A formidable sense of entitlement, grandiose sense of self, stunted awareness of his own hypocrisy and a face you just want to punch, Steve would stifle and dominate the air in a room with two Lady Gagas. Amy, his newfound fiancé and latest conquest at his side, dotes on him and caters, like a spellbound disciple to a prophet, to Steve's insatiable and irrepressible need for attention and adoration. The classic narcissist, little impresses or distracts Steve beyond an inflated and mostly imagined aura of himself. As if entranced, Amy's indigo eyes follow Steve's movements. She attempts to cheer her idol by hooking her arm in his, smiling and hanging on each of his words. Despite Amy's efforts and the company of my wife and I, whom he has just met, Steve looks sullen and bored, swirling the previously frozen fish on his plate with a silver fork and sighing contemptuously.
Amy and Steve are an attractive and well-off couple. Together they look like younger versions of Meg Ryan and Dennis Quaid, yet I think Amy deserves better.
With shoulder length dry blond hair, thick ruby lips, slender upturned nose, tall frame, round and ample breasts and prominent cheeks, Amy is attractive enough, yet she also possesses the slender back, bulbous thigh and bubble ass combination that drives most men, including myself, wild with desire. A woman might possess a big honker of a nose, small breasts and not have much else going for her, yet as long as she has an irresistible ass and waist like Amy (and she enjoys using it for the greater good) most men would line up to have a shot at becoming her loving and devoted husband. As a lawyer Amy is successful, likeable and wealthy, much like her unreachable and distant father who she constantly aims to please. As she seeks her father's approbation, she likewise hunts for approval from the other men who come into her life. This is what brought her to the clutches of the likes of Steve.
At six foot one, Steve is mildly athletic, stocky, well proportioned and rich. He has a full head of wavy sable hair, high cheekbones and arresting emerald eyes. A middle level manager for an automobile company, Steve merely works for the money, a six figured salary, and does not like the work. His family connections bought him the job. Steve is as capricious and ambivalent with the job as he is with those he establishes relationships with. Like any narcissist, Steve will drop anyone or anything after the initial magic or excitement dissipates. Though Steve and Amy's relationship is still relatively new, lasting about nine months so far, Steve is already bored with Amy and looking for someone else to enliven his life.
Amy, unfortunately for her, has a long habit of falling for narcissists. For Amy to be with this cantankerous, pompous, careless and mop-topped slug, Steve must have pretended to be someone he is not. Narcissists like Steve, being the chameleons that they are, can turn on charm like a faucet and lead a person to believe that through them is the only way that dreams are realized. Jennifer, my wife, befriended Amy in this way, leading Amy to believe that she needs Jennifer's help to make her more attractive and happy. Steve, Jennifer and Amy's father basically fill the same role, supporting Amy's fragile sense of self.
Either that or Steve has just the gigantic and pleasing cock that Amy is looking for.
As with Amy, Jennifer fixates on Steve and doesn't allow herself to be distracted from the prize, be that what it may. Like Steve, Jennifer is a narcissist and as such there is nothing she likes better than to see herself surrounded with new and shiny toys and to be the center of attention.
Jennifer, a high school photography teacher, is a compact, slender, athletic and beautiful brunette at thirty one years old. She looks much like Liz Hurley, except Jennifer is only five foot four. She has blue eyes, a broad mouth, high cheek bones, a small and pretty nose and a very white and Welsh-like complexion. Jennifer is very temperamental and volatile, throwing tantrums and creating chaos often with little or imagined provocation. Yet come what may, I love her wild and spicy side, for she is a delight in bed.
Not only does Jennifer crave to be the center of attention, she yearns for male attention in particular. "I love men and they love me" Jennifer once exclaimed, smiling slyly as she enunciated the words and imagining her next conquest. No man is ever off limits. Her competitive instincts are fierce and especially insatiable in the presence, as now, of the boyfriend of a friend. Months ago when Amy, Jennifer's best friend from college, announced that she found a new beau and fiancé, Jennifer's eyes instantly lit with fire. Jennifer seethed with envy and paced around our apartment like a caged tigress while talking with Amy on the phone, plotting for a way to win Steve over.
Jennifer determined that a shared vacation was the best way for the four of us to meet and for her to have a shot at Steve. This is how we found ourselves in Stratford, Ontario, to spend a weekend at a bed and breakfast and attend a play, The Sound of Music, at the Stratford Theater Festival. The day after the play the four of us continue on to my family cottage on Gillies Lake, two hundred kilometers further north.
I know better than to get in the way of Jennifer and a new toy, yet I can't help to display my frustration with the way our vacation is panning out so far. During dinner Jennifer is intent upon winning over Steve while Amy is just as focused to keep him. If Steve was gregarious and fun to be around, there would be little problem, yet the only time he opens his mouth, which is seldom, he either puts others down or builds himself up. I pepper Steve and Amy with questions about their lives yet only get derisive and irrelevant comments or grunts from Steve, and Amy refuses to be distracted from Steve for a moment, fearing (perhaps literally) that Jennifer will get a leg up on her.
Nothing seems to please Steve, which only hardens the resolve of Jennifer and Amy to win him over. When Steve is down, which is all the time, so are Jennifer and Amy, and when Steve is upbeat and optimistic about the world, which is never, Jennifer and Amy no doubt will be that way too.
Steve disdains even to favor the restaurant he chose tonight, or to take responsibility for enlisting Amy to drag Jennifer and I here. At ninety dollars a plate the cuisine is no more extraordinary and succulent than previously frozen fish from France adorned with unsavory stalks of Brussels sprouts, the atmosphere no more extravagant, animate and uplifting than a bland, dark and isolated room full of wheezing, annoying geezers, and the immediate company no more entertaining than sullen and disapproving Steve and his pretty yet all too apparent enablers.
We are in for a long night and an even longer vacation, for if Steve is not impressed with the restaurant that set us back over two hundred and fifty dollars per person, he will be even less impressed with my family cottage in the wilderness north of here. As I pay the high cost of the meal – a couple of us could have flown to Paris and back for the price - I wonder what could possibly turn things around for the better, as the four of us plan to spend the next week together.
One vision that is prominent in my mind as reparations to repay me for the boring company this evening and the tremendous, unnecessary expense of dinner, is that Jennifer owes me some fantastic make-up sex. As a matter of fact, the only thing that gets me through dinner is imagining Jennifer providing some head tonight.
One thing I appreciate about Jennifer is that she has an aggressive and insatiable sexual appetite. Maybe such feelings are a reflection of her narcissistic need for attention, yet she possesses what is preternaturally and undeniably the case with all men, the constant urge to hump. Sure she has her share of convenient headaches, yet for the most part she is horny. Even a woman who doesn't like to have sex very often, has times when she is horny and feels the need to be taken and feel a cock spurting man-milk inside her. Jennifer has this feeling, this sexual fever, pretty much all the time. It is a fever that only a fat cock, churning in her moist pussy, can satisfy.
In any case, Jennifer is definitely horny today. Upon our arrival at the Stratford Bed and Breakfast after a day-long car ride from our home in Northern Virginia, and beyond the horrendous dinner with boring company, Jennifer and I let go of some tension in our room. It is a fitting end to a long day and a recommended stress buster, rendered all the more fantastic because of double mirrors in our spacious and decorative room.
Lying with my back on a narrow, padded bench conveniently positioned before two mirrors at ninety degree angles from each other, I watch from three views at once - behind, side and front - as Jennifer's condensed, solid, bare form cowgirls my hard, pre-come lathered cock. In the mirror that reflects her back I observe my lengthy shaft repeatedly disappearing and reappearing beneath Jennifer's pumping white ass cheeks, and my jiggling purple balls and sack repeatedly smacking her moist pussy lips. From the side I watch Jennifer's taut profile and her flexing thighs as she works my cock with her roiling body. Before my eyes are Jennifer's erect round breasts, bobbing pussy (hair trimmed in a triangle, as I prefer) and bare thighs spread and flexing with my bloated and soaked cock between them.
The bench is at a level where Jennifer, with just enough freedom of movement and support, is able to churn on my stiff flesh with ease and precision. She rides the full length of my shaft from the purple head to ball-sack, without once losing her grip and letting my engorged cock fall awkwardly out. I watch Jennifer from all available angles as my balls repeatedly and incessantly slide into her pre-come soaked pussy. Clenching her bare ass cheeks tightly I slide my wet cock as far in her soft pussy as I can and hold it there as I throb and spurt heaps of warm come deep in Jennifer's drenched snatch.
It is strange and intriguing to watch Jennifer's reflection in the mirror. Viewing my wife's bare and churning form from the mirror, it seems as if I am beholding some other man fucking her. It doesn't seem like the image of a cock replicated in the mirror, is my own. Her spread and taut bare thighs appear to be pumping on another man's wiggling purple balls and erect shaft. As I peer into the reflective glass it looks as if a stranger's hands tightly clench my wife's bright white young ass cheeks as his massive thrusting cock, immersed in her wet pussy, squirts his gobs of sperm within her cunt.
Such visions, to my surprise, arouse me immensely and I begin to crave for my wife to be fucked by another man. I fantasize about watching a stranger frantically sliding his throbbing cock in Jennifer's pussy, clenching her pale ass cheeks tightly as his engaged shaft quivers in climax in her muff and fills her with his semen. I listen to their heavy breathing and impulsive moans, smell and taste the mixture of their salty sweat and come, and hold my wife's bare waist as she reaches an orgasm with another man's fat, long, come-drenched cock deep inside and injecting her pussy with loads of his sperm.
I am sensitive and honest by nature, and have a difficult time keeping my feelings to myself, so it is just a matter of time before Jennifer hears about my fantasy and erotic visions of her in the mirror. Despite the inevitability of informing her, I do not tell Jennifer of my fantasy before the four of us make our way to our cottage, a few hours to the North. I desire more time to think and consider how to put the fantasy in the best light so it has the least possible chance of endangering the marriage. Our marriage is already hanging by a slender thread as it is, due to clashing visions of what we want out of life, finances and a longing in each of us for sexual variety.
I hope the troubles between Jennifer and I will begin to fade once we reach our cottage. No one, least of all myself, has troubles for long, upon beholding the beauty and serenity of this beautiful land. It is always inspirational.
Situated on the edge of a national park and upon a remote lakeshore, the thousand acres of wilderness purchased by my Grandfather in the Forties, is close to my heart. The water of Gillies Lake, upon which our cottage is situated, is clean and clear. It is where I learned to sail, canoe and swim. The adjacent forest full of fragrant pines, cedars and firs, and a profusion of colorful wildflowers, is where I learned to appreciate the outdoors. Our six bedroom family cottage adjoins not one lake but two. Gillies Lake, three miles long, is only a short distance from massive Georgian Bay, part of Lake Huron.
Before leaving Stratford one of the owners of the bed & breakfast, an attractive middle aged blond female, smiles slyly at me and gazes a little too long at my groin. I get the distinct impression that she heard, or was watching through a keyhole or by camera, Jennifer and I having sex on the bench. Her look is enjoyable and memorable, and allows me to better appreciate the sex Jennifer and I had, believing that there may have been audience. More power to the hotel owner! Too bad we weren't staying longer, for it would be nice to give her more of a performance, or include her in one.
Soon after arriving at our cottage, Amy and Steve go diving in nearby Fathom Five National Marine Park north of Tobermory, Ontario, and not surprisingly, Steve did not enjoy anything about it. Nothing is good enough for him, the water too cold and the dive master too distant and incompetent. Steve even went so far as to accuse the dive-master of being negligent when Steve got caught in a current and was carried away from the dive boat. Never mind that Steve is out of shape and easily panics. Jennifer and Amy, of course, hang on Steve's every word during the tales revolving around the ineptitude of the dive-master, the inferior nature of the equipment and waters, everyone's general failure to meet his expectations, and more.
After dinner and in a rare moment of levity, when Steve is in his room taking a nap, Amy and Jennifer talk to me about going swimming. They seem in equal proportions bashful as well as motivated by the idea, as if they are talking about something risqué as well as fun. I become aroused at the thought of jumping into the lake with Jennifer and Amy, imagining none of us wearing any clothes, and without Steve along to screw things up.
It is August and Gillies Lake is the warmest it will ever be during the year. While Gillies Lake is deep, over a hundred feet or more, the searing summer sun has warmed it for months. On top of this the most recent daily temperatures have been in the high eighties, unusually warm for this far north.
"Now we just have to convince Steve to go swimming" declares Amy cheerfully, her optimism undiminished despite living with her morose fiancé.
"Damn" I think to myself, "that jerk will certainly find a way to mess things up. He better decide not to go."
Awaking from his nap, Steve is not convinced that swimming is a good idea. Brilliant. Unfortunately, he still agrees to go along. He isn't going to swim, he declares, and will stay along the shoreline and watch. Damn!
As night arrives the four of us walk a short distance, in the light of the full moon, along the shoreline of Gillies Lake to a place called "fishing rock." Here, beside a grove of white cedars, there is a glacier carved dolomite ledge of rock beyond which the water is sixty to eighty feet deep. It is the perfect place to swim. Jennifer and Amy giggle and tug at the one piece bathing suits they each wear. They appear eager to take them off. I try to think of the best words, and anticipate the best moment, to get them to do it.
"When they get close to the water" I think, "this is the time to tell them, and they will surely follow my example if I lead them."
Amy looks, in my view, particularly fine; smiling, hands nervously cupping her curved white ass, and full breasts erect because of the cool breeze and, with any luck, sexual excitement.
I hope that I am attractive to her. I'm five feet eleven with a swimmers build, slightly receding blond, dry hair and piercing blue eyes. I'm sensitive, thoughtful and imaginative.
Amy and Jennifer look back at Steve, however, and instantly become concerned about Steve's welfare and lethargic and dull like him. Steve, characteristically, sits morosely on an outcrop of rock like his life is about to expire. "Man, I hate that guy" I think, "if it wasn't for him we'd all be swimming nude and enjoying the time we have together instead of dreading it."
Thinking that sarcasm might be the best outlet for my emotion I blurt out, without giving much thought to it, "the only way you'll get Steve in the water is by sucking his dick!"
"Really, you... wouldn't mind?!" Jennifer responds in a serious way, as if expecting such a topic.
Jennifer turns to Amy, smiles and raises her eyebrows. Amy, wearing a half doubtful, half excited expression, smiles broadly and giggles a bit nervously. Evidently, it seems, they discussed the issue before, otherwise Amy would be more resistant and doubtful. Or maybe she thinks Jennifer is joking.
"Really, you want me to encourage him?!" Jennifer asks, returning her glace to me and smiling broadly, as if excited about the proposed task. "I mean, you really want me to?!"
Jennifer took my sarcasm seriously enough to think I intended for her to suck Steve's cock. In truth, nudity is on my mind, yet I was not thinking of Steve.
"You want me to do it?" continues Jennifer, looking back and forth at Amy and myself. "I'll get him in the water, you'll see. You sure you two won't mind?" Jennifer is game, yet are Amy and I?
I have always worn my emotions on my sleeve. It is easy to tell what I'm thinking by looking at my face or watching my actions. I blush readily, quickly and easily. I look exactly like whatever mood I am in and I take no pains to disguise such moods. I am irrepressibly honest. I'd make a terrible poker player. Emotional and straightforward as I am, I get caught up and absorbed with the sexual energy, rising and falling as it does.
Tonight my emotions betray me not so much through my face or actions as through my trunks wherein my lengthy stiff shaft of flesh bulges precipitously, unabashed and fortuitously.
Jennifer eyes my erection yet seeks further assurance that I am comfortable. It is wise for all of us to be cautious, for what Jennifer (or rather I) just proposed could be a marriage wrecker for any or all of us. Jennifer is very manipulative and once she is cleared to take an inch, she quickly takes a mile. Amy, despite all the years of friendship with Jennifer in college and afterwards, doesn't know Jennifer as well as she could, or as well as I do.
For her part though, Amy seems resigned to allowing Jennifer to go through with her filthy plan. Amy smiles, laughs and encourages Jennifer with hand motions as well as words.
Having likely prepared Amy, Jennifer turns again to me. "Honey, you don't mind me sucking Steve's cock?!" she tells me nice and slowly, so there will be no room later for me to say I didn't understand. "You'll be fine afterward, whatever happens?!"
There is an alarming emphasis on "whatever", yet my adrenaline and testosterone is rushing, much of it to my rising cock. I try to dissuade myself by imagining that narcissistic asshole with his greasy, fat cock in my wife's mouth. Yet this thought only arouses me further and to frenzied proportions. I not only am not detested by the idea of my wife getting down on Steve, I realize that my fantasy at the Stratford bed and breakfast, wherein I enjoyed watching the mirror reflections of my wife getting pounded by my cock and desired to see another man do the same, is about to be fulfilled.