Wannabe Wife Watcher

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As a reporter, she knows how to grab my attention. You haven't heard a sexy story until you hear Shari tell one. Whether it's in person or, like tonight, over the phone, I never fail to get off from her sexy descriptions of her adventures. Problem is, while I continue to get a charge out of it, my goal now is being there during one of her adventures. Being able to watch some guy pound the shit out of her, having her come unglued, and him too, would be fantastic. Shari, unfortunately, still doesn't share my enthusiasm for such a menage.

I told her repeatedly that I would just watch, if she preferred, and wouldn't say a word. But she's got it in her head that she wouldn't be able to enjoy it if I was there, and would be so self-conscious she'd be a lousy lay. Besides, she claimed, the guy probably wouldn't be too thrilled about it either. I assured her, speaking as a man, the guy would be so hot to trot with her, he'd forget I was even there. I also told her that she would probably forget I was there, as well, once they got going hot and heavy. Despite my assurances, Shari remained uncooperative, electing to fuck guys elsewhere and tell me about them afterwards.

She seemed to almost weaken when I suggested maybe I could hide somewhere and watch them without his knowledge. She recovered her resolve moments later and flatly refused to discuss it any further. I decided at that point that I would figure out a way to spy on her and her lover du jour, without either's knowledge.

As I mentioned earlier, Shari and I have apartments in the same complex, mine on the ground floor, hers on the second. Coincidentally, her place is directly above mine. Back before we started going together, I would occasionally see her outside, at the mailboxes or walking to or from her car. She never paid me much attention, while I inwardly drooled at the sight of her. She had unwittingly given me a slew of hard-ons with her late-night entertaining.

On many occasions, the creaking of her bed woke me up. I couldn't really hear much in the way of voices, other than what drifted out her window and into mine. As I came to later learn, Shari is not particularly a screamer, preferring to express her rapture physically rather than vocally. But the rocking bed spoke volumes. Knowing who she was, I could easily picture her in my mind as she fucked with a frenzy. And it wasn't only attributable to any one guy, since I now know she had a succession of lovers during that period of time (she told me all about them, in detail).

Needless to say, the sound effects stirred my lust, providing a stimulating excuse to jerk off, which I often did while the guy upstairs was getting the real thing. It gave me a little charge to see her around the complex after one of these fuckfests, looking at her and picturing her getting boinked.

My return from the latest out-of-town trip was a day earlier than I had expected, so I looked forward to surprising Shari. I got home around eight or so that night, and I tried to be as quiet as possible so she wouldn't hear that I had returned. I took a whore's bath at the bathroom sink, not wanting to run the shower. My plan was to call her and pretend to be at the hotel, then ask her to hold for a minute, while I snuck upstairs and knocked on her door. Surprise! As it turned out, it was me that was surprised.

As I was dressing, I became aware of the old familiar creaking bed upstairs. It started out slow, barely audible, but began increasing in tempo and ferocity. Instant hard-on. I hadn't heard the creaking bed routine since Shari and I became intimate, which was the same night as our first date. It bothered me a little, hearing her like that, but it was far outweighed by the excitement it brought me. It was as close as I'd ever been to witnessing one of my wife's escapades.

I quietly opened my bedroom window as far as it would go, hoping to hear something, anything. Fortunately, her window was also open, so I could actually make out grunts and murmurs, male and female. I'd have given my eyeteeth to be peeking in her window. The rocking became furious, as I heard Shari let out a deep-throated squeal and her partner make a series of low groans. The bed shook into silence. There were more muted murmurs from both of them, undoubtedly along the lines of, "Oh, baby, that felt so good! Oh, baby, that was great!" or some such trite responses.

Knowing that Shari is not fond of rubbers, I could imagine at that moment the guy's thick load oozing out from between her swollen pussy lips, just as mine usually did. Shari washed more sheets than all of the other tenants combined, I'd bet. She never bothered to plug the hole with a Kleenex or anything, just let it run out. Naturally, we always seemed to finish on my side of the bed, leaving the wet spot for me to lie in afterwards. I expected that this young man would be afforded the same privilege.

I toyed with the notion of calling her, but I thought better of it, preferring to not get her pissed at me. That way, I'd get to hear all about it later. I decided not to tell her that I had heard them, but claim I got home a couple of hours later. My erection had yielded an ejaculation, in sync with Shari's outcry, but I was still horny. Barely thirty minutes later, the creaking started up again. Unquestionably, her partner was the superman neighbor who could do her multiple times in one sitting (or laying, as the case may be). This bout lasted a good fifteen minutes, non-stop. Any thoughts I may have had about fucking her later went out the window, since she was undoubtedly going to be a little tender down there from the sexual marathon. And who knows if the first one I heard was their first one? I guessed I'd have to settle for a blow job.

I was sitting in the living room, eating a sandwich, when I heard her front door close. I raced to the window to catch a glimpse of her lover, but he apparently walked off along the second floor walkway and not down the stairs near my place. Oh, well, I thought, I'd have other opportunities to check him out. I waited another half-hour and called her. It was now 1:15 in the morning.

"Hi, there. I just got home."

A silent pause. "I, uh, thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow." Her voice was a little husky, as it usually was after sex.

"All of our agenda items were covered today, so it wasn't necessary to stay another day. Did I wake you?"

"Uh, no, not really. I was just laying here, not really asleep yet."

"You sound a little down."

"Oh, no, I'm fine." Her voice perked up to mask her post-coital tone. "How about you? Was the drive uneventful?"

"Yeah. I am a little tired, though. How about I call you in the morning and we'll go out for breakfast?"

"Sounds good. Not too early, though."

"Don't worry, I plan to sleep in myself. Oh, and did you do as I asked and douche away the last vestiges of our neighbor?" I snickered so she'd know I was teasing about the earlier get-together she described on the phone.

"Uh, yes and no."

"Huh?"

"I'll explain tomorrow. Get plenty of rest—you're gonna need it."

"Sounds intriguing. Something tells me you have a new story to relate."

"I'll talk to you tomorrow. Nite." She hung up.

I woke up in the morning as horny as I'd been when I drifted off seven hours earlier. Shari had probably planned on filling me in on the latest sometime that night, but I had different ideas. Like maybe she and I having a nooner. First things first, I called her and we went out for breakfast. Nothing about the previous night was even hinted at, by either of us, throughout the meal. As we sat there, sipping our last cup of coffee before leaving the restaurant, I decided to press her a little.

"So, do you have something to tell me about our neighbor?" It gave me a little rush to discuss the subject in a public place, where the people in adjoining booths could easily hear our every word.

"Later." She blushed slightly as her eyes averted to her coffee.

"Nope. Now. Obviously something happened since our phone conversation on Thursday."

"Bill, this is hardly the place to . . ."

"You don't have to be detailed about it right now, but I wanna know that something happened."

"Okay, something happened." She tried to keep her voice as low as possible and still be heard by me.

"Like last time? You know, one after the other?" I winked.

"Mmm, yeah, something like that."

"When?"

"Uhhh, would you believe last night?" Her eyes cast downwards again.

"Before I got home?"

"Well, duh. As though I'd have done it after you got home. Give me some credit."

I could hardly keep from blurting out what I'd decided not to tell her. "As good as the first time?"

"Mmm, yeah, as a matter of fact. Hate to say it," she whispered, "but I'm a tad sore today." She giggled nervously.

I smiled smugly. "Not too, I trust."

"Mmm, could be."

"Then I guess I'll have to use another avenue of approach." I knew that she knew that I knew she didn't like to take it in the ass.

"Oh, I'm sure I can bite the bullet and accommodate you," she said, batting her eyes at me.

"Good, and while you're at it you can fill me in on the best parts of last night."

"Oh, I will, but it'll have to wait until tonight."

"Why?"

"'Cause I just want to, that's why."

"We'll see."

Driving home, I let my hand wander to the crotch of her jeans, knowing she rarely wore panties nowadays. I could feel her cunt lips through the material and the warmth being generated there. She faintly protested, but made no move to stop what my fingers were doing to her. Instead, she began moaning softly, clearly enjoying it.

By the time we arrived home, she was close to orgasm from having her clit targeted by my forefinger tip. I was purposely getting her heated up because I knew from past experience that a few glasses of wine, in concert with her being horny, was a sure way to get her to open up and effusively spill out the lurid details of her escapades with a minimum of coaxing. And the best position to have her in (for me, anyway) when she was talkin' dirty was between my legs with her tongue playing music on my flute. It took barely ten minutes before we were in bed in the above-stated position.

Ignoring the fact that it was not even one in the afternoon, she had downed one glass of wine and was working on her second, between the times she was orally caressing me. Her free hand was busy between her own legs, her fingers strumming a tune on her clit. She hadn't started talking yet, probably because I hadn't asked her any questions yet. I wanted her to get a little hotter and a little more tipsy before I broached the subject of her young stud neighbor.

After several very long but enjoyable minutes of her mouthing my hard-on, Shari was excited and loosening up, but not enough to loosen her tongue¾speech-wise. I went to plan B, offering to fill up her wine glass, then assuming a position between her legs, so I could return her favor and perhaps elicit some favorable response to the subject of her young neighbor.

I was at it for a short while, her moaning steady and sincere, when I again broached the subject. "So, ya gonna let me in on your evening with your young friend?"

"Mmmm, boy, you sure don't give up, do you? Okay, first of all, my young friend's name is Tony. As I said, he came over last night and we, well, we had a good time."

"Shari, for Christ's sake, a little more detail wouldn't kill you, you know."

"Okay, just teasing. Actually, even though we did it several times, we also talked a lot. Mostly him. He likes to talk to me while we're doing it, by the way. I started out . . . ooh, that feels nice . . . uh, we were sitting on the couch and I decided to treat him to a blow job without him even asking. He came so much I gagged a little. Anyway, we . . . ooh, please keep doing it just like that . . . we ended up in bed and . . . oh, Bill, I can't talk when you do that . . . I'm getting close."

I didn't let up, of course, because her narration was so much sexier when it was affected by her impending orgasm.

"He fucked me real good . . . like I know you're gonna do shortly." Even on the brink of letting loose a big one, she was able to produce a little giggle. "That is if you promise to go easy down there."

"Did he come inside you, or does he like to let it fly somewhere else?"

"Oh, God . . . you're gonna have to wait . . . a second . . . 'cause . . . unh, unh, unh . . . oh shit, I'm coming!" As if she had to announce it, what with her violent wrenching and bucking and squealing moans.

"Hey, babe, while you're recuperating, how about giving me a little?" I said as I scooted around to put my rigid cock in closer proximity to her face.

"The least I could do," she said with another giggle, "considering." She drew it into her warm, moist mouth.

"Uh, what was your last question?" she said with her mouth full.

"Where did he come? In you, or what?"

"Oh, he always wants to come in me, which is just fine with me. One time, the first time we were together, he wanted to shoot on my boobs. It was the second or third of the evening, so there wasn't a whole lot of it, but enough for us both to enjoy the sensation. You know, he spends a lot of time with my boobs, more than you usually do."

"Sorry. Maybe he wasn't breastfed as a baby, like I was. I've heard that guys with a breast fixation didn't get to suck on mommy's."

"Oh, sometimes you're so full of shit! Anyway, a little while later we did it again and I really came, big time. And you wanna know why?"

I simply grunted in response, as her mouth was working its magic.

"While he was fucking me and I was getting close to coming, I suddenly thought of you and how exciting it would be if you were there to see and hear us. I don't know why that got me so charged, but when I came I actually saw stars."

That did it. I came a few seconds later, surprising both of us. I couldn't believe that she was finally coming around, so to speak. Could this be a new beginning?

"Feel good?" she purred, looking through lazy eyes into mine.

"Nah, not particularly," I teased.

"Hmph. As if. I can tell, Mister. You can't hide something like that, especially when it's in my mouth at the time."

"All right, I confess. It felt pretty terrific."

"Although . . . "

"Yes?"

"Couldn't help but to notice that you didn't squirt very much. Knowing you, that tells me that you've gotten off recently. And more recent than Friday night when we chatted on the phone. Finally get lucky? Huh?" There was a slight trace of uneasiness in her voice. Jealousy, perhaps?

I hesitated for a moment or two before replying.

"Caught me. I guess I'll have to fess up."

"Okay, I'm listening." Shari was getting more nervous by the second.

"I'd been home for a couple of hours before I called you last night."

She squirmed a little. "And . . .?

"And I heard you and your friend―Tony―upstairs. Both times."

"And . . .?" Her voice had relaxed a little, probably relieved that I hadn't been "unfaithful" to her.

"Honey, it was true irony. About the time you were getting off thinking about me being there to watch and hear you and Tony, I was coming all over myself just hearing you."

"It didn't bother you, knowing what I was doing?"

"You kidding? It was a humungous turn-on!"

Shari was quiet and contemplative for a few seconds. "You know, this is really funny, but when Tony and I were on the couch last night, when I was giving him head, he asked why you and I had split up. I told him about your little fantasy."

"About me sharing you, you mean?"

"Yeah. So he goes on to tell me that about a year ago he was sitting in a bar talking to a couple that was seated next to him. They invited him to their place for a nightcap and ended up with him screwing the guy's wife, while the guy watched and jerked off. Tony said he was a little spooked at first, but after they got into it, it became a great turn-on for him. He got together with them a few times after that, but it eventually got old, so he stopped going there. Kinda coincidental, don't you think? That's what got me thinking about you being there last night."

I chose my words carefully, not wanting to queer the roll we seemed to be on. "So, maybe you and I . . . I mean, since the original problem we had doesn't seem to be . . . maybe we can get back . . ."

"Hold on, Bill, let's take this slow. I'm not convinced that this fantasy of yours will be as wonderful as you seem to think, and I'm also not convinced that we should go back together . . . like we were. I think we should see how things develop from here."

"But you said that . . ."

"I know what I said, and I know how I feel. The idea of me in the sack with another man, with you there watching, well, I have to admit that it sounds more exciting now than it did before, but you listening to me and you actually being there, seeing me, are two different things."

"Believe me, honey, I know that seeing you will be even more exciting than just hearing you. I have no doubt about that."

"Maybe, but I guess I'm the one that's not sure. How will I react to you being there? Look, how about this." She furled her brow and squinted her eyes, obviously mulling a thought over before verbalizing it. "How about the next time Tony and I are together, at my place, I'll let you know, and you can listen to your heart's content. That'll give me a chance to think about it too, and to see how I feel, knowing that you're hearing it all. I might even say something to Tony, once we're . . . you know, doing it, that you're downstairs listening. See how he reacts. If everything still appears positive, then we'll just see what happens from there. Okay?"

"Sounds to me like a fair compromise. So when do you think you guys might be seeing each other again?" I didn't want to sound too anxious, but I obviously was.

"A couple of days, probably."

As it turned out, Shari and Tony planned to get together three evenings later, so I lurked in my apartment with breathless anticipation. But good old Tony insisted that the two of them go to his apartment instead. They fucked their brains out and I had to settle for Shari's narrative the next day. On the positive side, she did mention to him that I had gotten home unexpectedly early the other night, and had heard them getting it on. She played up, bless her heart, the fact that it really got me hard. Seems old Tony himself got harder when she told him.

Shari, still in the driver's seat, arranged a few days later to have Tony at her place, with my knowledge, and told him I would be listening to them. I was treated to a symphony of male and female cries of ecstasy, with the violent bed-creaking and headboard banging providing the harmony. They were both playing to their audience of one.

Following their performance, after he had left, Shari called me.

"Well," she said without any other greeting, "how was it?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic! How was it for you?"

"Pretty amazing, I must say. I had no idea that having an audience, especially my husband, would have that kind of effect on me. Don't piss all over yourself, but Tony is looking forward to an in-person command performance in your honor."

"Really? And how about you? Are you willing to do it?" I was so excited I did nearly piss all over myself.

An agonizing pause. Then, "I guess. But I hope to Christ you know what you may be getting into here. Pandora's Box may turn out to be a box of chocolates compared to this."

"I sincerely doubt it."

"Well, I suppose we're going to find out Friday night, 'cause that's when he's invited for dinner at my place. You're invited too, by the way."

"Oh, my God, I can't wait! And Shari . . .?"