First Time with Another Man's Wife

My upbringing was fairly repressed. Sex was dirty. Guys were perverts. Nice girls said no. So don't ask, don't look, don't touch, and don't even think about it until you're married.

Of course, like any other red-blooded guy, it was almost all I could think about from the minute I first laid my eyes on a discarded Playboy magazine. It was a frequent topic of conversation among my young friends. And, as the years passed, I was as committed to touching any part of the female anatomy - and having it touch back - as any man on the planet.

My ambitions aside, with the exception of a couple of poorly executed blowjobs and some uncomfortable finger fucking, my experiences as a young man were few. My first year of college afforded me a few bumbling opportunities to improve my skills, but honesty forces me to admit that I was far from a good fuck. And I had yet to experience one from a girl who knew much more about it than I did.

I worked a couple of jobs the summer after that year. One was in a modestly-sized family-owned department store. The owner rolled in once a week to spend an hour in the office signing checks, firing people, complaining about litter on the street, and generally being a prick. He was old, bald, stoop-shouldered with a face painted with a permanent sneer. A thin man with a perpetual bow tie, he looked like something from a cartoon. Fortunately, I had little interaction with him. Unfortunately, my superiors were always in a foul mood by the time he left.

I was taking down promotional signs from a big 4th of July sale, safely in the back corner of the store, when I heard the whispers that he was in the building. I kept my head down, did my job, and didn't worry about him. In fact, when I got the word I was keeping an eye on two women who were shopping in the area where I was working.

One had a nice pair of tits snugly fitted into her tank top. From my perch on the ladder, I had a pretty good view of her impressive cleavage. The other wore a pair of shorts that could have been painted to her ass. I was craning my neck back over my shoulder when I heard the tapping of high heels coming toward me. I spun around so quickly that I nearly lost my balance on the ladder, trying not to be clocked checking out the hot young customers.

The woman that was approaching was blonde, tall, and absolutely stunning. She could have been a model. Her hair was perfectly styled. Her makeup looked like it was done by a professional. She wore a fashionable full-length raincoat, unbuttoned, revealing long legs that disappeared into a pencil skirt that fell just higher than the middle of her thigh. Her button-up shirt revealed a hint of ample cleavage. She never broke her stride as she walked passed me, looking up with a sly smile on her face. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Getting caught is one thing. Getting caught by a woman that looked that good was another thing entirely.

An hour later she was still in the store. I saw her from behind. Her raincoat was now draped across her forearm and I could see that she looked just as good from this side as she did from the front. Two toned ass cheeks pushed against the fabric of her slim skirt. Her calves suggested she may have been a dancer. Either that, or the heels just worked some magic on those long legs. She turned around the corner and out of my sight fairly quickly but like any horny young man, I was making mental notes very quickly. She was, perhaps, in her mid 20's. confident and poised. She walked with purpose even though it was clear she had no particular destination in mind.

"You know who that is, right?" Dave asked as he chewed his sandwich. We often compared notes at lunch about the women who had been in the store. I shrugged, shaking my head.

"It's the old man's wife."

I was confused. "The old man" is how we referred to the owner of the store. He was 80 going on 120. There was no way in hell that he would have a wife that looked like that. Or, more to the point, there was no way that a woman that looked like that would subject herself to somebody like him.

Dave nodded, unable to speak with half a sandwich in his mouth. I waited for him.

"Obviously she's after his money. Like the rest of us, she's just waitin' for him to kick off. In the meantime, she follows him around like his personal show pony, lookin' like that and makin' the rest of us hate him just a little bit more. It's a shame though. Imagine having a woman like that and not being up to the task, if you know what I mean."

I knew what he meant. And just thinking about it had me rising to the occasion even with the sites and sounds of Dave's assault on his sandwich. I turned my attention to my own food and a three-month-old copy of Sports Illustrated that someone had left in the break room weeks before.

A week passed and I looked forward to the Old Man's visit, hoping his wife would be with him. I saw him walking into the office area but she was nowhere in sight. Who could blame her? She was completely out of place in a store like that. I'm sure she would work up any excuse she could not to come with him. But I was still disappointed. At least for a while.

About a half hour before going home someone told me that my manager was looking for me. I found him in his office, shuffling papers and trying to look busy before bolting for the door as quickly as possible at the end of the day.

"You wanted to see me?

"Yeah," he said, grabbing a scrap of paper off his desk and thrusting it toward me. "Your working at Mr. Lindstrom's house tomorrow. Here's the address. Be there at 9:00."

"At his house?"

"Yeah, he probably needs some weeds pulled or his gutter cleaned or some shit moved to the attic. It happens a couple of times a year and tomorrow it's happening to you. Don't worry about it. You'll most likely be done in a few hours and you get paid for the day. Just don't fuck it up."

I arrived the next morning at 8:56. The old man was standing at the front door, scowling, as I pulled into the drive. Apparently, he was one of those "if you're not early, your late" people. I tried to smile and put on my best friendly face as I approached, but he was already through the door waving me in through the large foyer.

"The garage is through that door. You'll find some boxes that need to be moved to the storage building out back. Just put them on any open shelves, but keep them together. And don't drop them, you hear me? When you've finished, ask my wife what else she needs. She's out back."

And with that, he stepped out of the hall, shutting a door firmly behind him. So much for personality.

I found the boxes and grabbed the first one. I could see the storage building through an open door that led to the large backyard. A sidewalk lined with flowers divided the perfectly manicured lawn and led to the door of a building that looked more like an oversized dollhouse than a shed. Not that it was small. It was the flower boxes beneath the windows and the contrasting trim color that were reminders that the rich live differently than the rest of us. I put the box at the base of a series of empty shelves and turned to head back to the garage for the next one.

That's when I saw her. She was reclined on a chaise lounge next to the pool. At first glance, I thought she was naked. She was, in fact, wearing a small bikini that was cut so high on her thigh that it was nearly invisible from my vantage point. I tried not to stare as I made my way up the walk, back toward the house. She wore large aviator sunglasses, and her face pointed directly to the sky, so I felt that she was unconcerned by my presence.

With each successive trip to the garage, I took in more of her gorgeous frame. One leg was bent, the other outstretched. They looked even longer than I remembered. Her breasts were full and the skimpy fabric of her turquoise blue bikini top did little to conceal them. At some point she rolled over on her tummy, allowing me to take in the view of her firm, rounded ass, barely covered at all by the fabric of the suit. I tried to memorize every curve, every detail, every curl of her blonde mane; because I knew I would be seeing her in my fantasies later tonight.

With the last box delivered and hoping my growing erection wouldn't be obvious to her, I made my way around the edge of the pool toward her chair. She was on her back again, those glorious breasts edging out of their cloth restraints on every side. She never moved as I approached. I stood over her - doing everything I could not to stare at that body - for an awkward moment before speaking.

I tried to say something, but no words came out. I cleared my throat and started over.

"Um, your husband said I was supposed to ask you if you wanted anything else."

Her head turned only slightly. "Yes, there is something else. My husband should be in his study."

I waited a beat.

"Go there. I'll be in in a minute."

I nodded, slightly confused. Why was she sending me to him when he clearly told me that she would determine whether or not there was another task?

I tapped on the door that had nearly slammed in my face earlier.

"Yes?" The voice was expectedly gruff.

I opened the door slightly and peered inside. I saw a desk, but no one was there.

"What is it?" Now he just sounded annoyed.

I pushed the door further. "Um. Your wife said to come see you here."

"You're finished?" He was somewhere in the room behind the semi-open door.

"Yes, sir."

"Well come in then. Don't just stand there talking through the door."

He was sitting in a large upholstered chair on the opposite side of the room, facing the desk. He put down his magazine and looked at me like I was there to rob him.

"You moved all the boxes?

"Yes sir."

"And you found shelving for all of them in the shed?"

"Yes sir." How complicated did he think my assigned task was? Pick up the boxes, move the boxes.

"Would you like some water?" said a soft, feminine voice behind me.

I spun to see his wife in the doorway, holding a glass of ice water. As thirsty as I was, my attention was pulled again to the incredible body. She had added a small black robe to her outfit, but it was left open, revealing nearly everything she had underneath.

I thanked her and took the water from her, completely aware of how awkward the situation was.

"Have a seat." The old man gestured toward a leather couch that ran perpendicular to the desk and his chair. As I sat, his wife moved to the desk, placing her firm ass on the edge and stretching her legs toward me. I did my best to drink my water and look away."

"Raymond, we have one other thing, but let me ask you something first. Do you know the meaning of the word discreet?""

"Um, I think so."

"It means prudent. Cautious with your speech. Able to keep a secret."

I nodded, still denying every screaming instinct to turn my head and ogle the old man's wife again.

"Are you discreet, Raymond?"

I felt like his eyes were looking straight through me. In the moment, the weight and intent of his question escaped me. Looking back it is obvious to see where this conversation was headed. But I don't think anything so incredible would have ever entered my mind as I sat there withering in his presence.

"Um, yeah. I mean, yes. I suppose."

"Supposing isn't enough. You either are, or you aren't. If you aren't your day here is finished. You can head back to the store."

"No... I mean, yes. Yes. Yes, I am discreet. I've kept a lot of secrets." That may have been an overstatement, but there were enough skeletons in the closets of my circle of young friends that I felt pretty sure I knew how to keep my mouth shut.

"If one word of what I am about to say should ever leave this room, you will not only lose your job, but I will do everything within my power to keep you from working again, or returning to the university. If, on the other hand, you prove yourself to be worthy of confidence, I have a lot to offer you.

At this point, I figured the old man had some shady business dealings and he needed an errand boy for his leg work. And I assumed that it paid a lot better than the minimum wage I was getting from him at the store. So his threats aside, I was in.

"You can count on me. What do you need me to do."

"You're certain."

"Absolutely."

His wife suddenly left the room. No sense in her hearing all the dirty details of whatever crooked schemes he was running. She was free to live in blissful ignorance.

"You have, no doubt, noticed my wife." He paused, but not long enough to require an answer. "I love her, Raymond, and not just for the obvious reasons. And I believe she genuinely loves me and not just my money."

I felt like I should say something, but he kept talking.

"Our age difference creates some challenges for us." He eyed me up again for a long moment before continuing.

"Not the least of which is my inability to keep up with her... sexually."

I felt the air being sucked out of my body. My mouth went dry and gulped more of the ice water. I had never heard anyone remotely close to the old man's age mention sex. Especially not in this context.

"I'll get to it. My wife has needs. And I like to see them fulfilled."

I nodded dumbly.

"I mean, I literally like to see them fulfilled. Are you up to that, Raymond?"

"I... you... are you... I'm sorry, are you asking me to..." I stammered, looking for the words and afraid that if I found them they would be wrong, or inappropriate.

"Yes," he said matter-of-factly. "And I will be here when you do."

The door moved slightly. I turned to see that she had returned. The robe was closed now, but I could see the shape of her nipple pressed against the thin fabric. She walked toward me, slowly, bending to take the glass from my hand, her cleavage mere inches from my face. She turned to set it on the desk. moving my gaze to her ass. My mind was reeling. This couldn't be happening. I was both aroused and terrified.

I glanced back at the old man who was taking in every inch of his beautiful young wife. A slight smile - or was it a smirk? - formed on his face. She stepped toward me again, pulling at the tie of her robe, letting it fall open.

Her breasts were full with slightly upturned nipples surrounded by pale pink areola. Her mound was partially covered by a soft patch of trimmed light-brown hair. Between the two was a stretch of flat, tanned belly. She looked like a woman who had just stepped out of one of the magazines that I had jerked off to hundreds of times. Except she was there. Present. Standing mere yards from me.

At first, I thought my heart had stopped. Then I realized that it was my breathing. My heart, on the other hand, seemed to be working overtime, pounding relentlessly at my chest. I felt like an animal that had been trapped and was now waiting for the inevitable. Somehow I knew that the old man was about to lunge at me, or - even worse - shoot me. But he simply sat still, watching me as I sat, frozen, ogling his nearly naked wife.

If she said something, I never heard it. I just watched as she took a final step toward me before moving to her knees. She pulled herself between my legs and reached for my fly. In retrospect, I should have helped her, but that day my mind was not equipped to respond to what was happening. My body was seemingly unable to react.

Except for my dick.

That's the great thing about being young, I suppose. Your cock is blissfully unaware of propriety, social convention, and manners. Simply stated, I was rigid. And why wouldn't it be? A stunning woman, by anyone's standards, was kneeling in front of me, fully exposed and reaching for it. I didn't know what was to happen next, what was expected of me, or what the consequences would be tomorrow. I didn't care. In spite of my nervousness, awkwardness, and general lack of experience, I wanted this woman to touch me more than anything I had ever wanted in my life.

She began with her index finger, softly tracing the bottom of my shaft from the balls to the shaft. It jumped when she touched it. I thought I might cum. She stopped as soon as she reached the top. I suspect she sensed my overly aroused state. She dropped her hands to my thighs, massaging them softly. Again, my dick twitched.

"He likes it," she smiled toward her husband. He remained silent, his eyes fixed on my dick and his wife's head a mere inches from it.

She moved closer, if that were possible. I could feel her breath.

"May I?" She was looking up at me now. I nodded, noticing the drops of precum forming on the tip of my prick.

She pulled herself up taller on her knees, opened her mouth wide and took my cock in her mouth. She did it without actually touching it. When it bumped the back of her tongue (I suppose) she lightly closed her lips around it and paused before slowly sliding back up with just the slightest pressure.

It popped out her mouth and she looked at me again with an impish smile.

"Ready?"

I nodded again, trying to breathe deeply. My heart and lungs were racing. She flicked her tongue across my balls, causing my dick to twitch yet again. Without stopping she gently licked the shaft from the bottom to the top, this time closing her mouth around it immediately. Then she began a soft, certain rhythm, moving up and down my stretched cock.

Predictably, it was over almost before it started.

"I'm cum...", the first shot was released before I could even get the words out of my mouth. The second followed quickly, as did the third and fourth. I lost count, but it felt like I was cumming forever. She never took her mouth off my dick. Instead, she just kept bobbing up and down, now with more pressure, as though she were trying to suck every drop from my sack.

When I finished, she turned again to the Old Man and opened her mouth, showing him what I had left there. He smiled slightly.

"Would you care for something else to drink?" The question, directed to me, struck me as odd given the circumstances.

"No. Thank you."

Now what was I supposed to do? Pull up my pants and leave? Ask if there was more work to be done? Apologize? Not that I had taken advantage of the situation, but somehow my adolescent moral code was telling me that blowing a load in another man's wife was somehow... wrong.

She stood slowly and I waited for one of them to say something. Instead, she dropped the robe and set next to me, leaning on my shoulder and stroking my naked right thigh. Honest to God, I think my dick twitched again.

"If you change your mind, let us know. Otherwise, we'll just wait a minute."

It seemed strange to have him talking to me while my dick was hanging out.

"Wait a minute?"

Now she responded. "Yeah. That's the great thing about a guy your age. It won't take long. And I know just how to pass the time."

She smiled, and reclined on the couch, placing her left leg up onto the back and moving her right to the floor. I was literally sitting between her spread legs. I could see her slit glistening beneath the small patch of pubic hair. Soon I had a better view as she slipped a finger through her light bush and down that slit. When her finger retreated, her pink folds were open to me. I felt my dick between to revive.

With encouragement (and no small amount of instruction) from her, I leaned into her crotch and got my first real taste of a woman. I had no idea what I was doing down there, but she put up with it long enough for my dick to get hard again.

"He's ready."

I had nearly forgotten about the Old Man, but he was there, behind me, watching as I stabbed at his wife's sweet pussy with my tongue. And obviously keeping an eye on my cock. With his announcement, she sat up, pushing me back into my original position on the couch. She straddled me, facing him, and lowered herself onto my cock. Unlike the girls at school that I had played with, this woman knew exactly what she was doing and how to get what she wanted.