The Borrowing Game Ch. 02

Please, if you haven't done so already, I suggest you read 'The Borrowing Game' first. That story was intended to be a stand-alone story, but with the requests, I decided to tell, as the late, great Paul Harvey used to say, 'The Rest of the Story'. This is chapter two of three, total.

"Honey, you need to go, anyway, you know you want to, and I insist."

We'd been planning a trip down into Oregon, sightseeing, camping, and my husband had gotten tied up in a case. Pro-bono for a nineteen-year-old kid, DeAndre, no parents, accused of a stabbing he insists he'd seen and was trying to help. He was bloodied and his fingerprints were the only ones on the knife, no witnesses, arrested and charged with murder. It hadn't helped that the kid was black and wearing a hoodie.

We'd spent many hours with the kid and were a hundred percent convinced he was telling the truth, despite what seemed like inscrutable evidence against him. Before this, he'd had two misdemeanor convictions, nothing violent. Maybe with the evidence it wasn't racial profiling, but it sure seemed like it.

This two-plus-week trip had been planned for several months. We'd even bought a two-year-old, used camper van.

The kid was still in jail because of the capital murder charge. We still had plenty time to prepare for the trial, still over four months away, but Aaron didn't want to leave him alone in jail with no family, and it seemed no friends, either. It had become very personal for us, he seemed like a nice kid caught up trying to help a victim.

ooOoo

I was an eighteen-year-old barely out of high school working in Macy's, in Denver, the lingerie and makeup departments, and a little Macy's modeling, too. I knew I was above average pretty; long red hair, green eyes, perky boobs just right for my 127-pound frame, and my very best parts, or so I was told -- my smile and my long legs, five feet, nine and three-quarters inches tall. I was also a bit of, shall I say, 'free spirit'. I didn't mind, enjoyed -- a lot, using my looks to enjoy life, i.e. sex. I had a VERY active sex life.

Then I got hooked on a television series that changed everything, The Good Wife. Alicia Florrick (Julianna Margulies), unbeknownst to her, convinced me that I wanted to be an attorney. Eight years and thousands of hard work hours later, I passed the bar exam and began my job search. I was still enjoying the perks of being an attractive female, but it had taken on a lot less prominence in my life with all the work and stress of earning my law degree.

Then I met Aaron, he was looking for a paralegal in his little one-man firm in Manitou Springs, pop 4,832, just outside Colorado Springs. He hired me on the spot, not as the paralegal he'd advertised for, but as an attorney, working side-by-side with him. I couldn't have been more thrilled, it hadn't been my looks that impressed him but my legal expertise. We'd done a lot of mock trials in law school, and like Alicia, I discovered I was very good. It didn't hurt, either, that I was number three in my class of two-hundred-thirteen at Sturm Law School, Denver.

Aaron was thirty-three, a very fit and good-looking man, an avid skier and bicyclist, same as me, and I was twenty-six when he hired me, and as we worked together, a mutual attraction developed. To be honest, I was smitten at that first interview. It took sixteen months for our first date. Twenty-eight months, nineteen days after I stepped foot in his office the first time, we were married. My days of sexual proclivities were over, but that didn't mean my libido had diminished. If anything, being around Aaron so much... Also, my husband has a very high sex drive, giving us a very satisfying life. Our work is very high-stress, and sex, along with being very enjoyable, is a huge relief valve. We make love at least eight or nine times a week, more often than not a hard fuck. I've heard that men think about sex on average nineteen times a day. That's me in reverse, except a lot more, it seems like I'm almost always horny.

I also work hard to keep my body in shape. Since I started work, five-plus years ago, I gained a total of three pounds, seven ounces, every ounce, I think, to my boobs, much of it nerve endings in my nipples connected directly to my pussy.

I wouldn't say that I'm a nympho but the line would be pretty close.

ooOoo

The night before I left for my trip, Aaron and I had a very satisfying evening, we fucked and we fucked hard pretty much all night. By morning we were both exhausted, not that it prevented one last fuck in our oversized shower (it's why we had that shower put in). This was going to be the first time we'd been apart for any significant time since our marriage three years earlier.

The first ten days were enjoyable but pretty unremarkable. I visited The Painted Hills, Smith Rock, Crater Lake, the Lava Bed National Monument just across the California border south of Klamath Falls, and on the eleventh day, the flat, dry Alvord Desert on the eastern side of the Steens Mountains.

Why, you might ask, was I traveling around Oregon instead of the beautiful National Parks and monuments of Colorado and Utah? I'm glad you asked, my parents -- it's where they grew up and I'd always wanted to see the places they talked about so much. Besides, every place I visited was beautiful in its own way.

The only thing I wasn't enjoying was the lack of companionship and especially, the lack of... you know. At least I was calling my husband every night, telling him about my adventures and just hearing his voice. Nights alone were lonely, to say the least. We learned that phone sex could be quite enjoyable, but still, neither it nor my vibrator was a substitute for the real thing. I was in a constant state of arousal, getting more acute every day.

On that fateful eleventh day, I ran into trouble, spending much of the day hiking up a beautiful canyon into the Steens Mountain, getting pictures of several Bighorn Sheep and the scenery. Unfortunately, out there, where I hadn't seen another car for the entire day, I got back to my van and the damned battery was dead. I had no idea what I'd left on, but it didn't matter.

I had no idea what to do, my van was dead, I hadn't seen another vehicle all day, no cell phone service, and it was over twenty miles back to a highway where there even MIGHT be a passing car, about the same distance to the tiny town of Fields. The only other sign of civilization had been an abandoned ranch seven or eight miles back up the road.

I could only think of two options, hike the twenty miles to Fields or sit in my stifling hot van and cry. I chose the latter, it was too late in the day and too hot to start that kind of hike. At least in the van, I had cold drinks and food. I also had the presence of mind to prop the engine's hood open as a distress signal, just in case someone came by, which I highly doubted. I was wishing I'd brought my bicycle like I wanted, it would have been an easy ride on the bike. If only we'd gotten around to putting a trailer hitch on the van for the bike carrier.

I don't know how long I'd been there feeling sorry for myself, wishing my husband was with me, three-four hours at least, until I heard a car pull into my little wide spot. I tried to get my tears under control again, they'd been coming and going ever since I discovered the dead battery.

Then the fear hit me. I knew it probably wasn't rational, but... what if...? I didn't even want to think it but couldn't help it. I was a woman alone on a nearly abandoned road, miles from anywhere. This person could be a rapist, ax-murderer or whatever, and there wouldn't be a thing I could do to defend myself. I was wishing I had a gun but oh-no, it hadn't even crossed my mind until that instant.

The knock on the door, the feelings of relief and fear were dueling in my head. I wiped the most recent tears from my cheeks with a tissue, got up on my buttery legs, and peeked out the window. There was a woman sitting in a pickup behind my van, which seemed to me to be a good sign. I didn't think most serial killers traveled with a calm woman in the passenger seat (Bonnie and Clyde, notwithstanding), so I opened my door. The guy looked a little older than me and didn't seem threatening with that smile on his face, kind of (a lot) cute, too.

I did notice his eyes quickly traveling up and down my body. I guess I wasn't surprised, my shorts were just a bit... short, and I think he might have noticed my braless nipples poking through my thin blouse as well.

I found myself returning his look, apprising him like he was me.

"Hi, you having troubles?" he asked me.

I told him about my dead battery and he said he had jumper cables. The relief was washing through me, maybe I wouldn't have a twenty-mile hike to Fields tomorrow.

He went back to his pickup, and his wife, I guessed it was his wife, drove the pickup alongside the van, he opened his hood and connected the cables, telling me to try it.

I can't even begin to tell you what a relief it was when my van roared to life. I closed my eyes, breathed a huge sigh of relief, and stepped outside.

The first thing that went through my mind was that I wanted to kiss this guy! But first... ask his wife, didn't want to have her going off on me, maybe deciding that a murder was justified, after all.

What she said floored me, put my head in a jumble, "Honey, you do whatever with him," and something like, "Whatever you're woman enough for." Those might not have been her exact words, but that was the gist of it. She'd just given me permission to... I wasn't even sure what.

If she was only kidding, she'd picked the wrong woman and the wrong time. Her husband was freakin' hot, (and he was MALE) and you already know what state I was in (in case it needs spelled out a bit clearer, I was FUCKING HORNY!). And I saw the look on her husband's face too, shock, but something else too, like he knew exactly what she'd meant, as if... was there something there that I didn't know?

The first thing that went through my mind when she said that was my husband, the last thing he'd said to me after kissing me goodbye that morning eleven days ago. He told me he loved me, then chuckled and said, "You know... if an opportunity arises..."

That was all, no elaboration on meaning, just laughing it off. The thing was, he'd been teasing me for a long time about how hot it'd be for his pretty, lawyer-wife to 'make out' with some guy.

My savior was about three steps away from me, stowing the cables in the back of their pickup. I made those steps in very short order and wrapped my arms around him, planting my lips on his. It took about a nanosecond for his stiff lips to soften, and when my tongue pressed against them, he didn't hesitate to open his mouth and welcome it. Much, much better than the peck on the cheek I'd originally planned.

And oh my, the feel of that hard dick pressing against my tummy, I had to focus my thoughts and bite my lip to deny myself having an orgasm right there alongside his pickup. I was sure as hell hoping his wife hadn't just been teasing. I think I might have even told him something to that effect. And then... when she suggested we all go inside my van...

He and I sat down on my little, twin bed (the van has bunks), my nerves suddenly flaring to life, realizing what I was about to do. I remembered what Aaron had said, those last words, "If an opportunity..." I tried to remember his tone, his facial expressions, his laugh when he'd said it, anything to give me a clue. He was smiling like he always does when he teases me, like the times when he'd teased about me 'making out'. That'd always been when we were fucking, just 'bedroom' talk. Now, I wished we'd had a normal conversation about it. But he'd always used the words, 'making out', it'd never been 'fuck', 'have sex', or anything like that, never ever.

Except, wasn't that what he'd implied with his 'if an opportunity' comment? God, I wished he was here, to either fuck me himself or... you know.

I sat there on my bed, looking at this hunk of a guy, these thoughts jumbling in my head. Fuck it, he'd said the damned words, if he hadn't meant it, he shouldn't have said it, but I'd just make out with the guy a little, nothing else. After all, his wife was right there and there would be no way... despite what she'd said about me 'borrowing him', and doing 'whatever'.

So I leaned over, finding his lips with mine. Ahh, heaven... his lips were soft, and his tongue... My hand went behind his neck, pulling him tighter to me. His chest pressed against my boobs. God, I wished I'd put on a bra that morning. I'd thought about it, but it was going to be such a hot day. I was alone, and it always felt so free when I didn't. And I loved the eroticism of my nipples rubbing against my blouse. At home I couldn't, even when Aaron and I went out, in case we ran into someone we knew. But here... and I was fucking glad I hadn't!

I pulled one of his hands between us and moaned when he cupped my breast, both of us falling back on the bed.

I pulled away, panting from the intensity of that kiss. His wife, she had her hand down her pants, doing... "You want to undress me?" my mouth said before my brain had a chance to engage.

The look on his face, like a six-year-old unwrapping that first Christmas present... He pulled the little bow on the bottom of my blouse. I looked down, watching his fingers, shaking, as they undid the buttons. I don't know why I said it... who am I kidding, hell yes, I do! "They make a nice mouthful."

I closed my eyes and let out a loud moan when his lips sucked one in. I remember thinking, 'don't you fucking dare tell him to stop!' the thought from what I'd told his wife a few seconds earlier, that she could tell us to stop anytime she wanted.

He fumbled with the button, then the zipper on my Daisy Dukes, I lifted my hips and let him push them down, following right behind with my thong. 'Make out', fucking hell! If my asshole husband hadn't meant it, he shouldn't have said it! I'd gone from about a hundred-eighty to a thousand in a matter of seconds.

And then his mouth wasn't there, he was standing, tearing at his clothes. I scooted back on the bed a little, spreading my legs apart, thankful that I'd had the foresight to shave that morning. Why that morning, you might ask? I just felt like being baby-smooth down there, it feels good with my thong, naughty. And I'd been in a naughty and nice mood when I got up, all fucking day until the dead battery, hell, all fucking week!

And how was I feeling then? Naughty didn't even begin to describe it (maybe naughty with a heavy dose of the nasties replacing the nice?) His dick was so swollen, not hung like a horse (where the hell did THAT come from?), but he sure wasn't going to disappoint this girl, especially with that little curl.

Crap, I realized I didn't have any condoms, Aaron and I didn't use them, I was on the pill. On the... Ohh, God... his mouth was... his tongue pressing inside my slit. The orgasm shot through me, my scream reverberating inside my little van.

I could hardly breathe when I came down from the high, "Condom... I don't have... on the pill..." All I wanted was for this guy to fuck me. I wanted him inside me!

His wife, he looked at her, so did I, stunned. She was naked below the waist, her blouse open, legs spread, fingers... doing their thing. I'd never been attracted to another woman, but seeing her then, like that...

"Don't you dare stop," or something like that, she said.

I knew then what I wanted, I pulled him down on his back, and straddled him. Aaron, don't say what you fucking don't mean, I thought one last time, my last thought before feeling him stretching me as I lowered my pussy down, impaling myself, hearing myself letting out a long, drawn-out groan.

He'd slipped inside me so easily, filling me, stretching me, so tight, the feelings so intense. It had been eleven days since that morning with Aaron, and this, my first time with anyone not named Aaron Andreason since before that first dinner with my boss four years ago. That brought a funny thought to my head, I didn't even know this guy's name.

I just sat there, moaning, feeling him inside me, letting my weight press down on his pelvis, in a state of bliss, hearing more moans than my own. I opened my eyes and turned, looking at his wife, legs spread wide, fingers deep inside herself, eyes wide open. I suddenly wanted...

I'd never been watched before. I discovered I liked it, wanted to put on a show. "Suck my tits," I told her husband.

"Oh yeah, bite it," I practically screamed as he sucked, pulling him to me, beginning to slide up and down on his cock, already starting to feel the tingling of an impending orgasm. Every 'down' and he bucked up, pressing himself deeper inside me. If there had been any rational thoughts in the last minutes, they were far gone, all I wanted was to be fucked and that orgasm.

I was starting to have trouble breathing, the intensity building with every time that cock drove into me. I tried to hold it back, knowing that the longer I could, the harder it'd hit, the better it'd feel. Everything else in my life was gone, a blur, nothing mattered except that stone-hard dick driving in and out of my cunt.

And then... it hit, like slamming into a concrete wall at a hundred miles per hour. And I felt him spurting inside me, my body shuddering, feeling like... I didn't even know what, there's no way to describe!

I truly couldn't breathe, trying to catch my breath, wave after wave of bliss ripping through me like a thousand volts of electricity might feel if it had been metamorphosed into the most extreme pleasure.

I collapsed onto him, my body soaked with sweat, his too, for that matter. I kissed him, a little more tenderly this time, one last snuggle, our cheeks pressed tightly together, "You better check on your wife," I told him.

She was still there, her face flushed, fingers still inside her pussy, panting. I'd just had an incredible orgasm but seeing her like that... the feeling from earlier hit me again, I wanted... didn't even know what I wanted... except I did know.

He pulled out of me, stood, and went to her, kissing her. I couldn't hear what was whispered between them, but she was smiling.

We all got dressed, and he went outside, she stayed. I had no idea what to say to the woman whose husband I'd just fucked, just dug one of my business cards out of my purse and handed to her, "Please, sometime, come... "

She'd looked at the card, "Naomi, that's my name, and Jason, my husband." Looking back up at me, she added, "We're at Page Springs Campground just out of Frenchglen, he'll put on an extra steak tonight."

"I don't know, it'll depend on my husband," I told her, hoping that he'd be okay with it. I watched the dust from their pickup going out of sight and stepped into my shower, suddenly conscious of the cum running down my legs.

How long had it been? I had absolutely no idea, but the van had been running the whole time. I desperately wanted to call my husband, have him tell me it was okay, that he'd really meant what he'd said.

I dressed, another pair of shorts, which I apprised a little more closely and liked even better; very, very short and tight, micros if ever there was, and instead of a blouse, the top part of my string bikini, not covering much more than the bottoms did. I don't get a chance to wear it often at home because of the 'professional' image we have to maintain, but Aaron had insisted I bring it, even though I'd told him I wouldn't be wearing it. That 'naughty' feeling hadn't gone away even a little bit. And it was fun out here where nobody knew me.

I drove the twenty miles to Fields, the way they'd gone, no doubt stopping at the same store, since there was only one. I filled my gas tank, over six dollars a gallon, not cheap out here in the middle of nowhere.