Wife Pt. II
by Jon Ridge ©
... genuflect, our lips together, wrapped 'round his dick, he fucks our mouths like a vagina; not hardly, friend... on my back, Nikki on top with her pussy over my face, Buck humping her from behind... yeah, I'm supposed to alternate licking her with licking what I can of his cock before it dives into her cunt, but fuck that; he's old - like 50-something - and the thought of getting it on in any capacity with a man that age turns me all the hell off... my attention is with licking her and tasting that sweet meat, and she comes because of it (I give killer head; not to boast), a bit too hard; my lips and chin and cheeks become wet with her juice, and Buck probably thinks he made her do that, how very little a guy can know... he finishes, shooting cum onto her back, which I know she hates because we discussed this before the scene - rather take it on her stomach or on her face, or not at all - but I'm not quite done with her, even as director calls "cut!"... we lick, and kiss, and touch, and rub; why should everything end only when the man has come, and not until after the girls have gotten off, also?... it can take longer, sure; sorry to be an inconvenience, and all, but be fair... to his credit, Buck asks, "How was that, for you two? Orgasm?" No, but thanks for asking.
How did I get here?
Oh yes, I remember; turning points, as a general rule, tend to commit themselves to memory. More than the best sex you ever had, even. The best kiss, the first kiss. All that shit pales to the moment when, faced with an important decision though it didn't appear to be one at the time, you picked wrong. It happens, right? Make good choices, follow them up with less than intelligent ones. Blah, blah. Get an offer you can't refuse, 'least that's how he put it, for a job in adult movies. Adult movies.. and, suddenly, you're there. That turning point place. Accept, or pass on it. What do you do? Well, pass, if marriage means shit. Because you realize what a strain it'll put on the relationship, and Michael has to come first, and he would never understand.
But, on the same token you think, we've never planned to have kids. Can't; I dance (I did, then), pregnancy would not help. Not that time couldn't taken off. Had it been an issue, priorities would maybe be in a different order. Maybe. Children have now entered the picture, and that's when you know you've officially lost it.
I shouldn't give a rat's. I mean, much as I love Michael, and perhaps because I do, the proposition of a career in porn - shit, not even a career; more like experimentation, really - would be nothing personal. Never, personal. Sex, that's it. No more serious than putting on a pair of shoes: your feet have their protection; now, you've fucked. No big deal. You could.. maybe even... keep, it, from. him. Be better if he didn't find out, anyway. But, even if he did find out, it's handle-able. The job is not infidelity, by any stretch of the imagination. Well, by some, but the tiniest amount. Just a little, harmless indiscretion from time to time. One week equals three projects: that's two scenes per gig, at four minutes per scene. Two-hundred fourty seconds, times a couple. Almost like it never happened, clinically speaking.
And then, you've conviced yourself.
Lisa, the dancer I occasionally work with at Passions, comes over, ten to five. Michael hasn't made it home, yet, and I do not expect him for at least another hour. Plenty of time to prepare her for what I want us - all of us - to do. When I see her, I know it's not going to take much convincing, and she more than likely was expecting the three of us to get together, anyway, when she gave me her number, because she's dressed rather revealingly. Lisa has a kind of grunge beauty thing going on: earrings, and a stud in her left nostril; probably a few tattoos in places you can only see if you're really nice. She's wearing tight jeans and a see-thru blouse; bra, the bitch. That won't last.
I've been smoking, so I do not want to initiate a kiss, or anything out of etiquette. But, Lisa walks in, and kisses me right off; a brief, cordial one, not enough to taste the nicotine but maybe it was. She does not seem put off, though, so my consideration is incidental.
Lisa has a digital hand-held camcorder with her. What the hell is that for, I ask in my head and, as it turns out, aloud.
"Doesn't intimidate you, does it?"
Good question. "No," I answer, without a great deal of conviction, "but, what's it for?"
"You'll see." She looks back over her shoulder and grins, walking into our living room. "This where you wanna do it, or the bedroom? Or, where?" she asks, and then, "Nice place."
"Do what." We're playing a game. I think.
"You know. Don't be coy, with me," she says. "Where do you wanna set up?"
"I didn't know we'd be setting up." She gives me a look. "Bedroom."
"Show me the way," she says, holding out her hand, 'corder strapped to the other. I take the free one, lead her back. "So, where's the old man?"
"He won't be home till seven."
"Hmm.. wonder what we can do until then," she says, flirtatiously. Suggestive. I've never been videotaped, before, and never with another woman. I've been with women, but not like Lisa intends for us to be, today, and tell you the truth I'm nervous; giddy nervous. What will Michael think, is anyone's guess, but I am ready.
She sets the camera on the dresser, making sure it is pointed directly at the bed, and then takes a seat there in front of it. I stroll on over, and sit next to her, on the bed. We both look at the lens eyeing us. Then, at each other, and laugh. This seems a bit preposterous, but not impossible, which makes it kinda cool. Her grin/smile has not gone away, yet, and I think she must be tipsy if not drunk. Plus, her eyes are kind of dull, giving her a sexy, anything-goes demeanor, ready and willing. S'pose I am, too.
Lisa puts a hand on my shoulder, then my neck, and runs her fingers through my hair over the back of my head. "Do you dye this?"
I nod, to the contrary. "Naturally me."
She pulls me toward her face, and plants a kiss on my lips, full and open mouth. I can taste the alcohol - mmm... Amaretto sour; some Mal-Gre-Co in there, too - as our tongues mesh. The kiss goes on near a minute, before our lips part.
"I've never done it with a woman," she says, out of left field. Not sure if she's being facetious, or what, but I'm intrigued. "But, I'm really fucking attracted to you. And, I want to do something about it."
"Like, what?" is my rhetorical question.
"Like, fuck you."
I smile, bite my lip. "Why the camera?"
She choses her words, and says, languorously, "mmm.. keepsake."
I give her a look, not of aversion, necessarily, but... well, I'm taken aback. I don't do that, easy. "Not going to wind up on Stupid-sluts-who-never-thought-they'd-wind-up-on-the-computer- of-every-dorm-in-America-but-should'a-known-better, dot com, am I?"
She puts a hand on my knee, gets her face close to mine, again. "No _we_ won't."
I'm not asking because I care, one way or another; be kinda neat to see myself on the 'net (a paysite, preferably). No reputation to ruin, here; no good name. Be just the same, as well, if it really was for her eyes, only. Maybe she's got a boyfriend who'd want to watch the tape, get off in private or with her watching, or they want to watch together while they have sex. She'll tell him what's on it, and he gets all worked up thinking about her with another chick, captured forever on celluloid for their, whenever, viewing pleasure, and maybe she'll make a habit of this lesbian-exhibition stuff with more of the girls from Passions. Then, another guy walks in, my Michael; what's this shit?? And suddenly, it's not just about my girlfriend enacting a time-honored male fantasy exclusively for me, any longer, but this other guy enters the scene. Has his way with both of us, at once, and we all appear to be having a grand time because we are. Kick-ass intercourse. Libido subsides, or does it? I mean, it's not like she's going to see him again, right? This was more about the her and the her; his presence doesn't matter. But, still. I wonder what effect this little soiree of ours will have on Lisa's relationship with her boyfriend, if she has one, and then realize how little I care. How apathetic I am to their eminent plight, how insignificant that potential break-up is to the here and now. I've noticed her and I want her, and she wants me; Michael will want us both. And, that's all there is.
me, once more. Our mouths wide open, tongues mixing together, sucking
at one another madly. Her hand on my jean-thigh, moving up my stomach
to my right breast, squeezing me softly, pinching the nipple between thumb
and forefinger. On my shoulder, up to my face as the kiss continues, hungrily,
then gliding over my right arm and taking my hand in her own. Our fingers
lock. Kissing impossibly deep into each other's mouth, searching, almost
hard. Have to stop.
|Another top quality story by Jon Ridge.|
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