My Wife Ch. 2

... genuflect, our lips together, wrapped 'round his dick, he fucks our mouths like a vagina; not hardly, friend... on my back, Nikki on top with her pussy over my face, Buck humping her from behind... yeah, I'm supposed to alternate licking her with licking what I can of his cock before it dives into her cunt, but fuck that; he's old - like 50-something - and the thought of getting it on in any capacity with a man that age turns me all the hell off... my attention is with licking her and tasting that sweet meat, and she comes because of it (I give killer head; not to boast), a bit too hard; my lips and chin and cheeks become wet with her juice, and Buck probably thinks he made her do that, how very little a guy can know... he finishes, shooting cum onto her back, which I know she hates because we discussed this before the scene - rather take it on her stomach or on her face, or not at all - but I'm not quite done with her, even as director calls "cut!"... we lick, and kiss, and touch, and rub; why should everything end only when the man has come, and not until after the girls have gotten off, also?... it can take longer, sure; sorry to be an inconvenience, and all, but be fair... to his credit, Buck asks, "How was that, for you two? Orgasm?" No, but thanks for asking.

How did I get here?

Oh yes, I remember; turning points, as a general rule, tend to commit themselves to memory. More than the best sex you ever had, even. The best kiss, the first kiss. All that shit pales to the moment when, faced with an important decision though it didn't appear to be one at the time, you picked wrong. It happens, right? Make good choices, follow them up with less than intelligent ones. Blah, blah. Get an offer you can't refuse, 'least that's how he put it, for a job in adult movies. Adult movies.. and, suddenly, you're there. That turning point place. Accept, or pass on it. What do you do? Well, pass, if marriage means shit. Because you realize what a strain it'll put on the relationship, and Michael has to come first, and he would never understand.

But, on the same token you think, we've never planned to have kids. Can't; I dance (I did, then), pregnancy would not help. Not that time couldn't taken off. Had it been an issue, priorities would maybe be in a different order. Maybe. Children have now entered the picture, and that's when you know you've officially lost it.

I shouldn't give a rat's. I mean, much as I love Michael, and perhaps because I do, the proposition of a career in porn - shit, not even a career; more like experimentation, really - would be nothing personal. Never, personal. Sex, that's it. No more serious than putting on a pair of shoes: your feet have their protection; now, you've fucked. No big deal. You could.. maybe even... keep, it, from. him. Be better if he didn't find out, anyway. But, even if he did find out, it's handle-able. The job is not infidelity, by any stretch of the imagination. Well, by some, but the tiniest amount. Just a little, harmless indiscretion from time to time. One week equals three projects: that's two scenes per gig, at four minutes per scene. Two-hundred fourty seconds, times a couple. Almost like it never happened, clinically speaking.

And then, you've conviced yourself.

Lisa, the dancer I occasionally work with at Passions, comes over, ten to five. Michael hasn't made it home, yet, and I do not expect him for at least another hour. Plenty of time to prepare her for what I want us - all of us - to do. When I see her, I know it's not going to take much convincing, and she more than likely was expecting the three of us to get together, anyway, when she gave me her number, because she's dressed rather revealingly. Lisa has a kind of grunge beauty thing going on: earrings, and a stud in her left nostril; probably a few tattoos in places you can only see if you're really nice. She's wearing tight jeans and a see-thru blouse; bra, the bitch. That won't last.

I've been smoking, so I do not want to initiate a kiss, or anything out of etiquette. But, Lisa walks in, and kisses me right off; a brief, cordial one, not enough to taste the nicotine but maybe it was. She does not seem put off, though, so my consideration is incidental.

Lisa has a digital hand-held camcorder with her. What the hell is that for, I ask in my head and, as it turns out, aloud.

"Doesn't intimidate you, does it?"

Good question. "No," I answer, without a great deal of conviction, "but, what's it for?"

"You'll see." She looks back over her shoulder and grins, walking into our living room. "This where you wanna do it, or the bedroom? Or, where?" she asks, and then, "Nice place."

"Do what." We're playing a game. I think.

"You know. Don't be coy, with me," she says. "Where do you wanna set up?"

"I didn't know we'd be setting up." She gives me a look. "Bedroom."

"Show me the way," she says, holding out her hand, 'corder strapped to the other. I take the free one, lead her back. "So, where's the old man?"

"He won't be home till seven."

"Hmm.. wonder what we can do until then," she says, flirtatiously. Suggestive. I've never been videotaped, before, and never with another woman. I've been with women, but not like Lisa intends for us to be, today, and tell you the truth I'm nervous; giddy nervous. What will Michael think, is anyone's guess, but I am ready.

She sets the camera on the dresser, making sure it is pointed directly at the bed, and then takes a seat there in front of it. I stroll on over, and sit next to her, on the bed. We both look at the lens eyeing us. Then, at each other, and laugh. This seems a bit preposterous, but not impossible, which makes it kinda cool. Her grin/smile has not gone away, yet, and I think she must be tipsy if not drunk. Plus, her eyes are kind of dull, giving her a sexy, anything-goes demeanor, ready and willing. S'pose I am, too.

Lisa puts a hand on my shoulder, then my neck, and runs her fingers through my hair over the back of my head. "Do you dye this?"

I nod, to the contrary. "Naturally me."

She pulls me toward her face, and plants a kiss on my lips, full and open mouth. I can taste the alcohol - mmm... Amaretto sour; some Mal-Gre-Co in there, too - as our tongues mesh. The kiss goes on near a minute, before our lips part.

"I've never done it with a woman," she says, out of left field. Not sure if she's being facetious, or what, but I'm intrigued. "But, I'm really fucking attracted to you. And, I want to do something about it."

"Like, what?" is my rhetorical question.

"Like, fuck you."

I smile, bite my lip. "Why the camera?"

She choses her words, and says, languorously, "mmm.. keepsake."

I give her a look, not of aversion, necessarily, but... well, I'm taken aback. I don't do that, easy. "Not going to wind up on Stupid-sluts-who-never-thought-they'd-wind-up-on-the-computer- of-every-dorm-in-America-but-should'a-known-better, dot com, am I?"

She puts a hand on my knee, gets her face close to mine, again. "No _we_ won't."

I'm not asking because I care, one way or another; be kinda neat to see myself on the 'net (a paysite, preferably). No reputation to ruin, here; no good name. Be just the same, as well, if it really was for her eyes, only. Maybe she's got a boyfriend who'd want to watch the tape, get off in private or with her watching, or they want to watch together while they have sex. She'll tell him what's on it, and he gets all worked up thinking about her with another chick, captured forever on celluloid for their, whenever, viewing pleasure, and maybe she'll make a habit of this lesbian-exhibition stuff with more of the girls from Passions. Then, another guy walks in, my Michael; what's this shit?? And suddenly, it's not just about my girlfriend enacting a time-honored male fantasy exclusively for me, any longer, but this other guy enters the scene. Has his way with both of us, at once, and we all appear to be having a grand time because we are. Kick-ass intercourse. Libido subsides, or does it? I mean, it's not like she's going to see him again, right? This was more about the her and the her; his presence doesn't matter. But, still. I wonder what effect this little soiree of ours will have on Lisa's relationship with her boyfriend, if she has one, and then realize how little I care. How apathetic I am to their eminent plight, how insignificant that potential break-up is to the here and now. I've noticed her and I want her, and she wants me; Michael will want us both. And, that's all there is.

She kisses me, once more. Our mouths wide open, tongues mixing together, sucking at one another madly. Her hand on my jean-thigh, moving up my stomach to my right breast, squeezing me softly, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger. On my shoulder, up to my face as the kiss continues, hungrily, then gliding over my right arm and taking my hand in her own. Our fingers lock. Kissing impossibly deep into each other's mouth, searching, almost hard. Have to stop.

I stand up, and walk over to the stereo. "Music, um.."

.. um... where was I? Come on, Jaye, watch the ADD.

"What do you like?"

"Anything," she replies, and gets up, too. Walks up behind me. The CD changer in our Kenwood holds 30, or more. Michael arranged them in his spare time, but beats me whether he did so by artist, title, or what. Not sure if I even know how to work the thing; or, if it's Lisa's hand on my thigh, again, that has me scatter-brain. Press play. No, it's stop. No, pause. Damn, it's tough to see the buttons, in this light. Of course, the hand working its way between my legs is not conducive to my concentrating on anything aside from the burning I feel where the hand is. Shit - right arrow, left arrow - fader - shuffle - ANYthing.

"My Own Worst Enemy" cranks out. Stop. Something a tad mellower, please. "Hooverphonic", by 2Wicky, is next.

Lisa is all about caressing and fondling, when I turn around, and I have to cool her advances. I walk back over to the bed, and lay down, and don't bother with an explanation. She goes over to the camera, and I see a little red light which I take to mean we're filming. She joins me on the bed. We lay side by side, music filling up the room and our ears, content to just be. She wants more, though, as do I. But, to start fucking her in any way, without my husband in attendance, would be cheating. Get home, Michael; I am dying.

She props up on her side, facing me. Her hand on my thigh, favorite place, creeping underneath my Old Navy t-shirt, tickling my midriff. I take her hand, bring it to my mouth and lick her fingers; let her know, indeed, that I want this to happen, and it will. Just wait. She pulls her hand away, and puts the same fingers in her mouth. Christ, how sensual. Making it another... what's it, fourty minutes and counting, will be difficult. Should've masturbated, before she came. What's the policy for arriving to work drunk, I wonder? The consequences, I mean, if there are any. Terree, the manager, is pretty laid back from what I've observed, but maybe there's a line with her; cross it (i.e. showing up inebriated, or any condition that hinders your performance), and it's pink slip city.

Root out the bad element; a hundred new girls are lined up to work there, week in and out, because it's a classy establishment; classier than that Wild.. something or another, on Broadway. Or, Junior's - a total misogynistic wet-dream, run by guys who borderline demand their girls to fuck the clientele, if the price is high enough, and respect shown the staff is little to non-existent; yes, I applied there, once, and damn near attacked the manager Bruce Evans, Jr., (see where the joint's title comes from? Wonder how long it took the putz to think up that one!) for calling me a temperamental bitch for my unwillingness to perform actual fellatio on stage. That's a time and place type thing, you know. I'm less against simulation (imagination has to play a part: leave something to it, or count me out) in front of the audience. I mean --

She unbuttons my jeans. Down goes the zipper. Is that the best perspective for her mini-cam, over there instead of on the nightstand to the right of the bed, over here? Should I tell her, or --

She starts to move her hand inside, when I stop her, again. Reach over, grab the phone, dial Michael.

"Mullins Publishing. Michael Binsulot speaking," he answers.

"Honey," I begin, relatively impatient.

"Yeah, sweety, what's up?"

"Any chance of you leaving, early, today?"

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Um. Nothing. Nothing's wrong," spacing my words, trying to think of a way to put this. "But, I need you here." Lisa gets closer, her mouth at my free ear, whispers something indiscernibly soft, her breath warm. "Right now."

"I can't just take off. They don't really let us leave except in case of an emergency."

"This _is_ an emergency. I need you to be here, more than they need you answering phones another half hour, trust me. Just tell them, family crisis."

"Are you feeling ok?" How can he not get this?

"Yes, I'm fine. But, we have company, and -"

"Oh. Lisa, right," he says, voice lowered.

"Yes, Lisa is here."

She takes the phone from me. "Hi, Michael. I'm Lisa... hangin' out... wish you were here. Your wife is showing remarkable restraint, what with how horny we are, and all... if you were here, right now, I'd make her watch, while I -" I need a drink. Rum and Diet Coke (have to keep up the bod). "Uh huh... ok. Bye." She hands the phone back. "He's on his way."

"Yeah?"

"Mm hmm..." she purrs. "And, he said something about monitoring lines."

"Legal nonsense. I can't believe you convinced him in three seconds flat, like that."

"Well, sometimes you have to get right to it," she points out, kissing my neck. "Took longer than three seconds, didn't it?"

"Not by much. My point is -"

"Do you have any idea how bad I want to get in your pants, right now?" Yes, darling, but he's on the way like you said, and soon as he gets here, we can all -- "I can understand if you have this thing about staying faithful, so you don't want anything goin' on if he's not around to participate. That's cool. Which is why I think you should just lay there and let me make you feel good, in the meantime. That's safe, right? You aren't cheating if you don't return the favor." Hmm. I see the logic... don't I? Oh, please let there be logic.

She moves on top of me, kisses me. "I'll be gentle, I swear." I open my mouth to her tongue, my hands on her back, permission granted. She smiles, kisses, licks at my throat. Goes down, pushes my shirt up to expose my stomach, and tastes the skin. Licking upward, her tongue making a slick trail to my bra. She puts her mouth over one of my breasts, trying to find the hidden nipple, which is standing upright beneath the bra. I sit up, unhook it from the back. Pull the shirt over my head, and fling it.

Lay back down. Lisa's on my naked breast, mouth taking as much of it in her mouth, under her tongue, as possible, the tongue tweaking my erect nipple. She drags her lips together, slowly, squeezing my tit, until she is sucking the nipple. Biting, some, a hand taking care of the other breast. And, then her seasoned mouth is there, as well.

She finds my hands, which've been minding their own to this point, and places them firmly on the back of her head, as she moves lower. Making me direct her descent. She reaches under my ass, feeling the naked small of my back, and then grabs my jeans and pulls. Jeans off; no panties. Wore a bra, but no panties; what's that about? Mind must've been on other - ohh... her mouth is at my pussy. "Ooh, nice tatt," she comments, refering to the full-bloom red rose I had done on my pubis, back in high school; hurt like a bitch, as I recall.

"Thank you," I say.

"Don't thank me, yet, baby." Her mouth is over my pussy, now, the whole thing. And, yes, mm hm, there goes the tongue. One smooth lick, and orgasm hits. She wasn't expecting that, seems like, as her head kind of jerks back a little from the tiny squirt of ejaculate; I'm an easy come, in the beginning. She keeps that up, and there will be at least two more quakes before Michael's key even touches the front doorknob. Not grossed out, however - I've had people be - she quickly return s to her licking. Lisa turns out to be the best head I've ever gotten (sorry, honey); it's just that she's so active, tongue seemingly everywhere at once, successfully leaving not a sensitive area untouched. It's all pretty sensitive, down there where she is, which means she can't miss. Her long, probing tongue rotates inside me, lashing wall to wall... finds the clitoris, no problem... mouth closes around the labia, sucking, tongue still fucking me... my hips buck at her face, involuntarily, then I control it, hands still holding on to the back of her head, clenching mops of blonde hair, though not very roughly... she's slurping, licking at the inner lips, back to my clit, sucking on it hard... using her teeth, digging in to my twat, not enough to wound but enough to, "Shit.." get a reaction.

Much to my surprise, due to the total preoccupation I have with the oral being given me, Michael appears. Lisa doesn't stop. I sit back, from her, and she looks up at me, first, then behind her off my look. Sees him, too. She rolls over on her back, lips wet. "Better call 911," she says, jokingly, "break in."

"Hey, guys," Michael greets Lisa and, I suppose, me also. "Don't mean to interrupt."

I hurry over to him, kiss him to ease any discomfort he may have with the scene.

"Hi, babe. How was traffic?"

"Nil. What's going on?" The question comes off general, passive, not accusatory; no hint of anger. I take his hand, walk him over to the bed for formal intro's.

"Michael, Lisa," I instigate, "Lisa.. my husband."

Lisa gets up. That drunken, hazy grin. She wipes her mouth, wipes her hand on her jeans, then shakes Michael's hand. "Hello, Michael." She gives him a kiss on the cheek. "Care to join us?"

You have to get right to it, sometimes..

I move to the back of Michael, hoping he won't be overwhelmed. We've never actually done this. Lisa immediately reaches for the front of his jeans, loosens them. I rest my chin on his shoulder, watching Lisa, and tell him, "Welcome home." I start massaging his ribs, while Lisa takes his cock out, into her mouth. He's already hard, no work needed. I feel him tremble, and do my best to calm it by rubbing his shoulders.

"I need some help, down here," Lisa announces; my cue. I slowly walk around Michael, lean in and kiss my tongue in his mouth, right before sitting beside Lisa on the bed. She has a firm grip on his shaft, the head bulging with anticipation. Lisa takes it in her mouth, one more time, then pops it out, aims him my direction. I don't need further invitation. I move in, forehead pressed against his stomach, his cock all the way to the back of my throat. Pull back, gradually, letting him feel my tongue as it slides from the base of his shaft to cockhead, and then push my head forward again, swallowing his bulge. A rhythm established, I repeat these steps, going faster than before, screwing him with my face, becoming steadily anxious not only because I love oral sex but also because having not allowed myself to do Lisa, heretofore, has made me somewhat hot and bothered.

She is just observing the blowjob. Taking notes; what. I pull Michael's cock out of my mouth, and it is dripping rather sloppily with saliva, so I give it a few strong jerks to tidy up. Lisa takes over, slamming her mouth over him, while I relocate my attention to his balls. I lick and suck, lick and suck his instinctually tensing sac, Lisa tending the more important portion of his package. We both look up at him, he at us, three sets of eyes in unspoken conversation, and his nose kind of crinkles. Very cute. Makes me want my place back, on his cock. Lisa is willing to share - has no choice - and so we put our mouths together in combined effort on his unit, tongue licking tongue licking cock. "Fuck us," I say, which comes out garbled because... well, because I've got a mouthful. It is still understood perfectly by all parties concerned, and Lisa starts moaning for vibration effect, and Michael pushes forth, driving his dick through the narrow canal created between our lips and all the rest. And then, as he masturbates himself with our aid, Lisa and I begin sliding our mouths side to side on him, meeting halfway then going separate ways, over and over - Lisa to swelled head, myself to root, every inch covered... "my girlie ran away, with my pay, when the fellas came to play" is sung inside my head, out of nowhere, from last night and every night at the club this past week; dig that song... I move my hand onto Michael's ass, and push along with his forward processions. I pull his jeans down and uncover his naked bottom (neither of us wore undies... must be a sign), and get my fingers into the crack of his ass and squeeze the cheek in my grasp.