A Special Occasion

I can't seem to stop writing about these people. This story is number four in a series - "Thin Ice", "A Slippery Slope", "Leftovers" and now "A Special Occasion". You might want to read them in order for best effect but it's not totally necessary. Like those stories, this one has a strong element of wife sharing and cuckoldry so if that's not what you like, you should choose another story.

Thanks for all the feedback, I do appreciate hearing from everyone.

As always, the characters are adults and are totally fictitious.

Enjoy!

He paused in the hallway, listening. There was a tiny metallic plink and then the muted snap of a jewelry box. He pushed the bedroom door open and peeked inside.

She was standing next to her dresser, fixing an earring in place. She smiled at him.

"Almost ready," she told him. The earrings were the tiny rose gold ones he'd given her before they were married, each one a delicate pair of intertwined hearts. She pulled back her hair and studied herself in the mirror, then let it fall.

He walked over and rested his hands on her shoulders. She was wearing a short black dress with spaghetti straps and her shoulders were cool and smooth under his palms. He leaned forward and kissed her neck, both of them looking at her reflection.

"I love you," he murmured.

She angled her head back against his shoulder, her cheek against his. "Love you too," she whispered. "I can't believe how lucky I am to be married to you." She swiveled her head and looked at him directly.

"We are lucky," he echoed. His fingers slid down her arms and held her hands briefly, then gripped her waist. He nuzzled her neck and she turned slowly into his arms, her mouth against his. He pushed into her with his groin and his hands slid down, caressing her ass through the thin material. Smooth, round, firm flesh, with nothing covering it except the dress itself. He broke the kiss and looked at her. Her legs were bare.

She smiled. "Ready," she said lightly. "Shall we go?"

"Is he going to be there?" he asked. His voice was a little thick. He'd been wondering this for days, ever since she'd told him about the party.

"Of course he is," she said. "He's always at Michelle's parties."

"So he's back," he said. "From..."

"Has it been nice?" she asked. "Having me to yourself for two whole weeks?" She lifted his hand and kissed his palm.

"Yes," he said.

"Well," she said. "It's been lovely, of course." Another kiss. "But I've been a very patient girl and I'm ready for my treat."

He didn't say anything.

"Was it nice?" she asked again.

"God," he said.

"We had a lot of sex, didn't we?"

"It was wonderful," he said.

"I enjoyed it," she said. "And she enjoyed it."

"She?" he asked.

"She. My pussy. You remember her, don't you?"

He laughed. "Vividly."

"Exactly. She sticks in your mind, doesn't she?"

"God," he said. He started to pull up the hem of her dress.

"Uh-uh," she admonished him. She pushed her dress back down and held onto his hands, pinning them between hers.

"Do we have to go to this party?" he asked, a bit of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Haven't you been listening?" she asked. "We've been waiting so patiently, her and me. Tonight we get our reward. We get to see him." She paused. "I can go without you," she said softly. "But I thought you might like to be there."

He swallowed.

"You could meet him, you know," she said. "If you want to."

"No," he said quickly.

"No?" She paused. "You want to just wonder, every time you see me talking to a man?"

He didn't answer. There was a long pause.

She reached up and put a hand on his cheek, then kissed him on the mouth. Her hand slipped into his pants and gripped him, her fingers, like her shoulders, cool and smooth.

"Is that why you're so hard?" she asked softly. "Thinking about wondering?"

He rocked his hips forward.

"Or is it because I was telling you how turned on I am?"

"Yes," he muttered. "All of it."

"You like that, don't you? Having your wife all hot and bothered?"

He swallowed.

"I've been getting hotter all week," she said. "Thinking about tonight. Have you noticed?"

He didn't answer.

"I think you've enjoyed it," she told him softly. "I know he's been having a good time." She gave his cock a squeeze.

His hips writhed.

"Put your hands on my ass," she whispered. "Yes, like that, just hold it." She sighed. "You like it that she's bare under my dress?"

"Yes." His voice was almost inaudible.

"She's so ready," she whispered. She kissed him on the mouth. "You like to think about that, don't you?"

"Yes," he said again.

"You like me talking about it?"

"God," he said.

"You remember Michelle's last party?"

"Yes," he said.

"That was when... I went bare to that one too."

"I remember," he said.

"Do you remember what I told you after the party?"

"Yes," he said.

"What did I tell you?"

He pressed his cock harder against her hand. "You told me that you had whispered to him. That you were naked under your skirt."

She sighed. "I did," she said. "And you should have seen his face when I told him." She laughed softly. "You should have seen your face when I told you that I had told him."

"God," he said.

"What else do you remember about it?" Her fingers were stroking his cock,

"I don't know," he said.

"Really?" She kissed him again. "You've forgotten already?"

"I remember," he said. "You talked about him a lot. While we were making love."

"Yes," she said. "I was thinking about him. Wondering..."

He squeezed her ass.

"Do you remember what I was wondering?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. He paused. "You were wondering what it would feel like."

"Yes," she said. "To have him..."

"Inside you," he finished.

"Yes," she said. "Inside me. And now I know." She kissed him, long and soft. A dizzy warmth was filling him.

"Did I tell you about the bed?" she asked.

"Whet bed?" he asked.

"Michelle showed me this bed she has. I'd never seen anything like it before... it's like an antique, all carved wood. Sexy carvings. Nymphs and satyrs. Crazy sexy, positions you never imagined possible."

He ran his hands over her ass and pressed his cock against her hand.

"The best part," she said. "Is the headboard. It's just one big mirror. Michelle says it's the sexiest thing ever, watching yourself fucking with all those horny satyrs and nymphs watching you too."

She took her hand out of his pants and leaned back in his arms, looking at him. "Doesn't that sound amazing?" she asked.

"It's Michelle's bed?"

"It's in one of her guest rooms," she said. "She uses it on special occasions."

He laughed. "I bet she does," he said.

"She's letting me use it tonight," she said. "It's a special occasion."

---

He tried not to watch her at the party. There was, as always at Michelle's parties, a good throng of people, all mingling and laughing and drinking and eating. He nursed a beer and nibbled on a tiny sandwich, trying to be present and pay attention to the people around him, but his eyes kept betraying him. There she was. And again. It seemed to him that she had become more physical, more flirtatious, of late. Her hands were always touching someone, resting on an arm or a shoulder. Her hips moved, not suggestively but with a certain awareness of their power. The way she licked her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. He gazed at her bare neck and shoulders. Her legs below the hem of her short black dress. And under her dress, bareness again. His heart thudded whenever he thought about it. One of those men was the one, he thought. Later on, one of those pairs of hands would be lifting the dress, up her thighs and over her bare ass. He stirred, feeling his cock hardening.

He felt a hand on his arm. It was Michelle.

"Hello," she said. "I'm glad you could both make it."

"Oh, well," he said. "Wouldn't miss it. We always enjoy your parties."

Michelle turned and looked at her, his wife, across the room, then back at him. "She's so happy," she said. "It's great to see her so happy."

He swigged a mouthful of beer but didn't answer.

Michelle looked at him. "You know," she said. "That I know about...."

"Yes," he said.

Michelle cocked her head to one side. "She told me that you don't know who he is, that you don't want to know."

He grunted and gnawed on his sandwich.

"I think that's so sexy," Michelle told him.

He glanced at her.

"I mean," she said. "Some men, even if they like thinking about their wives.. That way. You know. With somebody else."

He made a non-committal noise.

"My ex-husband," Michelle told him. "It was one of his things. Other men. But he always wanted, somehow, to control it. To be part of it. It was almost like he wanted to fuck them and he was just using me to do it for him."

"Oh?" he asked.

"But this." She waved her hand across the room. "Her. She's so free, so happy. I think there's nothing so sexy as being really free."

"Right," he said.

"You do, don't you?" She was staring at him, with a sort of pop-eyed earnestness. "I mean you must. Can't you feel how strong she is, how aware of her power? I bet she's turned into a tigress in bed. Do you still have sex? Or is she saving it all for...." She stopped herself. "Oh dear," she said. "I nearly told you his name."

"We have sex," he told her.

"I knew you would," she said. "Isn't that the point? That one man is never going to be enough for her? She's too..." She sighed. "Too much woman." She gazed at him thoughtfully. He wondered how much she knew, whether she knew he had to wear a condom now, how much time he spent just waiting. He felt his face getting hot.

"Will you excuse me?" he asked. "I need to..."

"Oh, of course," she said.

He left his beer on the table and added his sandwich to the crusts on somebody else's discarded plate, then threaded his way across the room to the door. He needed some air.

---

He was out for a while, maybe an hour, maybe longer, and in that time the party had taken itself up a notch. Or maybe it was just that he had got accustomed to the relative peace and cool of the lane outside - whatever the case, it felt hot and noisy when he came in. Raucous bursts of laughter came at him from all sides. He peered around the room. No sign of her. Other women in short black dresses. Damn. He could feel his heart speeding up.

He should just go home. He could leave her the car and get a cab. It was stupid, why had he come along to this party? What was wrong with him? Did other men let their wives just fuck whomever they wanted to fuck? Did they get hard-ons thinking about it?

She was here somewhere, maybe fucking someone already. He closed his eyes, again imagining again the black dress sliding up over her thighs, her hips, her waist, over her shoulders. Her body reclining and opening up. He wanted to crouch down and bury his face between her legs, to touch her pussy with his lips, her clit with his tongue.

He opened his eyes and grimaced, willing his cock to soften up. He'd just check the other room, the one with the bar, then head home if he didn't see her.

The other room had the same boisterous vibe, overlaid with a skunky weed smell. In one corner people were dancing, though it seemed doubtful that they could hear any music over the din. He scanned the faces. Nope. Okay, that was that.

He crossed back to the other room and then out to the foyer. His hand was reaching for the knob of the outside door when he noticed the stairs. The bedrooms. The guest room with the special-occasion bed. He hesitated. He should keep going, he knew that, but his cock had other plans and his feet were not obeying his brain. He padded up the heavily carpeted stairs, his heart in his throat.

The hallway at the top of the stairs was dim, a double row of closed doors. He paused, then crept forward. The hubbub from downstairs was subdued here, cushioned by the carpet and the staircase. He cocked his head, listening.

A toilet flushed and the door at the far end of the hall opened. He froze. A woman came down the hall towards him, giving him a curious look. He smiled at her and walked quickly towards the bathroom, then closed the door behind him.

He washed his hands and rubbed his face with cold water. He was reduced to this, prowling corridors and listening at bedroom doors, pretending to need the bathroom. He was a pervert, a lurker. Jesus Christ. He should have stayed home, he should leave right now.

He left the bathroom and went back down the hall. He was halfway to the stairs when he heard it. A laugh. It was muffled by a door, of course, but it was definitely her laugh. A joyful sound, Michelle would have said. He stood still, listening, looking uncertainty at the doors. Which one?

A door opened further down the hall and Michelle came out. She looked at him without any evident surprise and nodded. Then she raised a finger to her lips and came closer.

"Here," she whispered. "Just be totally quiet."

Then she took his arm and led him into the room she had just left. The lights were off and he had just time to see a huge bed with a cream coverlet when the door clicked shut behind them and the room fell into total darkness. Michelle's hand took his and pulled him. Her hand was warm and unpleasantly damp. He tried to free himself.

"Wait," he said.

"Shh," she hissed.

"I can't see," he whispered.

"It's okay," she whispered back. "Just come."

She pulled him to the left, around the bed. He heard a catch being opened, then a door sliding on quiet tracks. Then she pulled him forward and it slid back behind them and clicked into place. He felt her mouth against his ear.

"Now," she breathed. "You must be totally quiet, no matter what."

She leaned forward and touched something on the wall. A light appeared, a slit a few feet off the ground that grew upward into a bright rectangle maybe seven or eight feet across and four feet high. It was good she had warned him to be quiet because he might have shouted, would certainly have gasped.

There, not more than a few yards away and apparently staring into his eyes, was his wife, crouching naked on a man's face.

"It's a one-way mirror," Michelle whispered in his ear. "She can't see us as long as it's dark in here."

He barely heard her. Fascinated, he was watching his wife as she ground her pelvis against the man's face. Her eyes closed halfway and her lips moved.

"Yes," she said, her voice muffled by the glass. "Don't change anything."

The man's fingers were digging into her thighs and she wriggled in place. "Jesus," she moaned, then fell forward against the glass, leaning against it with her head on her arms, rocking, "I'm coming," she cried. "I'm coming." Her voice tightened in a shriek. "God, God," she cried. "Oh stop stop, God..." She lifted herself off the man's face and flung herself back on the bed.

He swallowed. Had she ever come that way with him? he wondered. He looked away from her. There was the bed. And yes, there were the carvings, the satyrs and the nymphs. Supernaturally long cocks displayed like trophies, each with a divine mouth or cunt impaled at its tip. Bearded faces leered at the nymphs and at the mortals trying to emulate them in the bed. He looked away, back to his wife. And her lover.

She was breathing heavily, recovering herself. He watched her, watched her chest heaving rapidly, then more slowly.

The man on the bed stirred and ran a hand across her ass.

"Wait," she said. "Give me a moment to..."

But the man rose on his knees behind her, rubbing his cock against her, sliding it in between her buttocks.

"That's nice," she murmured.

"I need to fuck you," the man said.

"Yes," she said. "You really need to fuck me." She wiggled her ass and sighed. "But just wait a sec."

The man laughed. "How can I wait?" he asked. "I've been waiting two weeks!"

She lifted her head, looking up at her lover in the mirror. "Poor boy," she said. "That's such a long time. Do you still remember how to do it?"

There was a bubble of laughter in her voice.

Her husband stirred. That was the way she usually talked to him.

"I remember how you like it," the man retorted. He leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

"Do tell," she said. She pushed some hair out of her eyes. "How do I like it?"

"I'd rather show you," the man said.

"Oh," she said. "Strong and silent. Yes, I do like that."

The man's hands grasped her shoulders. "You like it when I'm behind you," he said. "With my cock up inside you and my hands on your pussy."

"Mmm..." she said. "That does sound familiar."

"You especially like it when I'm dying for it, making me wait for it."

"So dramatic," she said, then sighed.

There was a pause. The man kissed her again, then pulled up on her shoulders.

"I might take a nap," she murmured.

"My cock," the man said. "In your pussy."

"You need to learn to be more direct," she said, then laughed softly and rolled over on her back. Her lover was straddling her now, his cock hovering above her face. She reached up and gripped it.

"Where's your condom?" she asked.

"Can't we..." he started.

"No," she said. "You know we can't." She stroked his cock. "Come on, get suited up."

He grimaced but rolled off her and hopped off the bed. She sat up and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her husband gazed back. The tiny gold earrings he had watched her put on earlier shone in the dim light. She raised her arms and rested her palms on the mirror. Her breasts seemed to glow. She was sitting there naked waiting for her lover. In a moment he would see her take another man's cock inside her.

He would be watching her fucking another man. He slid a hand into his pants.

What had he said to her after Michelle's party, God was it just a few weeks ago? "I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted to fuck him."

And then. "I want you to fuck him."

He sighed and looked at her. Had he meant it? He had always known it was a mistake. And yet... It was such a delicious thought. Her, his wife, in another man's arms, feeling another cock inside her.

He'd meant it when he said it. But it had been in the heat of passion, his mouth had spoken the words but his cock had thought them.

She turned her head to look at her lover, busy with the condom, and the earring glinted again. He wasn't sure he wanted to watch. But then the man was vaulting into the bed and coming up behind her.

"All set," he said. He sat with his knees extended forward, his feet folded under them, his cock protruding upward. She backed up towards him and lowered herself, feeling the tip of it against her entrance.

"Don't you just love this mirror?" she asked. "I love watching us."

He didn't reply, but reached a hand forward. He squeezed his cock, then slowly moved his fingers to her cunt.

"Yes," she said. "You can touch me. Mmm. Yes." She took his hand and moved his fingers. Her eyes flickered.

Her husband slid his hand up and down his cock.

She leaned back against her lover and, excruciatingly slowly, lowered herself on his cock.

"Mmm," she said. "That's very nice."

The cock disappeared inside her cunt and she paused, breathing deeply. The man leaned forward and looked over her shoulder, at the twin reflections of them.

"You're gorgeous," he said. The hand that wasn't on her cunt reached around and encircled her body, cupping one of her breasts. Her hips were moving. Her lover strained and pushed upward.

"You're fucking me." Her voice was dreamy. She was watching herself in the mirror, watching her lover's hands on her body.

In the next room, her husband was watching too. Watching this other man's hands traveling across her body, his fingers stroking her. Her chest rising and falling, her skin taking on a flush and her nipples swelling. Her lips, slightly parted, the shine of her teeth. The arm across her, the hand on her breast. She was guiding his fingers, showing him how best to please her, her hips were rocking and writhing.