tagLoving WivesHe was a Real Closet Fan

He was a Real Closet Fan

byBOSTONFICTIONWRITER©

Back in the late 80's early 90's, I established a small computer/accounting business to help small business owners with their accounting and computer needs. It was the advent of the personal computer spawning the arrival of accounting packages, such as MYOB, Quickbooks, Peachtree, Quicken, et al, and few people understood computers and/or accounting software. I was booked solid.

One client, Al, owned a couple gas stations with attached convenience stores and he made a lot of cash money. As overweight as he was wealthy, he was the jovial sort with an easy disposition. He threw a lot of money at me, always cash, calling me back every time the computer industry farted out a new 286, 386, 486, and Pentium. Back then, I was the guru of computer setup.

The relationship with Al evolved from working at his businesses to working at his home setting up his personal computer. One day, I arrived as expected at his house, but Al's car, an imposing navy blue Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham, was not there. I rang the bell and his wife, Julie, a very attractive, slim, but buxom blonde, obviously, his second wife, as she was not much older than his children, greeted me at the door.

"Al was unexpectedly called to work," she said. "There was a robbery attempt at his station in East Boston."

I thought that was an odd thing for her to say to call Al away, as I knew that Al, who was once an infamous, local button man for the Mafia, was protected by the mob. My alarm bell sounded in my head but was quickly silenced by the anticipation of being alone in the house with his sexy wife.

She showed me to the bedroom where Al kept his prized computer, the first Pentium 100 in the neighborhood and it had all the latest gizmos.

"Al wants you to teach me how to use the computer so that I can work from home for him."

"Sure, no problem, Julie," I said leaning in to enjoy another whiff of her intoxicating perfume.

Since I was alone in the bedroom with Julie, it was not hard for me to make the connection from teaching her how to use the computer to banging her on the king-size bed. She was hot in her short skirt and tight, low cut top. Unfortunately, the thought of Al putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger encouraged my best professional behavior. Nonetheless, when she pulled up a chair beside me and sat so close next to me that our thighs touched, my pecker took control of my brain melting my sense and resistance.

I noticed her skirt was bunched up around her and I could not remove the thought from my mind that she was literally sitting on her panties in the chair beside me. I quickly devised a plan that gave me a couple up skirt shots. Since my briefcase was on the other side of her and out of my reach, I continually asked her to retrieve items from my briefcase for our training. Each time, she leaned to the right, if I angled myself away from her chair; I had a clear view of her white, bikini clad round ass. I was beginning to get aroused. Suddenly, the thought of Al was as distant as the sound of the Red Sox baseball game that played very low on the radio in the background.

I discovered too, that Julie had the habit of hunching her shoulders when typing on the keyboard. She feared the computer and her fearful reaction made her change her body language such that it allowed me a perfect view of the inner side of her C cup tit. She wore such a pretty yellow bra adorned with tiny flowers and her bra moved forward with her whenever she leaved forward exposing a pink, puffy nipple. I could not get her nipples out of my mind and found it impossible to focus my thoughts on her lesson.

We worked like that for two hours. Julie, as personable as she was cute, continually touched my arm, hand, shoulder, back, and thigh as we worked. Every time she "got it" with something that I was trying to teach her, she'd grab my thigh moving her hand higher each time. My cock grew in anticipation of her touch. The thoughts of her feeling my thigh, moving her hand to caress my cock, unzipping me, and freeing my cock from my pants gave me an enormous erection.

She made plenty of eye contact, too, smiling at me each time. I found her a bit dumb but very delightful with the sexuality of Jessica Simpson and the deliriousness of Drew Barrymore. Certainly, she was not my type to marry but my type to party.

I do not recall who kissed who but we kissed and it was a long, lingering kiss with probing tongues and groping hands. We made it to the floor instead of the bed and my hands explored every inch of her. I had her bra pushed up and her panties pushed down. Her nipples were erect and her pussy wet. We rolled around on the floor like that kissing and touching, humping and feeling until...there, again, beneath the closet door, I saw a shadow.

Fear took control of my entire body and my penis shriveled. Did they have a cat? A dog? What made that shadow? Then, again, like you can sometimes hear when someone has an earpiece, I heard the faint sound of the Boston Red Sox game.

"It's a long fly ball, way back, and up and over the green monster and it's a home run for Jim Rice."

Julie, I knew, did not like baseball but Al was a fanatic. He had season tickets. I know because he gave me a couple tickets to a game once. It had to be him. He was in the closet. Al was in the closet. My brain was on fire with fear. Al the Mafia hitman mobster was in the closet watching me have my way with his wife. I'm dead. I'm a dead man. God, please help me.

My life flashed before me. Here I was on the floor with Al's wife, her tits in my mouth and my hand between her legs with my fingers fingering her honey pot and Al is in the closet. The thoughts of Al watching me exploded in my mind like a car alarm. I had to break this off, get up, calmly collect my things, and get out.

Somehow, I needed to leave before Al murdered me. I panicked. I tried to get up but Julie changed her position and inserted my cock in her mouth. She was sucking me like it was her last meal. Never has a woman given me such a blow job. I wanted to cum. I needed to cum. She was so adept at sucking me off. I quickly came.

That was when I saw Al peeking through the slats of the closet. We made eye contact and he smiled at me and nodded his head. My cock went limp, again.

"Julie, I am so sorry, but I have to go. I am, uhm, so late for another appointment. I am sorry but I cannot do this. You are married to Al, my, uhm, friend." Friend? Did I just say friend? I was thinking assassin, my murderer.

I was out of that room, down the stairs, and out the door running for my car. Somehow, Al with his stubby fat legs and huge beer belly beat me out the door and met me by my car.

"Al, please don't kill me, I am so sorry—"

"Freddie, listen, I set you up. I, uhm, can't please Julie anymore in the way she needs and she likes you and I trust you. I just thought, you know, you'd do me this favor."

He reached in his pocket and took out a fat wad of bills and peeled off 5 C notes and stuffed them in my shirt pocket.

"This is our secret, okay? No one needs to know nothin'. It's just between you and me. No one needs to know that Big Al cannot pack the baloney no more. Okay?"

"Sure, Al, sure, no problem. No one needs to know nothing. Does Julie know?"

"Nah, she'd slice off my pecker if she knew."

I reached for the car door and with a grip like a vice; he put his hand on my hand.

"Can you come back tomorrow, you know, to teach Julie?"

I looked at him long and hard.

"What do you mean? Do you want me to teach her or to..."

He reached in his pocket again and peeled off another 5 C notes and stuck them in my shirt pocket.

"You do whatever comes natural, so long as I can watch."

Once a week, except for the week that they left for Disney World and for the next three months, all through the summer, I banged Al's pretty wife on the king-sized bed while he stood in the closet jerking off and listening to the Red Sox game. Every time I pleasured Julie making her cum, he handed me 5 C notes.

The only stipulation he insisted on was that she was never to know that he was hiding in the closet...but she knew. I could tell she knew by her posturing to make sure that Al had a good view of our love making.

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