Loving Husband/Loving Wife Ch. 06

I went straight to a Target store and bought a white leather purse. It looked snazzy enough to me. From my office I called the security company to set up a meeting. He said he could be at my office at three. I said no, this morning, right now. I will come to your office. He knew where the butter for his bread came from.

"Here's what I need. Some sort of recording device to hide in this purse, one that will pick up sounds... oh, ten or fifteen feet."

The jobber smiled. It wasn't his business to know or ask why I wanted this. He had done many background researches for me. This was up close and personal. His mind was a whirl of connecting dots. Wife, mistress, secretary? "Not a problem. There are several devices that will do it."

"You have them on hand?"

"Sure."

"Pick the best. When can you have it ready?"

"Sometime late afternoon."

The device was a disc no larger than a Ritz cracker. It fit in a casing smaller than a Graham cracker. Powered by a cadmium battery, it could record for a week, if need be. Two mikes had been fixed below the grommets where the purse straps were anchored, and were so tiny as to be almost unseen. "It's basically cell phone technology," my snooper nerd said. "Just press this corner to activate it. Double press to deactivate." He demonstrated, and slipped the wafer in the purse. He then launched into a mass of technical details and practical instructions, while once pacing about his office. "Let's see," he said.

He took the disc out of the purse and placed it in a larger gadget and plugged that in his computer port. "All the recording is compressed data. This translates that data to sounds you hear. Just follow instructions on your monitor." The voices were so clear, even when he spoke from the far side of his office, my hair stood on end.

Jill was in the den, sipping a drink, browsing a magazine, when I strode in with a white leather purse dangling from my arm. "What the hell is that?" she said, in perfect imitation of "Mama" on a Carol Burnett rerun we saw one time. Jill stole the line and used it sometimes for hilarious effect. But I was no "Eunice."

"Bond," I said. "James Bond." I kissed her and murmured darkly. "My Mata Hari."

Only then did she make the connection with a bugged purse. Our discussion that morning seemed to have blown off into the wind. She eyed it sitting on the coffee table. "I wouldn't be caught dead in public with that cheap thing."

"Cheap?! The technology cost me eight hundred bucks! Cheap my ass."

She studied the purse with an interest apart from fashion value. "How does it work?"

"It's working right now."

"So I just plop it on the night table or anywhere and it picks up every sound."

"That's it. Totally hands free. You forget all about it and go on about your business."

"My business will be hot sex with Steve Larsen."

"Yes. I know. That is precisely why we want to record it all. For you to bring home and share with me."

"That would be fair. You share me with him when I go out. I share what we did with you on sound track when I come back."

"Check out the sound quality."

She followed me into the study. I turned the computer on, assembled the components, and plugged the converter into the port. Sounds that made no sense at all popped from the speakers. Then they started to make sense. Closing car door. Shoes walking. Even a dog bark somewhere in the neighborhood. "What the hell is that?" Jill's perfect imitation of "Mama" on the Carol Burnett show. "My business will be hot sex with Steve Larsen." Every word we spoke was repeated for us in sharp clarity.

"Oh my," Jill fluttered. "I might have performance anxiety, knowing every sound will be this clear."

"If he's as good as we think he will be, you will blank out all else, including me, and dive in and surrender to the moment, moments, hours, your intense pleasures in solo sex with another man."

"For sure I will. But I never blank you out. Well, not entirely. You were certainly with me when another man had me in our threesomes. When Roger and Larry had me alone, you were with me, in some mystical way, at unexpected times. You are my husband. You have permanent place inside my head and body. But going solo. The thrill intensity is very high. I really, really want Steve to fuck me. When he does, you will probably come to my mind very little, even if I want you there more."

"I know that," I said. "That is why..." I poked the purse with my index finger.

*****

I had driven my wife to the most expensive hotel in the city to be with her new lover. For one afternoon of fucking, never to be repeated. I was in the limbo of waiting for them to finish. This was the fourth time I had to wait. The first two men had been a blast of erotic anticipation and sexual fulfillment for her. The third man was a pathetic joke. But all three times of waiting set my imagination on fire, creating vivid images of my wife in flashing activity and positions, doing for her lovers what she had done for me for twenty three years, them doing anything thing they wanted to her. Those hours of waiting lacerated me with the most cutting and piercing erotic excitement I had ever known. Because she had gone out alone to do it, and I was left to wait, alone.

Waiting for Steve Larsen to exhaust himself in her was a bit different from the other waiting. The novelty of her going solo hadn't become old hat, for damn sure. But we both were touched by the process of acclamation, I suppose. Her choosing her fourth man for extra-marital sex, and sharing with me all the steps in her seduction of him, had the erotic sizzle that will probably never diminish. But all that was contained in a matrix we understood and seldom spoke of. A married couple love deeper and more comprehensive than any typical married couple. A deeper and more absolute trust. A married couple intimacy all the more combining by our removal of conventional boundaries. That intimacy was being raised to new heights by the device in her purse recording the sounds of sex my wife and her new lover would make. I fantasized that most of all. I chose not to masturbate. I wanted to give my wife a full load when she returned.

Jill called me at seven. Summer twilight.

"Where are you?"

"In the elevator, going down."

"On my way."

"There's a coffee shop on the side street of the hotel. Meet me there."

I saw her before she saw me. She sat alone drinking something from a cup. She had a radiant glow more than a well fucked look. She was deep in thought. Very pleasing, absorbing thoughts, apparently. She was utterly beautiful. I surprised her. "Jack, my love." She grabbed the purse and ushered me out the door, quickly, a bit furtively.

When she was seat belt secure and we were on our way, she said, "I didn't know how long he would stay up there. Might be a bit awkward if he spotted his lover's husband picking her up."

"Good thinking." We didn't speak for a while. She sat relaxed on the leather seat. Very relaxed. Her legs splayed, the pastel dusted silk nestled in the valley. The seat belt held up her left breast like a prize.

"I venture to guess he was satisfying."

"Oh yes. He sure was. Very satisfying." She clinched her legs and scooted her ass about in tight restriction, a little whinny-moan escaping from her nose. "It was nice, Jack. Very, very nice. He was better than my best fantasy of him."

"How so?"

"In too many ways to get into now. It's all on record. You will hear it all."

I drove home with speed and risky maneuvering like I was headed to the emergency room.

Jill was calm. Hiding an expectancy as great as mine, but exercising the control inherent in her afternoon of solo fucking with Steve Larsen in the first place. She wasn't hungry. "Steve had room service send up a fruit and cheese platter. We nibbled at leisure. A big red plum was particularly succulent."

God! If the disc held suggestions hotter than her slutty woman delivery of the big red succulent plum, I would be fried, burnt to a crisp by erotic overload.

"I will just slip into something more comfortable," she said, with a sluttish wink.

I did the computer set up. She came in wearing a peach colored silk kimono tied with a sash, and nothing underneath. I had a "daddy's chair" in the room, one of those grossly over sized recliners suitable for a randy woman to sit on a randy man's lap. Close enough to see the monitor. The mouse was wireless and worked on the chair arm.

She settled on my lap, her great round ass claiming my thighs with weight and much heat. She held my face in her hands and kissed me. Our first kiss after picking her up at the coffee shop. I was so caught up in hearing the recording I had over looked that. My wife knew the priorities. She kissed her husband. With love. With sexual messaging. I hugged her to me with a surge of strength that made her wince. I buried my face in her breast valley and licked the silken skin. I inhaled.

"You didn't shower."

"Not since you saw me at noon. I wanted to bring the smell of him home to you. For the record," she said, with meaning as pregnant as her smile.

I moaned. I had no control whatever over that moan. Larsen's scent grew stronger by her deliberate intent in bringing it home to me. If there is any thing more descriptive of wife and husband intimacy than that, I can't imagine what it would be. I inhaled deep draughts of his lingering smell. Cologne. Perfume. Sweat, his and hers. Maybe even arm pits, his and hers. The rich odor of distilled sex that wafted up from her crotch was all hers, I assumed, I hoped. Condoms had isolated his cum, but his cock had churned her pussy to a saucy meaty stew that still simmered like a pot on a stove, giving off rich spicy aromas. I breathed in the evidence of their togetherness. My cock got so big and hard in my pants she started like I had goosed her.

"Wow! Maybe you should unbind yourself before we start the show."

I stripped naked. She resettled on my lap. I hit the play button. Sounds of conversation as we drove to the hotel. "Anyway to fast forward?"

"Don't think so. The instruction sheets didn't say anything about it."

All that we spoke from the time I turned the recorder on and handed the purse to her was loud and clear. The drive to the hotel. Our good byes. Car door slam. Her heels tapping the concrete.

"And off you go," I said. "What are you feeling at this point."

"Excitement that can't be described. That I am doing it. Going to be with my new lover. He is waiting for me. I will fuck a new man. That was mostly my feelings. The excitement was so great I could hardly breathe."

A cacophony of voices in the lobby. Shuffle sounds in the elevator, floor stops pinging a bell. "I wondered if anyone in the elevator could look at me and guess. That I was a married woman going to the eighth floor to fuck a man not my husband. Service him like a prostitute."

I looked my wife in the eye. "You whore." Her mouth grinned. Her eyes laughed. She pursed her lips and blew me a kiss. The speakers sounded the metal ring on the door making a clack-clack-clack.

S: Jill.

J: Steve

Two people moving in a room. The squish of her purse on a surface.

S: At last, at last.

Faint sounds of rustling silk. I knew he had taken her in his arms to declare his possession of her, to kiss her lips. I knew how Jill loved to kiss. But there was no swelling symphony of kissing music. Breathing broken into fragments of sighs, little wet sounds of active mouths and tongues. Audible but still illusive in the speakers. Sitting on my lap, Jill was staring round eyed at some spot in space. Her fingers were lightly teasing her nipples. She was reliving the exact moment the computer speakers described, in a time warp, like it was all happening now, because her physical experience of it was only hours old.

S: We are together, and we are now all in the world.

J: I came here to make love with you. To do anything we like, as much as we can.

S: Then I must not disappoint you.

They took their clothes off. In a matter of fact way, presumably. Zip sounds. Belt buckle clink. Hangers rattling in the rack. No feverish rush, from the sound of it. No talking either. Their eyes no doubt on each other as the undressing revealed flesh. I had a vivid vision of Jill removing her bra. Reaching behind to undo the hooks, shrugging her shoulders forward, the bra slipping away. So ordinary, yet one of the most tender, vulnerable, expressive of female gestures. Freedom. Nakedness. Steve Larsen seeing.

S: You are a stunning vision, Jill. Beautiful. Feminine. Womanly. And oh so sexy and desirable.

There was a smack sound from the speakers, two naked bodies meeting in a feverish rush. Kissing mouths, slurpy. Moans escaping from noses. Sounds of movement. The barely audible sound of yielding mattress. A phase of unidentifiable sounds. That phase stretched. I strained to hear.

"I'm taking his cock in my mouth."

"On the bed?"

"He is sitting on the edge. I am kneeling on the carpet, between his legs."

My wife the cock sucker. The best there is. Much more than a repertoire of acquired skills from repetitive practice on many men. She truly loves giving a cock pleasure with her mouth. It makes her a Goddess of love and sexual desire. I know. I know so very well. I knew what pleasures Steve felt. I could see his belly tighten and imagined his cock head swell in her mouth. My cock swelled even harder and larger under the weight of her bottom.

S: Oh God in heaven Jilly you are good. Sooooo good. The best ever.

I flinched. Jilly. My pet name for her. The sounds of her sucking him made my blood hot, my mind even hotter. His theft of my pet name gave a chill. But the chill was momentary. The sucking sounds were loud and clear. Wet and slurpy and smacky, staccato pops of release, the glump sound of a gag overcome and conquered. Steve sucked in air, hissing like a tea kettle. I looked at Jill. She was staring at me with that wide eyed far off into inner space gaze. A bit astonished to hear herself sucking Steve's cock.

"Yes Jack. He is that ideal size we have talked about. A perfect cylinder, perfectly proportioned. Utterly beautiful man cock. An intoxicating aroma of masculinity in his crotch. The taste of man. That dreamy state of taking him. The head went into my throat and I gagged once or twice, but mostly no gag at all."

S: Jilly oh baby I'm going to cum I can't hold it back!

He did cum, and his orgasm ripped ragged man sounds out of his mouth. Sounds of a man being tortured with ecstasy. Deliverance. Jill's wide eyes got even wider. Listening to his helpless vocals in the speakers, she might have realized for the first time the complete range in her power over a man when she sucked him off.

"I don't remember him being so horse and guttural and loud when it happened. And I was there."

I hit the pause button. "You don't remember?"

"This is so strange to listen to. I really don't remember him yelling like that. Well, I sort of do. But nothing like I heard just now. Keep in mind, his cock was in my mouth. All my awareness was on his cum spurting into my mouth. Gobs of it. Me swallowing and sucking it all out of him. My mind didn't much care what else was going on."

"The taste?"

"Quite good. That mineral taste. No overriding or unpleasant flavor. The taste of man. The taste of sex."

My cock was so hard under the weight of her ass I thought it would burst. I didn't know how much more of this intimacy I could take. Her candid descriptions and crafted suggestions of her sex with other men had always inflamed me with almost unbearable excitement. Those descriptions and suggestions, in few choice words, on top of the recorded sounds of the very act, was like gasoline poured on flames. I hit the play button.

Bed and mattress sounds. Human sigh and grunt sounds. Turning and touching.

S: Jill, you are good. Damned good. No other woman has ever been close...can't compare...the way you did that to me. You are the absolute very best."

J: I'm very happy I pleased you. I loved your cock in my mouth.

S: That's what I mean. You did it like you love doing it. Few women really love sucking cock. You are fantastic!.........Your husband Jack is a lucky man.

J: In fact he is. He knows it too. I'm a lucky woman. Today I have you.

Relative silence. I didn't ask what is going on. I knew from experience. Orgasm recovery for Steve. Power digestion for Jill. Sweet lassitude.

S: Jilly, you have the most sexy magnificent ass God ever put on a woman.

J: Thank you. Other men have said as much.

S: Other men?

J: My wild single days.

S: And your married days?

J: My husband loves my sexy ass, dearly. Do you want to hear more?

S: Not really. It doesn't matter. Now is our time......What's the genetic account of your beautiful skin color?

J: Mostly Italian. The furthest back I can trace is an Italian immigrant to Argentina. He and his progeny mated with native American men and women. My great grandfather moved to the U.S. My great grandmother might have been Jewish, no one knows for certain. My mother was very much Italian-American. And that accounts for my skin tone....And my magnificent ass.

So. That was the sort of conversation she had with her solo lovers. I approved of his interest. Her skin coloration had an enchanting, entrancing effect on me for twenty three years. Each June she sunbathed nude about three days, and that was it. Her skin took on a light sheen of blended cinnamon and mahogany, and she took stringent precautions against getting any darker. Sun hats with wide floppy brims, what ever necessary. Jill didn't have racial prejudice. She had a very strong skin color prejudice. She wanted white. White men, white children, to be as white as she herself could be. The silly cliché of a white woman lusting for a go with a black man had no more chance in her fantasies than the idea of her fucking a donkey.

Sounds of wet licking. A sudden squeeze of dread. Was he licking her ass? That was my exclusive territory. The first time I did that was like Eros himself had dropped his little bow and arrow and with all his strength had pushed my face into her ass. The shinning brown globes, the dark valley, the heat and musk. My surrender to desire. The thrill and pleasure for her. Her anus melting from a tight twist to soft surrender to my tongue. My exclusive place on the dark side of desire.

However, other than once a year, one and done, we had not discussed a single restriction. That never occurred to us. The man of her choice, my gift to her, was free to do whatever he wanted with my wife, so long as she wanted it too. He could tongue her ass hole, he could fuck her ass if she wanted him to. Restrictions had never occurred to us. The truth of that was hitting home with speaker sounds of mattress movement and wet on wet.

J: Oh yes, yes, yes. So sweet. So lovely

Jill's eyes were closed. One hand in her crotch, one hand teasing a nipple.

"Oh Jack, his mouth is good, so very good. His tongue goes in deep for nectar. It licks my clit. He eats me. He makes me feel so very good." She was speaking present tense, in a quavering voice, reliving her pleasures of early afternoon.

"Feel it all baby, his mouth on your pussy."

Her frenzied hand gave her orgasm. I could take no more. I hit the pause button. I lifted her off my lap, bent her over the chair arm, and sank my cock into her. Through the parted curtain of pubic hair and labial framing, into her scalding heat and slick reception. Into a separate universe in a separate cosmos. We were a super nova of exploding sex and loving intimacy.

Jill staggered to the bathroom. She staggered back in, her eyes a bit out of focus. There was no tension anywhere in her. He fifty two year old body virtually reeked of a smoldering, palpable, well fucked woman look. That look of placid absorption combined with residual energy buzz. Inner satisfaction, realization, triumph. Fed to her by her new lover, and only hours later by me.