Oscar and Irene Pt. 03

Even though it was evident to me that Irene's head resting in her boss' lap was merely the culmination of a long day, and a few glasses of champagne, I could not rid the image from my mind. In our seventeen years together, my wife had never once entertained the idea of giving me a blowjob. She considered the act dirty, beneath the dignity of a lady, and something completely unnecessary in a marriage, given that the Catholic Church viewed that the sole purpose of sex, was for procreation.

Now as she rested her face in Matt's lap, her glossed lips separated from his undoubtedly erect cock by just the material of his suit pants, my wife was as close to oral copulation as she had ever been. To make matters worse, after I alighted from the plane and caught up with them outside the international terminal of JFK, Matt was engrossed in a phone call, and I could see traces of my wife's lipstick all over the front of his expensive tailored pants.

As he chatted away on the phone, switching effortlessly from English to Spanish, I took him in for the first time. He was at least six feet tall, a physically imposing man, not in the sense of someone who spends all day in the gym, but athletically built, perfectly proportioned, and very masculine. His day-old stubble suited his rugged looks, his chiseled jaw prominent as he held his cell phone up to it. He reminded me of the main character in the television series, Poldark, a modern day adaptation of a romance novel, also known as a "bodice-ripper."

As he spoke animatedly in his native Spanish tongue, I observed more than one female passerby check him out, albeit slyly, as Irene hung onto the arm of his suit jacket, reluctant to get swept up in the crowds of the New York airport. I wanted to reclaim my wife, the way I had just assumed ownership of my suitcase, but she seemed quite content to hang onto her boss for safety.

We got into a cab as soon as Matt was done with his call, arriving at the hotel a few moments later. Much to my relief, when we checked in I was reassured by the news that Matt had reserved two rooms, although inexplicably, he had requested adjoining ones.

When he tried to change the reservation, things became a little more problematic. The conference was being held at the hotel, and consequently all of the rooms were booked. They did have one very opulent suite available, and even though it was thirty-two hundred dollars per night, Matt generously offered to upgrade Irene and I. It was my wife who declined his offer, stating that we would make the modest, two adjoining rooms work.

A few moments later, after check-in, Irene and I were unpacking our respective suitcases. My wife had her lingerie laid out all over the bed, a sexy assortment of different colored garter-belts, camisoles and panties. I jumped when there was a knock on the door that separated our adjoining rooms.

"Come in," my wife said cheerfully, setting the tone for the lack of privacy we could expect on our trip.

Matt strolled in like he owned the place, holding two neckties in his hand.

"Which one looks best?" he asked my wife, as she turned her attention fully to her boss.

Like a doting wife or girlfriend, Irene took a cursory look at the pro-offered ties, and upon selecting the light peach one, she offered her thoughts.

"This one goes well with your complexion, handsome," she enthused. "Are we almost ready to go and meet the event staff?"

"Ten minutes," Matt said authoritatively, before stepping forward, and to my astonishment, laying the tie that my wife had just selected for him on the bed in the middle of her assorted garter-belts.

There were two garter-belts of a similar shade to the tie that he planned to wear, and after he found the one that matched his light peach tie the most closely, he picked it up, along with the matching panties, and handed them to my wife.

"Wear this color," he instructed her, as I looked on in shock. "Let's present a united front."

"Whatever you want, boss," Irene said suggestively. "Let me give your shirt a quick press too. I want you to look your best."

"Thanks honey," Matt said, in a tone that was too familiar for co-workers, as he started to unbutton his shirt.

I felt like a third wheel, as Matt disrobed and handed his fresh white shirt to my wife. On the surface, they appeared to be the married couple, not Irene and I. They had spent enough time together, that they were completely comfortable in each other's company, and their compatibility was undeniable as they chatted amiably, even in his inappropriate state of undress.

I have no latent homosexual issues, and have never been inclined in my life to even contemplate the male form, but Matt was stood about three feet from me, and as such, I couldn't ignore the fact that he was an impressive specimen. His broad, muscular shoulders were on display, the cuts in his trapezius muscles evident as he extended his toned arms, to hand my wife his ironing.

She took it from him lovingly, like a doting wife, and I instantly knew that their undeniable connection was much deeper than purely sexual. I wanted to excuse myself so that they could have their privacy, and he could ravage her on our bedroom floor, before I remembered that Irene was my wife, not his.

Before I could pluck up the courage to assert myself over this alluring woman, it was over. Matt turned to leave the room, through our adjoining door, acknowledging me as an afterthought.

"Oscar," he said politely, giving me nod of his head.

I glared at my wife, but she just shrugged it off, leaving the room to go and fetch the iron. After she had rid her boss' shirt of any unwanted creases, she took it to him. The door to our adjoining rooms was wide open, and I felt my jealousy surface as she helped him dress. They were whispering and sharing some hidden joke, as she tied his tie for him, and I could barely stand to watch.

Once he was ready, he patted her on the ass, and told her she had five minutes to change.

I scoffed at that notion, remembering all of the times that I had waited patiently for my wife to ready herself for an evening out together. There was no way she was going to be ready to roll in five minutes. Irene disappeared into our bathroom, holding the garter-belt and matching panties that her boss had selected for her to wear.

To my surprise, a few moments later, she emerged looking phenomenal, in her high-heels and her recently shortened skirt. She gave me a peck on the cheek, and I noticed that she was heavily scented in her favorite perfume.

It was to Matt that she went, to seek the validation and approval that women crave when they have made an effort to go out. He made a twirling motion with his forefinger, and she rotated one full circle, so that he could take her in.

"Perfect," he said, beaming with pride, as if she were his. "Let's go."

"See you later, baby," she said to me, as she sashayed out of the room, exuding sexuality, with Matt's hand resting on her ass.

My cock had stiffened at the sexually charged interaction between Matt and Irene, and I decided to busy myself in their absence. After I unpacked my suitcase, I poured myself a cocktail from the mini-bar and made myself comfortable in one of the opulent chairs. As I surveyed the room, my eyes wandered across the dizzying array of undergarments that my wife had elected to bring for a three day trip.

A few minutes later, I went to use the restroom, and noticed a pair of Irene's panties on the bathroom counter. They were the exact same shade as the light peach garter-belt that Matt had selected for my wife, and I realized that she had eschewed wearing them for her meeting with her boss, for whatever reason.

Perhaps she ran out of time? I mused, unwilling to consider the more likely scenario, that Matt had forbidden her to wear underwear.

Emboldened by the alcoholic drink I had consumed, I decided to have a quick look in Matt's room. I knocked several times before trying the door handle, and was not that surprised to find it unlocked. What did surprise me was the general disarray of his room. We had only checked in about two hours ago, and already he had managed to trash the place. His shirts were all over the bed, and his half-unpacked suitcase was blocking the entrance to his bathroom.

After a cursory look around, I quickly located the two-way baby monitor, provided for families using the adjoining room as a nursery. My heart was pounding in my chest as I found the twin piece in my room, and switched them, so that I could listen in on their interactions. I turned the speaker volume down in my room, and hid the speaker in my boss' room on top of the closet.

I went to leave, realizing I had no business being in there, and right as I was leaving I noticed the tape measure that my wife had packed, sitting on his bedside table.

What the fuck? Was he planning to measure himself, and then report back to her? Was she going to verify his dimensions herself? Would the results of our emasculating quantification be openly discussed between the three of us, or would they keep it between them, as a hidden joke, behind my back?

Once I got back to my room, I was shaking with the adrenaline rush of my discoveries, and poured myself another cocktail.

Several hours later, my wife entered our bedroom and greeted me affectionately.

"Did you eat?" she asked. "Matt and I have some work to do, but I can order room service, if you feel like it."

"That would be great, baby," I said, "what are you in the mood for?"

"Matt and I ate in the Majestic," she responded, to my surprise, referring to the fancy restaurant within the hotel.

I didn't question her decision to eat dinner with Matt, and she never offered any apology or explanation, so the moment soon passed. Irene ordered me a few items from the room service menu, and once my food arrived, she went next door to finish her work.

Irene checked in on me periodically, and just before my bedtime, came and said goodnight.

"Don't wait up, baby," she said sweetly, as she tucked me in. "We have lots of work to do."

After she left, I got out of bed, retrieved the baby monitor and turned it on quietly. Designed to enable a mother to hear any sound that a baby makes, it was not surprising that I had an almost perfect audio of my wife and Matt's work-related conversation.

What was surprising, was how little work they were getting done. First I heard the unmistakable sound of two people kissing, their lips softly caressing, intermingled with sporadic moaning sounds. I wished I had some visual feedback to go with the audio, but as I listened to them making out, I closed my eyes, trying to imagine what was happening in there.

I heard my wife giggle, and then what sounded like a zipper being undone, although I couldn't tell if it was Matt's pants or Irene's skirt that was being unfastened. At some point I decided that I had heard enough, and knocked on their door.

I felt like a teenager knocking on their parents' bedroom door, during their once a week Saturday morning love-making session. Not surprisingly, it took my wife a few seconds to answer.

"Just a minute, baby," she said, sounding quite flustered.

I felt like a total pussy waiting by the door for my wife and her boss to grant me permission to enter the room. However, that never happened, as Irene opened the door to our adjoining rooms, a few moments later, looking very flustered. She entered our room, closing the door behind her, and began to talk excitedly.

"I am running down to get some ice, if you need anything, Oscar," she offered.

I heard the shower turn on in Matt's room, and wondered if they had already fucked. If they had, it had been very anti-climactic, particularly on Irene's part, as I hadn't heard any evidence to suggest she had experienced an orgasm. Not surprising, I scoffed, that guy hasn't had sex in seven years, and probably blew his wad even quicker than I do. I started to take some solace in his lack of stamina, and then realized that Irene was mine alone, and that it was my duty to rebuff any male attention. I decided to confront Matt, once he was done in the shower.

I knew that room service would bring ice to the room, so Irene's departure was solely to compose herself. However, recognizing that this could serve my needs, I went along with her.

"I am fine, Irene," I said, as she left the room to go downstairs.

As soon as she left, I opened the door between our rooms, and upon hearing that Matt was still in the shower, I entered his room. There was a glass block wall separating the shower enclosure from the bedroom, but as I moved further into the bedroom, I saw his reflection in the large bathroom mirror. He was facing away from me, lathering himself with body lotion, so I had a great view of the rear of his body.

Any thought of confrontation dissipated as I took in his athletic frame. In addition to having an almost six inch height advantage over me, his lean muscularity was a clear indication of his brute physical strength. His chest was ripped, and his back was broad and muscular, toned by hours of rowing each week. I was no match for him physically, and it would be even more emasculating to get my ass kicked by my wife's lover, even as I had yet to prove that was his role in Irene's life.

What if I was completely mistaken? What if I made a terrible unwarranted accusation? What if they had just developed a close working relationship, and he had stolen a kiss from her, in an otherwise innocent interlude?

I began to justify my lack of desire to confront him, and before I knew it, I was backing away from the mirror. The bed appeared to have been laid upon, as evidenced by the position of the pillows and the creases in the comforter. Once I established that the bed was the most likely location for any future advances, I positioned my iPhone on top of the closet, facing towards it. I FaceTimed my iPad, and quickly left the room.

Once I got back into the safety of my room, I checked my iPad and was pleased to see that I had a perfect, unobstructed view of Matt's bed. Irene returned soon after that with a bucket of ice, looking very composed. We sat and chatted for a few moments, as she wanted to give Matt some privacy, to take his shower.

Matt knocked on the door of our adjoining rooms a few moments later and we exchanged awkward pleasantries, as I tried to establish whether or not he had fucked Irene. I was comfortable that they had not taken that step yet, although I had a gut feeling that they had made out.

Matt excused himself to go back to work, and Irene said she would join him shortly. My wife and I said goodnight for the second time, and she left to go back to work. I got comfortable in my bed, with my iPad on my lap. It didn't take Matt long to put the moves on my wife, and within a few minutes of her returning to his room, they were making out. I couldn't see them yet, but I heard them sucking face and the unmistakable sounds of my wife moaning.

Even though the sounds of them making out was making me hard, I wanted the visual too. Fortunately, for me, a few moments later Matt and Irene stumbled in to view.

Stumbled was an accurate assessment, as they pretty much fell backwards into the view of my iPad, their bodies intertwined, as they kissed and undressed simultaneously. They were engaged in a very intense open-mouthed kiss, and Matt was removing my wife's clothes. Before long, he had her down to just her lingerie and heels, and I felt a pang of jealousy as I watched my wife make herself available sexually to another man, for the first time in her life.

Part of me wanted him to mount her, fuck her, and get it over with, but it was clear to me that he was a very experienced lover, and he was in no hurry. Once Irene was just in her garter-belt, stockings, half-length silk camisole and her matching high-heels, I realized quite how vulnerable she was without her panties on. I wasn't sure if she had made the last second decision to leave them on the bathroom counter-top, or if he had instructed her to go without underwear, when they were whispering as she tied his necktie.

What I was sure of, was how much additional protection a pair of panties provided against the threat of penetrative sex. Irene and I had dated for an extended period prior to getting married, and even though we had enjoyed several heated encounters during our courtship, the sexual activity was normally thwarted by the fact that she was wearing underwear.

We would kiss and touch each other lovingly, often rubbing each other's genitals through our respective underwear, occasionally even applying enough stimulation to induce orgasm. However, our underwear served as a very effective barrier to penetrative sex, and it was many months before we finally plucked up the courage to get completely naked. Our innocence, the protracted nature of our slowly developing sex-life, and the genuine respect I had for my wife's virginity, made the actual notion of sex seem something to want to look forward to, rather than to just take because we could.

As Irene stood before Matt, her wet pussy completely unprotected and therefore available for his enjoyment, I knew that he was going to fuck her. They engaged in another long round of kissing, my wife's arousal particularly visible as her nipples hardened, and her neck and shoulders reddened with anticipation. Matt moved one of his muscular legs between her thighs, and she dry-humped it, like a bitch in heat.

Irene was breathing heavily now, and I thought she might orgasm on his tailored suit pants, as she continued to grind into his leg. Once they broke their tender embrace, Matt stepped back and spoke authoritatively.

I thought I heard him issue a one-word command to my wife, but it seemed so improbable that he would have actually told her to "kneel," that I was sure I had mis-heard him.

Irene bit her lip, a mannerism that I had only ever her seen her employ under extreme stress, and having contemplated her options, slowly sank to her knees. Once she was kneeling before him, her face reddened, the reaction of a good girl who was being forced to do bad things.

Except there was no force being applied on Matt's part. In fact, nothing that could even be construed as coercion. He had asked, and she had willingly obeyed. End of story. He flashed her a broad smile, as if to recognize her efforts to surrender to him.

"Turn sideways," he instructed her, "facing the door."

Irene remained on her knees and rotated ninety degrees to her right, her positional adjustment bringing her into perfect position for me to view her interactions with her boss, should they proceed the way it appeared that they were going to. If I hadn't known better, I would have assumed that he knew that I was filming them, and wanted to ensure I got a birds-eye view of her first blowjob.

Oh, fuck! That asshole was going to make her give him a blowjob. Her first blowjob. Ever.

I had always hoped that I would witness Irene's first blowjob, but in my fantasy, I was on the receiving end of it. I never imagined watching her kneel before another man, clad only in her sexy lingerie, as she offered her glossed lips up for his enjoyment. I felt sick as she knelt before him, looking up shyly at him, awaiting his next instructions. However, I was also as hard as a rock, and I knew I had a very important decision to make, and little time to make it.

I had to choose between bursting through that door, and stopping my wife from doing something so out of character, that I would never be able to rid the image from my mind, or, I had no clue.

I didn't even know what the alternative was, only that it was completely unacceptable to me. I leapt from my bed, still holding my iPad, so that I didn't miss any of the action.