Offering Up AllisonbyCindysBob©
"Look, just fucking quit sweatin' it," Rob said, giving me a sharp glance.
"Sorry, it's just..."
"It's just that you can't help looking the proverbial gift horse in the mouth, is what it is. We got ourselves a thing of beauty working out here, fucking paradise with no strings attached."
"I know," I stammered nervously.
"You'd better know it, man," he laughed, rolling his eyes in the darkened shadows of the car. "I'm thirty-six goddamned years old and I never once had anything like this dangled in front of me. And I know you didn't neither."
"Yeah," I muttered back, shaking my head at the thought of what we had going for us that night.
"You bet your tail, yeah," Rob whooped, popping a playful flurry of punches into my shoulder. "...Now what say we march right up there and really tear one off on this little cunt."
I sat there shaking my head at the utter improbability of it all, smiling now at the genuinely perverted glee in my friend's voice. My mind flashed back to where it had all started; Rob, Tommy Gardner and myself playing through the back nine out at the country club three Tuesdays ago. Rob was bitching quietly to himself after having just shot into the rough.
"What do you guys think of Allison?" Tommy had piped up out of literally nowhere.
"Huh?" Rob grunted distractedly, still bent out of shape over the crappy swing he'd taken on that last ball.
"What do you think of her?"
"Like how?" I asked, glancing over in time to catch him nervously run his teeth over his lower lip.
"You know," Tommy answered with an agitated shrug, his voice suddenly husked. "How she looks? Like if you think she's sexy an all?"
As always, Rob perked up at the mere mention of sex, casting a questioning look at our golfing buddy.
"I just wondered what you..."
"What the fuck, man. Your wife's a cutie." Rob spoke up. "Fucking doll."
"Yeah," I put in, absently hefting my putter above my head.
"Why you askin'?" Rob went on.
"...No reason," Tommy sputtered as he rummaged for a new club. I caught Rob's look, the slightly arched eyebrow that spelled out the word "bullshit" in caps.
I'd been married to my Paige for nearly twelve years now and I had never once asked another man what they thought of her. I knew Tommy and Allison had been together since fucking college and had two kids—you just don't start asking shit like that for no reason, and definitely not to two casual friends you happen to play golf with twice a week. One look was enough to tell me how flustered he was—usually the best player in our group, his game today had absolutely sucked. No concentration whatsoever, just teeing up and hacking through his shots.
As it was, we managed to get through two more holes before he came around with it again.
"So you think she's pretty hot?"
Rob and I both pivoted around to face him. He was busying himself with his clubs again, not meeting our eyes.
"...What the fuck is up with you?" Rob asked with an almost bemused sigh.
"Nothing, I was just..."
"Pretty hot? You think my wife's pretty hot?" Rob mocked playfully.
"I was just asking 'cause..." Tommy was stammering over his words, his face suddenly mottled with red splotches.
"What?" Rob pressed, skewering his head to the side as if to drill in his query.
"Nothing," Tommy responded as he clumsily yanked out a wood and crouched down to set his ball.
"Nothing my ass!"
"Forget it, okay," Tommy muttered, offering us his back as he tried to settle into position for his shot.
Rob and I traded glances and shrugs for about the fifth time. My curiosity was totally piqued by now.
"Your wife is pretty hot, Tom," Rob intoned after a moment, his voice perfectly even. "We're just wonderin' why you're asking about it like twice in the last ten minutes?"
Tommy who'd been down there fidgeting with his tee, became suddenly very still. Though his back was still to us, I could see him take in a deep, steadying breath.
"You got our attention, buddy," Rob went on quietly after another long moment. "We just are wonderin' what..."
"You ever..." Tommy's voice faltered into a raspy sort of cough. "...You ever think about...you know...think about messin' around with her. Like..."
"Huh?" I involuntarily blurted.
"You know, like..."
"You wanna know if we ever thought of messing around with Allison?" Rob intoned, cutting him off in mid sentence. "...You mind telling us exactly why you're asking?"
Tommy hesitantly turned to face us, his free hand fluttering with an evident surge of adrenalin. He was really blushing now, his face gone a deep crimson.
"Would you want to fuck her?" he whispered, the words almost forced out.
I numbly glanced over at Rob—he was gaping. I knew my own mouth was hanging too—the way Tommy'd phrased his words made it sound like nothing less than an open invitation. I heard myself making some stupid "umm..." sound, while Rob's mouth was a moving over words that obviously wouldn't come.
Tommy sank his head for a moment, a glint of determination in his eyes when he lifted them back to us.
"If I said you could?" he went on hoarsely. "...I'm not kidding or nothing. I'm asking if..."
"You're fucking serious?" Rob muttered, still slack-jawed.
Tommy swung his gaze back to me and nodded solemnly, unbearable anticipation in his eyes.
"You got us...got us a little off guard with this," I heard Rob go on, his usual unflappable demeanor thoroughly rattled. I have to confess to my head was swirling, my attention totally focused on Tommy now.
"I'm asking if you'd want to do it with her?"
"You're really serious?" I croaked.
Again that perplexed nod, a furtive glance as if to confirm that we were indeed alone out on the grass. The sun was just starting to set, and the trees were casting long shadows over us.
"You probably think I'm completely whacked?" he said finally, the quaver in his voice finally coming under control.
I started to shake my head—
"Yeah, I'm thinking you're pretty goddamned whacked," Rob piped up with a weak laugh. "I'm also still wonderin' if you are yanking our chain, whether this is some kinda joke."
"No joke, guys. I'm offering to let you sleep with my wife. A one time deal...both of you at once."
I was growing more stunned with each passing second—hearing his offer put out there so bluntly pushed me over a sort of mental edge. I'd known Tommy's wife, Allison, for maybe six years or so now—a pleasantly casual acquaintance, our main interactions centering around holiday parties and events at my oldest daughter's elementary school, where she was a teacher.
Allison Gardner was probably thirty-five or so, not so much beautiful as pretty and boyishly cute—tall and slim, her blond hair cut stylishly short. She had that perky, outdoorsy wholesomeness you'd see in the chicks modeling for L.L. Bean. Had I noticed her sexually, despite the fact that she was my buddy's wife? Well, let me just say—long athletic legs, a tight, perfectly rounded ass—elegantly smallish tits.
She'd always been friendly with both me and my wife. A truly sunny personality with intriguing touches of shyness and giddy humor.
And now this shit—
"Both of us," Rob repeated in a dumbfounded tone. "At once."
"Yeah," Tommy answered. "So what do you say?"
"She's really into this?" Rob queried doubtfully.
"...She knows I'm asking, yeah. I was supposed to ask you last week, but I couldn't get up the nerve."
"Why?" I heard myself ask.
"Why you two?" he answered with a wry smirk. "...Well first off, Allison knows you and thinks you're both attractive. We talked about it a lot and knew we couldn't just hook up with a couple strangers. That plus the fact that you're both married with families. You'd have your good time and would have to keep your mouths shut about it...I know you wouldn't dare tell anyone about it, not with the chance of it getting back to your wives."
"First off, you'd both come down the lab and let me run a screen on your blood."—Tommy was a phlebotomist at one of the local hospitals— "Everything comes back okay and then we just go from there. Set a date and time. Couple hours some night"
"And you'd be with us?" Rob asked hesitantly. "You know, doing it an' all?"
"No, I'll just be...I'll just be watching, a classic voyeur...There might be another guy, too. Somebody from out of town I deal with occasionally. He's in the same boat as you two, and...and Allison wants three...We never did anything like this before. It'll be this one time, and that's it."
Tommy shook his head at his own words, a sheepish smile as he turned to wave another trio of golfers through. He faced away then, his back to us.
"So, what's your answer gonna be?"
"Yes," Rob sputtered quickly.
My heart was skipping, the image of Allison Gardner hesitantly undressing in front of us etching itself into my mind. Twelve years of marriage and I'd never cheated on Paige—not even allowing myself to come close.
"Yeah, I'm in too," I whispered, never once even thinking of my wife.
"...What do you want us to do with her?" Rob broached.
"She'll be yours for the night. As long as there's no real rough stuff, I won't interfere." For a long time Tommy stared down the darkening fairway, looking at nothing. "...Do anything you want with her," he went on vacantly. "Anything at all."
I sat back on the cheap plastic chair, averting my eyes from the small collection of labeled vials Tommy was arranging on the countertop. It was six days after he'd made his little proposal, and I was up there alone with him in this brightly lit, deserted lab. He wore a sport shirt and slacks, his white smock folded neatly over a nearby table.
You cannot believe how much I fucking hate needles.
"You sure about this, Tom," I said quietly, trying to take my mind off what he was doing.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he answered, busily ripping an alcohol swab from its foil wrap. "I was a little worried when it took you three days to call about coming down for this. Rob was in the very next afternoon."
I chuckled at this tidbit, but didn't say anything. The truth was that I'd spent those last few days bouncing the old guilt-ball around my head. Like I said, I'd never fooled around on my wife—I adored Paige and did not want to fuck things up. I knew far too many guys who played around and ended up in miserable shit up to their eyeballs. I'd always prided myself on knowing the difference between love and a piece of ass.
But this deal with Tommy's wife had struck a cord at the very center of my sexual persona. If he'd proposed us getting together and gang-fucking some chick from his office, or some goddamned high-priced hooker, I'd have said no in a heartbeat. No hesitation.
But this, this business about doing his wife—while he fucking watched. This was another thing in its entirety.
"You know, I've had this damn fantasy since I was a kid reading stories about stuff like this in Penthouse. You remember, those letters and all they'd print?" Tommy commented casually as he swabbed the crook of my elbow with the alcohol. "Hell, I'm a fifteen year old with zits and no girlfriend, and I'm upstairs jerking off to stories of guys watching their wives get banged by their poker pals."
I found myself nodding without realizing it, thinking about how I myself had gotten off over those same kinds of Penthouse stories—maybe in some weird symmetry we'd been jerking ourselves off to the exact tales at the exact times. Penthouse Letters, Penthouse Forum—I still remember the peculiar smell that would waft up from those mags when you ripped open the plastic wrapping, the surge of excitement I'd get as I did a quick skim for the stories I'd want most, the ones about hot, young wives getting stripped and fucked by two or three men while their husband spied the action.
"How did you get Allison to go for it?" I whispered as I saw him lift the syringe—relieved when he smiled and gingerly put it back down on the counter.
"Couple years ago, we were down in Mexico for a week. A Club Med down on the Pacific side. Great place an' all...some of the girls always out their goin' topless. Now we'd been down there before, and I'd always kidded Allison about doing it too...only of course I'm not really kidding. Well, this time, I'm waiting for her down on the beach, and here she comes waltzing across the sand with only her bikini bottom on. I went absolutely nuts on it, seeing all those other guys looking at her like that. I mean her tits aren't really big, but they're perfect. Even having the kids didn't do nothing to them. You ought to see 'em, they're..."
He stopped and chuckled, as if realizing that I would indeed be seeing them, as per his unbelievable generosity.
I nodded at this unspoken thought, feeling it was okay to share his laughter.
"Anyway, we're up in bed that night, and she's teasing me about how turned on I was by seeing her exposed like that. Then she asks me what my darkest sexual fantasy was...she warns me not to fib."
"And you just told her?"
"I was scared, but I figured what the hell. I told her how I fantasized about seeing her do it with another guy. You know, everything."
"And she didn't freak?"
"No, she was cool with it. She just sort of laughed and said I was a pervert, but I could tell she was just teasing me. She...you know, I wouldn't tell the other guys about this. I mean they're okay and all, but..."
"She crawls down and...and she takes me in her mouth," he said, embarrassedly. "Tells me to tell her exactly what I want the guy to be doing to her. So I started describing it, and she's down there...you know. It was so incredibly hot, such a relief to say it to her and not have her go dragging me to a frickin' shrink.
"After that we'd do things like that a lot. She liked having me tell her scenarios about how I'd just give her over to a bunch of guys. It just kind of took off from there. I never really figured she'd..."
He paused, again looking around the empty room as if to make sure no one was there. His voice dropped into a conspiratorial hush as he went on.
"You know, she was still a virgin when I met her in school, and we didn't even make it for like a year and a half after that. I never thought she'd actually let it go this far...Part of me is really scared of doing this, wondering if I can really take actually seeing it."
"Tommy, if you're..."
"No, I want it. Part of me's freaking, yeah, but the bigger part wants this more than anything." He was almost breathless. "...You ever fantasize about Paige like this?"
I hesitated a moment then nodded.
"Like the same things like you," I answered, wondering if he was imagining my stripping Paige down while he and Rob and this other guy watched. Paige with her light olive complexion and dark curly hair, standing a tad over five-foot tall with those gloriously big tits, that rounded, heart-shaped ass—so different from his own wife. How many times I'd fantasized about that—about seeing her getting roughly shoved down to her knees, three or four strange guys pressing in around her, bringing their hardened cocks up to her reluctant lips.
Like Tom, I'd met my wife in college, though we never dated there. She was the girlfriend of one of my buddies on the swim team—so I got to know her through him. I remember him bragging to me how she was cherry virgin when he nailed her, how he was boning her almost every night inside a couple months—how she would sometimes come up to his apartment between classes just to suck him off, amazed that she seemed to enjoy swallowing for him, this being in the early eighties when you still had to work on a girl to simply give you head. One of the kids who shared his student apartment bitched to me once that he could hear her fucking screaming as she got drilled—he thought it was goddamned hilarious, inviting me over one night to catch the show. I don't need to tell you that I went—eleven o'clock, me and him drinking cold Molson Golden and listening in the hallway as Paige let loose with the most ungodly string of gasping shrieks—five, six minutes of it, an orgasmic crescendo that climaxed with literal, full-throated screams as the bed creaked under her lover's frenzied thrusts.
To this day, I can still remember whacking off when I went back to my dorm room that night—a furtive, under-the-covers job as my drunken roommate dozed in the next bed.
Skip ahead almost five years—Paige was working in a bank near my office. I was surprised to see her there—no fucking ring, she'd ditched my swim team pal when she caught him cheating on her. We started dating, a month-long wait till we went to bed. I can still recall every detail of that first time, the way she undressed with a deliberate slowness, how she straddled me and sensually kissed a path down my belly, grinning as she traced her dark nipples along the underside of my cock—the shudder I felt as she licked a bright bead of semen off the tip of my penis before devouring my whole shaft in one bob of her beautiful face. I loved hearing her shrieks and moans as I drove her to climax that night and in the twelve years worth of nights that followed. Did I continue to fantasize about standing out in that crummy apartment hallway, listening to another man enjoying her body? Constantly!
It was maybe four or five years into our marriage—after way too much Merlot—when I confessed to Paige about that long ago evening, how I'd heard her getting fucked. There was no mistaking my excitement over it, and she didn't flip out. A part of her seemed to genuinely enjoy it, and she let drop with some steamy details of what he'd done with her.
My wife is fond of the wry adage that cocks are the only truly honest part of a man. That night, hearing about her adventures, I was seven inches of pure honesty. I drummed up the courage to ask her if she'd been with anyone else after her breakup—she hesitated, her small warm hand stroking my erect cock—then answered with a blurted, somewhat mortified yes. Eight different men in those three years. My heart raced, I had her three times that night, my personal record.
Over the years, I heard all the stories, coaxing them from her while we'd make love, a demented foreplay of sorts—the punk who argued her into giving up her ass, only to pull out in a panic when her shrieks of pain threatened to rouse the entire neighborhood—the Puerto Rican cop who'd introduced her to handcuffs, who put a leather belt to her till her back was striped with welts as a prelude to a particularly rough bang. The fifty-something supervisor at her last job who'd made an almost daily habit of summoning her into his office on some pretext or another—arrogantly standing there as she'd wordlessly strip to the waist and kneel to fellate him. By her own admission, she'd gone absolutely wild for a while—in her own words, a total and complete slut. She gauged my reactions, a fascination that I actually liked hearing about it, never questioning my compulsions. She showed me snapshots of three of the guys—the cop was in uniform, arms folded aggressively across his thick chest—letting me draw mental pictures. She tells me that she doesn't in any way regret what she did—"I never got pregnant, never got any diseases. I never got hurt that bad," she'll say. She loves me and only me now, she'll say.
I never quite cook up the guts to tell her that I want her to actually fuck other men while I watch—for my entertainment. I never say I want to watch them use her in every conceivable way imaginable. I can't get the words out, terrified that she'd run—that I'd ruin the best thing in my life. And, like Tommy, I wonder if I could really take seeing it—fantasy is a totally different animal than reality. I'm smart enough to know that. What I want is to bite at the apple—I want to look into Tommy Gardner's eyes as I shove my hard cock into his pretty wife, I want to see his expression as I mate with her and come inside her.