The Marital Corporation Ch. 03

The words were out before Peter could stop them. Kenny blushed, and Marge stared at him defiantly. "I thought this was OK with you," she said indignantly.

"I thought so, too," he said contritely. "But it looks as if I still have work to do."

"That's your problem," she snapped. Turning to Kenny, she said, "You and I have to go shopping."

The boy was wearing Peter's old robe. Seeing a chance to make amends, Peter nodded. "See what you can find of mine that will fit him," he said. "Then take him down to the Bon and get him some decent clothes, a toothbrush and whatever else he needs. Just remember, we have a dinner engagement."

The olive branch was accepted. Marge smiled at her husband again, and tenderly stroked Kenny's hair. "We'll work it out," she said confidently.

Peter often spent hours during the weekend at the office, but this Saturday's effort was not productive. His work was continually interrupted as he realized time and again that he had been staring uncomprehendingly at a page of Corpus Juris Secundum while recalling the scenes he had imagined the previous evening of his middle-aged wife enjoying her teenage lover.

Fortunately, the pangs of insecurity he had felt when he first recaptured last night's events were fading. Also, he found he could purge those thoughts entirely by remembering the contours of Anne Schaefer's svelte body. She was the perfect antidote for his momentary distress.

Then he remembered her secret invitation. He looked at the clock. It was ten past two. Knowing that Gordon was an avid golfer, he thought her husband might be teeing up somewhere in the fresh air that very moment. On an impulse, he dialed the Schaefer's number.

"Hello?" It was Anne.

"Hi. This is Pete. Can you talk?"

"Oh, hi, Pete. Gordon's out with his golf cronies right now, but I'll tell him you called." She hung up.

What the hell?

That evening, after Peter and Marge had been seated in the Schaefer's somewhat ostentatious living room, and were sipping their cocktails, Peter was mildly surprised that nothing was said about his phone call. Either Gordon had forgotten, which was unlikely, consid- ering his obsequious mannerisms, or Anne was playing a game he didn't understand.

She was especially fetching that evening. She wore a severe little cocktail dress which modestly covered her bosom, but which ended at mid-thigh, emphasizing her long, sleek legs. She was a woman who knew how to dress to her best advantage.

She apparently enjoyed Peter's admiring glances, because after she distributed their drinks, she chose an easy chair out of her husband's range of view, and covertly watching Peter's reaction, moved restlessly about, causing the hem of her short skirt to climb ever higher, exposing a dark band at the top of her hose, and even a flash of white skin above that.

Peter had spent hours in her company the previous Sunday. During much of that time, she had been completely nude, but the erotic effect on him during those hours in the boat paled in comparison with the almost obscene passion he now felt stirring his loins as she continued to tease him.

He was sure it was deliberate. That suspicion was confirmed during dinner when he was passing the carrots to Marge, and felt a bare foot nudge his leg. He glanced quickly toward Anne, who smiled briefly and looked down at her plate.

After dinner, as they sat in the living room, Peter began to feel uncomfortably warm. At first, he attributed it to the amount of alcohol he had consumed, but then he realized something was wrong with the room's heating system.

The table had been cleared, and they were sipping after dinner drinks when Anne turned to her husband. "Does it seem warm in here to you?" She stood and examined the thermostat. "My God, it's 85 degrees! I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm going to get comfortable!"

She backed up to Peter. "Unhook me, would you?"

He released the hook. She turned and thanking him with a smile, reached behind to her zipper, and slowly, tantalizingly, drew it down. She slid one shoulder strap off, then the other, while still modestly holding her dress in front of her. "This feels better already," she said.

Tossing her dress on the chair, she looked at Marge. "Aren't you going to peel down, too?"

"I don't know whether I should," Marge said doubtfully. "Next to you, the sight of my fat old bod might make you cry."

"It wouldn't make me cry," Gordon said sincerely.

Marge stood. "OK. This works better with music, but here goes . . ."

"Wait. I think we have some music." Gordon jumped up and rummaged through a stack of CDs. While he was reading the labels, Peter admired Anne's sleek body clad now only in thin black panties, a garter belt and hose. She sat relaxed on her folded legs and leaned back in the chair. Peter wondered briefly if she owned a brassiere. Her breasts were small, but full and deep.

Gordon found the music he was looking for, and the heavy sensual beat of "The Stripper" quickly filled the room. Marge was startled. She darted a look at Peter. "Did you tell them?"

"Tell them what?" Anne drawled.

"I mentioned something in passing the other day," Peter admitted, "but it was no big deal . . . "

"Tell them what?" Anne insisted.

Peter looked at Marge. "I probably shouldn't have said anything," he said apologetically, "because I think Marge is self-conscious about it, but in the context of our conversation, it seemed appropriate."

He turned to address Anne. "Before we were married, Marge was an exotic dancer . . . "

"Stripper," Marge corrected him.

"Stripper," he said.

Anne's eyes grew large as if she, too, were seeing Marge in a new light. Then, turning to Gordon, she said, "Too bad it isn't your birthday!" Looking at Marge, she added, "He's had this adolescent desire for a birthday stripper as long as I've known him."

Peter was glad to hear Marge laugh. "Next time," she said, "I'll bring a proper costume. For now, this will have to do. Pete," she added, "this is for you. I owe you one!"

She nodded to Gordon, who turned the music on. The heavy seductive beat seemed to enter Peter's body as, for the hundredth time, he watched his wife merge her body with the soul of the musical artists and spirit of her audience. She twirled, teased, exposed, and teased again, until the three of them were clapping in time with the music and chanting, "Take it off, take it off!"

As usual, Peter sat spellbound, watching her strut and sway almost hypnotically for Gordon's pleasure. When her last garment fell away, she leaned over Gordon's chair. Her hair fell like a veil, shielding them while she kissed him softly, lingeringly, on the mouth.

Peter was surprised to notice that Gordon had undressed and was as naked as his wife. He sported a respectable erection, which he quickly concealed under a convenient throw pillow.

It was Peter's turn to undress. He slipped out of his shoes, pulled his polo shirt off over his head, and struggled out of his pants. The others, still under Marge's spell, watched apathetically. Peter felt relieved to shed those constricting clothes, but unlike his host, he wasn't ready to discard his shorts.

Anne was the first to recover. "Pete, you said a moment ago that when you told Gordon about Marge, it was in an `appropriate context.' I'm curious. What could that have been?"

Peter darted an inquiring look at Marge. She knew what he was about to say, and nodded her assent.

"Marge and I have what some call an `open' marriage," he said, looking directly at Anne. "That is, we are each free to make new friends and even to fall in love and have affairs, if it comes to that. There is no pretense, no hiding. Everything is out in the open.

"As you can imagine, this didn't happen by accident. Our marriage was on the rocks for a variety of reasons, but luckily for me, Marge is a woman of uncommonly good sense and courage. She and I reasoned that all things being equal, we were better off together than we would be apart. Once we reached that basic conclusion, the only thing remaining was finding a way to accommodate our respective needs and preferences.

"We started this quest by becoming swingers. We quickly discovered, however, that most swingers are as conforming in their way as any social group. But we learned some valuable lessons. For instance, we learned as most swingers must, to deal effectively with negative emotions like jealousy, possessiveness, and rejection.

"But that wasn't enough. We wanted emotional as well as physical experiences, and that's where most swingers will draw the line. It seems ironic that most male swingers, if they are honest, will tell you it's OK to fuck their wives; just don't exchange phone numbers.

"We've had rough spots along the way, but we quickly discovered that learning to navigate in our new lifestyle was like learning to play the piano. We know we'll never get it perfect, but we also know that the more we practice, the better we'll get. We've never looked back, and I, at least, have never had a moment of regret.

Marge looked at their hosts and asked, "What about you guys? What's your story? Or should I ask?"

Anne and Gordon exchanged glances and smiled. "We don't have much of a story, at least not like yours," Anne said. "Our three babies well, they aren't so little any more -- have kept us busy. Until Gordon started his new company, he had a career with the telephone company. Ma Bell is worse than the military for moving people around, and we just spent three awful years in Portland."

Gordon shook his head. "It wasn't that bad, Anne," he said. "It's true, we've done our share of moving, but that's over, now."

Marge wasn't interested in a travelogue or family history. "Yes, but do you guys ever fool around? You know what I mean."

Gordon seemed startled by her directness, but Peter had already concluded that communal nudism was as far as things would go that evening.

Anne looked thoughtful. "Not in the sense you mean, Marge. I guess we're as unconventional in our way as you are in yours. I wish Pete would take his shorts off so I could see his thing, but otherwise, this is as far as we go. We'll both be so highly stimulated that after you leave, we'll probably start screwing on the floor right here. If not, we'll start screwing on the stairs, and when I get that guy into bed," she looked pointedly at her husband, "he'll get the ride of his life!"

"In that case, we'd better get out of your hair," Marge said, standing and reaching for her dress.

"Oh, no!" the Schaefers said simultaneously. "The longer you stay, the hotter we get. We want you to stay as late as you possibly can."

Peter was having trouble reconciling this Ozzie and Harriet act with the foot he had felt under the table, and the probability that Anne had been entertaining that very afternoon when he had called. He also remembered Marge's earlier comment about Gordon's come-on the night they first met at the yacht club, and wondered if it was possible they were both playing around without the other being aware of it.

Peter stood. "I guess fair is fair," he said. "Take a look." He dropped his shorts, stepped out of them, and spread them on the sofa to sit on. Before he could sit, however, Anne said, "Gordon, come stand next to Pete."

Obligingly, Gordon ambled over and stood next to him. "Come here, Marge. Take a look at them, and tell me what you think."

"What I think about what?"

Anne looked at Peter's cock and balls. "It doesn't look as big as Gordon's," she said unkindly.

Marge took immediate exception to this uncharitable comment. "I take it you've never seen an uncircumcised penis before?"

"Only on my babies right after they were born."

"The foreskin hides and protects the penis," Marge said. "That's why it looks smaller. But when he slips that thing into you, the foreskin slides back, adding to the pressure in the labia and on the clit. I'd much rather screw an uncircumcised cock. Look."

Marge grasped Peter's foreskin between her thumb and forefinger, and slid it back. His bright pink glans popped into view. His penis now resembled Gordon's except, if anything, it was a little longer.

Anne's eyes widened. "My God," she whispered, "I had no idea how that worked."

Peter hoped this little display might lead to something interesting, but it soon became clear the evening was over. Marge and Peter got dressed and kissed their friends good night. Again, as she had on the dock, Anne privately urged Peter to call her. He had no idea what Gordon may have whispered to Marge.

(to be continued)