Because She Asked Him To Ch. 01

Chapter 1 - Dean receives an unsolicited nude from his wife's BFF.

Author's vanity note: This is a lighthearted quick-and-dirty nonsense tale, an experiment in conversational first-person, to relieve a little pressure from my other, only slightly more plausible (but much trickier to write) stuff. Consequences? You won't find any in this story. It's a different pace and a very different mood. Opinions welcome, and remember none of the characters are real people.

Note: the author doesn't know what quick and dirty means, this is another bloody essay. Oops.

Note 2 to 7: must... stop... editing.

~~~~

Dean

Hey, internet. I'm in a difficult situation and think it might be my fault. Do you keep any dirty pictures on your phone? Be honest, now. Votes all in? Okay. Next, did your partner ever find them? No? Well, perhaps I'm just more stupid than most folks. I see one or two of you are still onboard. How about this - were they topless selfies from your wife's best friend? No-one? You want to know how I got the picture? Look, this isn't a how-to. No, I wasn't having an affair, honest! It was unsolicited! I wanted to ask the woman 'why' myself, but you think my wife let me out of her sight since then?

To be honest, full disclosure, my wife didn't react how you'd expect someone in that situation to react, and that's part of my problem.

Why didn't I delete the picture? Okay, I agree, that was dumb. Would you delete it? Or hide it? You're a stronger person than me, then. Maybe you should be in this story instead. It would probably be a shorter one then.

I guess I really should have introduced myself before talking your ear off. Sorry. I'm Dean, I'm 34 years old, and work in construction. Construction... software! Ha, that gets them every time. (I'm under stress, let me make my lame dad jokes.) I still try to keep up with the guys though - no-one will listen to someone who doesn't look like they've spent a day on-site, and it wasn't a million years ago when I was right where they are, sticking up drywall. I don't have a six pack or anything, but my wife's eyes still wander when I go around shirtless (so of course I do that as often as possible). I'm pretty muscular, so I do okay. My cock? Er - ask my wife, she'll be along a bit later on.

My wife Aimee is French-Japanese. We met ten years ago. She was in college and crashed her car into a truck which was beautifully parked in its own space just outside a building site, minding its own business. I was married to Debbie at the time, which I won't dignify by explaining, except to say by the time Aimee to crashed into truck number two it was all over but the lawyering. I'm not saying anything about anyone's driving skills except Aimee's, and holy hell the number of times we've called a mechanic over the years... There's a reason I've pinned their number in my phone. Our usual grease monkey Vinnie - Veronica - could practically run her business off of my custom alone, and... wait, this isn't the right story, sorry.

So yeah, Aimee is a little spitfire. An athletic, 5 foot 1, 36 year old mother-of-one who still gets ID'd every time she tries to buy alcohol. She insists on it, won't let me do it, it's a matter of pride for her. She's the most opinionated, pushiest, most terrifying woman I've ever met, and I love her more than I can say. We've been married for eight years now and no-one I've met compares to her. I've never thought about being with another woman since we've been together. I am still cursed with male chauvinist eyes which recklessly scan every eligible female, and I've got the scars from Aimee's justifiable death glares.

Physically she is 32-D with legs and such perfect curves you'd think she was sculpted by an artist. (Thank the lord for pregnancy, she used to be an A-cup. I certainly wasn't complaining, even though she did). Skin like milk chocolate, eyes like mahogany and tougher than any three other people put together. Our biggest arguments are about her attractiveness. She looks better than before we had our kid. I mean that, genuinely. Perhaps I do have rose-tinted goggles on, but whether it's real or not, it's real to me, and that's what matters. I just wish it were real to her too. The fact I wasn't able to show her or convince her somehow? My greatest failure.

To me, she's perfectly imperfect. To herself, her skin is full of imperfections (one pimple!), she's still too fat (where?) her er - flower - isn't tight enough (it's definitely a-ok) - I could go on. She says the bloom of her youth has wilted or some other haiku crap. (Sorry, I never learned to 'get' those things. No, don't try to teach me please, my wife's tried to educate me to death.)

The one thing which isn't perfectly imperfect is our sex life. People will tell you there's no sex after children and it's so damn true. Our daughter Hanako is six and full of energy, generally keeping us as exhausted as possible or creeping into our bed whenever she can. She's finally off to school and I miss her like crazy whenever I work from home these days. Aimee's also off working again which is a godsend as it really reduced the tension at home. Aimee can't stand being kept locked up. Our sex life improved right up to once or twice a month after that, and it's stayed there.

In case you haven't guessed Aimee's sexy body and sexier personality drives me wild, but she acts like an ice princess whenever I try to get her in bed, so I've backed off, for the most part. Every couple has their issues.

Until the day everything changed. The day I caught her masturbating.

It was just before bed. I'd been brushing my teeth, getting ready to sleep when I realized where the flaw was in the code I'd been debugging all day. I dropped everything, ran to my office, and a couple hours later I'd done it. Full of pride and adrenaline, I crept back upstairs. Why so quiet? I didn't want to risk waking my wife, no sir. That was a mistake I'd only ever needed to make once. She loves her sleep.

When I was a few steps away, I heard an odd silence from our bedroom - not just normal silence, but the sound of someone trying to be very, very quiet. You know the one? So, curious, I approached the door stealthily, and nudged it open slowly. The light was dim, but the glow of the phone she was holding lit her enough to make it obvious what was happening. There she was, laid spread out on our bed, her skin glowing in the slight illumination. My God she was beautiful, and like this she was without parallel. Her panties were around her ankles, her thighs wet, her nightie pulled up, stuffed in her mouth, exposing everything. She was looking at my phone. You already know what she was looking at, but I didn't.

As I got closer I heard the wet squishing sounds. Shortly after, my eyes caught the only movement in the room. She had three fingers buried in her pussy, sawing furiously in and out of her poor pussy, really pounding away. Her cream oozed liberally around her fingers and a ribbon of moisture them as she pulled them out before plunging them right back in.

So with a shit-eating smirk on my face, I crept forward. I mean it'd been some time since we'd... you know. Made it. She'd always been a bit of a prude so I loved finding her masturbating. "Loved it" was perhaps an understatement. Maybe I'm just strange like that. I was instantly, painfully erect. As hard as I had been in living memory, maybe even since the honeymoon. I'd never seen her masturbate, she'd always been too shy to show me. I would be reliving this moment for years. I just didn't realize how true that thought was at the time.

She was really going to town on herself, oblivious to anything but whatever she was looking at on my phone. Her nipples looked like they were hard enough to cut glass. Her breath came in gasps. The room was filled with her scent. I paused to breathe it in, deeply, quietly. I'd always loved the smell of her excitement. She moaned wantonly around the fabric in her mouth, her voice muffled. Was she biting it? Whoa!

The sheets beneath her were stained with her wetness. She was obviously climbing up to a big one if I'd ever seen one. I admired her boobs shaking and her tight, clenched virgin ass. Then her toes curled, and I knew she was in the final stretch. Her long toned legs began to quiver in that way they did when she was about to lose control, and her breaths, reliable as clockwork, played that telltale pattern (huff, huff, moan, huff, huff, moan).

Her breath stopped, she pulled her legs tightly together, and then she...

What was she looking at anyway? My joy turned to horror as I came close enough to see the picture on my phone she was er, "using". She was right on the verge of that huge orgasm, but rather than watch the only thought in my mind was retreat. My veins were filled with ice despite the incredible view, my heart seized with terror. I forgot what she was doing, I only knew that I was caught. Why? Why'd I keep that picture? Why had Dawn sent it to me? As I ran away I crashed against the dresser and fell to the floor. I created such a noise the entire neighborhood must have heard it.

Dogs started barking outside and the shadows on the wall shifted as the neighbors turned their lights on. A bottle or two from Aimee's chemistry set of beauty products fell to the floor and smashed open against the wood. I stared at her, a deer in headlights, and she stared at me, the same. She sat up, her eyes wide, pulling the blanket to her chest. I sat, my back against the dresser, barely breathing. I think I was bleeding somewhere, but there was no way in hell I was going to check that right now.

Some impossible calculus went on behind her eyes as we stared at one another. Then the screaming started, and increased in volume when she found out that yes, I was bleeding, and no, there was definitely a gaping hole in the drywall behind the dresser and, oh yeah, why the fuck was her BFF sending topless photos to me? And when she saw her $250 night serum, wasted on the wood? She had no words. (To be fair you won't find a patch of wood anywhere in the state more soft and youthful than that scrap of floor.)

She was absolutely, monumentally pissed. Once-in-a-lifetime levels of anger.

And the worst thing? The next day her anger was gone, without trace. She refused to discuss it, shutting me up with a kiss every time. That was a couple of weeks ago, and I've been walking on eggshells ever since. She'd been acting completely normally, kissing me when we go to work, being affectionate - even more so than usual in fact. But sometimes she turned to grin at me. It was terrifying. We've been married for eight years and I'd never seen her grin like that, ever. It was like she'd been possessed by a demon. Maybe a succubus, because every chance she got she'd tease me mercilessly. I had no defense. I was so confused; shouting would've been easier - maybe that's why she was doing it this way.

She'd put on a crop top she hadn't worn since we met and tiny daisy dukes, reaching for things on her tiptoes.

She'd been checking I was watching, then bending right over at the waist, wearing nothing but a garter belt beneath her skirt.

She stretched like a cat, fanning her clothes with no bra underneath, and pretending to get caught in the rain with just a white blouse on. No, apparently there's never a bra.

Somehow there's always a bra on when she comes home and when she leaves, but when we're alone together or our daughter is asleep? Her underwear mysteriously disappears.

And yet she hadn't let me anywhere near her for two weeks.

I was boiling over. I'm fit to burst.

That brings us to today. Our daughter is with her great-grandparents - they do a big trip to Japan every few years, though recently Aimee hasn't been able to go with them due to work.

After dinner, Aimee took my hand and led me upstairs. You might have guessed I thought this was it. Finally. She stripped me, and oiled me up. You can only imagine what I expected, the release of the steam that'd built in my... well, you know. Then she dashed my hopes. Told me she had a plan, to wait here.

Now I hear my wife, and that other woman's voice again. Whose voice is that? Dammit, come on, I know this one. If only I went to the bedroom door, I could...

~~~~

Aimee

When I was small I used to love those super sentai shows. You know the ones? Hell, I know the localized version sucked but I loved it anyway. It was lame-cute, or something. No, listen, this is absolutely 100% super relevant. Those cheesy shows were tailor-made for my crazy life. I loved those tight outfits, the teamwork, the transformation from being normal to something special. The shared secret. I used to imagine I had superpowers just like the rangers. Only my powers weren't fully developed yet, but soon... So I waited, and waited, and grew up, and gave up.

It wasn't until I was married I realized I did have superpowers after all. I could tell when someone was being naughty. Useless, you might say, but it meant that knew right when Dean got up the guts to lift that gorgeous tight ass of his off the bed and approach our bedroom door. How do I know? Because as soon as my spidey senses tingled, I excused myself from our guest, raced upstairs, ran like hell down the hall, opened our bedroom door and caught him right in the process of reaching for the doorknob. He froze.

Red-handed you might say. Red-knobbed. Or maybe blue-balled would be more appropriate. Teasing him for the last fortnight was a bit cruel, but he was ready to blow and would do just about anything I said. He was so stubborn most of the time, but though I let him think he was in charge in this house, just this one time I needed to be the one calling the 'shots'.

Hehehe. No, look strict!

I put my hand on his bicep, and was immediately distracted. You would be too, it was solid, so masculine. I almost started to drool. No, bad girl! Get it together, Aimee!

"Sit your ass back down!" I hissed, very quietly. "You'll ruin everything!"

Okay, I was staring at his six-pack when I said it (I know he doesn't think he has one. He does). I'd spent the first part of the evening rubbing baby oil on him, the feeling of his tight muscles beneath my hand. Making me all juicy down there. To be honest I'd been squirming all night as my plan finally - finally! - came to fruition. I'd been dreaming of this ever since I was a teenager. This evening I'd been through six pairs of panties before I'd accepted tonight I was just too excited and gone commando. In exchange I had a permanent blush on my cheeks, a draft up my skirt and a hand held over my privates to stop the fabric billowing as I moved and exposing myself to everyone.

He sat, his big adorable face looking contrite.

"Aimee, honey, I..."

"Sssh! Are you going to do what I say?" I asked, my voice coming out in a harsh whisper. I sounded more strict than I intended, but it did the job, okay?

I saw a little fear flare in his eyes and immediately felt guilt surge through me.

Before I could stop myself, I kissed him, and sat in his lap. His stone legs beneath my butt could have supported mountains, and his arms came up, automatically, to hold me with tenderness. I was never normally this forward, it was unbecoming. Not how I'd been raised. But tonight? Tonight I'd engineered this, and I was sure as hell going to enjoy it. I would do whatever I wanted. No shame.

I felt my bare ass touch the hair on his legs, the slight slickness of the massage oil, the cool cotton of his underwear. Sure I got oil on me but that was okay, I was generating plenty of my own lubrication right above him.

"This is scary for me too, honey." I whispered softly.

Something in his lap started poking my leg, inches from defenseless pussy. Pretty soon he had grown to his full size in there. I felt it press against me, seeking me, and I almost melted. My heart lurched. It felt like my entire being moved down to my crotch. I wanted him to pound his hardness into me until I fainted, and exploded, and fainted again. I hid my face in his shoulder, gasping hotly. Down girl! Not now, you horny bitch!

When I pulled myself together, I met his eyes, and I could see myself there. My face (too round), framed by long, straight black hair (too flat). My breasts (no complaints!) practically bursting out of my blouse, which was a size too small and two buttons left undone. I resisted the urge to do them up. My black frilly lingerie was obvious, practically on display. I saw his gaze drop and his mouth begin to water.

The matching panties to this set had died a few years back. One good part about wearing no panties was you don't have to worry about them not matching. Pro tip. I let my mind drift in his strong embrace for a moment it turned to molten goo. With an effort worthy of superwoman herself I pulled myself together. Later. Soon.

I leapt off his lap, and seeing his disappointment, almost leapt right back. I saw the shimmer on his thigh where my juices had leaked out of me. I was practically gushing. I hadn't felt this horny since the honeymoon. Even if nothing happened tonight, it would almost be worth it for this burning lust.

"Lie down, Dean." I growled, pushing him over and climbing on top of him. Like a panther. I felt his hard cock brush my thigh and moaned. I couldn't resist. Any more of this and I'd devour him.

No! I had to prepare my treat. I slipped a blindfold out of my pocket. Yeah, that's right. This bitch has a skirt with pockets! Look at my pockets! Of course it was making an appearance tonight. It was my favorite. I'd show it off every chance I got, just like my Dean. Those other bitches were so damn jealous.

I caught the disbelief in his eyes, the hope. I stretched it over his big head (I needed the little one for me). My fingers delved deep into his curly hair before I withdrew, shaking with the effort. I bit my lip, though he couldn't see.

Maybe I could just sample it. For science.

"Don't get up. Lift your hips." some part of me continued with the plan. I was a hard taskmistress, even to myself.

His cock, newly free of its confines, probably only rose up slightly, but to me it leapt. It filled my eyes, the king of the jungle, rampant, muscular. Angry. Surely I should give it a little kiss better. The warm velvety skin stroked against my lips. The iron core pushed back. Steel, wrapped in softness. Just like my Dean.

I inhaled his heady musk, then felt ashamed. Was he looking? No, that's right, he was blindfolded. I inhaled again, loudly. Damn. That addictive smell filled my mind, drew me closer. I gave it another kiss. Somehow the bulbous head slipped in my mouth. Oops. My tongue ran side to side along the base of it, and he moaned, lifting his hips and putting his hands in my hair. He could do anything, push my head down, use me like a whore. My mind exulted at the thought of it, then closed again as shame washed in. I drew back, his cock flopping back to his stomach. It left a wet mark, which quickly evaporated, leaving just the lustrous sheen of the massage oil.

I looked up at his blindfold. He couldn't see how into this I was. Great.

I opened my mouth wide - he was huge - and quickly went further than just the tip. I barely managed to take the first couple of inches into my mouth. It felt like I was trying to eat a baseball bat. I liked that feeling; I am a kinky bitch. His hands were in my hair again. I loved that feeling, though knew I really shouldn't. I pushed down further. I managed to take another meaty inch before I gagged, my body reflexively trying to force out the invader. Stupid body.

"Why?" he asked, and my guilt prodded me for an answer.

I wasn't planning on saying anything, but I'd made him think our marriage was in danger. To be fair, for a while, it was. That was before I did my digging on his phone and subtly chatting with her, I realized the obvious - that bitch Dawn was trying to seduce him. That buxom, beautiful, backstabbing bitch. I'd always been attracted to her. I'd always been too ashamed to say anything about it.