Titillation Rumination

Then, about a week later I got a text on my cell phone with a video attached. I didn't know how to do texting so I naively asked my husband for help to retrieve it and we both groaned in resignation as a silent movie of me being fucked by Brandon appeared for several seconds on the tiny screen. It was through the open Venetian blinds of our bedroom window and not great quality but good enough to show the back of my husband watching as I lay there in profile with my hair in a tangle around the bored expression on my face. The sun streamed onto Brandon and me like a spotlight as he supported himself on his hands on each side of my chest and his naked ass humped incessantly between my spread legs. The subject title of the text said "Maybe you can help me?" with a winking smiley face to punctuate it.

I was furious at first and argued with my husband who seemed less offended by Stan's invasion of our privacy and more interested in how to appease it. It took a week's worth of avoiding Stan before I agreed that we would have to confront the blackmailing evidence and I let my husband arrange the meeting.

I was very defensive and dressed more conservatively than Stan had probably ever seen me as he joined us in the sunroom the next night. He brought his laptop computer and seemed surprised when I refused to watch the rest of the video clips that my husband did want to see. While looking at the screen, the two of them talked in hushed tones but loud enough for me to hear that it was a negotiation for my services that could have just as easily been over the sale of a used car.

It turns out that Stan hasn't been able to get an erection since surgery for prostate cancer about five years ago and dared to wonder if I would get naked and try to get him off with a handjob. He said the doctor told him that his affected nerves might someday return to normal with the proper stimulation and a regular use of Viagra but he was still waiting. He had tried masturbating to the video but still couldn't get hard or ejaculate with his own hand and claimed that imagining me touching his cock without any clothes on had caused "stirrings" that gave him hope.

He wasn't proud of his affliction but apparently saw the disinterested woman on the video that spread her legs and patiently let an eighteen-year-old kid pound her pussy as one who might also be open to lending a hand to an older guy with a problem. It was sad and sick at the same time but I guess I could see how it might have seemed like an easy fix for a desperate guy who had stumbled onto a husband with a useful wife. I actually heard him say "since you like sharing her anyway."

He was right about that part, I guess. After what happened with Brandon, the subject is no longer taboo and I've pretty much accepted the idea that, if I'll allow it, the adulterous use of my body won't have to be restricted to young guys to be a powerful aphrodisiac for my husband. It hadn't happened yet and it might be too bad for the sake of our marriage bed that Stan had to make me feel like I was being forced into it. I'm not attracted to him but I am interested in finding new ways to turn my husband on and turning a tease into a physical stunt of some kind with a sexually disabled neighbor might have otherwise been acceptable for all of us. But that night ended with me nauseated and glaring at them both with my husband promising that we would have to get back to him.

Another week passed with my stubborn refusal to become a neighborhood prostitute even though we all knew that my morals were pretty hard to defend. Two more untitled text videos on my phone told us that Stan expected an answer soon and in another sunroom meeting one evening, he tried sweetening the deal by promising to keep his clothes on and his hands off of me. Rambling nervously about his own need to preserve his reputation in the religious community he then unexpectedly launched into a romantic description of the naked parts of my body with a poetic intimacy that made me blush as my husband sat beside me smirking. I was still opposed to it but my husband's love of showing me off to other men was obviously changing the numbers to two against one and I cursed under my breath when he whispered so Stan could hear it, too, "It's just a handjob."

I was upset and feeling trapped but too guilty to be angry. It seemed like I was being pimped like a $10 crack whore and even his promise to "take care" of me when I was done with Stan sounded more like manipulation than making love. All of my teasing that Stan had enjoyed over the years now seemed like the antics of a pitiful streetwalker and I tried my best to accept responsibility for the mess that losing control with Brandon had created as I wiped a tear away and reluctantly agreed to confirm Stan's unwholesome opinion of me.

We had never discussed the final details so we were surprised when he insisted that it could only be me and him in the room for the act and I was even more surprised at how quickly my husband excused himself. Awkward was an understatement then. I was a clearly unwilling participant and Stan was suddenly a nervous opportunist that looked like he hadn't prepared for it getting this far.

He sheepishly reached into his pocket for a blue diamond-shaped tablet and held it up for me to see, before swallowing it without any water. "Sorry, I would have taken it a little earlier if I had known."

It didn't fill me with confidence but I certainly had no objection to some pharmacological help if it would release me sooner from what I was about to do. There were no candles or sexy music playing in the background or any lead in to the performance that I'm guessing both he and I hoped would be quick, though probably for different reasons.

After staring at the floor for a minute or two, in the pale glow of a single table lamp in the corner of the room, I stood from my chair and took a deep breath before pulling my sweatshirt over my head and stalled as I folded it front of me. He didn't rush me but I eventually had to lay it on the chair to stand before him in my simple cotton bra and blue jeans. I wouldn't look at him but I could feel his eyes on my nipples that the cool evening air had caused to poke against the single layer of white fabric that is all my tiny breasts need for support.

As I took a rubber band out of my pocket and raised my arms above my head to tie my hair in a pony tail, he hummed his approval and I had to swallow against the disgust it made me feel at becoming his plaything.

I wondered what to do next. Would it be better to take my bra off before my jeans or the other way around? Should I be moving in some sultry dance to get him aroused or would that look too much like I was enjoying it, too? As much of an exhibitionist as I am, I wasn't enjoying it and my typical ploys of acting like I didn't know I was exposed certainly wouldn't work in this case anyway.

I could feel my pulse thumping in my chest and thoughts of abandonment by my husband surfaced as the only sound in the room was Stan's heavy breathing through his nose. I had to do something so I continued to undress as if I was in a doctor's office more than a strip club with a pot-bellied old guy watching my every move.

I casually unsnapped my jeans and unzipped them and then twisted my hips a little to lower them down until I could kick them to the side and then faced him in my anything-but-sexy Fruit of the Loom panties and bra. Just standing there made me feel like a model in the Sunday ads who would pose in their underwear with absolutely no hint of eroticism. It seemed unlikely that my attitude would produce an erection for him.

Then, against my wishes, I felt my nipples tighten when he said quietly, "You're gorgeous, you know," as he wiggled his thumb subtly in the direction of his crotch and added, "I can feel it."

I set my jaw and felt my upper chest flush as he softly coaxed me to keep going and I bashfully obliged him by reaching behind to unfasten my bra. It struck me how important timing and mystery were to the teasing that this definitely wasn't as I sighed heavily and let the cups fall away from my small boobs. That cool air on my bare nipples marked the point of no return from the decision that seemed like it had been made for me.

My husband says that my breasts don't sag but in all honesty, if I don't watch my posture, they do droop like little beanbags with a ski-jump crest at the nipples that aim upward. As the straps dropped off of my arms, mostly out of habit, I threw my shoulders back to flatten out my chest into the pointed mounds that the victims of my teasing were more familiar with but hated the hypocrisy when I did it.

"You look like you're fifteen," he said hoarsely and in a tone that I'm sure he wanted to have sound like a compliment but left me wondering how he would know. I had a hard time not imagining him as some perverted Sunday school teacher handing out candy in class to his under-age girls so they would take off their training bras and let him look at their budding breasts. It sort of made me glad that he was looking at me instead.

Our eyes met only briefly and if he sensed my misgivings in that half-naked moment, it did nothing to overpower the lust I could see boiling up in him. An unflinching expectation to see me completely nude was written all over his face and his eyes compelled me to continue.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and peeled them down with no more emotion than if I was getting ready to use the toilet. I felt my tits sway a little as I leaned forward to get my panties to just above my knees and then stood back up to shake my legs so they would fall to the floor before stepping out of them with my tuft of pubic hair on display - almost defying him not to stare.

Neither of us was ready for that moment I don't think and for several seconds I stood naked in front of the open windows of the sunroom with my neighbor just sitting on the couch focused on my puffy camel-toe. Feeling vulnerable and taken advantage of I tried to hide the indignation in my voice but it didn't sound like it when it came out.

"How am I supposed to do it?" It sounded snotty and impatient.

He jumped a little as he cleared his throat and said, "You let me watch once," while motioning with a nod of his head toward the door where my husband had exited and then the couch where he sat, "with your hand in his pants. That's all you have to do."

He had emphasized the word "have" which briefly turned my misgivings to contempt until I reminded myself again that I was mostly responsible for his opinion of me. Besides his discovery of me with Brandon, I remembered the incident he was talking about with my husband and couldn't deny that I got turned on by letting him watch us one night in a dark room.

He had appeared at the screen door and without getting up my husband had invited him to come in where we were curled up on the couch watching a movie. I was lying with my head on his chest where his arm draped down my side to rest his hand on my hip as I sat with my legs bent on the cushion pointing sideways across me. Pointing toward the chair across the room that Stan picked to sit in to watch the movie with us.

I knew right away that I was going to get exposed to him since I was wearing a long t-shirt without underwear. I wasn't sure it wasn't a set-up but as long as I could pretend that it wasn't, I didn't stop it. Before Stan's eyes could adjust to the dim light of the TV, I could feel the edge of my shirt getting pulled high enough to uncover my pussy and waited for my husband's hand to rest on it to cover the hairless slit. I could hear his heart beating as fast as I could feel mine and with just enough darkness, pillows and distance between us, I let Stan watch a slow and luxurious finger-fucking in the shadows while I milked a sticky eruption from my husband's cock that never left his pants. We never had to turn away from the TV so whatever privacy Stan stole from us we figured would never have to be explained.

Stan winked now as I stood naked in front of him and I couldn't suppress the grin of mischief that the memory of that night brought as our eyes met.

"You can do more if you want," he added with a sly grin of his own.

I didn't want more from him and I'm not proud of my impudence but I couldn't keep from snapping back as the smile left my face, "This is about what you want, not me." I meant it to hurt but I instantly worried that he might have heard it differently.

Beckoning me with his eyes and a nod, I felt my titties jiggle as I walked warily toward him as he lay down on his back and turned to face me with his head resting on the arm of the couch.

I admit my curiosity and suspicion about the story of his impotence. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a small bulge in his pants that either proved he was sort of well hung when soft or that my nudity was already having an effect on his dysfunction. The pill surely hadn't had time to work.

I jumped when his hand grazed my knee and looked angrily toward the bedroom door to remind him that I still had protection. I could hear the TV turned up through the door and the shower running in our bathroom to tell me that help from my husband might be delayed since he was apparently getting ready for my reward for servicing another man. But it still got Stan's attention.

"You said you wouldn't touch," I seethed in an unnecessary whisper and stepped back out of his reach.

My breasts bounced playfully when I did and he smiled at them and then at me when my biceps squeezed my chest to stop the provocative wobble but really just presented him with two nipples almost touching across my tiny cleavage. I had to smile myself at my useless attempt at modesty and we shared the only chuckle that the whole night would bring as I pulled my arms away from my chest.

"Okay," Stan said in nervous defense. "I just wanted you to spread your feet a little so I could see it."

His eyes were boring into the bald crease of my camel-toe and my showmanship betrayed me as my nipples hardened again at the thought of giving him a better look. I hung my head knowing that I was going to have to trust him to get close enough to get it over with and, with a sigh, I stepped back toward him and spread my feet wider than I'd guess he was asking to make sure he wouldn't need to correct me.

"Perfect," he said softly as I paused standing next to him and then he moaned when I leaned forward to dangle my naked titties above his chest as my hand touched the buckle of his belt.

I was on auto-pilot with only one goal as I fumbled with the snap and zipper of his pants to expose his white briefs. He kept his hands at his sides as I slipped one of mine into the open fly of his pants and my fingertips touched the shape of his cock through his underwear. It was soft but his grunt of approval told me that it wasn't without feeling as my trembling hand lightly caressed the spongy form of his crippled masculinity.

"I knew that you could."

He wasn't hard so I wasn't sure yet what he thought I could do but whether I wanted to or not I had obviously innervated something sexual in him. With a little more confidence I began to fondle his limp cock through the material of his briefs and let my fingers slip inside the fly as his hips squirmed in anticipation. By the time my small hand had slithered in to make contact with the rubbery flesh that shifted loosely along the thick shaft, I hoped he could tell that touching another man's cock wasn't a common occurrence for me.

I wondered where my eyes should be as I looked at the wall behind the couch and started to massage the soft mass all the way to the tip that had leaked a drop of pre-cum. I was supporting myself with my other hand against the back of the couch so he was getting an eyeful of my hard nipples that don't have to be excited to look that way.

"I think you like it, don't you?"

I bit my lip without an answer, both to keep from cursing at him and also in determination to use what seemed like his wish to talk sexy about me. I didn't like it but I didn't want to discuss it, either. As much fun as my showing off had turned into with Brandon, I felt like nothing more than a masturbation tool to this guy's abuse of me and each time he reminded me of it I lost whatever chance at excitement being naked beside him might have brought.

Having been married for thirty years, I knew enough about the male anatomy to know that he couldn't have been making up the story about his erection problem and still be as soft as he was at that point. Still annoyed by his wish to take advantage of me, I was torn between wanting to see him fail again at getting a boner and being the one who could make it happen. The shaft was gaining some heft even though it couldn't be considered hard and it didn't take me long to decide that he was getting just enough satisfaction that this was going to last longer than I wanted it to if I didn't put some real effort into drawing his semen out of him.

I had heard that it takes a half-hour for a pill to start working and I had no intention of letting it go on for that long. If it was going to take more than rolling it around in his shorts, in an effort to get the job done more than to see his cock, I acted quickly so I wouldn't change my mind and pulled my hand out of his underwear to flip the waistband over to expose my task at hand.

It put my face right over his crotch when I did and I had to smile at the fragrance of his cologne that wafted into my nostrils from above his graying pubic hair. He must have been sure enough that I would give in when the evening started that he went to the trouble of at least not offending me with his odor. I grabbed the shaft again and started stroking the length, adding a little shake of the tip each time I returned to the base. I knew that my husband's cock got hard quicker when I did that and I was determined to use whatever experience I needed to free myself from sexual servitude.

My left hand was still on the back of the couch and as I jacked him off more vigorously I could feel my tits jiggling as a temptation to him that I wasn't too surprised he gave into. I was getting slowly somewhere with his erection and that was more important to me than his hand that brushed against my flat tummy. I actually considered my self lucky when it didn't move toward my crotch.

What started as the back of his hand rubbing my belly-button lightly gradually became a tracing with one finger and then two in gentle circles around one tiny breast. Like I said, I couldn't blame him for wanting to play with the visual treats they would have been and I couldn't argue with the hope that my concession would make his cock a little harder.

I was still too disgusted with the circumstances to be turned on so I let his finger and thumb slide together to softly pinch the nub of my nipple and when I didn't stop that he started to carefully fondle the entire breast. It became molestation as he gained courage and he was eventually mauling them both with painful pinching of my sensitive nipples that I used to maintain my distaste for the affair.

Maybe it did nothing for me but the effect it had on his cock was magic as I could practically feel the blood surge in to stiffen it. He was almost giggling in his groans that matched each of my strokes and would change to loud whines when I stopped at the tip to flick my thumb across it.

"Gawd!" he bellowed in surprise when his cock pulsed once with the first false alarm of ejaculation.

I varied the speed and amount that I shook the reddening tip that looked like a gasping fish on each stroke and didn't think it was going to be long when his right hand dropped from my chest and touched my knee again. Still feeling nothing but a wish to get it over with, I spread my legs a little further for an even better view of my pussy's lips that I thought he was asking for.