The Witness

I had lost another bet and was now wracking my brain as to how to pay the price. You would think I would have learned not to make bets with my husband. It was a silly bet, as is usually the case, but I was so sure of myself this time that I had agreed to stakes much higher than I would normally consider. If he proved himself right yet again, I agreed that I would fulfill a sexual suggestion from him with no arguments or reservations. I knew him well enough to know his suggestion might push near or exceed my envelope of comfort. But I also knew he would not ask me to do the football team at the college where I work.

Well damned if he didn't prove himself right yet again! It can be very frustrating living with someone like that. He asked for some further time to think about what he wished me to do and I agreed to the delay. The suggestion arrived by e- mail while I was at work Monday morning.

You are to witness an ejaculation. The man involved may not be your husband. You may be as creative as you can manage in fulfilling the terms of this task. You have my permission to use your own judgment in what personal involvement you wish to invest. I expect a written first-person report within a week's time.

Hmmm _ yes that sounds like my husband. Now the question was, how to get this done? The obvious method occurred to me without much thought. I could put on my sleazy need-to-get- laid outfit and hit the club Friday night. Granted, I am in my mid-thirties but I'm certainly not dead. With considerable effort on my part, my body has held up well. I had little doubt that I could get picked up _ but perhaps there was an easier way.

There's a quiet park on a hillside just a short drive from where I work. It's called Crest Park and is enough out of the way that not many people go there. I like the place, however, and would sometimes take my lunch there on fine spring days. I'd been there on Friday, quietly reading a book, when I noticed a young man, likely a college student, catching some rays near his bike. I had seen him there before and began to wonder what he might do for entertainment if he thought he had the place to himself. I waited eagerly for lunchtime to arrive and made my way to the Crest.

Luck was not with me that day. There was no one there other than myself. I ate my lunch, hoping company might arrive but no one joined me so I returned to work. Tuesday was a wet miserable day. I set aside thoughts of bets and men and concentrated on finishing the finals pages of a report. Wednesday was more promising, with clear skies and warm temperatures. I drove to Crest park once again and quietly moved down to the clearing where the young man usually spread his towel. He was there this time, but as chance would have it, so was a young family. They were setting out a picnic lunch as the two boisterous young children ran in all directions. I decided to enter the clearing in any case and laid my blanket out where the young man could watch me and perhaps wonder. I decided I would try once more tomorrow before adopting a different plan.

Thursday was my day. The weather cooperated again, sunny with a warm breeze, and I quickly spotted his bicycle propped in the usual location. I took the opportunity and quietly made my way along side the clearing and hid in the tall grass near where he was sunning. No one else was in the park that day. He remained unaware of my presence as I settled in and crossed my fingers. He had stripped to his biker shorts and was lying face down on the towel he had brought with him. While I was anxious for something to happen, I confess that just looking had its appeal. As I said, he appeared to be college age; I had fifteen years on him at least. His body was nicely sculpted, the strong legs you would expect of serious biker but with broad shoulders and a well developed upper body too. I wondered perhaps if gymnastics or swimming was his other sport. Despite the fact that it was only mid May, he'd come here often enough during peak tanning hours that his back and legs were nicely bronzed. There was a thin sheen of perspiration visible, likely from the effort of riding up the steep hill. I began to perspire myself _ whether from the heat of the day or whether from the heat of this illicit activity, I cannot say. Maybe this is why men become peeping Toms. I was getting a charge from the power of invading his privacy without his knowledge.

His biker shorts were black and likely made of spandex or lycra, judging from the way they molded to his buns. Bun watching was one of my favourite activities. If he was a television program he would have been on in prime time. The material was tight enough to display the cleft of his ass and the phrase my husband sometimes used popped to mine: Hmmm _ no panty lines! Nice, nice, nice.

I waited patiently, and in due time he obliged me by rolling over onto his back. I had a brief panic attack when I thought he may have seen me, but he settled down and I raised myself up to continue my stakeout. Much as I had enjoyed the look of his buns, I had no complaints with the new view either. His legs were straight out causing his equipment to bulge nicely through the thin material of the shorts. He had stretched one hand behind his head, the other resting lightly on his flat washboard abs. I felt myself moisten and clenched my thighs together to focus the sweet familiar tingling I was beginning to feel. If I could only project similar thoughts to him: Come on baby _ give yourself a little caress. Lightly drag your fingers across that nice package. It would feel nice _ give yourself a lift for the day. Come on fella, help me out.

I thought along these lines for quite some time but was not getting through. I had only an hour for lunch so decided to take the initiative. I snuck pack out to the entrance to the park, retrieved a blanket from my car and headed back to the clearing. I pretended not to notice him but did set my blanket out parallel to his, a little behind him, about ten yards away. I had worn one of my favourite summer dresses that day. It ties at the back and then flares out. It comes to mid-thigh, is made of thin cotton and buttons in front from neckline to hemline. I turned my back to him and took my panty hose off, deliberately peeling them down my legs more slowly than was necessary. If he was looking, he would have seen a lot of my legs as I bent over. The breeze must have been a co-conspirator that day, as it briefly lifted my dress in a most obliging manner. The brief shot of air was cool against my damp crotch. With my back still turned, I quickly undid a couple of buttons at my hemline before laying down on the blanket. I lay face up and covered my eyes with my jacket _ partly to shade them from the sun but mainly to give him the opportunity to study my body as well.

Within moments I felt the wind again raise my dress and push the thin material up my legs. I lazily straightened out the hem trying to leave the impression that it was too nice a day to be concerned with modesty. I repeated this effort twice more, each time taking longer before reacting. Finally I let the breeze lift my dress unhindered. I was not sure what he could see of me, but I watched him from beneath the edge of the jacket and was pleased to see he was studying me intently. It seemed that the right thoughts were now getting through to him. His cock had stiffened somewhat and was better outlined in his shorts. I looked carefully and could detect movement as his penis stiffened further and moved to straighten itself.

I pushed him a little harder, bending my knees slightly and planting my feet flat on the ground. Surely this now exposed my panties _ bikini panties _ high cut thighs and plain white material. I was treading on thin ice. I wanted him to masturbate but did not wish to seem so approachable he would make a pass (well to be perfectly honest I might have loved it). I lay in the sun a while longer, occasionally straightening one leg and lifting the other. When he seemed to get as hard as possible, I looked at my watch and made a hasty withdrawal as if late for an appointment. As I stood up, he quickly rolled over to hide his excitement. When I got out of sight, I moved back through the deep grass and took up watch as before.

Sure enough, my display had gotten to him. He propped himself up and looked in all directions to verify that I was gone and the he was once again alone. Satisfied, he lay back and slid his right hand under his shorts. I watched as he grasped his cock and began to stroke it slowly. I was behind him slightly and could not clearly see inside his pants but his hand and actions were clearly outlined by the lycra. He continued to stroke himself, his rhythm gradually increasing. He closed his eyes and I imagined the pictures forming in his mind _ the older woman, the thin dress, the long legs, the teasing breeze, the white panties. His breathing changed, his mouth opened and he began to gulp for air. His pace increased and I had no choice but to follow his lead. My right hand slid under the elastic of my panties. I moistened my finger from the wetness at hand and began working on my clit as I continued to watch my handsome hard young friend.

A moment of dismay! He stopped! His anxiety had overcome his need and he again surveyed the clearing to verify he was alone. Once again I lowered myself as he looked in my direction. He did not see me but he seemed to pause for a moment as if making a big decision. Reassured, he lifted his hips and pulled his shorts down to his knees. He had a beautiful cock, just the right size. Not long enough to hit a cervix but with enough girth to provide a great ride. His glans was swollen and impeded the top motion of his hand as he resumed pleasuring himself. He wasted no time in adopting the previous furious speed and I felt confident I would soon be able to dismiss my obligations. I focused on his cock moving rapidly in the sunshine from the vigorous efforts of his hand. I increased my pace to match his. I was charged with the thrill of voyeurism and exhibitionism and doubted I could last as long as he might. I closed my eyes and soon I felt my climax begin. I pressed my finger tightly against my nub. The peak of my orgasm was the most intense I could ever recall from masturbation and I moaned quietly as the contractions within followed one after another.

I held myself still for a moment, savoring the last ripples and then reopened my eyes. He was done as well, his hand at rest, traces of his cum trailing across his taught belly. I wanted to stay in order to come down slowly but thought it better to leave the scene while I had the chance. I got back to my car, stepped back into my pantyhose, collected myself together and completed the short drive back to work. I was looking forward to starting up the word processor to get this story written down. The smile left my face, however, when I recalled the precise instructions I had been given. "You are to witness an ejaculation". I had missed the moment hadn't I. The week was nearly done _ was it necessary to consider plan B after all?

The thought of allowing some sleaze to pick me up Friday night was losing its lustre. Too risky. The germ of an alternative idea planted itself in my mind and I decided to take the following day off as vacation. I had trouble getting to sleep as possible outcomes for tomorrow's plan drifted through my mind.

The next morning, I saw my husband off as though nothing was out of the ordinary. He had asked how I was progressing with my debt and I merely smiled and told him to wait for his report. I called into work, verified that there was nothing pressing on my schedule for that day and told them I would see them on Monday. With the luxury of time, I treated myself to a long shower. I turned the heat up and slowly circled in the fine spray. The shower head is a hand-held massage unit. I lifted it from the bracket, dialled a more vigorous spray and slowly guided the water stream against my breasts and torso with occasional dips lower down. The spray was just short of too strong and felt wonderful, especially as I circled the spray around one nipple and then another. My areola's wrinkled from the stimulation and my nipples perked up _ as if demanding more attention from the water.

I directed the flow between my legs, squatting slightly to let the water pulse against my labia and perineum. I aimed the massage unit upward and played it back and forth feeling the stimulation on my asshole and back up to my clit. With rapid movements of the shower head I could add an exciting second dimension to the massage effect. Visions of my previous lunch hour returned to mind, and I thought of the fast pace in the arm of the young biker as he brought himself toward orgasm. I adjusted for a more intense spray and brought the head to the entrance of my vagina and felt the hot water pulse inside me. I was very close again. I abruptly shut the water off and hung the showerhead back in place. I wanted to keep an edge on _ I felt it would enhance the task that lay ahead. My own willpower astonished me.

I dressed for a day of shopping and set off for the city, about 60 miles distant. I headed for my favourite mall, found a phone booth and checked the yellow pages for therapeutic massage. There was a health club in town with a massage facility but I went there sometimes so I passed that entry by and checked the next possibility: Aesthetics & Massage. When I phoned for an appointment, the only opening was for 2:00 p.m. with a woman named Marie. That would not do! I made an excuse about the appointment being too late and tried the next listing: Sports Therapy and Massage. This sounded interesting. I called and learned I could have a session with David at 12:30. I booked the appointment and gave some thought as to how I should pass the time.

You need not be a genius to guess that I went shopping. I shopped with no particular purpose and simply spent time leisurely browsing in book stores and dress shops. I picked up a copy of Nancy Friday's book "Women on Top" for later perusal and spent some time trying on various outfits. I'll confess to some ego tripping as I admired my body in the full length mirrors. The Nordic track machine was keeping things nicely together.

I allowed myself extra time to find my way to Sports Therapy which turned out to be easier than expected. I arrived with twenty minutes to spare and not wishing to seem overeager, waited in my car and leafed through the book. I was engrossed in a woman's fantasy of exhibition when 12:30 drew near. Before getting from the car I did a quick exploration and found myself moist once again. I made a silent wish that David was not gay and went in for my appointment.

I waited for about ten minutes when finally a young man, about 25, came over and said: "Rachel? Hi I'm David. Come with me please".

David seemed very fit and athletic. He had premature baldness but was otherwise quite handsome. He wore black sweat pants topped by a white T-shirt. He led me down a corridor and I followed him to room number seven. The place seemed quiet. He explained that Friday was a slow day for them but he nevertheless closed the door behind us as we entered the room. He handed me a large towel and pointed to a cubicle where I could change. The cubicle had swinging doors that covered a body from about mid-thigh to neck line. I could watch David as he laid out a new sheet on the wide massage table and proceeded to open a container of oil. It was a bit disconcerting to step out of my clothing, knowing he could watch my dress being lifted over my head and my pantyhose slide off my legs. I asked him if I should leave my underwear on and he chuckled and replied that it was up to me _ that they ran a professional shop here.

"OK", I replied and took care to insure he was watching as I kicked my panties from my toe and I shucked off my bra. I wrapped the towel around me and went to join him. Before I got on the table he asked what type of massage I wanted. "Nothing too strenuous", I replied. "My goal is relaxation."

I lay on the table with my crossed hands beneath my forehead. I lifted my body slightly, exposing my breasts briefly as he drew the towel down my body, uncovering my entire back. He rubbed some oil between his hands and began a gentle rubdown near my neck and shoulders. I asked him how he became a masseur and he replied that an ex-girlfriend had convinced him to help out with the sports teams at the city university. I was very pleased to hear him utter girlfriend and was persuaded that my plan should proceed.

He worked on my back for several minutes before moving down to massage my calves. He complimented me on my muscle town and I explained my daily fitness routine. I also casually mentioned that the Nordic Track did leave my thighs a bit tense.

"Roll over and we'll fix that up", he offered.

I rolled over on my back making no particular effort to cover myself. I was pleased to notice that he also made no effort to readjust the towel. I was sure my pubic hair was visible as he worked on the front of my thighs. I placed one hand behind me to prop my head up so that I could watch his reaction. This uncovered a breast but allowed me to watch his face as he worked on my thighs. Yes indeed, he was stealing glances beneath the towel as his strong fingers gripped and released the muscles in my legs. I wondered if I was glistening _ if that's what held his attention.

"Hmmm that's nice", I reported. "Do you make house calls?"

He smiled and continued to work. "That should do", he said. "Let's finish up with a temple massage." As he moved back towards the head of the table I took my chance and reached out to caress him through the front of his sweat pants. He did not pull back but allowed my touch to linger.

"What do you have in mind, Mrs. Taylor?", he asked, as his warm slick hands reached for my breasts.

"I want to watch you come", I replied. "Please don't ask why. I won't fuck you but I can help in other ways."

He did not appear eager to insist on screwing but instead pulled my towel completely away and dropped it on the floor. He pulled his shirt, sweats and jockey briefs off. He had an average build but with strong arms and a very hairy chest, perhaps to make up for the lack of hair on his head. His cock was still enlarging as I reached back to touch his flesh directly. I stroked him slowly with my free hand as both his hands returned to my breasts. His oily finger tips began drawing steady circles around and across my nipples. He moved his left hand down and began to explore between my legs _ the oil from his hands mixing with the slick wet ooze from my cunt. He crooked one finger inside me, exerting pressure on my clit as the fingers of his other hand continued to tap dance between my nipples. Within moments his prick was fully engorged, to the point that I could no longer keep my thumb and fingers in contact. Despite the intensity of his massage I kept my eyes open and focused on the tip of his organ as my hand slid up and down along his shaft. I was confident my betting debt would soon be paid.

But not immediately, it seemed. David joined me on the table and assumed the 69 position. He quickly laid his tongue against my clit and began to vibrate it wetly to and fro. His swollen dick dangled above my face and I lifted my head high enough to grasp his cock head between my lips. I could not lift high enough from the massage table to take him deeply so hoped he would be content with the swirling action from my tongue. His technique was very good and would normally have gotten me off in short order, but today I concentrated on the task I'd been struggling with all week. His legs were in my way and I could not easily reach up to lend a hand to my oral pursuit. I proceeded as best I could but not well enough. He soon repositioned his body so we were now face to face.