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Shy Young Wife

Call me paranoid, or whatever you please, but my wife's "volunteer work"
was really about sex all along, and I knew it from the beginning. She
went on about self-actualization and needing to "discover herself" and
to do something about society's problems. And I went along, reluctantly
- unhappily. I knew this was really all about us. It was about sex. I
knew my marriage was in trouble.

Problem is, what do you do about it? My brother and my best friend had
both warned me. They told me Pamela was a brainy, sexy, spoiled rotten
bitch ("just like Gail," my brother warned - a reference to his wife's
sister, who had left her husband for a professor soon after she started
as a part-time grad student). Lately, they said, she'd been showing all
the signs of "turning hippy." What they meant was that she had begun
sheepishly defending the antiwar protesters, had expressed curiosity
about pot, and had taken to wearing less makeup and letting her hair
fall loose and full. Moreover, they said, she seemed to be bored at
family gatherings, which my Dad regarded as the very most disturbing
sign. Unlike my brother, who had never liked Pamela (although he'd made
it clear he found her sexually desireable) Dad had a genuine affection
for her, and seemed to think of her as the daughter he never had. She
returned his warm feelings, too - even when she started to get strange.

Naturally, I told them they were crazy. She had a right to her own
opinions, didn't she? (Well? Didn't she?) And, I added, I happened to
really like her new look. What's more, I lied, our sex life was better
than ever. Why did I say that? It was completely out of character for me
to even mention our sex life, for one thing. And for another, our sex
life was a source of total confusion to me. My wife had never, to my
knowledge, anyway, had an orgasm, and she had steadfastly refused to
discuss it, brushing the topic aside on the two occasions when I'd asked
her about it.

"What difference does it make?" she'd said on our honeymoon. "You were
great and I think you're probably the sexiest man alive."

And later, once when we were tipsy following a New Year's party, we made
love for much longer than usual. Probably due to the alcohol I'd
consumed, I'd been able to continue without climaxing for probably twice
the time of our usual brief couplings.

"Did you...?" I asked as we lay there afterward, the room spinning just

"Did I what?" she answered, her tongue as thick with booze as mine.

"You know...did you have an orgasm?"

She gave a long sigh...

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

With that she rolled over and almost immediately started snoring softly.

So that was that.

And lately, things had just gotten stranger. She always - repeat: ALWAYS
refused when I made the first move. Always. But occasionally, just
lately, she would initiate the first contact and each time, it was
something strange.

The first time, she came to bed late and snuggled up behind me, her
chest against my back. I woke up about halfway and thought little of it.
After all, she was wearing the chin-to-floor flannel nighty that usually
signaled a chaste bedding.

But as I drifted back to sleep, I felt her lips pressed to the back of
my neck, and her hand slid down into my pajamas. She is a lot shorter
than me, so she had to scoot down for her hand to reach my penis. As she
did so, she pressed her cheek against my back. I could feel her heat
through the material of my pajama top.

I tried to turn to face her, but she held my slack penis and resisted
with a murmured "No..."

I lay there blinking as she pressed up against me, her hand on my penis
for a while. I just listened to our breathing, wondering if she'd gone
to sleep.

Eventually, her hand began to squeeze and stroke me. Ineptly, at first.
Not really sure what to do with a soft penis, I guess. But as I began to
swell in her hand, her breathing began to grow rougher, along with mine.
And soon she was masturbating me...stroking my cock rhythmically - a
slow, maddening slide of her fingertips along the underside of my cock,
with her thumb pressed to the upper side. The loose skin slid over my
shaft under her fingers and she milked me insistently.

Soon I was nearing orgasm, and I was frankly embarrassed. Did she really
mean to make me do this? Shouldn't I at least get a tissue or a towel or
something? My years of masturbation with a wash cloth and soap came back
to me...was she going to make me squirt on the sheets?

"Honey, I'm going to..."

"Shh!! I'll stop," she whispered harshly, resisting my second attempt to
roll over to face her."

She squeezed me harder and I felt her taut body straining against me as
she held onto my shoulder with her free hand. We were both rocking with
her effort. I was both aroused to the point of fever, and deeply

I came hard. When she felt the first spurt, she loosened her grip, but
continued to stroke me even faster. What I would have wanted, I couldn't
ask for. I would have wanted her to stop stroking altogether and just
hold onto the base of my cock, pulling back as hard as possible, so hard
that the skin sheath would distort the shape of my cockhead, and hold me
like that, very still. I had done it many times, aroused myself nearly
to orgasm, then just pulled back on my cock and held still to wait for
the explosion.

But this, although physically not what I'd have requested had I been
less uptight, was in all other ways an extraordinary sexual experience.
Several heavy spurts soaked the sheets on my side of the bed as my
wife's hand flew over my cock. I thought I heard her chuckle to herself
against my back as I came...and whisper something. Not sure, I whispered
hoarsely "what...?" but she never answered. I tried one more time to
turn to her, but she silently resisted. Wouldn't have it.

A while later, I felt her climb out of bed. Looking back, I think she
probably went somewhere in the house to satisfy herself. Also looking
back, I suppose she was thinking of him the whole time.

Another time, as she came to bed after a night of her "volunteer work,"
she turned off the nightlight in the hall that we usually kept on for
our daughter. She quietly closed our bedroom door, as I continued to
feign sleep. I heard her tiptoe to the windows and carefully, almost
silently, pull the shades and curtains shut. She paused by the dresser
to turn the alarm clock to the wall, the final source of light in the
room. Total darkness.

She found her way over to my side of the bed and knelt down. I felt her
hand go up under the covers, and directly to the waist of my pajamas.
Faintly, I could smell beer and cigarette smoke...she'd gone out for a
beer with the other volunteers, as she often did. But had she been
smoking? Totally out of character.

Her hand found me and I pretended to be coming out of sleep as she began
to fondle me, her fingers cool and dry. I reached down to touch her in
the dark, but her free hand found mine and she pushed me away silently.

Before I was completely hard, she pulled down the sheets and fished my
cock out through the fly of my pajamas. I inhaled deeply - smell of her
perfume, mixed with the smell of whatever pub she'd gone to actually
excited me, and by the time she got me freed, I was hard.

Then, to my complete surprise, I felt her lips and tongue on the head of
my erection, at first tentative, but almost immediately her tongue began
to swirl over my flesh and her full lips opened to take me in. She had
occasionally teased my cock with a kiss or a lick when we were dating,
but had never actually taken me into her mouth. I'd subtly hinted that I
would like more, but nothing doing.

But now, my wife was kneeling by our bed in the darkness mouthing me
with real urgency and, from the sound of her breathing and her
occasional, involuntary sounds, she was hungry for me. When I reached
down with both hands to touch her hair, she batted me away, but
continued to suck, actually moving her head over me as she took more of
my length into her mouth. Never, never, ever had she done this, or
anything even close. Each time she plunged downward to take in more of
me, she moaned deeply - was it effort, or satisfaction?

Inevitably, I began to moan. Usually, I wasn't at all verbal in bed, but
THIS - well, I began to babble I suppose.

"Oh, Pammy, yesssss...oh, god...please, yes...oh, god, Pammy..."

Almost roughly, her hand flew to my mouth and covered it! I was reduced
to stifled moans as her hand left my face.

Soon after, and just as I began to feel my orgasm approaching, she
pulled away from my cock and there was a pause of what felt like
forever, but was probably about thirty seconds, before I heard her make
a sound I'd never heard. It was somewhere between a moan and a squeal
and her breathing was ragged and loud as she keened from spot on the
floor by our bed.

"Are you alright? Honey? Sweetie..."

As I began to fumble for the bedside light switch, I heard her softly
leave the room and close the door behind her.

My cock hard and my balls aching, I fantasized going after her,
demanding - well - demanding SOMETHING! An explanation? An orgasm? What?
I briefly fantasized just going and raping her, but I put the thought
out of my mind. Surely she must know what she was doing to me...surely
she knew how unfair this was, and how strange it all was to me.


Hindsight can be comforting or sickening. As I look back on those days,
it is indeed a comfort to be able to make sense of what was going on. At
the time, I was mostly just confused and angry. Pamela was struggling
with something, though - something she couldn't possibly have explained
to me, because she didn't even come close to understanding it herself.
Looking back, I now know that she was as tormented in some ways as I was
- at least at first.

Pamela continued for some months to be completely unpredictable.
Distant, quiet, and unaffectionate for days at a time, then all of a
sudden, she'd do something so sexually exciting that I couldn't believe
it was the same woman. One night when I came home from a poker game, I
found my wife in our bed, lying on her tummy, with several quite new
copies of a popular sex magazine on the pillow beside her. Only her
reading lamp was on, and the soft, long curves of her slender body was
the very picture of feminine beauty. She had only her panties on, and
she had one hand under her body, obviously hard at work in her panties.
In her free hand, she held one of the pocket-sized magazines, with one
finger apparently holding her place. I thought she must not have heard
me come in, but she almost immediately proved me wrong.

With a deep, anguished moan, she let go of the magazine, and pulled her
hand free of her panties. She kept her face turned away, gripping a
pillow in one hand and reaching back to pull the crotch of her panties
aside with the other. There was a light sheen of sweat on her skin, and
she seemed to glow in the relatively dim light of the little lamp.

"Do me, Danny. Do it to me."

It took a moment for me to find my voice. I was feeling mellow from a
few beers - for a brief moment I felt vaguely ill, then sort of dizzy.

"Pam, I'm sorry, I just..."

"Don't talk! Please, Danny...please just do it. Now. Don't talk."

By this time, I had already realized that nearly every time she
presented one of these "episodes", she asked me to be silent. And I had
begun to understand why: my voice would spoil whatever fantasy she was
having. Again she said it, still in the harsh, urgent whisper I'd come
to associate with these encounters:

"Now. Do it or go away."

I dropped my jacket, kicked off my shoes and undid my slacks as I
approached the bed. I got on my knees between her thighs and began to
caress her ass...god, that ass. Still makes my heart beat faster just
thinking about it, and it's been years!

I slid my hands up her thighs to the firm, smooth fruit of her ass and
began to massage her, but she reached back - still without looking back,
her face turned away from me - and pushed my hands away.

"No! Just do it, you bastard. Just do it...please. Oh god, please."

I probably knelt there blinking for a few seconds...hurt, but so aroused
I could have passed out. My hands shook and my heart pounded. I looked
down and saw her sex open and wet from what she had been doing when I
came in...and then I just plunged my fingers into her, two or three of
them, screwing them into her as I pressed down on the small of her back.

She made a deep, raspy noise as she pressed a pillow to her face and I
felt her sex gripping my fingers. I roughly withdrew them, and her ass
rose as if to snatch them back.

My cock was in position already, and when her ass rose, I pushed into
her. She pressed both hands against the mattress as if to do a push-up,
and her upper body began to rise. I astonished myself by roughly pushing
her back down with the flat of my hand between her shoulder blades. She
gave a little yelp of surprise, and when I took her small hips in my
hands and yanked her up to me, she seemed to briefly struggle before
beginning to writhe against me.

I pressed into her as deep as I could and when I was all the way in, her
hands came up and back, and she crossed her wrists over the small of her

It seems silly, I suppose, but when she did that, I immediately began to
come. One of her hands whipped around to her clit and in a matter of
seconds, her muscles were gripping me again in what I now know was her

She fell forward and began to sob. So did I - releasing only a small bit
of the tension and confusion of those months. She didn't say a word as
we drifted off to sleep. When I awoke a little while later, with my
trousers still around my knees, she wasn't in the bed. As usual, she'd
gone off somewhere else in the house. I went back to sleep.

I believe it was about a week after that night that she came into the
library where I was going over the mail and asked softly if we could
talk. She dimmed the lights, asking me to sit in my "favorite" chair, a
leather wingback. She stood behind me.

"Danny, I owe you an explanation. I know I do. I've been a terrible wife
to you lately and you deserve some kind of explanation..."

I got up to go to her, to hold her, to tell her it was alright, but she
turned away.

"Danny, I can't do this if you're looking at me - I just can't. Please.
Sit down. Let me do this my way."

Suddenly I knew what I was about to hear. She was going to leave me. I
felt like the whole room was coming down on me. God, I loved her so!
This beautiful, warm, sweet, person that I had married - who had chosen
me over so many others that had pursued her. I was losing her. This was
the night.

I sat on the edge of my chair and held my head in my hands, staring down
at the carpet as the lump in my throat spread and numbed my body. Anger
and grief washed over me and mixed somewhere in my stomach...but I kept

"I've been changing. You know I have. I ... we ... it's not us. I mean,
it isn't you. It's me. It's not something I can really ..." she slammed
the back of my chair with her small fist. "Damn! This is so stupid ...
how do I ..."

She must have heard my heavy breathing ... or maybe I was crying. I
really don't know. I was still sitting there with my head down and she
came around the chair and stood in front of me and took my head in her
hands, pressing my face to her tummy. My arms went around her and held
her tight around her hips and again we cried. I still hadn't seen her
face since she came into the room. I held her to me tightly and I heard
her say:

"You just have to be patient with me, Danny. Please. Please, Danny, try
and understand. There's something happening that I can't explain -
something inside of me. Please give me time, Danny. Please..."

Her hands held my head to her tightly, her fingers in my hair and on my
neck, my ears. Perversely, I suppose, I became aroused. I began to press
my face down into the front of her dress, into her mons. She held my
head there for a moment, and then pressed forward as I pressed my face
to her.

Now, in all our married life, oral sex had been entirely out of the
question. I've already described her minimal oral flirtations before we
were married. But cunnilingus was particularly taboo. And I must admit
that it was as much my problem as hers. The thought of going down on a
woman seemed somehow less than masculine to me - sort of demeaning. And
actually, I felt the same about her going down on me. I mean, I wanted
it, but it seemed wrong to me. And the one time I had playfully moved to
kiss her "down there" during our first year of marriage, she was
genuinely shocked, crying out my name, and pushing me away. It was, as I
recall, the abrupt end of what had been a rather promising foreplay

But just then, in the half dark of the study, my face hot with tears, I
wanted to bury my face - my *self* - in her sex. I breathed in sharply,
and imagined I could smell her through the material of her panties and
skirt. With my hands on her ass, I pressed harder against her, and I
felt her press back, a small circular motion of her hips that ground her
mons against my nose.

"," she whispered, and I recognized that it was *that* whisper
- the strange, troubled, urgent whisper I had lately come to associate
with the strange, intense sex she'd been initiating.

"No...please..," she kept whispering as she pulled her pelvis back and
pushed me away, her small hands on my shoulders. Again, I briefly
imagined forcing myself on her, making her give herself to me on MY
terms, but I didn't. Maybe I should have, I really don't know. After
all, in those days, no one had ever even *heard* the phrase "no means
no." In fact, it wasn't at all clear that it was even legally *possible*
for a man to r*pe his own wife. But I let her push me back, at least
partly because - get this - I wanted to see her face, I wanted to kiss
her softly and make her smile as I had done so often over the years, and
hold her and tell her everything would be ok. For a moment I imagined
that would happen.

But she kept her face down and as I lay back in my chair, she knelt
down, her loose hair hiding her face. Her hands slid over my thighs as
she settled down between my spread knees, and although it had never
happened before, I knew what would happen next.

Gripping my spread thighs, she pressed her face into the front of my
trousers, and her mouth slid over the shape of my stiff penis. I
actually tried to gently push her away, but she persisted and began to
hurriedly open my pants. Almost painfully, she extracted my cock from my
half-opened pants, and immediately took me into her mouth. She began to
bob up and down over me in the time-honored fashion, slowing
occasionally to take me deep into her throat.

I gently stroked her neck and shoulders as she did this, but soon
enough, she took my wrists in her hands and pinned them to my thighs,
all the while continuing to suck me and to fuck me with her mouth. I
could easily have overcome her, but I didn't. And in a few more moments,
she firmly put my hands on her own head and *made* me push her head down
onto my cock. I started to say something, but again she pressed my hands
to the back of her head, and moaned as she slid down over my erection.

I began to feel my orgasm building and I tried to squirm away.

"Oh, god, baby, I'm almost... I'm gonna...Pammy, please, I can't hold
it...please, I'm gonna..."

Right up to the end, I was trying to pull out of her mouth, but she held
me fast. For so long we had colluded in making oral sex taboo - now she
was *making* me demean her, use her like some kind of whore. She
released my hands and I found myself pushing her down on my own, pushing
myself even further into her as I felt my balls tighten. At the last
minute, though, I just couldn't do it - I believed so deeply that it was
a gesture of disrespect that I finally pulled free, pushing her away
from me as I did so. She fell back and caught herself on her hands and I
saw her eyes wide and excited as my ejaculate came shooting forth into
the space between us arcing up and out onto the carpet, her bare leg and
thigh, and even her dress.

She just looked up at me from the floor, breathless as I was, not
exactly smiling, but with a look of deep, raw excitement on her
tear-streaked face. Our eyes met for only a moment before I put my hand
over my eyes and when I opened them, she was gone.

It went that way for a long while. She refused every sexual overture
from me, but every now and then, she'd initiate something - always
something that had her in control.

Fact is, it was the most sexually intense time I had experienced in my
life. She was so exciting, so unbelievably hot. And when she felt safe,
when she had in mind exactly what she wanted to do - she was shockingly
inventive and hungry - demanding. A few things were always the same. She
wanted me quiet. She wanted no eye contact (even blindfolded me once)
and no conversation. Usually, she was behind me, or I was behind her.
And she never repeated herself. It was always explosive sexually, and
totally baffling emotionally.

Twice during that time, she came up, as if casually , and hugged me, her
face turned to the side and down, and whispered "It's going to be's all going to be ok, Danny." Then she'd be gone.

Then one night she stopped into the library before going out to her
volunteer work. She seemed thoughtful as she entered. She walked slowly
around the room making a show of looking up at the shelves.

"Help you find something?"

"Hmm? No....oh. No, I was just thinking..."
Soon she'd come around behind my chair. I was pretty sure she was
initiating one of her "episodes" as she slid her hands down over my
shoulders to my chest and leaned down to whisper in my ear from behind.
Her voice pure warmth, pure love.

"Danny, darling, I love you. I love you more than are so
good to me. You've been so good. Just a little longer,
honey. Please. Just a while longer. And whatever happens, baby, I love
you. I do."

With that, she left, and I watched her ass swing as she made her way out
the door and down the hall.

It was later than usual when she came home.

She wasn't alone. She introduced her "friend" as "Mick."


I suppose it was him who used the knocker. Usually, Pamela would just
let herself in - and most others press the doorbell. I was passing by
the entry foyer when there were three loud raps of the old brass
knocker. I was concerned something might be wrong as I opened the door -
and puzzled when I saw it was Pamela and some guy - bearded, hair tied
back loosely into a pony tail. The whole deal: leather jacket, jeans,
cowboy boots. Now what.....

Pamela didn't make eye contact. Usually spunky, her naturally spritely
posture engrained from years of dance lessons, sports, and generally
being a princess. But that night she slinked in as if she wanted to

"Hi, honey.....this is....," she mumbled.

Her introduction that seemed to stick in her throat, and was directed
mainly to the floor, as she was still looking mostly down or away. I
could barely make it out: "Mick." As she came past me, I caught a whiff
of a scent I'd come to know - her own, familiar, sweet, clean scent,
mingled with a faint smell of cigarettes and beer. And there was
something else....night air (the motorcycle ride?) and still something
else. No time to ponder it, but now I know it was the smell of him -
leather, smoke, and godknowswhat.

He was of average or better height, lean but his shoulders were wide.
Looked to be about 25. I could take him. Maybe.

Don't ask me why I thought about that, but I did. Had an inch or two on
me, but our weights were pretty well matched.... There's no doubt that
I felt threatened by him - he was, after all, the first bit of my wife's
life "out there" that I'd ever met up with face to face. "Out there" was
standing here, in my foyer. Our foyer. I immediately tagged him:
"asshole," I thought to myself. "So this is the kind of asshole she
hangs around with down at the agency." It didn't make me feel any
better. I found myself standing a little taller, planting my feet a
little more deliberately.

The three of us stood there in a triangle for one odd moment before Mick
leaned forward easily and extended his hand, introducing himself. Guess
he figured Pammy's introduction hadn't sunk in, since I was just
standing there, not offering my hand or anything else. I also guess most
people with any manners would take the hint, say "pleased to meet you"
make a polite excuse and leave. Not this guy.

His eyes twinkled as he took my hand, pumped it a bit, and repeated his
name. "Mick, Danny - it's a pleasure to finally meet you." Finally? What
the fuck was that supposed to mean? Was that supposed to let me know how
much he and my wife had been hanging out together? What an asshole! I
had a flash of sympathy for Pammy. Here she finally brings home one of
the other volunteers, and he turns out to be a total asshole....she was
clearly flustered.....I noticed her face was red and she seemed not to
know what to do with her hands - unusual for a gal who was usually the
picture of girlish poise.

I was flustered too, but decided to be a man about it. No reason I
should forget my manners just because this dipstick was ill-bred. I
asked if he'd like to stay for a drink, thinking it would give him the
opportunity to exit with a polite "Oh, thanks, but I've got to run." But
I should have known better.

As I took his order ("scotch would be fine, Danny - straight up"), I
realized that in the process of shaking my hands, Mick-the-asshole had
ended up standing beside my wife. Subtle - but it nagged at me as I
turned to leave. She was still looking down at the stone floor, but I
managed to catch her eye when I asked if she wanted something. With my
eyes I asked if she was OK, and she was....stressed, but OK.

I could have just moved us into the library, where there was a dry bar
and a little fridge, but I wanted to get away and collect myself. As I
headed down the hall, and realized I was shaking slightly. Adrenaline?
Definitely. It made me angry to think this guy could do this to me: I
was letting myself be rattled by a half-tough motorcycle punk.
Unbelievable. I'd stared down governors and captains of industry, and
maneuvered killer attorneys and judges like trained poodles since soon
after I left law school. Now this, and in my own house.

"Steady now," I told myself, "just keep cool." I even began to muse over
how I would tease Pamela after he left. In a few minutes, I'd show this
guy for the boob he probably was. I could hardly wait.

When I got to the library, I thought I heard whispering as I went in,
and if Pamela had looked rattled before, she was beside herself now -
her chest rising and falling visibly and her face thoroughly flushed.
When I handed her drink over, she remained beside me, clearly agitated.
She squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back and looked across
Mick with what seemed like defiance for just a moment. "Atta girl," I
thought, "stand over here by me where you belong...." Standing next to
her, I was again inhaling Pamela's aroma...subtly aroused by it. My
mood had shifted from one of suspicion to one of lurking arousal. I was
beginning to plot my attack - to get the upper hand and show this cocky
kid who's who.

Our guest didn't miss a beat. In fact, he looked amused. With a quick
glance to me, he nearly drained his glass before setting it carefully on
my desk blotter. Then he crossed the distance between us, his eyes fixed
on my wife. He walked slowly, with an exaggerated nonchalance. The hair
stood up on the back of my neck.

By the time I could shift gears internally, he had taken her hand and
drawn her away from me. She didn't resist, and he didn't pull....he just
*drew* her to him, holding her fingers in his hand like some courtier
about to kiss her hand. His other hand slid to the small of her back as
she buried her head against his chest, her small fists clenched at her

I started to move toward him, but he made a gesture with his hand - a
warning? - and his eyebrows rose as he looked me in the eye.

"Pamela and I have had such a fine evening, fact, your name
came up, didn't it, Pam?"

She didn't respond.

"It was so fine out tonight, we just took a ride up to F________ Hill -
a little spot I know up there that's really nice on clear nights. Maybe
you know it? But we weren't there to look at the stars, were we, Pam?"

I sputtered something ... I really don't know what.

He took my wife's chin in his hand - with real tenderness - and kept eye
contact with me as he bent to kiss her. She did not resist. Her face
turned up easily to him, and I heard her breathe out long and deep.

I moved. I have no idea what I said but it was loud. But I felt like I
had lead in my limbs. He broke of their kiss. I remember clearly what he
said because at first it made no sense.

"Danny, you don't want to dance with me. Sit down and shut the fuck up,
or leave. But I think you'll want to stay."

With that he resumed kissing her. Or should I say, he made himself
available for HER to kiss HIM. He glanced up once - either to be sure I
was at a distance, or just to see if I was watching, I don't know which
- and then he closed his eyes as my wife's hands went to his ass and she
strained up against him, noisily, wetly kissing another man for what I
now know was not the first time that night.

I was rooted to the floor as they continued kissing. It's odd what I
remember. I remember that she went up on her toes, straining against
him, and that his hands seemed light as he held her, as if to prove that
he didn't *have* to hold her, while her hands clutched at him, sliding
from his ass up to his neck, pulling him down to her, the fine, small
muscles of her arms straining as she pressed herself to him. His hands
were calm, and slid over her body as if casually.

And I remember how strange their kissing seemed to me. It should have
been familiar: this was my woman. We had kissed for years - sweetly,
playfully, even chastely - but also passionately, hungrily. She had
always loved kissing - and had always said how good I was at it. But
what I was seeing and hearing seemed foreign. Their kissing was so
different from ours. It was the same woman, but different. Their mouths
were not sealed together as ours would be, but were open, moving,
obscenely licking and stroking, noisily and wetly devouring each other.
Pam was breathing hard, through her mouth and nose, and groaning as she
slurped at his mouth and tongue before finally locking her mouth to his
roughly, almost violently. When I was able to look away from their
kissing, I saw that he was working his hand into the front of her jeans.
As she stretched upward against him, the concavity of her tummy bared
her midriff and his hand slipped easily toward her crotch. His hand
disappeared to the wrist as she twisted against him.

Somehow, I found myself sitting in my usual chair a few feet from where
she sat now on my desk with her knees splayed wide. He stood between her
knees and slowly began to remove her blouse and released her sweet, full
breasts. He bent to tongue her neck and she gasped as his hands pulled
slowly at her breasts, lingeringly stroking outward, stretching her
nipples as he nuzzled and licked her. With her fingers in his hair, her
eyes fluttered open and in a stunning moment, her eyes met mine. Her
hips were bucking now and she was breathing raggedly as she stared into
my eyes as if lost, as if helpless, but also as if driven by demons.

Her eyes remained locked to mine for a long, perverse moment. In those
few seconds, my love for her - my lust for her - was matched by the
months of anger and confusion. I realized all at once that she was
looking out at me with real love, with lust that seemed as much for me
as for this intruder. But it seemed that she loved me from a million
miles away at that moment, that she was on a distant peak where I could
not go, but her heart reached out to mine. And I realized one thing
more: that I had an erection and that I was full of desire and

Her eyes closed again as he began to undo her belt with one hand. Her
hand went to help, but he gently pushed it aside. He bent further to
tongue her breasts and her hands pressed his head closer, as the belt
and the button of her jeans yielded to his fingers. They moved together
now, rocking, her frantic movements of before giving way to his slower,
more fluid way. When her jeans and panties were down and off, he gave
her one more long, deep kiss as he held her chin in one hand, while the
fingers of his other hand worked slowly between her legs.

Breaking their kiss, he pressed gently on her breastbone and she leaned
back on her elbows on the desk, her eyes gazing into his, her lips
swollen from their kissing, her mouth soft and open. His fingers still
stroked into her as she settled back on her elbows and he slowly went to
his knees before her spread legs.

She threw her head back as his nose ranged through her soft, sparse nest
of hair.

I had thought up until then that she was completely lost to me - that I
had ceased to exist, she was so swallowed up in lust. But as his tongue
stroked into her she lay fully back and held onto the back of his head,
stroking the soles of her feet against his back as she began to babble:

"Oh god, Danny, oh god.....he's doing it...oh, god, he's doing
it.....oh,'s kissing me.... licking me
*there*....he's licking me.....ohhhhh, Danny, oooohhhh, Danny....."

He rose up as she seemed on the verge of an orgasm and she gave forth a
little shriek at the lost of contact. He pulled her roughly up, and
hungrily mouthed her breasts, his fingers at work again between her
twisting thighs. He straightened up and held her face in his hands.

"Take out my cock, Pam."

Simple as that. His hands went to her breasts as his eyes held hers and
her hands, trembling frantically worked at his belt and the buttons of
his jeans. She never broke his gaze, but she continued murmuring to me -
to *me* - as she opened his pants:

"Oh, Danny, I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry, oh god, what are we doing.....I
have to....I have to....."

It was alarming and strange, of course, but my hand had gone to my
straining cock as I watched my wife open this stranger's pants as he
gazed into her eyes and pulled at her breasts, stroking and twisting her

"Danny!" she squealed, "Danny, he's big....god, he's as big as
you....god, baby, he's so fucking big....."

He silenced her with his lips and tongue as I saw her hands holding him
in the dark space between their bodies.

Abruptly, her hands were empty and clawing at his shoulders, pulling his
shirt away as he slid down again, burying his face in her crotch. His
fingers and his tongue made sloshing noises as she began to come almost
immediately, grinding herself up to his face as he moaned and slurped at
her. Her orgasm racked her body - a sheen of sweat made her glow in the
soft light of the study, and her firm, strong little limbs were taut
with the effort of her satisfaction.

But before she could be stilled, he lifted her - it seemed as if he did
it with one hand and the small of her back and she came up to him, her
legs around him, her sex seeking his. He turned around though, and
deftly swung her around and placed her face down over the rounded arm of
the leather couch directly in front of my chair.

Her ass was high and she made a move as if to rise up, but a firm hand
pressed between her shoulder blades kept her down. Instead, her ass rose
up a bit as she tried to look backwards over her shoulder at him.

He looked down at her exposed sex with a soft smile and made a sound
that was almost a growl. He spread her ass open and she lurched, but did
not protest....his fingers probed below, into her wet sex slid up over
anus. Soon he had both hands stroking her above, at her anus, and below,
at her pussy and her clitoris. Her eyes and her fists were clenched now,
as her ass bounced up and down. Every now and then he would slowly slide
one hand free of her crotch and smack her ass, which brought a yelp from
her each time, but it was clear that she was quickly rising to another
orgasm. All at once he plunged his thick length into her, and I swear I
heard a loud, wet, slopping sound as he slid into her all the way.

Her head jerked up.

"Oh my god!! Oh my god!! Oh my god!!" she kept saying over and over, as
if it were a true prayer, in a harsh whisper, deeper with each
repetition as she stroked back and forth. He smacked her ass sharply and
her mantra gave way to a wail as she began to cum again.

He was grunting and panting now, his eyes glazed as he forcefully fucked
in and out of her. Suddenly he lurched forward and I heard him snarl
into her ear:

"Look at him, Pam....look at what he's doing while we fuck......"

Her eyes flew open and fixed on my crotch, where I was stroking my
dripping cock, which had somehow freed itself from my slacks. My
humiliation was intense, but this was all so completely psychotic that
nothing was going to slow my hand on my cock. Nothing. I was *that*
close to cumming and when I heard her gasp, "Danny how? How could
you....?" I nearly lost it.

He had resumed humping her now, and apparently something he was doing
with his hand distracted her, because she clenched her eyes shut and
started saying "fuck it....fuck me.....give it to
me....." over and over, faster and faster.

He suddenly stood up, pulled his shining cock out of her with loud
sucking noise and flipped her onto her back. He straddled her chest and
reached back to fondle her clit as she bucked beneath him, her orgasm
literally ripping a scream from her. He pressed his cockhead into her
mouth, at first deep enough that I heard her gag, then with just the
head in her mouth.

"Suck," he said, and her lips closed over him. I think she was still
cumming under the assault of her fingers on her clitoris.

"Drink it, baby....drink it," he said softly and then all the muscles of
his body tensed and his buttocks jerked as he let out a long, low animal
wail and began to cum in my wife's sucking mouth.

I, of course, was cumming, too. All over my hand and my trouser leg. The
base of my cock was rubbed raw, I later discovered, by the teeth of my
zipper. He looked over at me. I expected him to smirk, but he did not.
He seemed breathless. Even overwhelmed, for that moment. Pam avoided eye
contact, turning her face to the back of the couch as she lay
whimpering. Her breath caught in little sobs, although she wasn't

I don't remember much else. They were dressed haphazardly as he led her
to the door. He said something as she looked back at me over her
shoulder and followed him out. My heart ached with the thought that I
had lost her.

End of Story

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