Turning the Tables

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As John sat on their marriage bed, swirling a tumbler with an inch of whisky in the bottom and savoring the aroma, looking across the room at Sandra, he reflected that he felt...off-axis; out of his usual sense of control; vulnerable even; the part of himself that he proudly considered his manly-man, that part of his brain even felt a kind of upside-down twisted shame at his own earlier surrender to his wife - even now he had to take a breath before saying the word even in his own head - his wife´s cock. Everything...but weakness. No, he reflected. I don´t feel weak. Shaky. Naked. Raw. But not weak.

Sandra was standing by the full length mirror, one foot on a stool, and she turned to catch his eye with a mischievous grin. She had just started putting on one legging of white silky stockings, and she knew they were his favorite. She knew what they did to him. Okay, maybe for now they didn´t give him an automatic full-on stiffy, but she knew full well they still had the same effect on his inner eros. And his heart. Maybe more, unable to so easily project his arousal as manly power, maybe that inner effect was all the more...vulnerable. And felt.

Idly she wondered why he reacted so to the pale white. Why not the classic dark stockings of the femme fatale? Who knew? Maybe the mix of sensual and virginal somehow got under his defenses more fully. She pulled the sheer fabric up her inner thigh, enjoying the feeling against her soft skin, the nearness to her slick pussy. Hmmm, she wondered. Was that a key to him? What if she really played him off with the combination, amped it up even more - innocent...and raunchy. She felt her pussy throb as she imagined his response.

She took her time with the other stocking, apparently focused on the mirror and her own reflection, making sure the silk was smooth and crease free. She took her time with the garter belt, adjusting the straps, enjoying the feel against her skin of the clips, how close her fingers were to her moistness, turning around to take her time to fasten the two just above her buttocks. She took her time. She knew John was eager to help. She didn´t ask him. She turned to look back at the mirror. She already looked hot. In an innocent bride getting ready for the wedding sense of hot. Yes, she thought. The innocent look. She walked into the clothes closet, rumbled around for awhile, and emerged with a white bra that she hadn´t worn for ages. She could feel John´s disappointment as she hooked it around the back and then hid her naked breasts from his view, feeling her bosom lift like a teenager's - and feeling improbably virginal. Like a beautiful but chaste nun. She thought about getting the matching white panties that would complete the look, but that would spoil her next step, and anyway, she was sure that the image of her in bridal lingerie was already firmly fixed in John´s inner eye.she thought deliciously.

Finally she turned to him, unable to hide her self-indulgent grin. He was naked, eyes on her, and she noted that his long cock was not completely limp. Very satisfying, she thought. "Oh John?" She waited expectantly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Would you bring me my tool?"

Both of them marveled that such a simple thing had become like a ritual for them in such a short time. Each day more confident on his crutches, John was soon kneeling by the stool. Sandra lifted out the shimmering black phallus, for a moment fantasizing that she was a queen about to knight him. John broke her reverie. "And the harness?"

"Um, not yet." Sandra walked over and sat on the bed. John pushed himself up from the floor to sit on the stool and admire her. She felt self-conscious of pleasuring herself in front of him, and then frustrated with herself for feeling so, and got past the moment by closing her eyes and feeling her slick entrance with the fingers of one hand while probing the egg shaped base through her luxuriant pubes with the other. She was aware of the silky stockings, the buckles against her skin, the virginal bra. And then the faint inner buzz of the phallus as it found her entrance, as if it were excited by her taste, almost like a family dog nuzzling her over eagerly. Only, instead of shame, she felt a wave of pride. My tool. Beaming home. Once again, she was glad John was watching.

She lost herself in the sensations. Almost immediately intense, she wished she hadn´t put on the bra, she wanted to pinch her nipples with her free hand. The base slid in and out like a wand, nestling itself in her suddenly ravenous vagina. She squeezed and squeezed it, almost like she wanted to hurt it for bringing her so much pleasure, for ripping self-control out of her hands. She fell back on the bed and then suddenly was glad again that she was wearing the white bra, the match to her long stocking thighs splayed open to John´s eyes, and she guessed half open mouth. Virginal bride. Fucking herself with the dark phallus. And slowly converting it by her lust into her own flesh-colored prick.

With an effort she grasped control of herself again. Sat up. John´s face was heavy with desire, she guessed a mirror-image of her own. "Are you ready for your harness now," he said thickly.

Sandra didn´t answer. She stood up on shaky legs, feeling tall. One hand on her shaft, she put the other behind her head, shook out her hair. Her heart was thudding. Could she? She placed the other hand there as well, lifting her long hair to show off her neck. Yes. The tool - her tool - strutted boldly forward, no need of hand or harness. Truly her cock. She squeezed it with her inner pussy, and as the wave of pleasure hit her groin, she saw it jump to attention. "Oooooh," she mouthed. John groaned, his own cock now fully at half mast.

"John, my phone is on the bedside table. Would you take some photos for me, sweetie?"

She preened and modeled and cat-walked for him. Or maybe for herself. The sound of the phone apps artificial shutter filled the room, along with her scent. She wondered when her arousal would start leaking out of the tip of the phallus. She would love to have that captured on one of the images. Fuck, she thought to herself, I can literally ejaculate.

John put down the phone. "What do you want to do Sand...darling."

Sandra knew that her eyelids were heavy. She felt in an altered state. "I want to fuck someone." She was pressing every pedal she had right down to the floor. Innocent. And raunchy.

"I...I can try," stammered John. "I mean it will be my first time...and...it´s big."

Sandra wanted to taunt him again.But, instead she took pity on him. After all, she knew she was about to ask for a lot.

"Oh John, sweetheart, come sit beside me." They sat on the bed together, and Sandra put her hand on his thigh, knowing that his eyes were glued on her phallus, the same size as his cock, by definition, but so much harder and more ready for action. "You really would do this for me?" Sandra asked.

John gulped. "I can try."

She leaned over to hug him, pressing her bra-covered breasts against his firm chest. Then pulled back to watch his face. "But actually, I don´t think I want to fuck you."

"You don´t, but..."

"It was lovely having you suck my cock John. More than lovely. But, well, you are already half back to normal now, always so quick to mend my John is. And... well, I don´t really want to change what is between us. I want you back, you know, confidently taking me. Whenever that is, a few weeks or whatever, I want my one hundred percent stud in his rightful place."

"But, you just said you wanted to fuck...someone..."

The penny dropped. John remembered the looks between the two women, between Sandra and Camilla. And realized that he had just been acting as photographer and assistant for his wife´s own publicity shoot. And a publicity not just for his eyes.

Sandra knew he had understood. She felt a stab of anxiety and selfishness. "Is...is that ok?" she asked with genuine tenderness.

John paused. He wanted to answer honestly. How did he really feel? Jealous. Fuck yes. Although whether of Camilla enjoying his wife, or her being the one to wipe that superior academic smile from Camilla´s lips, which one he was jealous of he wasn´t so sure. Threatened?....no. He asked the remaining genuine question. "Do you think she will kind of mock me after this though?"

"Mock you? Are you kidding? I am going to spread wide that stroppy bitches legs and fuck her with your cock deeper than she´s ever been fucked in her life. She is going to beg for mercy and beg for more. She is going to confess that she was simply jealous all along, all those college years, jealous that I got chosen by Mr Alpha Man and she got stuck with women´s studies. She is going to admit that she knew you were too loyal to me for her to be able to seduce you, and this whole research bullshit excuse was dreamed up as the only way she could finally get that big cock of yours thrust between her thighs! Think of that John. I know she's wanted me for years. But now, anytime she has me, she's going to have you, front and center. From here on out, we are all going to be friends again, and when we all go out for drinks she will wait patiently in the back seat of the car with a smile on her face for you to open the door for her."

John laughed out loud. "Right," he said, but God it felt good to hear her raunchy confident praise of him.

What would he do for his woman? Anything.