You Scratch My Back, I'll...

Some itches simply must be scratched.

But sometimes you can't reach them by yourself.

That was the situation in which Winston and I found ourselves, or, to be more specific, the situation in which I involved Winston.

You see, I had a terrible urge to fuck my co-worker Martin. It was a strange, out-of-nowhere urge that afflicted me like a growing tickle in that part of your back that you can never quite reach, no matter how you twist your arm. And isn't that what husbands and wives are for? To scratch that unreachable itch, right? And so one day I asked him.

"You want to do what?" replied Winston with a rather dumbfounded look on his face.

"Just once should be enough, I think," I heard myself saying, though I couldn't believe the words were actually coming out of my mouth. "Yes, I think just one time would do it." And I meant that. Martin is just too attractive ever to be trusted for more than a one-night stand. He's can't remember the names of all the women he's left wanting. Any wench foolish enough to get emotionally attached to Martin deserves whatever sorrow she gets.

"Just once? Are you sure that will be enough?" Winston asked sarcastically, gathering his wits once again. He's a clever one, Winston. That is why I married him. He knew before I did that I could never love anyone but him, and waited patiently until I figured it out for myself. Then he had me for good. Of course, he is also clever enough not to take advantage of my loyalty. I might never love anyone but him, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't leave him if he betrayed me.

"Yes, I think you're right. Once will be enough." He said, and I thought to myself, that was easy, too easy.

And then, as if hacking into my private musings, he added, "Yes, once will be enough for me too. You get me Abby for a one-off and then you can have your Martini," which is what he dismissively called the playboy Martin. Yes, too easy. You see, Winston is also clever enough to know when being flexible pays dividends.

Not that I minded the tit for tat. I suppose I should have expected it. I mean, fair is fair. But I was a little surprised, because I would have expected him to seek something else in return, not my best friend's pussy. You see, Winston, though he is brilliant at it, is not motivated by sex, at least not by getting more than I give him. He has his appetites, but he does not go in search of exotic new dishes.

I am a lot more inquisitive about new sensations. Winston never begrudges me my new toys when they arrive in the post, never interrupts me when I disappear for some mid-afternoon delight. He never denies my requests for trying new things, but I have learned that we both get more out of it if I carefully ration them.

"Abby, you say?" I asked as I imagined my friend's sweet face, and brilliant smile. I may have been surprised he countered with pussy, but I can't say I was surprised he picked her. He has always been sweet on her. She is a lovely girl, inside and out, with long flowing dark hair, a slender waist, perennially perky tits, and absolutely beautiful feet. She should have been a shoe designer's model rather than a social worker.

"Yes, Abby," he replied, which presented a bit of a problem since I had a very hard time envisioning a scenario in which she would agree to get fucked by her best friend's husband. I don't think the work "fuck" is even in her vocabulary. She may or may not be a virgin, it's hard to tell, because she simply never talks about the sluttier side of life.

The fact that she is my best friend despite the divide in our sexual sharing speaks to her inner beauty as well. She listens patiently as I blather on about the virtues of the latest arrival in my collection, and politely moves the conversation on to other topics. I don't think she is irritated by it. I just think she is doing what I would do if knitting were her thing. That's what friends are for, right? Could I blame Winston for being attracted to her?

Winston had set the bar high, incredibly high, maybe so high because he knew it was next to impossible. So I would need both patience and a plan if I wanted my Martini. But neither Winston nor I had any timetable to follow. The itch was not yet unbearable.

"You have a deal," I said, and went to the bedroom, took out a handful of my toys, placed them in a circle around myself on the bed, and began to ponder Abby's fate. Abby, oh Abby, what itch do you need scratched?

* * *

Nothing much happened over the next few weeks. I was quite busy, Martin was off on some project overseas, and Winston was, well, Winston. He never caused a fuss.

I continued to see Abby a couple of times a week, and sent her a few more articles on the virtues of sex, but no obvious opening presented itself. Until she let slip about Jeremy.

It took a while, but I learned that Jeremy was a newcomer to her office, and "just dreamy" she said. He was always very well dressed but never in a pretentious sort of way. She liked that he shaved every day even though he didn't need to since their office was pretty laid back. He brought his own lunch everyday but not just a sandwich and chips, but always something a little special like pasta with pesto, or smoked salmon. Nothing over the top, mind you, but classy, just classy, she said. She said she felt a "tingle" whenever she was around him.

She was cute; I was all ears. I wasn't sure what this might mean for my Martini, but I didn't have much else to work with.

Each time we met for coffee, I inquired further about Jeremy and it was clear that she was more and more attracted to him. There were more details about how tidy he kept his cubicle, his helpful contributions in meetings, his way of bringing out the best in people. She spoke like a woman in love, or least one who had more than a passing interest.

"Is he married?" I asked one day. It was politer than asking if he was gay.

"Well, he doesn't wear a ring, but he never really talks about his personal life," she replied.

"Sounds like someone else I know," I said half under my breath.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," I mumbled. And then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, I said, "It is just that I know someone who might be perfect for him."

"Who? What do you mean?" She was suddenly flustered.

"Oh," I said, "I think my friend Janice would be interested in someone like him."

"Janice? What Janice?" she burst out urgently. And then I knew she was hooked.

"Never mind about Janice. Because if you are you interested in this Jeremy...You are, you know...interested, right?"

"I suppose I am," she said, as if it were just finally dawning on her. "Maybe I am. Oh, Violet, I am! Oh God, what do I do now?"

"Honey, I'm afraid God is not going to help you with this one," I said. "But unless there is something you aren't telling me, I don't think you are going to need divine intervention. It's really not that complicated."

"But I don't even know if he likes me." I was beginning to think I was back in high school.

"Listen, he's a big boy, and hopefully a really big boy, if you know what I mean. I am sure he could handle it if you asked him out."

"What do you mean by 'really big'?" she asked with some real uncertainty in her eyes.

"Um, do you not read any of the articles I send you?" I asked incredulously.

"Not really. They look kind of, you know, nasty."

"Well, of course they are nasty. Nasty is good." This could take a while.

"I guess I could read some. But what should I do about Jeremy?"

"Listen," I said, "you read those articles, and go pick out some lingerie. Then we'll talk about Jeremy."

And away she went.

* * *

Then one day while I was playing with a new toy, and just about to get off, the phone rang. It was Abby. She was sobbing.

"Oh, Violet. He's gay!"

Hmm. This could be a problem.

We met, and I learned that she had deduced this fact by his apparent lack of interest in him as she began flirting more heavily with some of her newfound information from those "nasty" articles. I was pleasantly surprised to see her dressed much more sensually, with her normally pulled up hair falling gracefully around her shoulders, and with a blouse that even if it wasn't showing cleavage suggested there was probably something pretty nice down there. She even had some makeup on.

"I mean, I think he might be gay. He won't even give me a second look," she lamented. "But I really like him." She emphasized the word "really" like a schoolgirl. Yes, another reminder of why Winston chose her. He loves that schoolgirl look. I play the virgin for him sometimes.

"Well, maybe you need to just come right out and say it. Say what you want. You do know what you want, right?"

"I do? I mean, yes, I do. I want to please him." She said that last part slowly, uncertainly. "I'm just not sure I would know how. Could you show me? You seem to know a lot about sex." Thank you, sweet Jeremy, I thought to myself.

"Abby, are you a virgin?" I had a hunch but I had to ask.

"No, but I might as well be one. It was just once and over pretty quick." Poor Winston. Only half his fantasy would be fulfilled now. But I knew I had her, and I was pretty sure he wouldn't be complaining about such a minor detail.

"I wouldn't even know how to bring the conversation up."

"Maybe you just need practice," I said cunningly, but in my most innocent voice. "Practice makes perfect, right?"

"What do you mean by practice?" I began to reel her in.

"Practice talking about sex, initiating it, doing it. You know, getting yourself ready to please Jeremy. You wouldn't want it to go all wrong the first time, would you?"

With a slightly horrified look in her eyes, she said, trembling, "You think it could go wrong?"

"Well, if you are as clueless as you say, you wouldn't want a botched blow job to screw up your future, would you?" What a load of crap, I thought to myself. This will never work.

"No." She was almost in tears. I let her ponder the image for a moment.

"Look, how does this sound? You're not a virgin, so it's not like that first time or anything, so no real reason to save yourself for Jeremy until you do finally hook up with him. So, why don't we find you someone who can show you the ropes? An experienced lover."

A look somewhere between absolute terror and dawning comprehension was lodged on her face for the longest time. I could almost see the wheels turning in there.

"Do you know anyone like that?" she asked finally.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

* * *

"So you did it, eh?" asked Winston. "I should never have doubted you."

I had just finished giving him a luxurious blowjob when I told him that Abby wanted him as her sex instructor. He must have wanted this more than he let on, because I felt his cock twitch anew in my hand, and he had only just finished filling my mouth with cum.

I told him the details. We talked about how it might go, and then we fucked up a storm. His groan as he came seemed more in anticipation of Abby than appreciation for the warm cunt he was currently filling, but I was going to have my Martini soon, so I let him have that one.

As we showered together, he said, "You sure have a lot of faith in me. I'm thrilled with the opportunity, but what makes you think I can teach her anything?"

"Well, for one thing, you've pleased me well enough over the years. I think you've got it in you. And for another, I'll be right there to coach you both along."

Whoa. Where did that come from? That wasn't part of the deal, I said to myself. Before he could even speak, I had already recognized a jealous streak I hadn't thought possible. Another woman was going to fuck my husband. But wait, this is crazy. It was my idea. To get my Martini.

"You think so, eh?" he teased, cool as ever. "What makes you think I want you to be there, anyway? You're not going to make me watch you and the Great Martini, are you?"

And then I realized again just how much I loved this charming and clever man.

* * *

We arranged to meet at a hotel she had found, a place with the kind of ambiance Abby hoped she might have for the first time with Jeremy. She had chosen well. I liked it.

Winston and I arrived to find her sitting nervously in the lobby. "We are all checked in. Room 323," she said, handing me the cardkey. "Hi Winston. Thank you for helping me out with this little problem."

He grinned broadly and I could see her ease up immediately. Boy, he has a way with women. As she giggled nervously and they began to make a little small talk, I surveyed my husband.

Winston's shoulders are as broad as his smile. They are his best feature. He looks like he could lift a truck. Must be genetics because he never works out. He has an ass almost as cute as Martin, or well, what I am pretty sure Martin's looks like with his pants down. His cock is more than enough for me, and apparently above average if all those statistics are true - not quite eight inches, but more than seven. He is not dreamy like Jeremy (who I finally saw, and who really is quite dreamy) but I'm not with him to dream. He's a man—solid, sure, and like I said, clever. As he stood there smiling at Abby, I felt glad she was into dreamy.

Abby had made herself quite pretty for the occasion. She had chosen a short skirt, just above the knee, and a blouse that once again suggested provocatively the perky treasures hidden inside. She seemed taller, and then I noticed that she had paired the cute ensemble with some carefully chosen pumps that made her already perfect feet positively erection-producing. Demure, with a hint of slutty. A fast study.

Abby hadn't been too sure about the idea of me being there but I assured her it would just be in a coaching role, no touching, just to make a suggestion here or there, like the magazine articles I had sent her. Not that I wouldn't have minded touching her slender and sexy body, but this was for her and Winston to enjoy. To be her sexual Pygmalion was enough.

We turned toward the elevator, and my heart skipped half a beat when I saw Winston pull Abby to him by her sexy waist. It was his night, I told myself. Mine was coming.

We entered the elevator and it occurred to me to get the lessons started. "Abby," I said, "tell Winston what you find attractive about him. Men like that. Jeremy will like that."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "I really like the way you smell. And the way you stand. You're pretty sure of yourself, aren't you, Winston?" She offered it coyly. After tonight, Jeremy was in trouble.

"Good," I said. "Now touch the back of his neck with your fingertips, lightly." Winston shuddered like he always does when I touch that sensitive spot. "Not all men have the same sensitive spots, but that is probably a safe one with Jeremy too."

The elevator door opened and we made our way to the room. It was well-appointed, with a comfortable chair from which to watch.

"What should I do now?" she asked tentatively.

"What do you think you should do?" I responded, to see just how much prep she had already done.

"I feel like throwing up actually," she said, "but that is probably not a big turn on. I think maybe I should go to the bathroom and get my nerve up."

"Good idea. That will also help raise the sense of suspense." I turned to my husband. "You're feeling anxious too for that beautiful body, aren't you, Winston?"

"Indeed, I am," he said. He was sitting comfortably on the bed watching me work out my nerves with my traffic cop routine.

Abby disappeared into the bathroom, and I fell into Winston's arms. "I'm not sure I am ready for this," I said, feeling more and more panicky.

"Well, you can call it all off now before it is too late. Or you can leave us to it. Or you can stay and watch. I'm good with whatever you choose."

I thought about Martin, the itch I wanted scratched. I could probably live without that. I thought of Abby and her desire for Jeremy. She was actually more compelling than Martin if I were honest with myself, but she too would survive. And then I thought of clever Winston, and how he had not raised an eyebrow once in all the months that I had been plotting. He didn't just deserve this. I wanted to give her to him. I took a deep breath.

"Teach her everything she needs to know," I said. "But I think I want to watch. I may never get another chance. It's even more exciting than waiting for a new toy!"

"I knew you'd make the right choice," said Winston, as if he knew this is how it would play out all along. "I don't think she needs much help from the sidelines after all. Just a hunch."

"Me too," I said, and pulled that comfortable chair into the shadows of the room. "Just pretend I'm not here."

"I think I can manage that," he said with a wink.

Abby emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around herself from the breasts down. She looked around for me, and when she saw me so far away from the bed, she nodded in understanding. She turned to Winston and dropped the towel. Her sexy foot kicked it behind her in a no turning back kind of way.

"Wow," offered Winston. "I don't think Jeremy could possibly be disappointed. You are beyond sexy."

He stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. He motioned for her to come near and took her hand and placed on his chest. She began to caress him with tenderness. He closed his eyes as she kissed his chest and ran her hands over his broad shoulders, taking in his dimensions. He was much larger than her, but he did not overwhelm her.

The light over the bed was still on, and I hoped it would stay that way, but I was now determined to let happen whatever happened. There would be enough light to be able to watch them either way, and if I had to, I could always give tips later based on the sounds they made.

Abby kissed her way down to Winston's belt, and unbuckled it. She undid the button and reached fumblingly down his pants. "Is this alright?" she asked tentatively.

"It's fine," he said, "but we have plenty of time. You can go nice and slow. Fast is for horses and cars. You are a lady. Anyone who can't wait for you doesn't deserve you." So clever.

"In that case, tell me what you see," she said, picking up on his cue. She stepped back, lifted her arms over her head, and offered the slightest little curtsy. The little slut. Good for her.

"I see a woman beautiful from top to bottom. With tits and toes that men and women alike would kill for. And an ass that needs to be held onto as I'm filling your cunt. How does that sound?" A calculated risk, the word cunt, but I liked it.

"It sounds like I'll need to sit down. You're making me weak in the knees." I knew the feeling.

He came over to the bed where she had sat down and let her finish taking off his jeans. She pulled down his boxers and they fell to the floor. His cock had responded to her gorgeous figure and the banter between them. "You can take your time with it now if you like." And she did.

Abby worked on his cock with both hands, exploring it. He grew harder at her touch, and her eyes grew wider as she saw just how big it was getting. "Touch my balls," he commanded.

With one hand still stroking him, she began to do as he had asked. It looked like she was remembering her first lesson in the elevator when she began to lightly tickle his balls with her fingernails. "Nice," was all he could say, obviously taking in the pleasure her hands were imparting.

"Now your mouth," he said after it was obvious that she was moving him toward a climax. Not that Winston didn't like coming in my hand every now and then, but he usually liked to finish in my expert mouth. I looked forward to the blow by blow of her abilities later.

She looked up at him with a concerned look on her face, but gently took the head of his cock between her lips. "Tongue," he said. "No teeth, just always the tongue." He said it in an encouraging way. He was the right man for the job.