A Drink After Dinnerbyquinn rogan©
My wife, Susan, is a lovely girl. Oh, I'm not talking film-star, 'instant hard-on' stuff, here. She's not like that. She's – nice – wholesome – attractive –'that' kind of lovely – on the surface. Underneath, though – well, she can be thoroughly 'wicked'. I'd better explain.
I met Susan when we were both seventeen, starting sixth form college. I noticed her right away – quite a tall girl; dark brown curly hair, cut short; deep liquid-brown eyes set very wide apart on high cheekbones, giving her a look of extreme innocence, almost naivety; a straight, slim nose; and a wide mouth, with generous lips, which always appeared to be hovering on the edge of a smile.
The regulation school uniform betrayed little of her body shape (of which more later!) but I could see that she was neither excessively fat, nor skinny, and the calves and ankles showing below the school skirt were shapely enough.
Getting to know her wasn't difficult – she was very easily approachable and friendly, with a great sense of humour – but taking matters beyond that stage was not at all easy. I tried for three months to get a date with her, but she always turned me down with a charming, regretful smile, then made me feel better by carrying on the conversation without tension or embarrassment.
The one consolation was that she didn't go out with anyone else, either – in fact, people who had known her at her last school said they couldn't recall her ever going out with anyone, at all. Boys – that is, but there seemed to be no question of her being 'inclined the other way' – she seemed to enjoy the company of boys and girls more or less equally.
But, I kept working at it, and the school Christmas dance proved to be the breakthrough. We weren't together for the whole evening, or even most of it, but I did get the last dance with her – and she not only let me escort her home, but allowed me four very satisfying kisses on the way!
So, we became an 'item'. At the beginning, I was very circumspect in my sexual approaches, despite the thrusting desire burgeoning in my (now eighteen-year-old) loins. By now, though, I was very well aware of the general outline of Susan's shape and it was more than suited to my taste. Her breasts were high and firm-looking, if not overly large; her legs, observed during school hockey matches, were at once shapely and athletic; and her bottom, viewed even more carefully by me at these games, was one of those joyous peach-shaped structures you could stack half a dozen dinner plates on. She wasn't a great hockey player, but I loved to watch her play!
By early Spring, though, I was beginning to feel the strain of abstinence, having lost my own virginity some eighteen months before and having 'had', in all, three separate girls at my previous school, and I began to force the issue a bit. Every time I tried to put a hand on her breast, she would gently remove it, and the time came when I knew I had to resolve this issue, or move on to pastures new. And I desperately didn't want to give her up – in everything but sex, we seemed a perfect match, and I couldn't imagine life without her.
One night, when we were babysitting for her aunt, matters came to a head and I 'laid it on the line'. And, for the first time ever, I saw her cry. I felt such a heel for putting her through such distress, but, as it turned out, it was probably the best thing I could have done.
Through her tears, she told me of a frightening, distressing experience which had happened to her when she was just fourteen. I didn't get all the detail then – she was too shy to spell it out, although I have learned chapter and verse since – and, of course, because of her age at the time, I can't go into it here.
Basically, though, what had happened was one of those teenage things, when she and an older girl had just been chatting and larking about with a group of five boys when, suddenly, things took a sexual turn and, while neither of the girls was raped, they were both pretty thoroughly exposed and 'explored' by the boys, much against Susan's will, if not the other girl's.
This had had a traumatic effect on the young Susan, and left her very wary of being alone with a boy, or even in a female minority, in a group. Of course, when she told me this, I was outraged, although, even at the time, I was aware of an uncomfortable stirring, deep down, when I pictured the scene.
She, too, turned eighteen, soon after the night she told me about that experience, and, as she grew to trust me more and more, I at last made the breakthrough. One memorable night – clearly a considered decision – she took my hand and placed it on her left breast, while we were kissing on her aunt's settee, and, ten minutes later, I was gazing in awe at her beautiful naked breasts, with their dark pink aurolae and thick, erect nipples.
Very soon afterwards, I discovered that her nipples were extremely sensitive, both to manual and oral stimulation, and it was only three weeks later that the final barrier collapsed and I drew down her panties to reveal her full-lipped, moist vagina in a nest of soft brown curly hair ......
She gave up her virginity happily and, as far as I could tell, practically painlessly, and, from that point on, we could not keep our hands off each other.
We married four years later, when we both finished university and, now, eleven years on from then, we have two sons, a nice Georgian house in the country, and an idyllic life – by and large.
Well, it's pretty good, I suppose. I have a very well-paid job with an international engineering organisation and the travelling involved does at least mean we get a break from each other. Maybe I've put that rather badly. It means we have to separate from time to time, for longish periods, which rekindles the embers and makes us more appreciative of the times we have together.
Well, that's the theory, anyway. I suppose, in practice, when it comes down to it, when you've been fucking the same woman for fifteen years – feeling the same pair of tits – it really can get a bit monotonous – well, 'samey'.
For – oh, about the last five or six years or so, I've found myself more aware of other women and, if the truth be told, I have strayed off the straight and narrow a few times, when I've been away. But, each time, when I've come home, and looked into Susan's wide innocent eyes, I've felt really bad about it. Mind you, the eyes are not always a completely accurate window on the soul, as I've found out where Susan's concerned!
A few years back, in bed one night, I pressed Susan for every last detail of her 'traumatic' experience of her early teens. It led to a memorable, and very educational, night – probably for both of us.
First of all, I found that, far from my having to drag it out of her, she was only too ready to go into every last detail – and, it seemed to me, got more and more turned on as she did so. I was less surprised that I, too, became more and more horny as the tale unfolded – so much so that, halfway through, I couldn't keep off her and fucked her until I came, and then came back for seconds, for the first time for several years, as she took up the story where she had left off.
Then she confessed that she had not only relived it in her mind a thousand times, but the she had fantasised about it going further – and had masturbated to these, and other 'forced sex' fantasies. This was a hugely liberating admission, for both of us, as it allowed me to 'come clean', not least to myself, about a feeling of massive arousal when I contemplated Susan with another man – 'forced' or otherwise.
And it led to a tremendous re-awakening of our mutual desire for each other, fuelled by fantasy. We even occasionally 'acted out' rape scenarios with each other, which excited Susan enormously, and she willingly cooperated in my fantasy encounters involving her with other men.
But even more rewarding, from my point of view, were Susan's confessions of a few 'true-life' transgressions, since our marriage – indeed, our relationship – had begun. The first halting admission involved a mutual friend, who had since moved away, who had been dancing close to Susan at a party at which I had been somewhat the worse for wear, and, by then, actually asleep in a darkened room.
The guy, called Noel, had made it plain, by the simple expedient of pushing his erection against her while they danced, how he felt, and Susan, who had had a drink or two herself, had let him manoeuvre her into another room, where there was only one other couple dancing. They had been all over each other and, before she recovered her wits, Susan had allowed Noel to slip his hands up her blouse and push her bra aside to fondle her bare breasts – in fact, she had enjoyed it so much that she didn't call a halt to it until his other hand was wedged down the back of her panties, squeezing the soft cheeks of her luscious bottom.
There had been other similar occasions – not always when I was insensible through a surfeit of real ale! One New Year, though, I had been non compos mentis when the brother of one of our neighbours, who had been pursuing Susan determinedly ever since she went slightly 'over the top' with her New Year kiss, finally got her in a slow dance to a Beatles classic – which I know turns her on – and weakened her resistance to the point where he was behind her, his erection jammed hard against her squirming bum, one hand fondling her exposed tits, the other down the front of her panties teasing her clit, as they watched his brother on a settee with another neighbour, sliding her panties off as she parted her legs in open invitation ......
Susan only escaped that time, by making a beeline for the loo, in her last moments of sanity, but she does enjoy it when I take that one forward, in fantasy, and have her screwed, not only by the brother, but by our neighbour, who is apparently very well-endowed in the prick department!
These, though, are the 'highlights' of Susan's 'extra-marital' career, although there have been other passionate fondles from time to time, and I calculate, in all, a total of eight guys, other than me, have groped her tits and three have actually made it, with their fingers, into her pussy.
However, the demands of childbirth, and parenthood, have meant that, recently, our social life has been a bit restricted, and it was a very rare occasion, at the back end of last summer, when we found ourselves with a free – a child-free, even! – weekend, the older boy attending Cub camp, and the younger visiting his grandparents.
The weather was glorious – that luxurious early September sunshine that warms you without making you uncomfortable. I flew in from Germany in mid-afternoon on the Friday, and we had a lazy evening, with a glass or two of wine, then an 'early night', with some very satisfying sex – without even having to worry about the noise when we both came!
When I woke, the next morning, I fancied a bit more of the same, but Susan wriggled away, playfully, and said she wanted to 'keep me on the boil' for that night. She slid out of bed – still naked from the night before – and went over to open the bedroom curtains. She flung them wide open and stood, naked, soaking up the morning sunshine through the glass, which reaches down to the floor.
She knew what that was doing to me. We're not very visible from the road outside, but we're not completely invisible, either, and she knew it would give my cock a lift – the slight chance that someone passing by might get a clear view of her lush, desirable body. I knew, too, that she only does that when she's aroused, herself, so I crept over and grabbed her from behind, clasping her tits, feeling her thick, erect nipples, and pushing my erection into the firm flesh of her buttocks.
At first, she struggled, then she seemed to concede, and stood, looking out of the window, as my hand slid down over her belly, into her pubic forest, towards her juicy cunt. Then she suddenly wriggled free, and dashed into the shower, slamming the door behind her.
"To-night, you randy bastard!" she yelled at me, through the door. "And only after you've bought me dinner at the Sun!"
It wasn't a bad idea, though – dinner at the Sun, our local pub, then back for another night of sex and sin! I flung on some clothes, and went out to attack the garden ......
Working in a suit, mainly in offices, as I do, I find that a day 'at one with nature' – taming its elements, so to speak, does tend to make me feel a bit 'earthy' – a bit 'randy', really, and, as the afternoon drew to a lazy close, I packed up the tools and looked forward to a long soak in a bath, then the Sun and another good shag!
I had to wait for my bath, as Susan beat me to it. It's always a good sign when she has a long bath – it usually means she's in a sensuous mood, even before she goes in, and it always means that, when she comes out ...... We don't actually 'share' baths, and I do think, from time to time, that she 'amuses' herself when she's in there. But – don't knock it! I usually reap the benefit, anyway!
By the time I emerged, relaxed – and clean again! – Susan was dressed. Even I stopped momentarily, at the sight of her. She looked fabulous. Over the summer, she had developed a deep tan, and she was wearing a deep yellow summer dress, with matching underwear, which set off her skin and hair tones superbly.
"God!" I said. "You look terrific!"
"Thank you, kind sir," she said with a cheeky grin, and twirled to let her dress rise, showing her tanned bare legs, and her skimpy yellow panties.
"I think I'll just fuck you, now!" I growled. "Sod dinner – and the Sun!"
"That's what you think," she laughed. "Anyone who fucks me has to buy me dinner first!"
I was half-serious. Susan looked majorly fuckable and, for two pins, I'd have started on her, there and then. And, as I was still naked, having just got out of the bath, the evidence was there for all to see! Susan sidled towards me, and took a gentle hold of my erect cock, looking down at it.
"Is that all for me, kind sir!" she said, in her 'little-girl' voice. "Oh, my – do you think I'll manage it all?" She slid her fingers up and down it, then bent down and ran her tongue over the tip. I was tempted to force her head down over it, but thought I'd never be forgiven ......
"You've got five seconds before I rip that dress off you ...... " I started, but, with a laugh, she was off.
As we drove the few miles to the pub, through the country lanes, I kept glancing at her. Christ, she was so sexy tonight – she was giving off an aura, almost, and my cock was reacting predictably. I hoped it wouldn't leak through and leave a mark on my light slacks ......
Then, as we passed a field, I couldn't suppress a chuckle, as Susan almost became invisible, the colour of her dress an exact match for the crop swaying in the light breeze. She looked up.
"Your dress – and those flowers!" I replied. She looked out of the window, and smiled.
"Oh – the rape field?"
"The what?" I said.
"Rape – that's what that is – oil-seed rape," she explained, patiently. I'm not too 'up' on recognising crops in fields.
"It might live up to its name, on the way home," I threatened. "I'll be getting pretty desperate, by then."
"Promises – promises," she laughed. "And I'll promise not to run too fast!"
We had a lovely dinner. The restaurant wasn't too busy, and the little waitress had a very attractive cleavage every time she leant over to pick up a plate, which all added to the sexual ambience and tension which surrounded the whole evening. As usual, we called in at the public bar before we left, so that I could have a pint of real ale, which they weren't keen on serving in the restaurant.
It was quiet in there, too – just two or three groups of locals, playing dominoes and crib, and a couple of young lads at the dartboard. Susan had a last glass of wine, to add to the half-bottle she had consumed, almost single-handedly, in the restaurant. I had refrained, knowing that I would have a pint of beer before we drove home.
I stood at the bar, while Susan sat on a stool, idly swinging her legs in the short dress, watching the action on the dartboard. I was aware that I was drinking my beer more rapidly than usual, in my keenness to get back home and start exploring beneath that yellow dress.
"Oh – nice one!" Susan called, as a dart thudded firmly into the double twenty, closing out the game. "Well done!"
"Thanks," grinned the thrower. "Do you fancy a game?"
"Why not?" replied Susan, cheerfully. "Just a quick one – see if I've still got the touch. I used to be quite good when I was at college."
I was devastated. I didn't want to play fucking darts in a fucking pub – I wanted to get my wife home and fuck her brains out – or get her to fuck mine out! But she was tripping lightly across the floor, taking three darts from one of these guys, and having a practice throw.
And – she was taking her time about it. Standing on the mat, one long slim leg stretched out behind her, one arm raised high, straining the material of her dress tight over her right breast – she had a pretty good idea of the picture she presented. I looked at the two guys. They didn't look – or sound – local. But they weren't looking at me, at all. They were watching Susan – and she bloody knew it!
I felt a little tremor – just a frisson of excitement. I knew what they were thinking, and I couldn't help it turning me on. They couldn't have been much more than twenty – but Susan didn't look much over twenty-six or seven, herself, especially in that dress.
Her practice throws were quite good, and the boys applauded enthusiastically. She went forward to pull her darts out, then turned to face the three of us. I immediately spotted the prominent indentations of her thick nipples poking through the yellow material of her dress – and I was sure I wasn't the only one looking.
"Why don't you get the boys a drink, Robert? I'm Susan, by the way," she said, to the lads, "and this is Robert, my husband."
We all shook hands, the boys introducing themselves as Mark and Gary. I didn't care for Mark, too much – a tall, slim, slightly supercilious lad – but Gary, who was smaller and stockier, had a pleasant grin and an easy way with him. They each asked for a pint of cask ale, and I turned to get them in.
As we played, Susan chatted easily with them – more so with Mark, I noted – while noting his frequent glances down the front of Susan's dress, as well. Gary was eyeing her up, too – less blatantly but, it seemed to me, more – well, knowledgeably, if that's the right word.
They were two of a group of four college pals, camping in a field a couple of miles down the road. The other two had taken the car into town, to see a film, and those two had walked it here, for a quiet drink, before they moved on, the next day.
They beat us easily, twice, on the dartboard and, by mutual unspoken consent, we abandoned the game and sat down at one of the small tables. Susan was blossoming as the centre of attention of three admiring males and my impatience had subsided. I felt that, in the long run, this encounter would prove to my benefit – all this adulation would put her even more in the mood, when we eventually returned to the empty house.
Inevitably, as women do, she was asking about girl-friends. Mark was still 'playing the field', as he put it, and I thought, a little sourly, that he was probably doing quite well at it, judging by the way Susan was smiling up at him.
Gary, on the other hand, had just broken up a long-time romance with his girl-friend from school – the separation of his going to university proving too much for her to handle. Susan asked which of them had found someone else and, when Gary said that she had, her eyes misted over. I could tell she wanted to cuddle him and cursed him – it wasn't her maternal instincts that I wanted to arouse tonight!