Transcripts of an Open Marriage Ch. 05

Hello again readers. I'm glad to see you back for more of my transcriptions of the lewd audio tapes my parents made describing their very open marriage. As I've told you before my apparently prudish husband disapproved of the sex life my parents led and described in the tapes, telling me I should destroy them. When we moved to a new home the tapes disappeared until I found them hidden in a closet in his den. As it turned out he had listened to one before his planned tape burning and he found it so erotic he couldn't bring himself to destroy them. Now Hubby and I listen to them in bed. Yum. My parent's sex tapes are one of the best things my parents did for me besides sending me to college where I met my husband who, as it turns out, is at least as pervy as me. I would include descriptions of what Hubby and I have been up to since we started listening to the tapes but I don't think I can get away with that. He is not that liberated yet. Perhaps later.

In any case I am pleased to post the fifth installment of the Reggie and Susie sex tapes. For those of you who may have missed my prior postings (and there is no reason to read them in any particular order) I will provide my usual introduction:

My parents, Reggie and Susie Masterton, were a very attractive and popular couple in their wealthy Bay Area suburb. They were active in local civic affairs and well-liked by everyone. After my parents untimely death I found a shoebox of audio tapes among their things. The tapes recorded conversations they had while sitting naked in the hot tub on their back porch. In every session each of my parents recounted a prior sexual exploit almost always involving sex with someone other than their spouse (frequently someone else's spouse). Each of them apparently led a very freewheeling and open sex life right up until they were both killed in a car crash in their early fifties. They hosted lots of parties at our home when I was growing up, but my siblings and I were dispatched to our grandparent's home for most of them or, when older, to a friend's home for an overnighter. We never had a clue about their secret life.

Reggie was tall and good looking--about 6-2, well-muscled and still trim, even when these tapes were made. He had thick dark brown hair and brown eyes that, based on what I heard on the tapes, could overcome almost any woman's resistance when he turned on his charm. Susie was about 5-5 with lovely legs, a narrow waist atop generous hips, and breasts that amply filled a D-cup bra. Her hair was blonde and she usually wore it long--at least down to her shoulders. She had sparkling blue eyes, and a round smiling face that was the essence of the American girl next door. In summary they were a very attractive and vivacious couple, always eager to meet and socialize, and of course, always willing to engage in illicit sex with others.

Since many of their friends and lovers are still alive, I've changed all the names, including my parents, to protect the not so innocent. As with prior transcriptions Reggie's words are transcribed in italics and Susie's in regular font. My transcriber's editorial comments are set off in brackets. Enjoy!

THE SUSIE AND REGGIE SEX TAPES—VOLUME 5

Thank you so much for going back and getting the champagne Reggie.

My pleasure dear. After all it is Friday night. Time to sit naked in our back porch hot tub and sip champagne while we record our sexual exploits for . . . for someone I guess. Is the tape running?

Yes. I started it just as you came out the back door champagne in hand. And you know very well Reggie who we are recording these tapes for. They are for you and me to listen to in our dotage when we are too old to engage in the kind of lewd conduct they describe. It's nice to sit here in the hot tub and remember our exploits, but there is always the risk we might forget and these tapes will help us to remember.

A novel idea for an Alzheimer's cure my dear.

It's worth a try. Please open the champagne Reggie. We both worked hard this week and we've earned it.

[Sound of champagne bottle opening followed by fizzing sound as Reggie pours two glasses right next to the microphone]

Oh thank you Reggie that tastes just divine.

Umm. I agree. So how was your week dear? Did you seduce anyone or did you let someone seduce you?

Sorry dear. No recent seductions to tell you about tonight. How about you?

No. Just work, work, work. But I sold a couple of big new policies which are going to earn us money to pay for more of this champagne.

Good. I would hate to be down to drinking Prosecco or, god forbid, domestic sparkling wine.

Susie my dear, you are sounding like a bit of a snob.

Susie laughing. Yes guess I do, don't I. It's only because you've spoiled me by making enough money to buy French champagne. But it's you that I love Reggie, not the champagne. So long as I have you I would be happy with boxed wine from Modesto if that was all we could afford. I don't know. Can you even get boxed wine with bubbles?

I don't think you can, but don't worry dear I like this champagne as much as you and I have no intention of running for office as a poorly paid politician. But I have heard you can meet a lot of horny women that way.

Reggie. Tsk, tsk. You meet plenty of horny women selling insurance.

Reggie laughs. We've gotten off the point. We need to talk about sex. It is Friday night after all, and the tape is running. How about we talk about some occasion in which we seduced or were seduced by someone.

Umm. I like it. But it must be someone we shouldn't have been having sex with.

Of course.

Oh yes, I have a great story about that.

You go first dear.

All right. This happened when I was in college shortly after you and I started dating:

You see Reggie, there was this English Professor;

And I had this problem with my grade in his 19^th Century English Literature class;

And I just couldn't force myself to read anymore Dickens, so:

I decided to drop by and see him during his office hours. It was a Thursday a week before a scheduled mid-term exam. Of course I dressed appropriately: No panties or bra, a short skirt, and a thin, loose-fitting T-shirt that did nothing to hide my swaying tits and their big nipples. I made sure I rubbed my nipples before I went in to see the Professor. But don't get the idea I was all that confident. Not that I was a virgin or anything. You and some of the guys I met over the summer before my freshman year had taken care of that problem. But still, I was only 19 years old and I had never seduced anyone before. Even worse, Professor Samuels was old enough to be my father.

I peeked around the open door to his office. I could see him standing in front of a bookshelf thumbing through some heavy tome (probably more Dickens to torture his poor students with, I thought). Professor Samuels was tall and lean. He always wore a rumpled, brown corduroy suit that looked like it was a size or two too big for him. His oxfords were scuffed and tired looking. I'm sure they had been nice shoes once, but no longer. You would have thought that he would have worn a necktie with the suit, but that was never the case. His oxford shirt was open at the neck and shared the wrinkled finish of his suit. His hair was thick and curly with a few random springs of grey scattered about. He hadn't let it grow down on to his shoulders like some of the profs, but it always looked like he was a month or two past-due for a haircut. His face was lean and angular with a thick mustache that, like his hair, always appeared to be in need of a trim. The hands that cradled the book were long, and like the rest of him, thin. No, almost bony. I always thought that personal appearance wasn't of importance to him. He had kind of a Kurt Vonnegut look, but he hadn't written any famous novels.

I knocked timidly on the door. He turned in response and looked towards me saying simply, "Yes," as in 'what do you want?'

"Professor Samuels?" I said timidly.

"That is what it says on the door. And you are?"

"I'm . . . I'm in your 19^th Century English Literature Class. . . Ahhh . . . my name is Susan . . .

"Oh yes of course," he interrupted. "You always sit in the fourth row up in the lecture hall. Short skirt. Yes Susan I know who you are and these are my office hours so what can I do for you that my lectures haven't accomplished." He walked from the bookcase to his desk where he perched on the corner setting the book behind him. "Well do come in Susan. It is office hours; we don't have to have our discussion in the hall. Oh and shut the door behind you so that we aren't interrupted."

I shut the door and walked toward him. I could feel my breasts swinging lewdly beneath the top I had chosen. The soft cloth rubbed my swelling nipples deliciously. Professor Samuels was obviously also aware of their movement. His eyes were glued to my chest as I walked toward him.

"Have a seat please," he said, his eyes still fixed on my chest.

There were two office armchairs before his desk. I took the one farther from him, turning it toward him as I sat down. I crossed my legs and tugged at my skirt trying to get comfortable. This seduction thing was going to be more difficult than I had hoped. He turned the other chair toward me and sat down, folding himself up like an Ichabod Crane character from a dark cartoon, maybe something by Neil Gaiman. He too crossed his legs and then leaned forward, an elbow resting on a knee and, staring directly at my eyes, asked, "So what brings you in on this lovely afternoon. What can I do for you." He finished with a thin smile waiting in silence for my answer, his eyes briefly drifting down toward my chest again.

"Well . . . (my god I was nervous) . . . I came by . . . I came by because I'm having some trouble with your 19^th Century English Literature class."

"I see. I guess I'm surprised. You do seem to come to all my lectures." His smile broadened just a bit. "I notice you every week in the fourth row up on the right."

God this is hard I thought. "Oh yes, your lectures are great professor Samuels." (at least those I stay awake through I thought to myself). "It's . . . I guess it's the materials I struggle with."

"Aah. A problem with Dickens I suspect."

"Yes," I whispered looking down at my hands folded in my lap.

"Well perhaps I can help with that," he said, rising from the chair like an unfolding origami. He ambled back to the bookshelves and pulled out a thin volume. Then he returned until he was standing behind me. He reached over my shoulder and placed the book in my lap. His hand grazed my one of my breasts as he stood up. He remained standing close behind me as he continued to talk. I could feel the warmth of his body at the back of my head. "Now this book is also 19^th Century literature written by a contemporary of Dickens. But I think you will find it much more to your liking." I noticed that the cover of the book credited the author as 'Anonymous.' As he turned away I could feel something hard rub the back of my head. I suddenly felt a great deal calmer as I realized Professor Samuels was just a dirty old man as intent on seducing me as I had been on seducing him. He returned to his chair folding himself up again and sat, his eyes appraising my breasts, my hips, my legs, and even my feet in the strappy sandals I had worn.

"So if I read this book, it will help me understand Dickens so I can pass your mid-term exam next week?"

He chuckled. "Well perhaps," he responded. As he spoke I uncrossed and recrossed my legs, making sure he got a good view of my naked pussy in the process.

"Yes, I think it would help good deal," he continued. "Now unfortunately I have a faculty meeting scheduled shortly, but perhaps" . . . he paused for effect . . . "Oh dear my schedule is a bit busy between now and the midterm." I crossed and recrossed my legs again, even more slowly than before.

"I'll tell you what Susan. Why don't you take that book with you today and read it carefully between now and next Tuesday. Then if you would come to my house on Tuesday evening, say about 8:30, we can discuss it in depth. I think you will find it much more to your liking than Dickens."

Okay, but . . ." I sucked seductively on a single finger and then continued. "But what about the Dickens reading Professor. Do I still have to read all of Bleak House by the Mid-Term?" I uncrossed my legs and this time, instead of recrossing them I hooked one heel on the seat of the chair and let the knee fall to the side. My skirt slid down into my lap and I could feel cool air on my suddenly very warm and damp pussy.

I thought Professor Samuels was going to stutter. He stared at my wantonly exposed naked sex at a loss for words. Finally, after sucking in a big breath he said, "Uh . . . I don't think that will be necessary. You just make sure you've read the book I've given you and come to my home promptly at 8:30 on Tuesday evening for ahh . . . ahh yes, discussion, of the book that is. But now I really do have to leave for a faculty meeting."

"Oh thank you Professor," I said rising from my chair. He reached out to shake my hand and I stood on my toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek, making sure my tits brushed his chest in the process. Then I walked to the door swinging my ass for effect. Good luck with remembering anything that goes on in your meeting Professor, I thought as I closed the door behind me.

I walked down the hall feeling I had scored a major coup. I had 19^th Century English Literature in the bag. All I had to do was show up at the Professor's house next Tuesday and give him a blow job. Maybe a second blow job for the final exam. An easy A. Meanwhile I could focus on a couple of other classes which needed some attention and my weekend date with this cute guy named Reggie I had met a couple of weeks ago. I did put in the work on the other classes and I did spend a night with you Reggie, not telling you about my scheduled tryst with Professor Samuels. By Monday morning I was feeling pretty good. That was fine until Tuesday morning when I sat down and opened the book the Professor had given me. My god, I thought. This is filthy. I'm not a prude but . . . is there nothing the characters in this book won't do to and with each other? Anonymous, whoever he was must have a filthy mind to make this stuff up. Then I had a thought that made me uncomfortable—how much of the lewd conduct described in this book did the Professor want me to engage in on Tuesday night? Maybe this wasn't going to be such an easy A after all. I thought for a while. The exam was on Thursday morning, three days off, a mere 48 hours. There was no way I could read Bleak House in that period. No I decided. The best thing to do was to spend a few hours between then and my 3:00 p.m. math class reading the rest of the filthy book so I wouldn't be completely shocked by what the Professor might ask for in exchange for my A. Yes, that was the thing to do. I had to go forward with this seduction.

I was totally shocked by the content of the rest of the book. And horny. Yeah sure the activities described were perverted, twisted, sick, sado-masochistic, and every other pejorative term concerning sex you can think of, but . . . by the time I got to my math class I was so horny my pussy was soaking my panties. Those people were terrible. But they certainly were enjoying themselves. I couldn't wait to see what Professor Samuels would have to say about the book.

I arrived at the Professor's house a little early. Since my objective was still to seduce him I dressed appropriately: short skirt, snug T-shirt, and no undergarments; and wanting to look just a little bit cool, my shoes were a pair of canvas basketball shoes, red high tops of course. I had my blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, not wanting it to get in the way while I was giving the Prof the blow job that I assumed would be the price of an A (It is so annoying when your own hair gets in the way of a good blow job).

The home was a big old Victorian mansion not far from campus. Not seeing a doorbell I lifted the heavy iron knocker that hung in the middle of the door and let it swing down on its hinge to hit the plate mounted on the solid wood door. It made a resounding crash. I jumped in surprise. Well I guess he'll know I'm here, I thought. No one responded for a good thirty seconds or so, which seems like forever when you've just assaulted someone's front door. When the door opened it was slowly and with a creek of ancient hinges. I expected the Professor but it was a woman that stood before me when the door was fully open. She was tall and thin, rather like the Professor, but obviously a good deal younger, perhaps in her early thirties. Her hair was long and black and her makeup heavy, especially around the eyes, not quite goth but headed that way. Her lipstick was a flame red that matched her nails. She wore a dark dress or gown, not black, but a dark brown with swirls of very dark red and blue running through the fabric. It hung loosely from her shoulders and draped all the way to the floor, disclosing little about her figure hidden beneath it.

"And you are?"

"I'm here to see Professor Samuels," I responded. I was clutching the book against my chest. The woman was intimidating. I'm Susie . . .

"Oh yes," she interrupted. "He told me you were coming. Come in and wait in the library. I'll get him." As she led me in I could hear a pair of high heels clicking with each step across the parquet floor. I followed her down a dimly lit hallway, until we reached an open door to the left. "Wait here," she said. She left me in the library closing the tall door as she left with a solid click of its latch. I sat on an overstuffed 19^th century couch in the library for at least ten minutes waiting for the Professor. The library was as you would expect for an old Victorian pile: polished wood floors, dark wood paneling and bookcases that reached from the floor to the 12-foot ceiling. There was the couch on which I perched, a couple of armchairs of similar vintage, a long gleaming wood table with a book or two scattered on it. The table was surrounded by several chairs that could be used to conduct a meeting or perhaps a lecture. There was a bureau against one wall with a mirror mounted atop it. The room had a couple of tall windows that looked out on a garden between heavy floor to ceiling draperies. It was all very Victorian and perhaps a bit creepy.

When the Professor showed up he was wearing slacks from the rumpled corduroy suit and scuffed oxfords he normally lectured in, and a fancy jacket of some sort, a smoking jacket I guessed. He wore a silk scarf around his neck. I suppose I should have risen, but I remained sitting on the couch, my knees pressed closely together, as I clutched the book in my lap, betraying my insecurity.

"Hello Susan," he said as he walked across the room and stood leaning back against the table. "I didn't see you at this morning's lecture. Should I assume anything from your absence?"

"I was reading the book you gave me."

"Ah yes, of course. And how did you find it?"

'It was filthy Professor. Just filthy."

"Well, yes certainly. That was why I gave it to you. You did tell me you were tired of Dickens. But did you enjoy it?"

"The book?"

"Yes, did you enjoy reading it? After all the author wrote it solely for people to enjoy. Not at all like Dickens who was flogging his social and political ideas on the reading public buried in just enough story line to keep the readers coming back for each new chapter."

"Who was the author?"

The Professor shrugged his shoulders and said, "If you wrote something like that, would you put your name on it?"