Sarah's Descent Ch. 01

She held that look for a few seconds before popping off her chair, pecking me on the lips and skipping off down the hall... before stopping a few feet away from me.

"What should I wear?" she quietly asked.

What a strange, simple question; so why was my heart pounding? I cleared my throat, "Uh, what?"

Sarah turned around then, showing me a dumb smile. "I figured... that the pervert... might have a request?" she hesitantly said, wincing as the last words left her lips.

What should she wear? Sarah never asked me that, right? She had her styles, her tried-and-true outfits that I never needed to modify because they were her outfits. I just had to agree, had to compliment and adore her when prompted, which was easy as all get out because she was a bombshell no matter what she chose! So where was this coming from?! From that short time in the hot tub?! Was she looking for permission to show off a little?! If only I had the wherewithal to subject my wife to proper psychoanalysis, perhaps I could come up with the right answer!

"Let's go figure that out," I calmly replied instead. "Together."

My wife beamed as my answer unveiled itself, a wave of relief splashing over her cheeks. She took my hand in hers and hastily led me upstairs to our bedroom. Suddenly, a whole new world had opened up to me that I wasn't aware of before. My wife, my precious Sarah, wanted to show off -- right? Do I ask if that's her intention? Is that stupid?

She released me when we got to the bedroom and practically bounced towards her walk-in closet. I say 'hers' because my clothes fit in a neat 3 by 6 foot corner of said closet.

"Anyway," Sarah hurriedly said, her face buried in one garment or another, "I don't have much that's both 'fun' and casual unless you count my workout shorts. This dress is way too obvious, right?"

Yep. Asking would have definitely been stupid. The dress she was holding up with a red, flirty thing that only came out for anniversaries and Valentine's Day. My heart was racing at this point; we were practically co-conspiring here!

"Yeah, a bit much," I nervously chuckled. "Say, babe, are we -- are we on the same page here?"

Sarah flashed me a devious grin. Yep. That we were. Co-conspirators it was, then. "How about the skirt from your schoolgirl outfit?" I suggested on a whim.

"But that's only for sexytimes!" she gasped, her hand already reaching for the 'uniform'.

"The whole outfit's a bit slutty, but the skirt alone is fine. Pair it with a normal shirt and it should look casual-ish," I reasoned with my dick.

"If you say so," she dubiously replied, scrutinizing the miniskirt. "And the stockings?"

"Leave 'em. Nude's better. Casual, remember?" my dick kept speaking.

"Okay. Alright," my wife sighed, taking a deep breath for confidence. "Thanks, honey. I-I'll come down in a bit. And if it turns out to be too much for you..." she anxiously bit her lip, "mention my mother, and I'll go change again. Okay?"

"Not sure if I want to keep that as my safe word, but alright," I laughed, garnering a nervous giggle from her. I then made a move to leave -- but instead of leaving peacefully, I squeezed Sarah tightly and groped her shapely ass.

"I love you, babe," I breathed into her ear.

"I love you too," she shuddered.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

I went downstairs and prepared the usual trappings of a football game -- chips, dip, beer and the like -- all while my mind raced faster than Lewis Hamilton around a racetrack. My wife had sexually graduated seemingly overnight! Had she always been like this, but was just too shy to ask? Did she have a thing for Rob specifically? Was our clothing bill about to grow exponentially now that Sarah was venturing into unfamiliar fashion territory?

The doorbell rang at 12:45. How polite, I thought, that Rob decided to use the front door. I swung the door open to find my friend wearing a jersey, shorts, and flip-flops; the very definition of Californian chill.

"Good to finally fuckin' see ya," I smirked, tossing him a cold one. Rob cracked it open and took a sip in one well-practiced, fluid motion.

"You too, man. Got some bad news, though."

"What's that?" I asked.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Flying out to Minneapolis tomorrow for a two-week deployment. Won't be back for two Fridays," he said before taking another drink.

I shot him an incredulous look. "Jesus, man, your job doesn't let up, do they? Did you tell them about the whole, 'my house literally burned down' thing?"

"Actually, yeah, I did," Rob chuckled. "I'm going to Minneapolis because of that. This is gonna sound crazy, but after the fire I figured I might as well go nomad for a while."

"Like a hobo?"

"With resources," Rob smirked. "But you saved me from that idea. Saved me from selling the 'vette, too, so I guess I'm doubly thankful." We bumped fists. "The Minneapolis gig was already lined up, though, so that's that."

"Bummer. Well, let's make the most of it," I said.

Rob and I then settled on the couch, surrounded by all of the familiar fixings of a good football Sunday. We bitched and moaned as the 49ers scored an unsurprising touchdown, then cheered when our o-line sacked that smug-looking motherfucker on the next drive. The only thing missing at this point was my wife. She was still upstairs, either waiting to make a dramatic entrance or torturing me with anticipation.

"Hey Tom, where's Sarah anyway?" Rob asked halfway into the first quarter.

I waved my hand towards the stairs. "Being a woman," I answered. Casual sexism was only acceptable on Sundays. Probably. "She'll be down in a bit. Never misses a game."

"No shit. Was she always like that?"

"Nah, I forced it on her, but she took to it pretty quickly," I laughed. "As a bonus she says her fandom helps on sales calls, too."

"Smart woman," he nodded.

It was near the end of the first when my wife finally graced us with her presence, daintily stepping down the stairs to ensure she kept her footing.

She was wearing just what I asked of her; a pleated tartan skirt that fell halfway down her thighs, leaving much of her legs bare, beneath a simple white tank top that put plenty of her cleavage on display. More than that, she'd intentionally avoided wearing a bra, instead allowing her tits to sway freely as she stepped. If you looked closely enough, you could even make out her dark, coin-sized areolae beneath the fabric. Besides that she'd donned her black-rimmed glasses, and tied her blonde hair into a ponytail. The outfit probably took her all of five minutes to perfect, but sometimes there was a sexiness in simplicity.

My wife kept her gaze downcast as she crept closer to us, maybe too timid to meet ours. That shyness formed an enticing juxtaposition with her 'girl next door' getup, and I found myself already getting hard.

I had to help her out, though. I patted the couch cushion beside me -- between Rob and I -- and greeted her as casually as I could. "Hey babe."

"H-Hey," she smiled, blushing from ear-to-ear. "We winning?"

I glanced at the TV. Apparently we'd scored sometime in the last minute. "All tied up."

"Sweet," she anxiously giggled. I noticed her steal a glance towards Rob and, deciding whatever she found there to be too embarrassing, let her gaze fall once more.

She joined us on the couch, leaning against me, and allowing her smooth, delicate legs to dangle dangerously close to Rob. Her feet would even be resting on his lap if she stretched out fully; but, with her knees bent as they were, the only danger she faced now was offering Rob a generous view of her thighs and ass if his gaze so decided to wander.

Sarah then pecked me on the cheek and claimed my chest as her pillow. God, was she perfect. I made sure to wrap my arm around her breasts as she cuddled up beside me -- not to grope her, mind you, but more to claim her.

However, my rightful claim didn't stop Rob from 'accidentally' brushing his hand along Sarah's calves once or twice, or from getting up during the game a dozen times just so he could steal a long look at her panty-clad ass. Who could blame him, though, when my wife was putting it all out there? By the fourth quarter she might as well have taken off her miniskirt entirely with how much it had ridden up her thighs! Thankfully the game ended soon thereafter, with the Niners making a last-minute field goal to win it.

"Well that was entirely expected," I joked when the timer hit zero.

"I don't know how we keep rooting for this team, Tom," Rob said his piece. "But thanks for hosting, man. I should go prep for my trip tomorrow."

"Sure. Have a good one, man."

Sarah groaned as she lifted herself onto her butt and smoothed out her skirt, clearly upset by the loss. She then glanced over at Rob, and then to me -- and flashed me a look that I supposed was her new sexy eyes. She must have thought we shared a telepathic connection, but I vocalized what I thought she wanted.

"Though, if you have time, you wanna come up for a movie later?" I asked Rob as he was leaving. He thought it over for a quick second, glancing once at Sarah.

"Sure, uh, after dinner?" he quickly offered. And so the plans were made. What Sarah wanted from the evening was anyone's guess, but I was sure I'd shortly learn from her.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

With Rob gone for at least a little bit, there was but one thing left on my mind. I attacked Sarah when she least suspected it, and squeezed her lovingly from behind.

"Well, babe," I whispered into her ear. "We have the house to ourselves for a few hours, so why don't we --"

"Nooope," she giggled, pushing her ass out to get away from me.

"Come onn," I pleaded.

"No way! If you wanted to -- you know," she looked down at my crotch, "then you shouldn't have invited him over again. Because as soon as we, um, y-you know," she wavered, "cum, we'll both realize how stupid this is. Then I'll change into fifteen layers of sweatpants, and the night will be completely ruined."

I admit, her logic held a lot of truth. Many of my worst -- or best -- ideas came to me when I was horny. But still, something irked me.

"I think you're having way too much fun with this," I smirked.

My wife's smile quickly disappeared, if but for a moment. "I hope it's not too much. We can always stop," she said. Her concern was admirable, her pout adorable.

"No, I like seeing you let loose sometimes," I replied honestly. "And, fine, I'll wait. Just know that I'm ravishing you after the movie."

"I'd kick you out of bed if you didn't," my wife beamed. "I love you, honey."

I stepped closer to her and slid my hands up her thighs. "I love you too." Then even further up her legs, under her skirt, hooking my thumbs into her panties. "But if you're gonna make me wait, you're not allowed to wear these tonight."

"Are you daring me, Thomas?" she husked.

I raised a brow. Sarah only ever called me that unless I was in trouble. "No. Commanding," I doubled down. I doubled down so hard that I slid her panties all the way down to her feet, kissing every inch of her perfect alabaster skin as I descended.

She kicked them off so they settled just behind the couch. "Fine," she impishly said. "But they're staying right there."

I looked down. Those lacy white panties would be very, very visible if one were to use the bathroom or visit the kitchen, their serendipitous existence there just bordering on believability.

"Fine," I agreed.

Dinner went on without much further incident, though I teased Sarah with my touch every chance I got. By the time I was doing the dishes, I knew for certain that my wife was wet, needy, and oh so fucking horny. She squirmed every time my hand slipped under her skirt, moaned when I kissed her on the lips, neck, or elsewhere. I did not know why I exactly did these things -- I would learn the word 'compersion' weeks later -- but I figured the sex would be impossibly magical tonight, so I persisted, and created the sluttiest version of Sarah I'd ever witnessed.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

Rob knocked on our door a little after 7, and we were settled around the TV just after. He mentioned a new sci-fi movie that had decent enough ratings and promised a bit of nudity, so we decided to watch that.

Sarah made sure to claim her spot on the couch first, then asked of me, "hey honey, could you get me a blanket? I'm cold."

I gave my wife an obvious once-over. "Why don't you just put on clothes?" I teased her.

"M-My pants are in the dryer!" she stammered out a quick save, her cheeks red as roses. "Jerk face!"

I raised my hands in defeat, conceding the bout to my half-naked wife. Fortunately the spare blankets were in the hallway closet, so I was already back in the living room before Rob could finish saying,

"You're a gosh darn unicorn, Sarah. I cannot believe that you're into action flicks and football."

My wife shook her head, her bright eyes meeting mine. "I'm not really, I get back at Tom with romantic comedies," she giggled. "And he hates them."

"That I do, babe."

Much like during the football game, Sarah had splayed out to cover nearly all the couch, except this time with a bit more courage. This time her toes were already actively brushing against Rob's pants, a fate that Rob didn't seem at all troubled by.

My heart pounded at the sight, my vision blurring for a second. I glanced down at the blanket in my hands, then back at my wife. In a way, it was a sort of physical representation of my consent for her to get a bit frisky with one of my best friends. Why else would she have asked for it, if not to goad herself to greater flirtations away from my purview?

Fuck it, my dick said for me. It was hot seeing Sarah like this, and surely there would be no harm in a bit of footsie between my wife and my friend. I draped the blanket over her as she smiled up at me, making sure to leave a bit of slack on Rob's end if he so decided to use it as well.

He covered his lap before I even sat down. The outline of my wife's feet had settled there before I could even select the movie. Just when I thought this was going too fast, my wife cuddled closer to me and turned her attention to the movie.

Or so I thought.

She was apparently so bored with the movie that she pulled out her phone just thirty minutes later. That would've been fine normally, but with the way she was angled the screen was shining right into my face. How inconsiderate. She then waved a hand in front of me, and pointed down to the screen. Upon it was an unsent text message:

> TOM!!! He's touching me there. I don't want to stop him. Say something if you want me to.

It hit me like a truck. To think that my friend would touch my wife's sex as I sat right beside them... but, could I even blame him? I already knew that Sarah had been flirting with him with her feet. Heck, maybe she guided him there herself!

Fuck it, the die had been cast. From that moment on, I made a conscious effort to remain utterly silent. I held every idea to myself, stifled every cough. And when I peered back at Sarah's phone a bit later, she'd already deleted her message and replaced it with a water splash emoji. The slut.

I glanced over my shoulder once more, almost unable to keep my composure as my cock strained against my pants. A tent had formed under the blanket as my wife, now assured that she had my consent, spread her legs for my friend and exposed her needy slit to him. Even with the blanket hiding them, it was obvious where Rob's hand was heading next; and the moan that slipped between Sarah's lips heralded its arrival.

I looked down at Sarah's phone as if she'd further explain what was happening, but she'd long since dropped it. More than that, her eyes were shut, her breathing had hastened, and I could feel her rapid heartbeat even through her breasts. If my wife was trying to physically hide what was happening, she was making a horrible time of it. Rob would know that I know after a wanton display like this, and yet still he decided to continue fingering my wife's flooded slit.

What was I supposed to do in a situation like this? My wife's face had fallen into my lap by now, she knew that my engorged dick was poking her cheek through my pants. She now had physical proof that it turned me on to see her pleasured by another man. I wasn't just going to just pull my dick out and escalate the situation, oh no, but neither was I going to stop her fun. So instead I just lovingly stroked her cheek and ran my hand through her hair as Rob finger-fucked her just beside me.

Sarah was bucking against his hand within minutes, abandoning all pretense of stealth as her heat sought pleasure all on its own. She soon clenched my arm as her body began tensing up... tighter... and tighter... and even tighter, just as I'd seen her body tense a thousand times before...

Then a wave crashed over her as all this tension released at once. Her legs shot open, her breath went ragged, and she even let out some bizarre moan that she tried to conceal as a cough. I don't know why she even bothered. The damage was done. My friend's hand retreated from her sex, and Sarah was trying her damndest to catch her breath while laying between her husband and the man that just drove her to orgasm. Smooth.

She excused herself after she'd settled down, citing that the laundry was done and she wanted to change after all. When she came back to us she was wearing a big black hoodie and sweatpants, and basically forced herself onto my lap, cuddling with me as she wallowed in her post-orgasmic bliss.

I won't lie; it felt good to be there for her.

We watched the movie in relative peace after that, though if you asked me what happened, I couldn't tell you.

~~ ** ~~ ** ~~

Rob left our house before the credits even stopped rolling, claiming that he had an early flight to catch in the morning. I knew him better than that, though. I knew that he just couldn't face me at the moment, no matter where our conversation led. Still, if Rob thought he felt embarrassed, he should have at least stayed around to see what a nervous wreck my wife had become.

"Babe, why are you pacing around the living room?" I asked her coyly.

"Because," she groaned. "I mean, I guess we should probably talk about... what happened... is that Rob's phone?"

I followed her gaze towards the couch. "It is unless you recently bought an Apple," I said before picking it up and thrusting it towards her. "Here, you should probably go give it back to him."

"I really shouldn't," she cringed and shook her head. "Tom, I'll literally die of embarrassment. You do it."

"Call it a punishment," I smirked. "For being a massive hoe."

"Omigosh, I'm not a hoe," Sarah squeaked and pouted, snatching the phone from my hand a second later. "Be right back. Jerk face."

Despite having given Sarah the excuse to meet her recent tormentor alone, I had every intention of watching the interaction between them. Something inside me just clicked after seeing another man give her an orgasm, something primal, something fierce. I could see my cum brain arranging more and more rendezvous between Rob and Sarah if this is how good it'd always feel, though I wasn't sure if I wanted to admit that to my wife just yet.

I found a decent perch on the patio overlooking the guesthouse entryway.

I watched Sarah as she rang the doorbell, waiting cutely with her hands behind her back as she swayed side-to-side. Then came their greeting, complete with a beaming smile. Sarah handed the phone over just after. Rob said thanks, I'm pretty sure. Then Rob then said... something else to my wife... something that made her smile disappear as a wave of guilt washed over her. It was so palpable, even from a distance.

I then blinked incredulously as Sarah followed Rob into the guesthouse.

What the fuck?

My instincts kicked in then, and I knew exactly where to go to get a better vantage point. My heart was racing as I strode across the pool deck, checking one of the guesthouse windows, then the next, the next, until I found my beloved wife on her knees in front of Rob. The window to the room was cracked open just enough to where I could hear them, and thankfully, Sarah was still wearing her thick hoodie and sweatpants. Was she actually going to...?