The Best Birthday Present Everbyquinn rogan©
"Yes," she replied. "That was him."
"I didn't know you used a laundry service," I commented, in surprise. She certainly hadn't, before, in NY.
"Well, I didn't really mean to," answered Joan, "but, what with all that had to be done in the house, after the move, I thought I'd use him for a week or two, just until I got into a routine, but he does such a good job – and he's not expensive – well, I thought I'd just keep him on - for a while, anyway."
Her face was still a little pink, though, and her eyes were kind of downcast, as she spoke. My mouth was drying and my hands shaking a little as I thought this over. This guy – Donald – would be calling to pick up, and deliver, during the day, while I was in the city and the boys were at school. It went without saying that, unless he was gay, he would want to get into Joan's panties – and I had seen enough, that first time, to know he was a true blue heterosexual, at least where my wife was concerned!
And how about Joan? It couldn't be just coincidence that she had called out his name that same afternoon – the afternoon she had learned of my arousal at the thought of her...
"So – how often does he come?" I asked. Too late, I realised what I had said. Joan picked up on it, right away, and giggled.
"I don't know him that well!" she laughed. "Would you like me to ask him, next time?"
"You know what I mean," I said, laughing in turn. The atmosphere lightened.
"He picks up on a Monday morning, and delivers Thursday," said Joan.
"Delivers, huh?" I sneered – and she leaned over the table and punched my arm. I grabbed her hand and pulled her over towards me. Her blouse was gaping as she leant over the table, and I leered in at the view of her appealing 34C bust.
"Like the view?" breathed Joan, latching on, right away, to what I was doing.
"Sure," I said. "Who wouldn't? I noticed 'he' did – that first day."
"Who? Donald?" asked Joan, her dark eyes flashing, but contriving to look innocent and surprised, as well.
"Oh, yes," I murmured. "I saw him looking – so did the removal guys!"
Her eyes dropped to the tablecloth.
"Then he watched your butt swaying, as you walked away from him," I continued, relentlessly. "And so did I! It gave me a hard-on. I bet he had one, too!"
"Oh, he did!" Her voice was so low, I could hardly hear her.
"What?" I said, not sure I had heard right.
"He had a hard-on when he was looking down my blouse," said Joan. "What did you think I was looking at?"
I said nothing. My heart was pounding furiously. This was the first time, since that day, I had got Joan to talk this way. I leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. Her lips mashed against mine and her tongue darted into my mouth. I slipped a hand down the front of her blouse and cupped a bare tit in my palm. I could feel her nipple, hard and erect. She let out a little purr of pleasure.
We stood up and I led her into the den, pulling her down onto the couch, beside me.
"Tell me about him – what's been happening," I asked, pulling her hand across and placing it over my erection.
"It's not really – very much at all," she said, hesitantly. "Just – well – one or two little things."
"Tell me," I insisted.
"Well," said Joan. "The first time Donald came back with a load of clean laundry, I was so pleased with the job he'd done – I, well, I gave him a kiss – nothing sexy, just a peck on the cheek, and a little hug."
I had seen Joan's 'little hugs' before. She didn't mean anything by it, but she is very affectionate, and I just knew Donald would have felt her tits pressed against his chest.
"Well, the next time," she went on, "he seemed to expect the same again, so – well, it became a habit with us. He delivers the laundry – I pay him – then I give him a kiss."
"Is it still on the cheek?" I asked.
"Well, not always," said Joan. "Once, he turned his head by accident, and our lips met – so, now, I suppose we usually kiss each other on the mouth – but only a short one!"
I thought about this. "So, is that all?" I asked, convinced there was more.
Joan took a deep breath. "Look, Kyle," she said, "you're not to get mad if I tell you. Nothing terrible's happened, and there's nothing I can't handle."
I decided not to pick up on the latest 'double-meaning' and, my excitement growing at the thought of what she might have to tell me, promised not to 'get mad'. Joan went on.
"One day, Donald arrived very early Thursday morning. You and the boys had not long left, and I had just got dressed after my shower, and I was busy in the kitchen. I asked Donald if he would mind taking the clean clothes upstairs and putting them away in the walk-in closet in our bedroom. He said 'no problem' and he went upstairs. He seemed to be quite a while and, while he was upstairs, I heard the toilet flush."
"Then he came down again and I paid him and – well, he left."
I knew the 'well' covered the 'thank you' kiss, but I let it alone, this time.
"So – what then?" I asked.
"Well, when I had finished in the kitchen, I went up to check the clothes had been put away OK, and then I remembered I hadn't tidied the bathroom after my shower."
She hesitated, and her grip on my cock tightened.
"Well?" I asked.
"My panties had been moved," Joan whispered. "I had left them on the floor beside the shower cubicle and, now, they were lying beside the toilet bowl. And – and – then, I checked the toilet bowl and there was a drop of – stuff – just under the rim."
"Stuff?" I breathed, but I knew the answer before it came.
"Sperm – cum," she breathed. "It had to be him – I cleaned it the day before and we hadn't used it since. Donald had picked up my panties and masturbated in our toilet!"
"Was there any cum on your panties?" I asked, scarcely able to breathe.
"I didn't find any," said Joan, "but – oh, Kyle – it was hard to tell. You see, before I had my shower, I – well – I laid on the bed and – well, I was playing with myself, and my panties were covered in my – stuff!"
"So he wrapped his cock in your juiced-up panties, and...?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Oh, Kyle, it was so exciting! It made me feel so horny and turned on – I wanted to chase the van and get Donald to come back and do it again, and let me watch! As it was, I stripped off, and put the panties back on, and masturbated myself all over again!"
I couldn't speak. I pressed Joan's hand round my cock as I felt a huge orgasm building up, but she wrenched her hand away and leapt to her feet.
"Don't you dare touch yourself!" she insisted. "I'm going to get us a drink – I've got some more to tell you!"
It took a huge effort of will to keep my hands off my throbbing erection, but I managed – just – and, gradually, I calmed down. In a couple of minutes, Joan returned with a large glass of wine for herself and a very good measure of my favourite malt whisky.
Handing me my glass, she sat in an easy chair, on the left of the couch.
"I can't think straight when you're touching me," she apologised, "and I don't want to get anything wrong. Is this OK with you, darling? I mean, on moving day and all – you seemed – well, then I thought maybe you'd changed your mind and you didn't like – well, me – with other men. Is it OK?"
"Yeah," I assured her, managing to follow what she was talking about, even though she was barely coherent, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Yes, it's OK – it's fine with me. And it makes me feel – even better – about you. Don't even think about stopping now!"
She stood up and kissed me. I put my hand up and caressed her gorgeous bottom. She squirmed away, laughing.
"Later!" she chuckled, and took a long swallow from her glass as she settled in her chair again.
"After that day, I always got Donald to fetch and deliver the laundry from our bedroom, and I always left something lying around that was still warm from me wearing it. It wasn't always panties – sometimes it was a baby-doll nightie, and sometimes a brassiere – and, every time, he used the toilet and, every time, what I had left had been moved. He didn't leave it beside the toilet, always, but it was always in a different place. And, nearly always, after he had gone, I put it on again, and played with myself until I came."
"It was just like a harmless sort of – game. Donald never said anything to me, and he never tried to – well, come on to me, or touch me, although, when we hugged, his cock was always hard – pressing against me. But he's really very shy. He doesn't talk much. I asked him if he had a girlfriend, but he just shrugged – I think he might even be a virgin!"
So he hadn't fucked Joan, I immediately thought – and was shocked by the instinctive feeling of disappointment that washed over me. Was that really what I wanted? Looking across at her, she had never looked so desirable. In her early thirties, she was in full flower.
Her hair was jet-black, down to her shoulders. Her eyes were almost ebony, dark, warm, unfathomable and, at this moment, glittering with arousal. Her body was strong and sexual – shoulders straight and fleshy, lifting her heavy firm breasts with their wide aurolae and thimble-shaped brown nipples. Her waist was well-defined and her hips spread widely – two succulent globes, jutting to the rear, which, when in motion, would move a stone statue to raging erection. Her legs were sturdy, yet shapely, especially her graceful thighs, and I had never seen such a blatantly sexual pubic bush – black curls in wild profusion, framing a deep pink gash which always seemed to be gleaming with the juices of arousal.
Deep down, I knew that the one drawback of fucking Joan myself was the inability to fully enjoy the wonderful vision of her being fucked, or fucking someone. For that inestimable pleasure, a third party had to be present – a second cock for me to watch her writhe in ecstasy on – a second pair of hands to tease her tits or grip the cheeks of her ass as her legs parted and her cunt was plugged to its full capacity.
I knew now, without a shadow of doubt, that I wanted to see that – so, yes, if Donald hadn't had her, I was disappointed.
"But then, one day," Joan went on, "I didn't have enough cash to pay him, so I had to write out a check. I sat at the desk in the foyer to write out the check, and I immediately realised that, with him standing up, he would get a view down my blouse. I was wearing a push-up bra, and I knew he was getting a real good look at the crevice between my tits. I wrote it real slow, and I could feel my juices running, knowing what he was doing. Then I sneaked a look across the desk and nearly blew my mind. He was wearing a pair of light tan slacks, and his cock was sticking up like a rod – and there was a little dark patch spreading, just at the tip!"
"And it was so big, Kyle! I couldn't see how thick it was, but it must be at least eight inches long – maybe nine! I got such a rush that I messed up the check, and had to write another one! Then I stood up and gave him the check – and the usual kiss and hug. Only, this time, he muttered something and put his hand on my ass and pulled me towards him, on to his hard-on. He's so much taller than me, it was pushing against my navel! And he didn't let my mouth go after a quick kiss, as he usually does. He kissed me again, and his hand slipped down between the cheeks of my ass, and I had to wriggle free from him!"
"He stood back, then he muttered – 'See you Monday, Joan" – and he rushed away. I was breathless, as if I'd been running, and shaking, all over. But it was after that, I really started to see how much I could turn him on."
Joan stopped again, and looked over at me.
"You still OK with this?" she said. I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, and she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, revealing the deep cleavage in her white satin half-cup bra. I could just see the tops of her thrusting nipples.
"You like?" she smiled.
"Yes," I replied. "Just like Donald!" I showed her the tent in my trousers, and she licked her lips, her smile growing a bit strained.
"Don't you start teasing me," she warned, "or I might not get my story finished."
She slid a hand between her thighs, rubbed gently, and gave a small shudder.
"Ohhhhhh," she said. "I'll need you to relieve that itch – later on."
Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand and started her story again.
"The next time Donald called was a Monday, so I didn't have to pay him. But I left the bra I had been wearing on Thursday on our bed. It was that flimsy transparent cream lace one – just ideal for wrapping round his cock!"
Joan gave a strange little laugh, and her eyes went up in her head as, involuntarily, her hand plunged between her thighs again, pulling her dress aside impatiently, and pressing against her mound, on top of the white satin panties. Her voice was shaky again, as she recalled the events of that morning.
"I waited at the bottom of the stairs, listening to Donald moving about, putting the clothes away, until I heard the bathroom door close. Then I quickly climbed the stairs and waited outside the bathroom door. I could hear him inside, Kyle – it was such a turn-on. I could hear him breathing. It got quicker and quicker, then it became very harsh, then he sort of groaned and his breathing turned to shuddering gasps – then it all went quiet. I ran back to the top of the stairs, shaking like a leaf, then I heard the toilet flush and I began to walk slowly along the landing."
"And he came out, holding my bra! When he saw me, he went brick-red, and tried to hide it, but the straps wouldn't stay hidden. Then he said – 'I found this on the floor, Joan, and I was bringing it down to you.' I put out my hand for it, and he hesitated. I knew he was worried that there might be some cum on it, but he had to give it to me."
"I took it without saying anything, and opened it out, so we could both look at it. There were no stains on it. I said – 'I wonder how it got in there? I thought it was in the bedroom.' Donald looked as if he wanted the floor to swallow him up – and I was absolutely soaking! I was so turned on – but I felt so powerful! He had been masturbating with it round his cock two minutes ago, and now I was holding it up in front of him! I couldn't help it – I rubbed it gently against my cheek. Then I said to him – 'Oh, well, thanks, anyway, Donald – it's one of my favorite ones. Do you like it?' But that was too much for him, and he disappeared into the bedroom to fetch the basket."
"But my teasing backfired on me, because he was too embarrassed to stop for his kiss, that day. He couldn't wait to escape, and he rushed downstairs, saying he was late!"
Chapter 3 – Getting In Deeper
"I spent the next three days plotting my next move. I was so aroused all the time, knowing that I could bring his cock to erection just by flashing my cleavage, or letting him touch a piece of my underwear. One time, earlier in the summer, when the kids were still out of school, I had brushed against Donald's cock with my hip, when I picked up Ben and turned suddenly. I could still remember how it felt, and I wondered if I could do it, again, but this time with my hand. I became obsessed with wanting to feel his cock with my hand, but I didn't want him to think it was deliberate."
"So, when he came again on Thursday, I dressed specially for him. I wore my semi-transparent cream blouse and, after a great deal of thought, I didn't wear a bra, at all. I know my tits are really too big to go without a bra, but I really wanted to turn him on, so that his cock would be hard when – if – I got a chance to touch it. I also didn't want him to jerk off, and get soft, so, when he arrived, I said I was in a hurry to go out, and he should just leave the laundry in the kitchen, and I would write him a check."
"As soon as he saw me, he realised I was braless. Well, he'd have had to be blind not to! He had never seen my nipples, and now they were poking through my blouse like organ-stops! And I didn't have to look twice to see that his cock was standing to attention, and saluting the flag! It looked even bigger than before, even though he was wearing dark slacks, this time."
"Pretending to be in a rush, I sat down at the breakfast bar to write the check. It's higher than the desk, and I was able, by hunching down a little, to let my tits actually rest on the surface and, with my blouse gaping forward, Donald could see right down inside. I'm sure he could even see as far as my nipples – I was hoping so, anyway. I was flooding, again, down below and my hand was so shaky, I'm not sure he'd even be able to read the check."
"As soon as I'd finished, I jumped up and gave him a very quick kiss – not even a hug – saying I would have to rush. Then I turned away, quickly, and pretended to stumble. I put out a hand to save myself – and put it right on to his cock! It was absolutely rigid, Kyle - and it felt very thick, as well as long. My hand felt on fire – I could even feel it throbbing beneath my fingers."
"Then I 'recovered' my balance, and apologised to Donald. But I didn't pretend I didn't know what I had grabbed. I said – 'Oh, I am sorry, Donald. Oh, how embarrassing. Imagine me putting my hand there – I'm so sorry!' Then, as if it was an impulse, I hugged him again and kissed him, then rushed upstairs, calling goodbye as I went. I waited to hear the kitchen door close, then threw myself on the bed and had a most enjoyable half hour, remembering the feel of Donald's erection under my fingers, and wondering how he was feeling, knowing I had handled his cock!"
Even the thought that this guy's cock was bigger than mine – which was what Joan was implying – couldn't arrest the lustful surges which were coursing through me as my beloved wife continued these amazing confessions about her 'secret' life. These revelations about her latent sexuality – and her sluttish behaviour – were consuming me and, far from turning me off her, making her more and more fascinating to me.
It was as though I was uncovering a whole new side of her personality – which I undoubtedly was – and, not only that, I was looking at her body in a completely new way. It was as though I had never seen it before, let alone fondled and fucked it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. I was seeing her through another man's eyes. I was Donald, gazing down her blouse at her uncovered tits, my cock going rigid at my first glimpse of her nipples, my mouth drying with the desire to plunge my hand down there and squeeze the firm, forbidden flesh.
I began to rise from the couch, but Joan waved me back.
"That was just two weeks ago, lover. Just let me bring you up to date, then we can go to bed and we can fuck each other senseless – but promise - promise! - you'll tell me again what the removal guys wanted to do to me. I was so excited, last time, I didn't hear half of it."
I subsided again, only half-reluctantly, to hear the rest of the Donald story – so far.
"You know my black velour bikini?" asked Joan. I nodded – it was sensational, on Joan, with an ass-hugging bottom which really enhanced her curvy rear. She knew that if she wore it any place around me, at home or at the area swim club, she'd get herself soundly fucked. She'd even told me that she wore it at the swim club, when she went with a friend - one of our new neighbours – and that all the men eyed her up while she was there. My balls tightened in anticipation.
"Well, when Donald called last Thursday, I was sunbathing on the sundeck outside our bedroom. And – OK – I wasn't wearing it by accident. I know what it does to you – and most of the guys at the swim club – so I wanted to try it out on Donald. When he arrived, he called out and I called back and told him just to come upstairs and put the clothes away."
"I heard him come into the bedroom and go to the closet. But then I lost my nerve – that bikini just shows too much for me to wear it round Donald, without you being here. So I guessed I'd sneak in for a wrap to cover myself. But, just as I came through the window, he came out of the closet with the empty basket. He stopped and looked at me, then he took two strides forward and grabbed me. He grabbed my wrists and pulled me towards him, then he reached down my back and took hold of the cheeks of my bottom and pulled me, hard, against him. I realised that, this time, I was no longer in control and I started to struggle, but he was too strong for me."