Oscar and Irene Pt. 06

As I sat helpless, bound tightly to the chair, I could hear my wife and her boss frolicking in the shower. They were laughing and talking animatedly, and I thought I heard the occasional slapping sound, which confused me.

I heard the shower turn off and then Matt's deep voice resonated around the bathroom.

"I am going to run down to the conference room to set up the speakers," he said. "I will be back in thirty minutes or so."

I heard the hotel door open, and shortly after he left Irene emerged, dressed in a new lingerie ensemble. This consisted of a silk camisole and matching garter belt, in a beautiful shade of copper that complimented her flowing light brown, reddish hair. She was wearing a tiny matching pair of silk panties, although after she spent a few seconds allowing me to take her in, she turned her back to me and slid them down her toned legs, before stepping out of them.

As her panties hit the floor, the first thing I noticed were several large red handprints on her buttocks, which eliminated any confusion that I had about the sounds from the shower. Matt had apparently spanked my wife's ass, although I couldn't imagine why. She certainly didn't need to be brought to heel by this man, in an attempt to make her more compliant. She was already doing his bidding.

Irene wiggled her ass in front of me, as if to let me know she was fully onboard with her boss' treatment of her. Then she spread her legs apart lewdly, bent forward at the waist keeping her legs straight, and grabbed her panties. She remained in that position for several seconds, shamelessly flaunting her private parts.

From my vantage point, tied securely to my chair, I was at eye-level to her most intimate parts and my sense of politeness caused me to look away. However, as Irene remained bent over at the waist, it was apparent that she wanted me to look, so I stole a glance.

My eyes were drawn to her pussy first, and as I admired it from behind, I could see that her labia were swollen and puffy, in anticipation of the next encounter with her boss. Her clitoris was protruding from between them, as if it was looking for attention. There were traces of her seminal fluids on either one of her inner thighs, and I wondered if she was self-lubricating from the sight of me being forced to watch her upcoming violation, or from being spanked in the shower.

My eyes moved slowly up from her vagina to her virgin rosebud. This being her most sacred hole, I had never even considered it as a pleasure orifice, and in our seventeen years together I had never even teased it with my fingertips. Matt, however, undoubtedly emboldened by enjoying my wife's first ever attempt at a blowjob, was moving on to bigger and better things, staking claim to her forbidden orifice.

I am assuming that's the reason that he had taken the time to prepare it, coated as it was in a very liberal dose of lubricant. At first I thought it was her own vaginal juices, but upon closer inspection, the fluid was much thicker than that, a viscosity more similar to petroleum jelly. Also, it was not so much on her inner thighs, as directly around the entrance, and within the tiny, previously unviolated, opening to her anal cavity. It was a very generous helping too, almost guaranteed to facilitate entrance, when Matt decided the time was right.

This was going too far, and it finally ignited a fire of resistance within me. There was no way on earth that I was going to sit idly by, and watch Matt take my wife's anal cherry. I started trying to free myself from my bonds, a futile effort that only sought to quickly tire me out. I am not an athletic man, and I was huffing and puffing from my efforts to extricate myself from my fastenings.

"Please, Irene," I begged her, "don't let him take you there."

"I am not sure I can stop him, Oscar," she replied, her lust evident in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at me.

"Baby, please," I implored, "untie me and let's go back to our room. We need to talk."

Irene finally stood upright, content that I had absorbed her predicament, and slowly turned towards me. She had her panties in her hand and as her vagina came into view I noticed that it was shaved, completely bald.

"Jesus, Irene," I blurted out involuntarily, "why did you shave your privates. You know I prefer you neatly trimmed. You are my wife, not a fucking porn-star."

"Well," she began slowly, as if she was suddenly enjoying watching me squirm, "right now it is not about what you prefer. Matt is running the show now, and he wanted me clean shaved."

"So, you just whipped out a razor and shaved yourself, for his visual enjoyment?" I replied angrily, fighting a losing battle to keep my rage in check.

"I never shaved it," she replied with a giggle. "Matt did."

This was even worse, and I started to speak again when Irene, moved towards me, and in a move that both shocked and silenced me, wadded her tiny silk panties up in a ball, and shoved them into my mouth.

"Baby, hush," she said with a giggle. "You are rambling."

Irene moved towards me, put her legs outside of mine, and lowered herself slowly into my lap, so that she was straddling me. My cock was standing upright, the shaft grazing the entrance to her pussy, the tip resting on the front of her silk garter-belt. I could feel the heat emanating from her vagina, as our sexual organs touched.

"Oscar," she began softly, "I know I should have got this out of my system when I was young, but I was a virgin when we got married, and I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything. I love you very much, and up until recently, I thought that we had a great sex life."

I tried to assure her that our sex life was normal, but with her panties in my mouth, my words were muffled, and incoherent.

"For now, just listen," Irene said condescendingly. "You will get your turn to speak."

I nodded my understanding of her directive, and went silent.

"I just never knew that sex could be so enjoyable, so completely fulfilling and satisfying," she said, her words cutting me to the bone. "I just never knew."

Her words trailed off at that last remark, as if she was regretting wasting seventeen years of her life, with one man.

"I have no regrets," she said, looking me directly in the eyes, "but I think I want the freedom to experiment."

I was shaking my head now, a clear signal that I was not okay with this.

It was one thing to hear of her slowly evolving romance with Matt, especially as the two of them formed a bond, long before their first kiss. They enjoyed each other's company immensely, valued each other's opinions, laughed at each other's jokes, took genuine pleasure from buying each other gifts. Their sexual chemistry was undeniable, off the charts, like a couple of honeymooners. However, I had watched them kiss, had watched them fuck, and had been forced to watch her give him her first ever blowjob. Now it appeared that Matt wanted to take something even more precious from her, and I was going to be forced to witness it.

I looked up at Irene, imploring her to hear my side of things, and she removed the make-shift gag from my mouth.

"Baby, please," I said softly, "not that."

"Matt numbed me, Oscar," she said cheerfully. "He used anal lubricant with lidocaine in it. He promised he won't hurt me at all."

"Baby, that's not the point," I said, trying to get her to see things from my perspective. "This will have a long lasting effect on our relationship."

"But I owe him," she said, apparently convinced that he was entitled to payback for giving her the sexual experience of her lifetime.

"I know in an ideal world, I would have got this experimenting out of my system as a young woman," she rationalized, "but if I had met Matt in my twenties, you and I wouldn't have got married," she said, driving the spike even deeper into my heart. "In a way you were lucky that I was a virgin, because I had nothing to compare you to."

My heart sank, as I knew she had made up her mind. She was going to allow her boss full unrestricted access to her body, and I was going to be forced to watch. It was like when you are on diet for a long time, and you slide off the rails. You end up eating whatever you want for a day, promising yourself that you will start anew tomorrow.

"Can't you just teach me how to satisfy you?" I suggested naively.

"Baby," Irene scoffed, "it isn't just the additional penis size that Matt possesses. It is much more than that. Matt is a much more dominating physical presence than you, and he has far more stamina, which means he can fuck for longer periods of time, at a more enjoyable cadence. He is equal parts caring and aggressive in bed, to which my body responds favorably. Our chemistry, the part of attraction that is difficult to quantify, is so undeniable, that I self-lubricate in his presence. Coupled with the fact that he is very well endowed, this makes him a formidable lover, and allows him to reach places in me that you never will."

Her honesty was brutal, but necessary to make me see the reality of the situation. My wife loved me, but was not willing to give her boss up as a lover.

"I am sorry, Oscar," she said, as she kissed me gently on the lips, and slowly arose from my lap.

As she stood in front of me, her shaved pussy leaking her vaginal fluids, I noticed that I had also been leaking. Her copper colored garter-belt had a large pre-cum stain on the silk waistband, where my cock had been resting against it.

"Sorry, Irene," I said quietly, "I made a mess of your lingerie."

"That's ok, baby," she said sweetly, "Matt won't notice. He is going to be behind me for the next round."

With that hurtful proclamation ringing in my ears, my bride of fifteen years climbed up on to Matt's bed, and assumed the doggy-style position. Having never been in this sexual stance before, she looked to me for guidance. From the confines of my chair, I directed my wife to part her knees, arch her back, raise her ass up, and finally hold her head skyward, so that her beautiful reddish hair flowed down her back.

I didn't want Matt to know that I had never taken my wife in the doggy-style position during our seventeen years together. For this reason, I took great pride in arranging her, as if she was a seasoned pro at this.

It was killing me that I was going to witness Irene losing her anal cherry, to her boss for fuck's sake. However, my wife seemed resigned to her fate, and we remained in total silence, allowing the gravity of this sex act to wash over us, as we waited patiently for her boss to return.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard the key-card in the door, and remembering that the "Do not disturb" sigh was displayed, I knew that it was Matt. He sauntered in, tossed his bag on the table by the door, and walked over to the bed.

"Face the cuckold," he ordered my wife, as she rotated slightly in my direction.

Ignoring me, he made a few adjustments to Irene's position, most notably pushing her knees much further apart, so that she was spread lewdly for him, both of her orifices lubed up and available for his enjoyment.

"Not bad for a first timer," he remarked, rubbing the fact that he recognized that this was her first time in the doggy pose, in my face.

He entered his bathroom, and as Irene waited in her new obscene position, I heard him wash his face, and brush his teeth, as if he were in no hurry to take Irene's final cherry. My wife remained motionless, staring ahead at the wall, just above my head, as she waited for her impending violation. If she had any reservations about her first foray into anal sex, she had suppressed them, seemingly content to put her boss' needs and desires before hers.

Finally, Matt entered the room, completely naked, sporting an erection. He faced me first, giving me the opportunity to see first-hand the advantages he held over me in the penis department. I didn't want to stare but as a man, my competitive nature compelled me to check out my rival, so I gave him a cursory look over. His erect cock was way bigger than mine, in both length and girth, and it looked even more impressive thanks to his closely-shaved pubic area. In addition, his complete lack of stomach fat, made the base of it look thicker, as it disappeared under his rock-hard pelvis.

My considerably smaller penis, is further shielded by my unruly pubic hair, and my stomach, which overhangs my pelvic area. I felt completely inadequate as I took in the dimensions of his impressive cock, and it was then that I noticed the absence of a condom.

"Please Matt, at least use a rubber," I asked him meekly.

"There is only one of us who is required to wear protection around Irene," he scoffed, as he knelt on the bed behind my wife.

"And it's not you, Matt," my wife said cheerfully, as he took the tip of his cock in his hand.

Matt brushed up against her rosebud, and she jumped reflexively, and let out a little squeal.

"Relax, baby," he said quietly, as he placed one hand on her lower back to hold her in his desired position. "You will be numb by now, there is nothing to fear."

My wife made eye contact with me and smiled as her boss knelt behind her, with his cock in his hand. He lined himself up with her well-lubricated entrance and, once he was satisfied that he was in the right position, he placed both hands on her hips and started to slowly push forward.

Irene maintained eye contact with me, and although I detected fear in her eyes, she kept smiling as he slowly entered her.

"Oh, fuck baby," she whispered, "you feel good. I missed you."

After a few strokes I realized that Matt had entered her vagina, presumably to lubricate his cock before the main event. It was still an impossibly lewd scene, my wife on all fours for the first time in her life, her boss kneeling upright behind her, absolutely owning my wife. The fear slowly evaporated from Irene's face, replaced by pure, unadulterated lust, as she got pounded from behind.

"He feels so big, baby," she taunted me. "I have never felt so full. I think I am going to come soon."

It was bad enough watching my wife wait on all fours like a dog for her lover to enter her, but knowing that she was going to orgasm right in front of me was worse.

"You can touch yourself, Irene," Matt said magnanimously.

Given the green-light by her boss, Irene placed one of her hands between her legs, and Matt reached over and grabbed one of her shoulders to support her weight. Irene watched me intently as she masturbated, closing her eyes just before she came. It was Matt's name that she cried out at the point of release, and I had to look away as that smug bastard slapped her ass.

Between Matt's continuous rhythmic pounding and Irene's attention on her clitoris, they managed to get her off four times, before she slumped forward onto the bed, giddy with joy and giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Jesus, Matt," she squealed, "I want you to fuck me doggy-style every day. That was incredible, baby."

Matt smirked at me, before responding, "Whatever you want, baby. Maybe you should run it by hubby first."

They shared a laugh at that idea, both seemingly comfortable that I would no longer pose any objections to my wife's rapidly expanding horizons.

"Are you going to do the other thing now, Matt?" my wife asked timidly.

"Yes, baby," he replied confidently. "Don't be scared."

"I am not scared, baby," my wife whispered. "I am just not used to having an audience."

"I was thinking the same thing," Matt said as he slowly withdrew from my wife's pussy. "Shall I blindfold him?"

"I don't want him to witness this," Irene said quietly. "I will tell him all of the juicy details later."

Matt seemed to be happy with that compromise and walked towards me, Irene's vaginal secretions all over his cock and balls. Then, as unceremoniously as it had begun for me, so did it end. Matt tipped my chair backwards, so that it rested on the two rear legs, and dragged my naked ass back to my room.

"See you in the morning," he said with a chuckle, as he excited my room, and closed the door.

I don't know how long they kept me tied to that chair, but eventually my erection subsided, and I was in desperate need of a piss. Irene finally entered our shared room, untied me and told me to go to bed. I could hear the shower running in Matt's room, and can only assume that she took pity on me, and snuck out to release me.

She did climb into my bed sometime well after midnight, but I was too disheartened to talk, so I pretended to be asleep.

"Seven and a half inches," she whispered, just in case I was awake. "Matt was seven and a half inches. I had to wait until he passed out to measure him, as it is the only time I have ever seen him flaccid."

I tried to go to sleep but the unknown was killing me and I finally turned over and spoke.

"Did it hurt?" I began, trying to ease into this horribly uncomfortable situation.

"We didn't do that, yet," Irene said to my relief. "We decided that we are going to save that for our anniversary."

"Your anniversary," I scoffed. "Which one? The anniversary of his hire date? Your first kiss? Your first blowjob?" I spat at her, seething with jealousy.

"Our anniversary, Oscar," she said cruelly. "I am saving that special act for the anniversary of our wedding."

Of all the indignities that I had suffered recently, this was probably the worst. Matt and my wife planned to have anal sex on the anniversary of our wedding. Even though it was seven months away, the thought of it ate me alive, and I had a fitful nights sleep thinking about how I could prevent it.

We were checking out the following afternoon, and Matt ordered an advance copy of the bill for our hotel rooms. He sat me down and we itemized it line by line, like roommates dissecting the monthly phone bill. I was charged for my prawn cocktail, after he deemed it frivolous, even though I noticed that Irene and her boss had rented three pornographic movies during their stay.

He also made me pick up their dry-cleaning from the hotel facility. To my acute embarrassment, I collected four silk camisoles, three garter belts, a cute schoolgirl costume that I didn't even know that she owned, and his wool suit pants that my wife had soiled when she dry-humped him.

I never saw Matt again, after we were separated into our respective class of seat at the airport. By the time I emerged from coach, the Business Class passengers had long gone. Irene was waiting for me by the luggage carousel, having already removed my suitcase from the revolving conveyer belt. We didn't say much in the taxi to our house, but the damage had been done.

Irene only worked for Matt for a few weeks after our trip to New York, before quitting to pursue a new opportunity. She does occasionally work freelance for Matt's company when he needs someone to travel abroad with him, for a convention presentation. The money is excellent, a much needed lifesaver in our household, and we have just agreed not to talk about the perks of the job.

Matt treats my wife very well, although he has put some restrictions on our sex life, as a condition of her employment. These restrictions tighten from time to time, but in their latest form, I am required to use a condom anytime that Irene and I are intimate, to ensure that she is fresh and unsullied for Matt.

Matt provides the condoms, sending me a whole year's supply, (two dozen) on the first of every year. This generous concession on his part, allows me to make love to my wife about twice a month, although I am restricted to the missionary position, so that her sex life with him remains fresh and exciting.

Matt travels frequently and the last box of condoms he sent me were purchased in Japan. Intended for the domestic market, they are considerably smaller than Western sized condoms, and due to the language barrier, the English print on the box refers to the size as "little boy." To my dismay, this is how Irene and Matt refer to me.