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Far and Away

Oct 5, 2011

By Clohe

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Maybe you've been far and away from your spouse for extended periods. We have. A long distance relationship occasioned by work or family necessities while married isn't that unusual. We've had both, so maybe my story isn't so unusual or difficult to understand.

We're from a big Midwestern land grant public university. One of those where the students number in the tens of thousands but the local jobs upon graduation? The fields of corn don't always match the fields of our degrees. Jobs and projects frequently call from elsewhere and we export our well-educated talent just like our corn is one of our nation's few sources of cash in our nation's trade accounts.

But I went to school in-state not just for the tuition, but for the tradition -- school traditions of our families and our family traditions. My undergraduate school was essentially genetic. My parents went there and exited with doctorates, a veterinarian and a food scientist. My brothers went there to feed the demand for engineers. I didn't even think of going elsewhere. Didn't know I had a choice. If you ask my Dad, maybe I didn't. Well maybe if I'd gone to an Academy, he would have permitted that. One poor school counselor encouraged me to consider her small liberal arts alma mater since I was a National Merit Scholar. She didn't stand a chance in her cause. My feet were on the rails of destiny. Plus, land grant U was only two hours from home and a similar span to the home place, the farm where my grandparents still lived. I was ready to get away to college and career but I wanted some space not to leave everything behind.

My wife I met at land grant U. She was a bit different in motivation and destiny. Her generation would be the first off the farm, not the second like I and my brothers. She'd grown-up milking cows and walking bean fields. If you've never done either or lived on a farm it's hard to imagine the long hours dictated by the needs of animals or driven by available sunlight and short days within which certain tasks must be completed. Her high school homework still had to be completed but it was in the dark hours of night after chores came first. She was ready to leave the land and school was her way up and out. The state university was affordable or nearly so if she worked enough part time jobs. And she did. She'd say she was a hard worker and disciplined, more than naturally brilliant or smart. I'd say she was brighter than she gives herself credit for, but disadvantaged by a high school preparation that wasn't as rigorous as my suburban, college prep focused school. In any case, she worked her way through college, with strong grades in a technical field of construction and design. She wanted away from cold, freezing barns and was driven partly by the need to prove wrong a high school counselor that figured she could maybe be a secretary. I swear she later got her MBA just to prove that she could and that that counselor was wrong. But her ties to home and family were stronger than you'd think. A big Catholic farm family, with a multitude of cousins, was a strong anchor with mandatory family events a regular magnet.

We ended up with nice professional degrees that weren't always in demand in-state. We also found we still had strong ties to extended families and the local area. We worked on the farm when home on the weekends. Our first jobs were both in the capital city of a rural state. But the career ladder, especially for Lori lay beyond.

She started traveling for construction projects out-of-state. The building developments went where the money was. Wealthy, high-growth cities of the coasts and Sunbelt were her typical destinations. Some fun places too. Boston, Connecticut, Annapolis, Hilton Head, Wilmington, Miami, Las Vegas and more. She supervised construction on multi-million dollar projects working for a developer based out of the Midwest but which had grown in recent years through both projects and mergers to be national player.

Given her line of work, almost all her peers were men. She was frequently the only woman on the trip and the only woman on the job site. She was and is still a very attractive woman. Lori is model tall at 5' 10' with sleek, slender lines, perfect curves, high breasts, and a Nordic blonde complexion. Her bright blue grey eyes flame from a finely sculpted face. That face always reminded me of a 1940s film star, with high cheek bones, long straight, slender nose and full lips. Her Viking origins are betrayed by the milk pale coloring of skin and hair, but the angles also revealed some interesting family history. Lori's frontier Revolutionary ancestors included two Native American wives. A favorite movie is Michael Mann's masterpiece, "The Last of the Mohicans." It always reminds me of Lori's origins. You can see the Indian features in the curve of her full lips or the high brow and angle of her cheek bones. She's striking, not just pretty. Yes she looks great in jeans, but her face commands attention even given a great body.

I shouldn't be surprised that other men look. And they often express interest in more. She wears a wedding ring. That didn't stop anyone from looking. It didn't stop many from chatting her up and suggesting more.

I suppose it started when she'd come home with the occasional stories of the latest proposition. I think she liked some of the attention but she was also sensitive to having to work in a man's field. There was a fine line for her between the complement of feeling pretty and desirable and the danger of sexual discrimination. But there were also benefits to working in a man's field. Some of the construction workers were muscular and attractive and worked in climes where baring arms or even chests was possible or even desirable under warmer suns. I'd hear about some of them. I work in an office. I'm lean like the runner I was in school. At 6' 1" I'm not short, but office work didn't leave me with chiseled deltoids or bulging guns or gleaming tanned skin. Some of her observational samples were so endowed.

Others came from among the upper level ranks of general contractors and design professionals, whom she supervised as the owner's representative. She had the power of the purse. They didn't get paid until she was satisfied. It meant they had incentive to be nice. And most of them were. The nature of the industry was such that most in these ranks were themselves well-trained and the requirements of command attracted powerful personalities, almost by necessity with a degree of charisma and charm.

I heard about these guys too, whether it was on daily phone calls at night or when she was home from travel on weekends.

Women have much more of a need to talk about their day and who did what to whom and what it all means. I don't know if guys are oblivious or if women take things too personally or if there really is something to the inclinations of both sexes. But our normal routine is Lori talks far more about her day and me not so much. Besides she has less interest in my work than I do in hers. I like construction and architecture. I fear her eyes glaze over at some of the legal and financial stuff with which I contend.

I'd hear about the architect in black, with perfectly coiffed hair and the de rigueur or obligatory designer eyewear. Architects seemed compelled to wear their design credentials on their sleeve. Yes, it makes for some attractive guys, in a metrosexual way. Mostly Lori's comments about architects were more judgmental. In her role, bang for the buck was important. Architects, especially design architects too frequently were impractical purists. Now production architects, the ones that convert the concepts into working construction documents, often had more of the practical bent that attracted Lori. They also spent more time on the job site in boots and hard hats conferring with contractors to assure that shop drawings were done on time and translated to real life. The professionals could still be distinguished from the front line contractors and subs. They might all wear boots, but the higher ups wore slacks, dress shirts or at least company branded polos. Practice varied somewhat by region and clime. But the jeans of a carpenter or electrician mostly gave way to pressed creases on those that directed the endeavor.

I heard about those too. Lori has an eye for the well-dressed man. She'd comment on someone with the well-fitted seat of dress slacks, or fabric with a nice hand or drape. She especially appreciated tropical weight, fine wool. The way she said it always left the impression she wished it was her hand on the wearer or her body draped across his. She was gifted at innuendo and double entendre with all the right words twisted by meaningful inflection.

It was, "You should have seen Dave today. We were late from the airport to the job site. He's standing there waiting for our Town Car chatting up the rental car girl. He's wearing these really gorgeous khakis. You know how tall Dave is. He must be at least 6' 4". And you know he's towering over this girl, waving his big hands in the air to illustrate his joke while she's pulling the paperwork. I think it took her twice as long cause she kept looking at him and not her computer terminal. He's got that deep commanding voice and dark curly hair. I'm sure he was more entertaining than her usual routine. . . "

Dave was part of the developer's standard team, so Dave was on almost all the trips. And because Dave was tall and well built, solid with a deep chest and broad shoulders, he stood out in a crowd. They almost always rented a Lincoln Town Car, perhaps because Dave was so big. Perhaps it was because the big Lincoln could accommodate passengers in the back seat too. Lori's one complaint about Dave was she never got to drive. Probably smart on Dave's part. Lori has zero sense of direction and can repeat the route to getting lost more than once without remembering the solution. I thought Dave was good insurance as a pilot and navigator. I was far more comfortable with having Lori travelling in strange cities with someone like Dave. Women always have to be more security conscious than men. When Lori travelled alone a breakdown or getting lost was a potential threat to personal safety. Alone, she wanted a hotel with an interior hallway and off the ground floor. With Dave, she had backup and credibly imposing backup.

Dave is handsome, in a Daniel Day Lewis sort of way. He's taller than me with narrower hips and proportionally wider shoulders. He looks like the swimmer he was in high school. His dark curls stay in place looking perpetually cute. I always hated that. My hair is fine and straight and far less disciplined. I was jealous of the hair, but not really of Dave.

First, I like Dave. He is a compelling personality. Heck, he's a guy's guy. Who wouldn't like him. At company events he offered easy conversation. Logically so since we had Lori in common and I knew a good amount about his work and travels through those daily phone calls from blondie. We shared a lot of interests, from flying to football. It wasn't hard to find stuff to talk about. And he is funny. He has natural charisma that attracts both men and women. It wasn't hard to see why Lori liked Dave or that Dave dominated many of her stories. It was implicit that there was some sexual tension.

Second, I'm not an especially jealous guy. I hadn't found it a particularly effective tactic or attractive trait. Of course I had to try out jealousy in high school to discover girlfriends really don't like jealous boyfriends. Jealousy almost always seemed to fuel conflict, with the frequently meaningless spark misinterpreted, driving a self-inflicted wedge in a relationship. After a couple of high school girlfriends with bad endings, made worse through jealousy, I'd made the conscious choice to not be jealous. I concluded it was counter-productive.

And I need to clarify, maybe I left the impression I merely tolerate Lori's womanly need to talk about her day. Far from it. I enjoy hearing about her day. I still like hearing her voice. It did not bother me in the least to hear her talk about the men she encountered, or even liked in the course of her days.

She'd share the guy that asked her out to drinks, or when someone asked her to dance in the hotel bar. A round of karaoke could be an icebreaker and fun. Add a margarita or a whisky and Seven, and Lori would be in a high mood. Traveling on expense account meant that meals out were the standard course, so almost the minimum story was conversation over dinner.

Maybe some husbands wouldn't want to hear about it. I did. Maybe it would bother some husbands that these meals and events were with other men. Often the same men, or man. Dave. It didn't bother me. It's not that I was oblivious. No. I'm smart enough about human nature. I could tell Dave was essentially her office spouse in common parlance. In office politics they were necessary partners whose interests were aligned. They travelled together frequently. They were (and are) both very attractive. Face it they made a more striking couple when seen together than Lori and I. I'm not bad looking, but I'm also not 6' 4" and quarterback handsome.

In fact, I had the growing realization that I liked that other men looked at Lori and found her attractive. I took a certain pride in having a beautiful wife.

I encouraged her to dress well, even a bit provocatively. I'd buy her luxurious lace and satin underpinnings and blouses with plunging necklines that emphasized her décolletage. Just as she liked fine dress trousers on guys, I liked well-fitted skirts or dresses or sleek slacks on Lori and made sure her wardrobe was well outfitted with clothes that clung to the womanly curve of her nicely trim waist and perfect heart-shaped hips and bottom. She was typically conservatively dressed and professional but with enough feminine edge that even if attracted to her striking face first, men's eyes moved down for more.

When she told me a local big whig asked her out for a weekend on his sailboat on the Chesapeake, my first response was, "That sounds fun." Not, "You're not going are you?"

In fact, I could see Lori luxuriating in her teal blue bikini atop a mahogany deck under a later summer sun as the yacht slipped through historic waters of wealth and commerce. That was one of those first times where I found myself imagining what she would do on a boat for a weekend with a wealthy, good looking guy. It was easy to imagine her there. It was easy to imagine why he'd want her there. The thought of another man wanting to seduce and undress Lori was not discomforting. It actually seemed quite appropriate. Who wouldn't want to?

I wasn't jealous. Lori didn't go, despite me allowing it if she wanted to or needed to. The invitation was posed as a work courtesy and Lori was torn between, was this a work obligation, or was it a possible conflict of interest? She was all worked up about potentially competing work-related explanations for the invitation. Being a man, I knew work was purely tangential. If Lori was ugly or male, any work-related business could be handled during business hours. An invitation like that was for sex.

I told her so. She didn't believe me. And then she didn't believe that I would let her go if I thought it was even potentially related to sexual attraction.

That wasn't her first or last invitation by strangers or more familiar men. Heck, when angry with me, as spouses inevitably sometimes are, she'd remind me, "Don't think I don't have other options." I knew she did. She was smart, accomplished and pretty. She has other options and a lot of them.

Lori seemed to consciously add to her daily stories the flirting advances, the invitations or suggestions. She seemed to take increasing pleasure from recognizing when other men found her interesting or attractive. And she increasingly understood not only did it not bother me, but that her talking about other men was something I enjoyed, even relished. She could be a tease. And she teased me. She liked getting my imagination going on what she could be doing. Yes she could be having drinks with another man. Another man could see her in that bikini at the hotel pool. Or, I'm wearing that lace thong and lace trimmed silk camisole, do you think the lace will show through this blouse? She developed skill in describing scenes and men in our phone conversations. Increasingly it got me going and seemed to help her too. What was day-to-day reporting of events, edged into steamy phone sex.

I'd ask her what some guy who asked her out wanted to do. Together we'd fill in the details. I could see her splayed on the hotel bed, overlooking Baltimore's Inner Harbor, naked with the curtains open and door to the balcony admitting sea breezes. When her breath came in hurried, urgent squeals, I knew her hand was between her legs, stroking her slickness. It wasn't any effort to picture the male instigator there too, naked between her legs. I'd ask her, "Is he licking your pussy?" She'd extend the phone sex fantasy, "Ghad, yes, he's holding my hips in his hands and pressing his lips to my pussy."

We could both picture her being sexually satisfied by another man and she knew that the thought of it was both sexually stimulating and satisfying to me.

It wasn't just phone sex. When she was home in our bed, she conveyed sexual exploits whispered in my ear as we made love. She did it far more to play to my fantasies and professed no real interest in other men. It was something she did for me. No matter how descriptively passionate the story was, I assumed it was fantasy. Increasingly, I discovered I was disappointed that it was just fantasy.

Even when the fantasy acquired a name it didn't bother me. "I was taking a shower in the hotel room after dinner, when there was a knock at the door. I wrapped a big towel around me before looking through the peephole. It was Dave. He needed my signature. . . ." In the story she related the towel didn't last long. How could it? Dave was a perfectly virile man. And truth be told, not many young men can deny the lure of opportunity no matter how rationale and upstanding. It wasn't the first time I'd pictured or imagined Lori and David together.

In fact, it was increasingly hard not to imagine them locked in a sexual embrace. I'd heard the tone of admiration in Lori's voice when talking about Dave. And like I said, I liked Dave. We'd golfed together among other things. And from the country club locker room I had details that weren't just imagination. Lori had commented on his imposing physique and even that he must be well hung given how his slacks fit. I'd seen confirmation of that. I'm not tiny, possessing a rather conventional seven or eight inches of cock the size of a good bratwurst. I suppose I could have guessed from Dave's large hands and feet. One assumes everything scales up. In Dave's case, he does. He was built more like a pork tenderloin. His cock flaccid is larger in both length and diameter than mine engorged. He has large heavy testicles hanging free in a pendulous scrotum. His circumcised corona was full and large. It would be a mouth filling treat for Lori or any woman. It was easy to imagine him inflamed with passion poised to fulfill Lori's lust.

I suppose it's dangerous to add a real person's name to bedroom pillow talk fantasies. And even more temptation to fill in visual blanks for Lori's benefit. She suspected, but I knew how big he was. I told her. I love bringing Lori to frenetic orgasm and if she arched her back more strongly or breathed more rapidly for Dave's name in the fantasy, I was fine with that. I love it when Lori breaks through her professional reserve into unbridled passion. My objective in sex is to bring out that sexual tigress and leave the tigress gasping and satisfied. I want her to be happy.

It worked. Frequently and regularly Dave's name was no longer just part of work wrap-ups but our sexual unwrapping. I assume, still assume it was all fantasy at that stage. When not in heat, Lori is pretty cautious and conservative. Sex is a bad girl thing. But increasingly, I didn't care. I always wanted to hear more. Sometimes Lori would relate her fantasies as I buried my face in the wet folds of her pussy. Other times she'd want me to tell her my fantasies of what Dave did to her while she was far and away. It could have been taken as de facto permission to convert fantasy to reality.

I converted the de facto encouragement to de jure permission. I told Lori, she could have other men if the right opportunity presented itself. I'd send her away on trips equipped with condoms, fancy lingerie, and even a vibrator. I'd make sure she was wearing sexy bras, just pantyhose or even no panties when she left. I told her I wanted her to dress to be in the mood and available. Lori likes a certain amount of control and direction. Her fantasies frequently involve some degree of male authority or domination to remove the constraint on the woman's part. There's no moral culpability for her if the female is compelled to do something. It's ironic because in work she's in a position of authority. I made it clear that she had permission, not because I wanted to sleep around with other woman. I didn't. It was because I wanted her to have pleasure and because I found it arousing that other men wanted her.

She wanted permission to be a bad girl, a bad girl who really enjoys sex. I gave it to her.

I could just picture sex on their expense account. So much opportunity, so many places where local eyes were absent and the freedom of distant romantic places could play out. There was the little colonial era inn in Connecticut. They could start out in the tap room with seafood and steak. Dave could ply Lori with white wine or her weakness -- margaritas, before taking her upstairs to plough Lori.

There was the Wilmington, South Carolina project with the hotel overlooking the harbor and restaurants a plenty filled with southern charm and diaphanous sea scents. At dinner Lori would wear a perfectly tailored sundress unbuttoned high to expose her inner thighs and unbuttoned low for provocative cleavage and a hint of bare breast or tantalizing lace bra. The conversation would be light and loaded with sexual innuendo. In a close romantic setting, Dave should be able to smell Lori's arousal and see the signs of wanton desire in hardened nipples and face and chest blushing red.

I wanted to hear her describe how when dinner was done he took her upstairs and bent her over the bed in her room, lifting her skirt to reveal a bare bottom and slippery wet pussy. Lori so loves to be fucked from behind. With some alcohol spinning her head and blood rushing in her ears, she would be putty in his big hands. She'd be both horny and compliant to his wishes.

I wanted her to pleasure Dave and be pleasured in turn. I wanted her to suck his cock and spread her legs for another man, a bigger man. All things I intellectually know you're not supposed to desire or enjoy contemplating. But I did. The thought of her lips wrapped around the large fleshy helmet crowning his cock drove me wild with desire.

I longed to hear her stories of her sexual adventures and pleasures.

And she obliged.

She was in Florida, staying at one of the high rise hotels that line the beach in Miami.

I was in bed when she called at 4:37 am her time on the East coast. Her voice was husky.

"Are you awake?" By which she meant are you still awake, or perhaps were you awake before I called?

"No, but that's okay. It's early for you. Couldn't sleep?" I inquired.

"More like, didn't sleep. I did something else instead. . ."


"Dave is here with me in Florida. He was here in my room tonight."

I was breathing shallowly and my heart was suddenly racing. I didn't know quite what to say. So I didn't say anything immediately. I felt a tingle in my chest and a sharp pain down my arm.

"He was here, in me tonight."

Now my heart was hammering. "I can just imagine."

"I wasn't imagining it. I can still taste his cock."

I held my breath in disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes. I was a bad girl, just like you've always wanted."

"Did you want him?"

"Yes. I couldn't believe how much."

"Tell me about it." The pain was still there in my chest and arm. The sudden anxiety, but I needed to hear more.

"We had dinner downstairs in the hotel restaurant. Pretty standard fare. Dave would have normally gone elsewhere with a more elaborate menu, but we got in late from Raleigh. It didn't matter to me. I was just planning a quick bite. I had a salmon salad. Dave thought that occasioned some white wine. He ordered some of that St. Suprey Moscato I love."

The Moscato is really closer to a California champagne than say a Chardonnay and the St. Suprey version almost rose in color. It's a sweet wine, easy to drink. I gave Dave credit for keeping track of what Lori likes. It really is her favorite wine, and not inexpensive. In the liquor store it's a twenty-five dollar bottle of wine. In a restaurant . . .well, there's the advantage of a big developer's expense account -- at least before the real estate crash.

"I may have loved it a bit too much."

"How so?"

"We had two bottles. Dave kept filling my glass before it was empty. I fear I had more than my fair share. And you know how I am with alcohol. I don't think the salmon salad was enough food to take much of the edge off the buzz, especially since we started drinking on an empty stomach before the food arrived. It goes to my head even quicker then."

She really is a light weight. One beer or wine is normally enough to set her head to spinning and unbridles her laughter. She's a happy drunk. Even better a horny drunk. Lori doesn't drink often, but a handful of drinks she craves are almost guaranteed to get her in the mood: Margaritas or Corona Light with a lime or lemon for when she's in a Mexican mood; Makers Mark when she's in an indulgent whiskey girl mood; or a glass or two of St. Suprey Moscato. With four or five glasses it's like giving someone the key.

"Sounds delicious," I led her on.

"There was a piano player in the bar. Dave asked me to dance."

"What were you wearing?"

"You would have liked my outfit. I had on my black blouse with the sheer black sleeves. . ."

I knew the one she meant. It did have sheer sleeves. What she didn't say was that the torso was sheer too. It had small rows of ruffles on the front and perhaps the body wasn't quite as sheer as the long flowing sleeves, but it was still quite transparent, especially in the right light.

". . . with that wine or burgundy color lace demi bra you like so much."

"Yes, I do like that one. It barely covers your areolae." The demi cup leaves the tops of her 34DD breasts fully exposed as the straps are far to the side and the underwire provides marvelous cleavage.

"And my cream colored slacks."

"Very nice. I always loved how those hug your hips." They do fit perfectly. The light-weight wool would reveal any panty line, suggesting my next question, "Anything underneath?"

"The matching burgundy lace thong." The lace really is beautiful, beautifully sheer, and the fit cut high on her waist, visually stretching her already long legs. No panty lines but still some sensuous accent.

"Did you dance?"

"Yes. We were the only ones on the dance floor. They were slow songs. Dave held me close. We weren't the only ones in the bar. I felt on display, but with the wine I didn't mind. I even kind of liked it."

Normally she's a bit shy in public. Family wedding dances are one thing. Out alone in public or on a date in a strange venue? Then she's a bit self-conscious, but apparently not this night.

"You'd make a good pair. What was Dave wearing?"

"Just a blue button-down broadcloth dress shirt and nice tropical weight dress slacks. He looked good. He felt good." Her voice dropped in volume and increased in breathiness, "I could feel his firm cock as he pressed into me while we danced. You were so right. God he's big. He put his hands on my butt and held me against him as he got harder."

"That would have been a sight."

"I couldn't help it. I arched my back and pressed into him. I didn't care that so many people were watching. You can't believe how erotic it was."

"Erotic, not romantic?"

"Erotic. Horny erotic. I just wanted to fuck him so bad. Right there. I could feel him almost like neither of us was wearing anything. I could feel exactly how he was oriented. I wanted to reach down and fondle his balls right there, but he was grinding them on my thighs. It was making me so wet between my legs I could feel the slickness in my panties. He kissed me on my neck, behind my ear, and on my lips. He whispered, can I take you upstairs?"

Lori loves being kissed on her long neck. "Please tell me you said, 'Yes.'"

"Yes. 'Take me upstairs,' I practically begged him. Oh, you can't believe how much I wanted his cock. And when I said, 'Yes,' he fondled my breasts right there on the dance floor. He squeezed hard. You know I can't resist that at least when I'm not tender sore. 'Hurry,' I whispered to him.

He fondled and kissed me in the long lobby. As we rode up on the glass elevator, he unbuttoned my blouse and pulled it off my shoulders, baring my bra. His fingers found my bare nipples under the lace. He pushed down the lace and pinched my nipples. His hands felt like fire on my skin. He'd run a hand over my breast, across my throat and under my ear, arching my neck to kiss me and plunge down to feel a breast again. Twenty-one floors never flew by so fast. I was flush, could feel the heat. Was practically fainting in his arms."

Lori's voice was rushing a bit, as she described the ride up the elevator. Her timbre now more breathy than husky and her words more hurried and urgent, just like the story. It sounded like she was reliving the rush of heat.

"And oh, Ghaad, when the doors opened, there was a couple standing there in their swimsuits going down to the pool. There I was with my shirt open and half off. I wasn't showing that much more than the woman in her bikini top, but it was obvious. One nipple was still half peeking out over that low front you like so much. I went to cover up with my hands, but Dave held my arms and kissed me again in front of them. I felt like a slut but also like I didn't care if I looked like a slut."

"Cause you just wanted him to fuck you." It was a statement, not a question. You know how after awhile in a relationship you know exactly how the other person thinks. You can finish their thoughts for them. It can be annoying but also proof of bonding.

"Yes, I just wanted him to fuck me. You've teased me with how big he is. He's flirted with me for ages. I've flirted back. We've fantasized about him. I've fantasized about him alone in my room in hotels. I've dreamed that vibrator was him. And tonight I didn't want a vibrator.

I fumbled at the door. I couldn't open it fast enough. It was a flurry of hands. He stripped off my blouse. I unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest while I undid his belt and zipper. I peeled down his shirt as he stepped out of his pants. We were still just inside the door to my room and we were already mostly naked.

You won't believe this, but I knelt in front of him. I still had on my heels and slacks. My bra strap was undone. I didn't feel him do that. But I hadn't bothered to slip the straps off my arms, so it just kind of dangled there, gapping away from my breasts. Just as well, as Dave cupped my breasts and pulled me to him. His cock was hard and sticking up well above the waist band of his briefs. I pulled his shorts down and peeled off his socks. He kind of helped by bending each knee in turn and lifting a foot."

Lori doesn't like a naked man in socks. Finds it looks silly.

"How big is he hard?" I whispered. Odd to talk about another man's cock, but I needed to know.

"Big. He's huge. Both length and circumference. . ."

She was a design professional by original training, of course she'd know the right word.

". . . the tips of my fingers don't touch holding him. He's got to be at least twice as big around as you. And longer. And his testicles are big and heavy. I couldn't resist. I kissed the tip of his cock."

Lori's not normally one to start with fellatio. It's more of a rare treat for me. But I guess she wasn't just really starting with Dave either. She was already pretty worked up and worked over. I wished I'd seen that vision, my wife sucking another man's cock and a big cock at that.

She continued, "He was already creamy slick with pre-cum. I painted my lips with his lipstick. I licked up each pearl as I could tease it from the tip of his cock. He was really wet. Wetter than you get. And have I told you I like the taste of pre-cum much better than cum?"

Here all along I'd been the basis for comparison but I couldn't remember the last time she'd let me actually cum in her mouth when she was sober enough to remember. She'd been setting new benchmarks without me.

"I love the feel of that fleshy crown on a cock. Dave's is delicious. I could barely get him into my mouth. I always thought I had a wide mouth but I couldn't suck him very deep, he filled my mouth he's so huge. I wanted to make sure Dave felt good. I wanted to be sure he'd cum when we fucked. I could feel the skin of his cock draw ever tauter and his balls were heavy in my hands as I milked him to full hardness."

She was teasing me, sharing stories.

"Before Dave could lose it and cum in my mouth he pushed me away and pulled me to my feet. He pushed the bra off my bare arms and onto the floor. And this was so cool. With one hand he cupped my pussy from behind and through my legs, practically lifting me off my feet. He was holding me up by my crotch with one hand as he splayed the fingers of his other hand across my bare belly and dragged them down in tracings to the zipper of my slacks. I don't know how he managed so fluidly but in one pass my zipper was undone and his other hand plunged down under the front of my thong. I was soaked. He now held my pussy in the cradle of his two hands and lifted me off my feet as two fingers of his front hand slipped into my very wet cunt. I loved the feeling of his big hands under my bottom and cupping my pussy. I wrapped my arms around his neck."

His big hands are strong arms were the payoff she hoped.

"He lifted me up and carried me to the bed like that. His hands between my legs, finger fucking me, as my head lay cradled on his shoulder and my feet dangled free. All I had on was my lace thong. Dave was naked. You always tell me you want another naked man to see me sexually. Now Dave has."

"I told you other men want to fuck you. Why do you doubt me? You're very fuckable."

"Dave carried me to the bed. He knelt with one knee on the bed and laid me down. His fingers stayed in my pussy but his other hand slowly slid up my spine to support my shoulders as he put me out for display on the king size bed. He made me seem light as a feather; it was so smooth and effortless.

He stood up briefly above me, pulling my thong off as he retreated. Now I was naked for him and he for me. Dave looked like a heroic Greek statute in that instant of time. He's got those wide shoulders and strong chest, trim waist and narrow hips and a tight butt. And that cock. It looked big. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I loved how his balls hung so low, each clearly defined. He was like a horse or a bull."

My own balls tend to draw up into a tight ball when I'm erect but I could picture his pendulous sack and scale from the country club showers. "Were you afraid he was too big?" In the stories you read women have to be comforted to take on a man with a big cock, fearful it will hurt.

"Not at all. All I could think of was wanting him inside me, and wonderment that he wanted to be inside me. My pussy was wet beyond belief. My skin was on fire. Every touch of his hand was like an electrical tingle straight to the base of my skull."

"Did you have your condoms?" I know she did because I always packed them for her in one of the little pockets of both her computer case and roller suitcase. She was the one concerned to use condoms.

"No, I didn't even think about them. Even now it doesn't seem necessary or wrong. It was Dave. He felt safe and I just wanted him inside me. I wanted his cum. Is that all right?"

Asking forgiveness or permission after the fact when I was caught up in the lust was probably unfair. With an iron hard cock, what could I say? "Yes, it's perfect."

"I spread my legs for him and spread my pussy lips for him so he could see I was ready for him. 'Please, fuck me, Dave,' I whispered to him."

I liked to have her ask for it in our fantasies to use her fictional lover's name. Here she was operationalizing the fantasy.

"Did he then?"

"Yes, he kneeled between my legs and sat back a bit on his haunches. He pulled me close and draped my legs over his thighs, laying that cock across my belly. I could feel his balls pressed into my bottom. I swear that cock was the size of my forearm. I stroked my hands over him and over my own belly. I rubbed more glistening clear pre-cum over his tip and licked my fingers clean. He lifted my hips at will with the power of his legs under mine and his hands around my bottom. He positioned his cock at my entrance. He used the crown to paint my wetness even more thoroughly from top to bottom of my slit and across my outer lips. His thumb stroked the nub of my clit, but gently, teasingly so, not like he was trying to bring me off immediately."

"He knows how to draw out the moment," I offered.

"Yes, it was a delicious moment. Knowing he was going to fuck me. Feeling his cock at my pussy lips and wanting him inside my cunt. He pushed forward and I curled my spine to meet him. My pussy felt hot and the blood was pounding in my throat, you know how you can sometimes feel your pulse as much as hear it? My blood was roaring in my ear. He slipped inside me. I could feel him stretching me but it wasn't painful. It felt full or fulfilling. It felt complete. He was buried inside me, gently rocking back and forth at first."

"Your first big cock, your first lover."

"Is it still what you want? I was impaled on his cock, legs wrapped over his and hips elevated. Can you picture me on Dave's cock?"


"Is it a good picture?"

"Yes, the best." Like most men I like the modern convenience of readily available graphic pornography. I like looking at naked women. But my vision of naked women had evolved. Yes, I appreciated beautiful models, but I even more like transposing my wife into the scene, into the same blatantly sexual poses, wearing the same lingerie or into the same strange setting. I liked imagining it was my wife with the male models in couple shoots. It was very easy to imagine how she looked with Dave earlier tonight in Miami. To which I added, "I wish I was there to see it in person."

This threesome or witness version of events had crept into our pillow talk fueled by pictorals and cuckold stories. There was the word, cuckold. I'd told her I wanted her to make me her cuckold. And now she had. I'd always lustily devoured her willingness to make up fictional lovers, but now I somehow knew this was truth not fiction. It is what I had dreamed of, often and repeatedly. I was enjoying her retelling of the tale. I was naked, in bed and rock hard. My cock was almost painfully hard, pre-cum flowing. Lori was fueling my fantasies and I found hearing about it, great as that was, was not enough. I did want to be there, to see in person my wife take another man. Successful completion didn't exhaust or satisfy the fantasy. It only fueled it more.

"It was a sight to see. Dave's hands roamed all over my body. He cupped my breasts and squeezed firmly. He must have deduced how much I like that from the public experiment on the dance floor. He did everything I love. He pinched and pulled my nipples till the nubs were hard and areolae were taut and inflated. He circled each nipple with the palms of his hands, gently stroking the sides of my breasts, all the while rocking my pussy on that huge cock. His fingers drew tracings all over my body, around my ears, across my brows and over my face. I sucked on his fingers. I knew I was drunk, but I was so in his power I felt that the lust was more in control than the alcohol."

While alcohol was a great key to her open legs, it could be a tricky bargain. I knew exactly what she meant. I'd gotten her drunk and gotten lucky on many occasions, but it was as often as not the precursor to being too drunk, too sick and too hung over. If you hit the right combination though, it was as if the hungry lust burned away the alcohol like the flame of a Bunsen burner. It was a complicated formula driven by the food to alcohol ratio, influenced by the type of alcohol and timing of the food and fuel. But the secret ingredient was always the intensity of the lust, the strength of the flame. Dave was getting lucky. My experience was the exact right balance was a one in three chance. He'd hit the jackpot. "Just enough Moscato to remove all inhibitions and not too much to get sick?"

"Just right. He was just right too. It's only a couple of hours ago and I want to be filled like that again. I'm wet just telling you about it again. Maybe you'll let me do it again when you can watch."

"I'd like that."

"I was building up to an orgasm. The sensations were just overwhelming. I'm afraid I wasn't very quiet or secret about my urgency. I was whimpering and moaning on his cock. The slider to the balcony was open. The whole city probably heard. Dave probably got tired of me telling him, "Fuck, me, fuck me, fuck me. . ." But as I was getting more urgent he shifted, laying his legs out and moved more fully on top of me than in front of me. He maneuvered a pillow under my hips to rotate my tunnel just so. He spread my legs wide. I bent my knees so my feet held his thighs. Dave grabbed my wrists over my head and held himself above me, all his power focused on his thrusting. His weight was in his legs and arms but I could feel how heavy he was each time our hips met. And now he just pounded into me. I did scream with pleasure. I felt those big pendulous balls slapping my bottom, spanking me. As long as he is, his strokes were full length, withdrawing to the very tip and plunging back in again. I curled to meet his thrusts. You can't believe how wild and urgent my need was. My orgasm hit like fireworks. It really was blinding light in my eyes and explosive convulsions in my belly. My legs were shaking uncontrollably and I felt Dave cum deep in me. His moan was deep and guttural. I couldn't take any more I was so over sensitive, but I couldn't say no to Dave's orgasm. He kept pumping into me until he was spent. I could feel the heat of his cum and the difference of the added lubrication. I've given my pussy fully to another man. Just like you've always wanted. . . . Are we okay?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"You know I did."

"Do you feel bad about it?"

"No. It was both irresistible and. . . I don't know, maybe liberating? I felt free, I feel free to let go and just experience the pleasure of the moment. Knowing Dave so well and seeing him wanting me, perfect in his hardness, I couldn't say no. I didn't want to say no. You always say you want me to experience unbridled passion and lose my inhibitions. That's exactly how I feel. I know we've fantasized about it, and I've sometimes run hot and then cold, but I don't feel bad or guilty. I don't know how I'll resist doing it again."

"I don't want you to resist."

"Maybe you can be there sometime. I wish you were here right now."

"Still horny?"

"Yes, I feel the need to make love to you now. I know you say it's alright. I know we've talked about this, fantasied forever about it. But I'd feel better seeing your reaction."

"Aren't you sore?"

"Yes, a little. But we wouldn't have to fuck. I know it's crazy. I'm sitting here naked in bed. I can still taste his cock in my mouth, the stickiness of his pre-cum on my lips. My pussy is full of his cum. My pubic hair matted with our fluids. I look used, but I want to cuddle. I want to make you cum too."

"Why isn't Dave still there?"

"He went back to his room. We thought it was safer for work, in case someone called." Dave was married, I recalled.

My cock was still hard, though the erection had faded a bit in her telling of her afterglow.

"Stroke your cock for me," she said.

I did. The blood flowed back to full hardness almost immediately.

"Tell me what you're doing," she instructed.

"I'm lying in bed, naked for you. I'm stroking my cock with my right hand and playing with my balls in my left." When we're together Lori often likes to feel my climax through my scrotum. She'll finish me by milking my balls while I stroke my cock. She knows just the right amount of pressure, even pain to inflict by squeezing my testicles, even slapping my scrotum to give that delicious ache and pain.

"Tell me when you have some pre-cum."

Since I'd been hard since she called, pre-cum was not a problem. "I do."

"Lick it from your fingers for me. I wish I was there to do it for you."

Lori doesn't love the taste of cum, but she seems more fascinated and enamored of the clear pearls of pre-cum.

"I licked it from my thumb."

"Are you thinking of me?"


"Are you thinking of me with Dave?"

"You know I am. How could I not?"

"Tell me what you would do if you were here, now. Tell me what you want."

"I want to lick your pussy," I blurted out.

"I'm still messy and sticky," she breathed softly.

"I know. I want to lick and kiss your pussy. I want to taste you." I love giving her cunnilingus. I'd read about creampies but reading and watching and wanting are different. I felt suddenly very naked and exposed to Lori.

"Stroke your cock."

"I am."

"You'd lick my pussy full of Dave's cum?"

"Yes," I whispered desperately.

"I like that idea."

"Let me clean you up."

"You'd lick and kiss me clean?"


"Like it had never happened?"


"So I could do it again?"

"Yes." Each yes was in rhythm to my now desperate stroking. I was on the edge. I could feel the magnificent burn.

"Cum, for me Dan."

"I'm cumming," came out in a desperate moan half an octave above my normal tone and almost a whine.

"That's it cum for me. Pump that cum."

"I am."

"Are you still dizzy?"

She knew me, intimately.

"Yes," the blood was still pounding in my chest and spinning in my ears.

"You'd do anything for me?"

"Yes." After all, she'd done this for me tonight. She could have resisted Dave's advances. Yes, giving in was partly or even largely for her, but it was partly for me. And she didn't have to tell me about it. The last hour and a half on the phone was all for me. She didn't have to share her experience, but she did, to give me pleasure. I'd do anything for her. I both loved her and lusted for her.

"Lick your cum from your fingers."

I'd occasionally begged for her to make me lick my cum from her fingers, but after we'd climaxed the urgency and desire seemed to fade. But this time, I did as I was told.

"Imagine you're licking my pussy and it's Dave's cum."

I took my first taste. It was hot and sticky. People always write that cum tastes bitter or salty. I don't know if I could describe taste, it was the texture that stood out for me. It seemed to cling to my mouth and tongue. It was gooey yet gummy. No, I guess I can also say it was slightly metallic in taste. I swallowed trying to clear my mouth but saliva did not immediately dissolve or dissipate the white stickiness. Okay, maybe salty, I don't know. It was so sticky. Not like honey is like glue. Not tacky. Just clingy.

"Are you licking?" She prompted.


"Clean up for me. I want you to clean it all up with your tongue."

I did as ordered. I scooped a large globule from my stomach on to my fingers and sucked them clean.

"Is your cock still leaking?" She led me on.


"You know what to do."

I milked the last cum, now clearer and less white onto my hand. And I licked it off as instructed.

"Tell me again, what you would do if you were here?"

"I'd kiss your pussy."


"I want to lick your pussy clean."

"Do you want to taste Dave's cum on me?"


"Lick me clean."

"Oh, please, yes."

"You know what you have to do when I get home."

"Please, let me eat your creampie."

I don't know how, but I'd ended up begging to lick another man's cum from my wife's pussy. And I was sincere. Even in the shadow of my climax, I felt a desire or urgency to see Lori's cum filled pussy and lick it clean. I'd often envisioned the moment of her sucking another cock or a man penetrating her pussy. She'd done that. He'd done that. But now that fantasy, that lust was suddenly magically transformed. I wanted to see her used pussy and I still desired it. I'd gone from wanting to be a cuckold, wanting my wife to sleep with other men -- no fuck other men, be fucked by other men, to wanting to lick and kiss her pussy full of strange cum.

"Will you be my clean-up crew? Are you my cum-sucking cuckold now?"

Oh, how she knew how to own me and control me. "Yes," I whispered.

"Would you like to see Dave fuck me?"


"You know what you'd have to do after?"


"Tell me."

"Lick you clean."


"Suck Dave's cum from your pussy."

"Yes, I'd like that. I can't wait to get home."

I was hers.

"You know the sun's coming up here. It's a new day."

Story Comments

  • adair4more wrote 1322 days ago:

    This is one of the hottest stories ever! I was soaked thinking about Dave taking me.

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