Fine by Me

We had ground rules, and to make sure it wasn't too easy to break them, I had brought neither lube nor condoms. I wondered if she had brought some, but she wasn't breaking away to retrieve them.

Maybe she was thinking the same thing I was. She gently pushed me up, and I followed her lead and rolled back on my back. She mounted me again, sitting upright; grasped us both in one hand again, and began grinding on me again with even greater urgency.

I came before I realized what was happening. She sensed it and held still, allowing us both to feel my cock pulsing against hers. My orgasm had been so sudden that it was not the pent-up explosion that I had been counting on. The semen shot up my stomach, but no further.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

"It is all right," she assured me. "It is a... complimentary."

I chuckled. It was the first time all night she had made a grammatical error, using the adjective instead of the noun. I wondered if she had done it intentionally, roleplaying, playing up the exotica.

"I will be right back," she said again, as she rolled out from under me and headed to the bathroom once more. I heard water running, and then she was back, still naked except for her boots. She handed me a warm wet washcloth, then returned to the bathroom.

I cleaned up and got myself another cup of wine, while she performed another costume change. When she came out, she was all in black. No shoes this time, but black hosiery, attached no doubt to suspenders. A satin teddy nightgown, barely covering her stocking tops; plunging neckline, backless. And a black wig, this time in a short bob.

More pictures. Again, fine by me. I realized the nightie was similar to what she wore in her profile picture on the website. She wanted to recreate that image -- shot from the foot of the bed, her half-prone, one leg extended and the other bent at the knee, looking back at the camera over her shoulder. Same coy smile. Same glorious long naked back. Black hair this time.

Then more grinding, her on top again. I was hard again, thankfully. This seemed to be her favorite position and I was not going to argue. We moved together for a long time. I wondered what to do to bring her to orgasm, but she seemed to be content to focus on what we were doing. Finally, when she stopped moving, I rolled her over again, and then I slipped off the end of the bed, and pulled her down so I could kneel between her thighs. At some point her gown had disappeared and she was naked except for the stockings and suspenders.

"You really like that, don't you?" she asked, nodding toward her crotch. By "that," I could tell, she was referring not to the act I was preparing for, but specifically to the bobbing, uncut penis on her belly.

I felt a twinge of shame. I felt judged, like I had been caught objectifying her, fetishizing her, reducing her to the forbidden appendage between her legs.

But then she said, "It is okay," as if she was reading my mind. She lay back, ran her

fingers through my hair, and let me go down on her again.

I wanted her to have an orgasm. For her sake. And I wanted her to cum in my mouth, for mine. But I wasn't in a hurry.

I drew her delicate oval testicles into my mouth, one at a time. I was sure I could have fit both in at once, but I didn't want to risk hurting her. I could roll them from side to side and front to back, marveling at how maneuverable they were; but her small vocalizations didn't give me the impression that she found it irresistible, so I moved on.

Pushing her thighs up, so her knees were at her chest and the heels of her white leather boots were beside my ears, I traced my tongue down the dark, uneven seam that ran from her scrotum to her dark, puckered anus. I pointed the tip of my tongue and encircled it, feeling the ridges of each point of her little star; then found the center and pushed in. That, she liked; or seemed to, from her quickening moans. I did too. There was no discernible different taste or aroma; just the same musky human smell that I had been breathing in deeply for the past few minutes.

I reveled in the way she squirmed and whimpered, and periodically beat a tattoo on my shoulders with her heels. But I could tell she was responding to something more like tickling than a pending orgasm. So I lowered her legs and returned to her penis, licking it from bottom to top, peeling back the foreskin, swirling my tongue around the tip, and closing my lips around the shaft. It was time to make her cum.

Yeah, and again, the old joke about how only a person with a penis knows how to really please a penis? Well, it still wasn't true. It wasn't for lack of enthusiasm or desire on my part, but my sincere ministrations were seemingly not enough to get her off.

"Let me," she finally said, and wrapped her hand around the base of her shaft and began to stroke. I felt badly again. She knew I wanted her to cum, but she was going to have to do it herself to give me what I wanted. Oh well. I closed my eyes and pursed my lips behind the ridge of her glans, felt her hand bumping my chin on every stroke, and waited for her to deliver her climax.

Shortly, I felt her body tense up, and then felt the warm smooth shaft between my lips pulse. I had hoped to feel her spurting into my mouth like a geyser, but I had just learned that it is hard to swallow when your mouth is full of cock and gathering saliva. I contented myself with listening to her deep sigh of relief, and knowing that she had just added her semen to the pool of liquid I was already holding.

Only after I had let her softening organ slip carefully from between my pursed lips was I able to get a sense of her contribution to my mouthful of wetness -- it was thicker, more viscous than spit, and the taste was neither salty nor sweet but rather kind of chalky, like antacid medicine. Hmm. I swallowed.

She was up on her elbows, watching me with a bit of a gentle smirk. As if to say, okay, are you satisfied?

Sexually, I guess I was. I excused myself and went into the bathroom. When I came out, she had put her gown back on and was sitting up with her back against the headboard, scrolling on her phone. I went ahead and dressed, except for my shoes, but then poured two more glasses of wine. She watched me come around the far side of the bed, took the cup that I reached across for her, and her eyes widened slightly as I settled onto the bed with my back against the headboard beside her.

"You want to cuddle?" she asked, as if the idea was a pleasant but unexpected surprise.

"Can we?" I asked in response.

She nodded vigorously, and tucked herself under my left arm. She placed her palm on my chest. "This is nice," she confirmed.

I reached past her to pick up the TV remote. Started flipping through the channels. The fourth or fifth image I saw had Nathan Fillion and Gina Torres in it.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed. "Firefly! Do you know it?"

She furrowed her brow. "No, I don't think so."

"It's... kind of a cult classic. Sci-fi. By the guy who did Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

She seemed to recognize the second reference, but was noncommittal. "It is fine,"

she said, indicating that she didn't care to keep looking for anything else, either.

I settled back and took a minute to figure out which episode I was watching. By the time I looked down at Mila again to give her the backstory, she was asleep on my shoulder. It was just as well. I didn't have much experience with wrapping up one-night stands.

When the show was over, I woke her up. I put on my shoes. We traded a few sentences about taking care and having good luck with finals. I kissed her goodbye, rather chastely.

I didn't look back as I listened to the door close behind me.

***

I parked under the basketball goal and let myself in through the back door. The house was dark. I opened the fridge and got a can of carbonated water, then took off my shoes and headed quietly up the stairs.

The bedroom door was closed but light leaked out from underneath it. I tapped on the door to announce my arrival but went on in. My wife was sitting up in bed, reading.

"Hey there," I said.

She looked at me with a slight smile. "Hey." I closed the door behind me and crossed to my side of the bed, and sat down as I started to unbutton my shirt. "So... how was it?"

I shrugged. "It was good."

She grinned a little. "Just... good?"

I grinned a lot. "Umm... it was fucking fantastic."

She furrowed her brow and stuck out her lower lip and I instantly regretted my flippancy. I couldn't tell if she was mimicking dismay or actually feeling it.

"Did you fuck her?" she challenged.

"No!" I assured her. "No, I didn't. Just as I promised. But... we did have a lot of fun. She ended up being pretty playful."

My wife looked at me skeptically.

"Seriously. She kept getting up and going in to the bathroom to put on a new outfit to model for me."

She laughed at that, breaking the tension. I decided not to add the fact that Mila had kept putting on new outfits for me to *take off of her.*

"Honestly," I said. "She had me take a lot of pictures."

My wife cocked her head and squinted at me. "So... not even oral?"

"We had oral," I acknowledged. I wasn't going to lie. "Both of us. That was... within the rules."

She pursed her lips and scooted up against the headboard, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I know," she said. "It's just... weird for me."

I nodded. My wife had been hotwifing for two years, after several years of just fantasizing and role-playing about it, during which time she had come to understand that the idea of her with another man drove me wild and gave me great pleasure. But once she had decided to act out our fantasy, she immediately realized that she did not want to share me with other women.

"I understand," I assured her. "I appreciate that."

I climbed onto the bed and sat back against the headboard beside her. "So... you really didn't *pay* her for this?"

"No!" she confirmed. "I wouldn't have done that. She assured me she's not an escort. She's a young person in grad school who wants to keep her... non-conforming sex life separate from her social circle. Just like her profile says."

I nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what she told me."

"So," she went on, summoning a crooked smile. "Was that the best birthday present ever?"

I chuckled, partly in relief that she was coming to grips with her ambivalence. "Yes, it was. And certainly the most unusual." My date with Mila had been my wife's idea. Her way of compensating, I suppose, for her refusal to allow me to play with other women. Other cis-women, at least. She had actually set it up. I never would have suggested it on my own, but I willingly accepted it.

"I trust you," she had often told me, "but I don't trust other women to not fall in love with you."

At the moment, though, she was still seeking validation. "Am I the best wife ever?"

"Yes," I agreed, in all honesty. Certainly one of a kind.

"You're not going to leave me for a 23-year-old t-girl?" she pushed. Okay, now I knew she was teasing.

"Nooo," I assured her. Seriously. Even with all the costume changes and photo sessions Mila had put me through tonight, she still wasn't as playful as the woman I had already married.

"Anyway," I continued. "She's moving to Boston for a job in less than a month."

"Good for her," my wife replied. Then she cocked her head. "And you're definitely still calling her 'she.'"

"Oh yeah."

"Even after sucking her cock?"

I laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"Okay, well," she said, opening her book up again. "I'm glad you enjoyed your birthday present."

I got up and headed to the bathroom to shower. I left the door open, and heard my wife ask a follow-up question. "Are you going to keep in touch with her.?"

"Maybe," I replied. Assuming she kept her profile on the hook-up site. It was the only contact information I had for her. The thought had already occurred to me earlier, as she had slept with her head on my shoulder. I hoped that once she started her new job, her new life, living as Mila full-time, she would find that she didn't need anonymous encounters from an adult "dating" site to meet her sexual desires. I hoped for her sake that her profile just disappeared.

That, I thought wistfully, would be fine by me.