way to do it is to set it up so he knows right from the start that you're the boss. Tell him that if he does anything you don't want, it's over....oh, oh." She was biting his nipple as he talked. "Shit. Do that sort of thing to him. Drive him crazy. Don't let him touch you. You could totally control him with the promise of making him cum. I know you could with me."

"Could I now?"

"Well, up to the point where I just rolled you over and fucked you, because you couldn't stop me if you wanted to. But most guys wouldn't do that. That's a hot edge to play on, don't you think?"

Her reply was to devour his cock and make him cum deep in her throat while she made the small moans of pleasure which she knew just took him further around the bend.

When their breathing returned to normal, she'd said, "Yeah. It is a hot edge. Okay."

---------------------

"...okay?" she heard. Again, "Hey, you okay?" He date was asking, having noticed her distraction.

"Um, yeah, I just got thinking about how I got talked into this."

"Uh oh. Having second thoughts?"

"Let's have another drink, shall we?"

They ordered more drinks, and talked of people they'd known, places they'd been, things they'd done -- in fifteen minutes they were back to being a middle aged couple on a date, hanging out and laughing. They ordered another round, and nearing the end of that, she realized that she was having a good time, as her husband had predicted, and that she was ready to move to the next level. Looking straight into his eyes, she said, "Yeah, let's go."

They took his pickup back to her house. It was an older model with a bench seat. He had opened the driver's door and helped her in, leaving her the option of sitting close to him or on the far side of the truck. She sat close to him, put her hand on his leg, and ran her hand along the denim.

"Put your arm around me," she said, and when he did she leaned up against his chest and rubbed it. He was a big man, clearly a physical man. She felt secure in his strength, which helped to quiet the butterflies she still felt.

She said, "I want to do this, but I might have a hard time getting started. Promise that you'll help me through it?" She wasn't quite sure what that meant, except she had to know he understood her position, that he not take her for granted.

"Of course I will. I know the rules, and I want us both to have a good time."

She felt slightly reassured, but there was still a level on which she felt she didn't know this man as well as she thought. Like her, he was here to pursue the idea of sex with someone other than his spouse. That was both a turn on -- clearly, he wanted her -- and mark against him for wanting to betray his marriage.

At the house, she led him into the kitchen, a bright place after the dim restaurant and the dusky drive home. She liked his blue eyes in this light. Still nervous, she suggested wine. Wine had helped to get her into this position, perhaps it could help her though it. He took a chardonnay from the refrigerator, wrapped the bottle in a towel, and presented it to her like a sommelier. "Madame?"

She'd laughed. "You're supposed to present that to the man."

"Sexist."

"More like a traditionalist."

"Then I'd better get this open fast before you expand that thinking."

He uncorked the bottle and filled the glasses she had produced. He held his glass up, looking at her, obviously churning up a toast.

"To new things and old traditions."

She echoed him, and sipped, thinking, "This is ratcheting up. Whenever something changes, we get closer to a point of no return." She didn't know where that point was. Geography played a small role. The restaurant was very safe -- she could have shaken his hand after dinner, and they each would have gone home. The kitchen was edgier, but still safe enough - she could simply be entertaining a guest. But once they left the kitchen, the expectations would increase by an order of magnitude. She had been nervous enough meeting him in the restaurant, not at all being sure how to act. Dinner and drinks had calmed her, put the ramifications of the main act into a compartment in her mind that she could almost ignore. But thinking about it now, even in the relative safety of the kitchen, made her realize that they had taken several steps closer to adultry. Her nerves hit again. The wine glass shook in her hand. She put it down on the island.

She was almost ready to call it off. He saw her hand shaking. He was good at this, seeming to know what she was thinking. He said, "We haven't crossed any line yet. We don't have to do this. I don't want this if you don't."

He'd said the exact right thing. Anything else, any hint of aggressiveness, or worse, of making light of the circumstance, and she'd have asked him to stop. But there was genuine concern in his voice, respect for their relative positions, and that calmed her. She began to think about pleasing him, about pleasing her husband, and how that would in the end please her. Telling her husband how she had felt at the evening's crux points would make him hard, and she knew that would he would take her brutally. Rough sex excited her, and even at this moment, when she had done nothing more than lay her head on the man's chest, she felt that she had given her husband some right to simply take her, to hold her down and fuck her with his hands on her throat. She cleared her head and breathed deeply. Looking into his eyes she said, "Let's go upstairs."

Taking his hand, she led him from the kitchen. In the foyer and on the stairs to the second floor where her bedroom was, she stopped to point out to him elements she especially liked about the artwork on the wall, small things that mattered to her. She wanted to see his reaction, wanted to know him better from it. He listened, echoed and amplified her comments, easing her worries. They drank from the wine glasses in their hands, and made their way slowly up the stairs then down the hall to her bedroom.

She had cleaned the room and made the bed with fresh sheets and placed candles around it before leaving, and now she lit the candles and turned off the light. The candle flames matched her mood, punctuating the darkness, lighting the room while at the same time creating deep shadows that were difficult to see into.

"You look beautiful," he said. "Your hair in this light looks almost red." He reached out to touch it, but she caught his hand.

"You know the rules. You don't get to touch me."

Nodding, he said, "Yes, I know the rules."

"That was right," she thought. It was good that he wanted to touch her. What woman doesn't want to be touched by a man? But it was also good, better even, that he stopped this minor advance when told.

She kissed him then, rewarding him, softly taking his lips between hers, gently engaging his tongue in play. She kissed his neck, his ears, oh, how she loved when her husband did that to her, and to be doing it to this man in her bedroom, my God, that caused her to melt. When she broke it off, he excused himself.

"I'm sorry, but with the beer..."

"Go ahead," she said. When he had gone into the bathroom, her nerves hit yet again. This was when she had found herself thinking, "Fuck. This isn't me. What am I doing?"

He had said, "We haven't crossed any lines yet." That was right still, she felt, although they had come achingly close to one while kissing. And maybe there were multiple lines, each a small incursion into faithfulness. Deep kissing -- Really, that was a line. Since she'd married her husband, she'd no more than pecked the cheek of another man. But she'd flirted with other men after a few drinks at parties. For some, that would be a line. She'd hugged men, enjoying the feel of her breasts against their chests. Surely, that was a line, or at least approaching one.

Soon, there would be no more rationalizing, no using social customs to blur the location of a line that was almost physical. Black or white. On or off. With that thought in her mind, she breathed in deeply, felt light-headed for a second. Where was that line, the ultimate line that defined her as a faithful, loving wife? She was very close to it. Her husband might not put it in the same place that she would -- his line would be beyond hers. But hers was the one that mattered here and now. Certainly, the idea that her husband wanted her to do this softened the line, but in the end, she was the one who set her own limits.

Would it be when he was naked and she first saw his cock, stiff and wanting her? Would she have to touch him, caress a nipple or an ass cheek? Or did it only exist at his cock, before she touched it with what? Her hand? Or her mouth? Or her pussy? Did different parts of her body stake out different lines? Was there a difference between those lines? Could she bring her body so close to his cock that they could each feel the other's heat, and yet not cross a line without an instant's contact? Of did physical contact not matter in this age of birth control? Faithfulness used to mean a lot more when every fuck risked a child. Today, was the issue only of emotion? Was fucking another okay as long as she didn't love him? That was a twist. Her mother would have said that fucking a man was okay only if she loved him.

She wanted to go ahead. The man was sexy, just about what she would have called her ideal, and despite her doubts, her nipples were pebbles and she felt a beginning moistness. But she wanted also to run away, to distance herself from the line and keep normal from changing. She liked normal. Normal was dependable. It didn't bear the possibility of upending her life. The next day, she couldn't say exactly why she continued on. She even considered leaving, but then realized it was ridiculous to leave her own bedroom, her own ground. Yes, it was her ground. She owned this place. That thought steadied her, allowed her thoughts to rise above her battling emotions.

She greeted him with a deep kiss as he re-entered the bedroom.

Breaking the kiss, she whispered to him, "This might sound weird, but I'm doing this for my husband because I love him. I've never done anything like this before."