Irene Struggles to Please Her Hubby

This story contains scenes of group sex.

This story is written at the request of a reader. He suggested the plot.

*********************

"What do you think of the coffee?" I asked my friend Susan.

"It's nice, but you know, all these coffee houses have nice coffee. I'd have trouble telling one from the other in a blind tasting," Susan replied.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. For me, it's all about the ambience," I said.

"You mean the eye candy? Yeah, me too," Susan said.

"Eye candy? I'm talking about the lighting, the noise level, the attractiveness of the furniture, the smiles or lack thereof of the staff, the cleanliness, etc. What're you talking about?" I asked.

"I'm talking about the men at the café I can enjoy fantasizing about. Don't tell me you don't?"

"That's right. I don't," I said.

"Really?" Susan said. She seemed incredulous.

"Really," I said. "I don't fantasize about other men. I have Oscar, you know. He's all I need."

"Seriously? Irene, everyone fantasizes. Don't tell me you're the exception that proves my rule?"

"Well, I guess I am. I just don't have those kinds of thoughts," I said.

Susan just stared, disbelieving, and studying me with her beautiful, bedroom eyes.

"No offense, but I've heard you're not all that Oscar needs..." Susan said. She was clearly nervous.

"I know he fools around from time to time. We have sort of a 'don't ask, don't tell' agreement. Some men are like that. I can deal with it," I replied.

I began to wonder about Susan. She had the supplest skin, without a single blemish, a body I would have killed to have had, and a sexy, pretty smile. Also, she was Black, and I knew Oscar had a fetish about sex with other races. Had she enjoyed an evening with my philandering husband? Oscar, was, after all a man who was hard to resist!

I knew he played around, but I didn't want him playing with my friends, not that I had that many of them. Wait a minute! Susan and Oscar had not yet even met! Paranoia was consuming me. Get a grip, I told myself.

"Really? How? How do you deal with it?" Susan asked.

"I'm just not that interested in sex. Oscar is oversexed. If he were faithful all the time, the pressure on me would be too intense. The key thing is that he loves me with all his heart, all his might, and with all his soul," I said. "I'm fine with that. I consider myself lucky."

Then I made a mistake. I still don't know why, but I added, "Even if..." and then I shut up like a clam.

My mistake was not lost on Susan. Susan is a wonderful friend, but she is a bit of an obsessive compulsive when it comes to gossip. She's the worst gossip one can find north of Central Park, and believe you me, there's plenty of competition for that title in New York.

"Okay, Irene. Finish your thought," Susan said.

"What thought?" I asked, playing innocent as my first gambit towards keeping my secrets.

"The one that began 'Even if...' and you know it!" Susan said.

I looked at her blankly. I forced myself to empty my mind.

"You were discussing your low sexual desire, and how happy you and Oscar were, and then you added, "Even if..." Susan said, looking at me with her penetrating, liquid brown eyes.

"I don't know why I said that. I love Oscar, and he loves me, and we have two beautiful daughters, as you know. That's all there is to it!" I said, and I returned to my best imitation of a clam.

One way to get a clam to open up wide is to cook it in a hot frying pan with some olive oil or better, grape seed oil. It kills the clam in the process, but when it dies it opens up wide and reveals whatever secrets were lurking inside. Being of Spanish descent, well in fact and more precisely, of Catalan descent, I cook clams routinely. It's easy to do, too. Add some sliced garlic, a red pepper or two, and some Italian parsley and you have a delicious dish, ready to pour over some pasta. My girls love it when I cook that dish. Oscar does, too.

Susan turned up the heat. The grape seed oil was sizzling in the frying pan. She was relentless. She beat me down to a puddle with her interrogation. The CIA should hire her: she's more effective than water-boarding, I'm sure. Right there in the coffee house, at East 12th Street and Broadway, she reduced me to a quivering blob, and I opened up wide like a freshy sautéed clam. I became incapable of retaining any of my long-held secrets.

She learned I was a virgin when I hooked up with Oscar, an old acquaintance from high school, at age 25. We married at age 28. She learned Oscar was the only man I had ever been intimate with. She learned that, no, I was not curious about having sex with other men, not even a little bit. The most important thing she learned, however, my deepest, darkest secret, was that Oscar was constantly pressuring me to have an affair. He actually wanted me to have sex with another man!

"You lucky girl!" Susan had said, once she had wormed out of me the dark secret of Oscar's desires.

I was stunned. Of all the possible reactions Susan might have had, calling me lucky was one that I had not even imagined! I hadn't told her that while Oscar claimed my bedding another man would be enough, what he really wanted was to be Oscar-on-the-spot, watching, and perhaps to be naked and tied up, while his 'cute little wife,' ie, me, was fucked silly, right in front of him. I could not possibly tell Susan something as humiliating as that!

Instead, I turned the tables on Susan. Now it was my turn to interrogate her! I did not have her talent. I couldn't even make the detective force of the NYPD, let alone the CIA, but luckily, Susan was happy to reveal her secrets, after I had sworn on a stack of empty coffee cups that I would tell no one. No one at all.

"Duane is a macho man. He wants to lay as many women as possible, especially white women like yourself," she explained, "but he wants me to remain pure, unspoiled by other men."

"You're okay with that?" I asked, a touch of incredulity in my voice.

"Of course not! At least Duane is discreet. He tries to keep his affairs and one-night dalliances secret. But I know. A girl always knows," Susan said.

"Don't I know it," I said.

"And I'm not the type of girl who would be happy in a nunnery, you know?" Susan added.

"Doesn't Duane keep you happy - that way?" I asked.

"Yeah, yes he does, even if sometimes I can taste another woman on his cock. I have my own fun, but that's top secret. Duane doesn't know, and he doesn't suspect," Susan said, speaking sotto voce.

"Well, you have the body for it, don't you?" I said, giggling a little.

"For a lot of men, yes, I do. But some men, like my husband Duane for example, like women with bigger breasts, and as he so charmingly puts it, with a little more meat on their bones. You, for example, would be just his taste," Susan said.

"What? Me? You're crazy! I'm 44, overweight, and my breasts are too big for my frame. Thanks for the attempt at flattery, but I know the score, Susan," I said.

"You're not overweight. Maybe you think you are, and perhaps your doctor thinks you are, but from the perspective of a man like Duane you would be perfection itself. You're not all skin and bones, you know? Like Arby's, you've got the meat. Anyway, I can prove I'm right," Susan said.

"No, you can't. Thanks for your thoughts and efforts, but really, girl, this pig doesn't fly," I said. I almost told her about my belly dancing lessons. Oscar was always pushing for me to do sexy things, like the time on the beach, or to have affairs with men outside the marriage. I loved Oscar, and I wanted to keep him happy, but what he was asking was just not in my wheelhouse. I couldn't possibly do the things he wanted me to do.

I figured I could do something special and sexy just for him, and surprise him with a performance on his birthday, for example. Belly dancing was pushing my boundaries, but maybe it's good to push oneself to the edge from time to time? My goodness, I hope so!

I had watched belly dancing via the web, and there was one dancer, Nataly Hay, who was amazing. She used her hands above her head magnificently. She put her whole body into the dance, not just her rippling abdomen. I practiced intensely to model my dancing after hers, and also that of the famous belly dancer, Didem.

"Dinner at our place Friday night? You and Oscar? It's high time I met him, and you met Duane," Susan said, waking me up from my reverie.

I admit it, I was flattered. Susan and I were aerobics friends; we were superficial, casual friends. Being invited to dinner, just the two couples, was a way to raise the budding friendship to a new level, and dammit, I could use another good girlfriend. Susan was a great confidante. I knew however there was a hidden agenda behind the invitation. Maybe one that was not so hidden, at that.

"I'll check with Oscar, but sure, I'd love to come. Thanks again, Susan," I said.

Susan smiled in reply, but there was something in her smile, some little twinkle in her eyes, nothing I could point to with any certainty, but my intuition now knew for sure that she had a scheme in her about something. I figured she was determined to prove to me that I was appealing to men. Right. Good luck with that!

*********

Oscar had already tried to prove to me of my appeal to men. A few years ago, when the girls were just that - young girls of six and seven years of age - we went to Spain to see my grandparents and to show them their great granddaughters. It was fun, and at one point we took a short excursion down the East Coast of Spain to a beach where many of the women went topless. Oscar pressured me into going topless, too, and the only good feature my body has is the appeal of my large breasts, so eventually I agreed.

The next day he took us all to a nude beach, and he and the girls went nude, but there was no way, no how, I was getting nude on a beach in Spain, even if most of the other people on the beach were nude. Topless was all Oscar was going to get!

When some American college boys heard me speaking English to my daughters, however, they came over to chat. Oscar was down the beach somewhere gawking at the pretty naked women, and hoping they would gawk back at him.

Even though I was probably a good fifteen years older at the time, the American college boys seemed plenty interested in an American woman going topless on the beach. Later I discovered the college boys considered me to be a MILF. At the time I was on the beach, however, I had never heard of the term 'MILF' before.

The interaction was strange, because when you converse with another person, both of you look at the other's eyes. The men were naked, but I looked at their eyes, not between their legs. In contrast, the men spoke directly to my nipples.

I gave the girls some money for ice cream, and they ran off, leaving me alone with the college boys. The college boys really wanted to have a run at me, and they tried everything to get me interested. I wasn't, but I did take pity on them, and while the girls were away I let their hands have some fun with my boobs.

I was giggling! I didn't know I could still giggle nervously like that. The boys had way too much fun at the expense of my boobs! Their fondles actually got me a little wet. This was verified by Ethan, the most aggressive of the boys, whose hand pushed aside my bikini bottoms. Etan slipped a finger inside me. I just stood there, passively letting the boys have their fun at my expense. Secretly, though, and I could not admit even to myself, I was enjoying it.

Ethan withdrew his finger, leaving my pussy exposed to the boys' eager eyes, and he flamboyantly smelled it. Then he let all the other boys smell it as they leered at me.

I saw the girls were coming back, dripping ice cream all over both themselves and the beach, so I quickly stopped the college men's hands, and adjusted my bikini bottoms. The boys wanted a clandestine rendezvous with me later, which surprised me, but I shot it down quickly, and definitively.

I still to this day think about that time on the beach, however. I figure they thought I was easy, and as I look back at the event it's easy to understand why they thought that! I'm sure they thought they could get some pussy from me, since I let them fondle my boobs and for Ethan, I allowed even more. Live and learn, they say, and I certainly learned my lesson from that time!

That was my one dalliance, my only dalliance. Pretty tame, I guess. In the cheating on my husband domain, I was pretty pathetic. I was happy to stay that way, even if Susan was not!

The shock, though, was when, under intense interrogation later that night when our girls were asleep, I confessed to Oscar what the college men had done to and with my boobs. Oscar went ballistic, but in a good way! To my shock, as I was crying from my shame, he attacked me with a sexual enthusiasm I had never before seen. I loved it, but the idea that other men molesting me had inspired his attack gave me pause, shall we say.

*************

It was easy to convince Oscar to come to the dinner party. All I had to do was to show him a picture of Susan. I knew he was secretly drooling when he saw the picture. He of course asked if her husband were black too, and I said yes. His secret drool seemed to double. That seemed to clinch it.

Susan and Duane lived up in Harlem, on Morningside Drive. Southern Harlem is undergoing rapid gentrification, and their apartment was one of the recently renovated ones. It was state of the art gorgeous. We lived downtown, and our apartment couldn't hold a candle to theirs!

They welcomed us graciously, and there was another couple there too, which helped to ease the pressure off us. The other couple was a mixed-race couple: Michel and Corine. Michel was black. He was originally from Haiti, and Corine was from Wisconsin, a true milk maid, with blonde hair, big boobs, and a little plump. Corine had a pretty face, and Michel was a hunk, not that I noticed. Right.

Susan and Duane were attentive and gracious hosts, and we both liked Corine and Michel as well. The wine flowed easily, and when we finally left around 1AM, we were both in a wonderful mood. We got on the A train at 125th Street, and it's express down to Greenwich Village where we ourselves live, so even though we were a little tipsy, we had an easy trip home.

Throughout the subway ride we discussed how nice the evening had been. The sitter had gotten the girls to sleep of course, so after Oscar had paid her we watched a little late-night TV and then Oscar began on me once again.

"What did you think of Duane and Michel?" he asked.

I knew what he was really asking, and I decided not to play dumb.

"They're nice men. I like them both," I said.

"You know what I mean. If you were single, would you consider them as sex partners, if only for a one-night stand?" Oscar asked.

"No, Oscar. You're all I want," I replied.

"But if you were single? If you had never met me?"

"That's just silly. Oscar, you're being ridiculous," I said.

"I know, I know, but just this once, reflect on it, okay? As a birthday present for me?" he asked. Begged, is more like it.

"I already have a birthday present for you," I said in my sexiest voice, and giving him a sexy little wink to boot. I was planning to surprise him with my belly dancing. I was getting fairly good at it, and I could do a good imitation of Nataly Hay, a star belly dancer, and let me tell you, that's something!

"Will I like it?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, you'll like it. You'll like it a lot!" I replied.

"How about we invite Susan and Duane over for dinner? It's the polite thing to do," Oscar suggested. I agreed, even if that thought coming right after the conversation we just had, made me nervous.

Ten days later Susan and Duane showed up on time. They came hands full, with a pretty bouquet of flowers and a bottle of a nice red California wine. I opened the wine to let it breathe, since I was cooking roast rack of lamb, heavily coated with herbs de Provence, and accompanied by some roasted broccoli and cauliflower, and roast potatoes.

Oscar served drinks. Susan and I each had a hefty glass of Campari with a slice of orange, and the men had a nice, eighteen-year-old Scotch whisky. We had a great time eating and talking through the dinner, and we went through two and half bottles of wine. All that after the Campari gave me a serious buzz.

After dinner we smoked some dope, and then I served ice cream with Kahlua on top. Oscar put on some soft music, and he pulled me up to dance. Duane and Susan joined us on 'the dance floor,' which was our living room with the rug rolled up, and all four of us were mellow and happy.

It seemed natural that at some point we would change dance partners. The way we were dancing Susan's back was to us, but Oscar could see Duane and me. Duane's back was to Oscar and Susan. I saw that Oscar and Susan were kissing, right inside my apartment! I knew Susan was a bit of a hussy, and Oscar was an incorrigible philanderer, but inside my very own apartment, and in front of me, seemed to be a bit much!

As I was beginning to fume, and wondering if smoke was emerging from my ears, Duane put his hands on my ass. Trained by twenty years of dancing with Oscar, my autonomous dancing reflex automatically raised my arms and they fell around Duane's thick and powerful neck. Duane was one hell of a hunk of a man, with arms as strong as oxen, and a chest rippling with muscles, and dammit it was bleeping hard for me not to notice. I was dancing with a pure incarnation of testosterone masculinity.

Duane's hands began to squeeze my ass as my boobs pressed sexily against his chest, and I felt as if I were sixteen again, being molested at a high school dance. I don't know what came over me, but I lightly kissed his neck, and he responded with a sexy squeeze of my ass.

A minute or two later Duane raised his arms and gently held my head, one hand on each side. He bent down and his lips found mine and just brushed across my lips. Our eyes locked, and I think, looking back, I was in a state of shock. He then kissed me, right there in front of Susan and Oscar, both of whom gave no sign of noticing!

The kiss was hopelessly intimate. It was more intimate than even the breast fondles long ago on that beach in Spain had been. The kiss was stunningly erotic. It was the most amazing kiss of my life until Duane's next kiss, when we both opened our mouths and let our tongues dance. I was getting wet as I felt Duane's hands once again on my ass.

I guess he figured he did not have to hold my head anymore. My lips gave no indication they were ever going to leave his. I could feel his erection against my tummy. Jesus, I really was back in high school! Suddenly Duane broke his kiss from heaven and the spell he had cast on my erotic inner being suddenly ended. I realized the music had stopped, Susan and Oscar were talking, and Susan was giggling.

I still had my hands around Duane's neck and was clinging onto him as if I would fall off a cliff if I ever let go. Duane's skin was as black as ebony, and the color was riveting. Susan, in contrast, had skin the color of milk chocolate. They were both beautiful people.

Duane raised his hands and gently unclasped my hands from around his neck. I woke up and almost died of embarrassment. What in blazes had just happened? I remembered I was a 44-year-old wife and mother of two girls, and not a sixteen-year-old girl just beginning to explore her sexuality!

Oscar had brought out the good cognac, and we all accepted small glasses. I went to the kitchen, mostly to get away from Duane who was a living, breathing, reminder of my shameless behavior, but ostensibly to get the chocolates to serve with the cognac. I turned around to return with the chocolates when I had a start, as standing right in front of me was Susan, smiling at me. I had almost run into her with the chocolates. I was horribly frazzled!