(continued from 16a)
I know how good it feels to fuck my wife. It is an incredible feeling which starts from my penis inside her, and radiates out to my whole body. I've known it for more than 20 years. But now Ted was feeling it, not me. I could hear it in his groans, his gasps, his attempts to talk to my wife which were interrupted by spasms and grunts of pleasure. I could hear my wife encouraging him, coaxing him to cum in her, and her words told me what her body was doing to him. She was using her pussy, her body, her mind to turn him on. The thumping grew louder, his groans grew louder, her sex talk grew louder. Then he came.
I sat behind the closed, locked door, and heard Ted cum in my wife. He cried out his pleasure, and his voice was so strained that I could picture the faces he was making. Talk about an intimate act: allowing another person to see the faces you make when you cum. Intimate, like a woman spreading her legs and pulling a man into her, turning him on until he lets go inside her.
I know what sex is for, as nature intended it. It is biology: the way a man puts his sperm into a woman. I heard it happen. I heard Ted cum in my wife, and his gut-wrenching groans made it clear that he was ejaculating in her. The strain in his voice as he grunted over and over told me that his body was pushing its fluid out. Out through his penis. And into my wife.
As I write this, eight hours after Ted said goodbye, my wife is upstairs sleeping. And Ted's sperm is swimming around in her womb. I didn't see it happen, but Sally and Ted were both happy to assure me it did. Three times.
Afterward, silence. The phrase, I believe, is "post-coital bliss." But it sucks to be sitting outside the bedroom door. I hadn't allowed myself to cum, and would not all day, because I knew that without the edge of my incredible horniness, I could not survive the beating my self-esteem was taking. So in the silence I reviewed everything I had heard, everything my wife and her lover had done right in front of me, so to speak, and I kept stroking my painfully hard cock. They were satisfied; they had satisfied each other. I was a wreck. "Click."
<CHAP 3>
Fifteen minutes of quiet. Sure I checked my watch; what else did I have to do? They began talking, and while I still could not hear the words, the tone was conversational. They talked back and forth like friends, and it all sounded so normal, except when I reminded myself that they were lying together, naked. My wife and her lover. My wife and her friend.
I guess it's good I kept reminding myself of that, because it was a little less of a shock when Ted suddenly groaned. A few seconds, then another groan. And another. A few words from him, and yet another. She was sucking his cock back to life. It had to be.
It was.
After 10 minutes or so of him encouraging her in her "work," I heard the bed creak, followed by Sally's a-penis-just-entered-me gasp and a deep, loud moan from Ted. The bed kept creaking, then the headboard started banging into the wall. Slow, fast, slow, fast. This time, Sally was fucking Ted.
I listened through the closed, locked door as my wife fucked her lover. I had no idea what specific moves she was putting on him, but I heard him react, and I knew whatever she was doing to him it was working. The fucking went on and on. The noises were... obscene. I felt like an eavesdropper, listening in on a couple's most private act, and then I realized that was exactly what I was. I was sure they did not have a thought about me, and both of them later confirmed that I was right. They were a couple, a man and a woman, alone and naked and fucking. "Click."
My wife made him cum in her again. The noise he made was unbelievable, as if she were drawing his very soul out of his body. Guys, you know how that second orgasm in a short time takes longer to arrive, and is so deep that it almost hurts? I heard it all. I heard a man gasp out his pleasure as my wife used her body, her pussy, to give him pleasure.
It was quiet again, then rustling of sheets. The bedroom door opened, and Sally walked out, completely naked, on her way to the bathroom. I know this sounds absurd, but the shock of seeing her naked was overwhelming. Of COURSE she was naked; hadn't I heard them having sex for the past two hours? Was it denial that made me so surprised to see her completely *******, leaving her lover's bed? Did the fact that I hadn't SEEN any of it mean it didn't really happen? Whatever the rationalization, the truth stood in front of me: He saw her. He touched her. He knew my wife's body. He knew my wife.
She looked at me, sitting in a chair by their bedroom door, my pants pulled down and my cock hard in my hand, and she laughed. She entered the bathroom and closed the door without saying a word. When she came out, she stood directly in front of me. Her nipples were slightly above my eye-level, her pubic hair right where I could reach out and touch. But I did not try to touch her. There was nothing in her stance that made me feel my touch would be welcomed. She faced me for about a minute, watching me masturbate furiously as I looked at her, then she said, "I'm having a WONDERFUL time. Bye." She smiled, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
I heard her turn the lock. "Click."
Another half-hour or so of talking, punctuated by the sounds of kissing and the occasional soft moan. I knew what they were doing: talking together as friends, but casually touching each other as lovers. After hearing all the sounds of sex, why did it wreck me to think that he was just playing with my wife's tits while they talked? Intimacy, of course. It is one thing to fuck someone; it's another to love spending time with them in bed. Sally sounded so comfortable in there, and the more comfortable she sounded, the more it made me feel left out, and foolish, and hurt... cuckold hurt.
The vibrator started up again. "Good luck with this one," I thought; Sally never cums more than once in an afternoon or evening. But once again, the soft whir of the vibe was hidden by my wife's heavy breathing, then moaning, then... quiet. No, I thought, it can't be; this can't be the quiet before her orgasm. No. No. Not twice in such a short time.
When she came, she exploded. She, who is always conscious of not being too loud, especially in a hotel, held nothing back. She cried out a sound that anyone in the world would instantly recognize, and I felt as if everyone in the hotel knew that Ted was making my wife cum. The bed banged over and over and over again, and Ted's own groans over her pleasure made me feel worse, which I didn't think was possible. "Click."
Later, when Ted talked with me in the living room before he left, he said he was amazed that Sally was able to get him hard again after she came. He said he couldn't remember the last time he had sex three times in three hours, but she was so sexy and so exciting, and so focused on sucking him to hardness, that it happened. He told me he had to be on top, so he could control the strokes. He described it so matter-of-factly, sitting in the living room fully dressed and with me still jerking my frustrated cock, that it took a minute for me to register that he was discussing his method of fucking my wife.
He said his third orgasm "felt the best, although it was the smallest quantity of semen," which was the most humiliating thing anyone has ever said to me. Sitting there with my pants down, jerking my cock which had not cum through three of his orgasms and two of hers, I listened to him evaluating the quality of his orgasms and how much semen he squirted into my wife with each one. I literally could not talk; I grunted and jerked off harder. He got up to leave, and later wrote that he stopped talking with me because it had become a one-way conversation - him talking and me just moaning - and he got nothing out of watching me masturbate, even if he had just fucked my wife.
Ted went into the bedroom and spent five minutes saying goodbye to Sally, then walked by me to the door. "Take care" was all he said, and he was gone.
I went into the bedroom, where Sally lay with the covers pulled up to her neck. She kissed me and I felt her reflexively pull away. She looked at me for a moment, laughed and said, "Oh my God, it's so strange kissing someone without a mustache." I didn't cum even then, though it took every ounce of self-control.
We kissed again, and Sally said, "We were right. It was MUCH better without you in the room. I really like him. He's a good man, a good friend, and a great lover, and I can't wait for next time. But we have to be sure we always get a place where we can lock you out. Now, I'm really tired, and I want to take a nap before we go home. Please wake me in half an hour, and... please close the door on your way out."
I started to object, but decided against it. If I was able to sit on a chair outside the bedroom for three hours, another half hour wouldn't hurt. Besides, it would allow me to masturbate without disturbing her as I thought of all the powerful feelings I had experienced. So I tucked the covers around her, got up and quietly made my way out the door. I shut it as quietly as I could.
Apparently she had not yet fallen asleep, because as I sat down in my chair, I heard a familiar sound:
"Click."
Paul Pines
newatthis22a@yahoo.com
I know how good it feels to fuck my wife. It is an incredible feeling which starts from my penis inside her, and radiates out to my whole body. I've known it for more than 20 years. But now Ted was feeling it, not me. I could hear it in his groans, his gasps, his attempts to talk to my wife which were interrupted by spasms and grunts of pleasure. I could hear my wife encouraging him, coaxing him to cum in her, and her words told me what her body was doing to him. She was using her pussy, her body, her mind to turn him on. The thumping grew louder, his groans grew louder, her sex talk grew louder. Then he came.
I sat behind the closed, locked door, and heard Ted cum in my wife. He cried out his pleasure, and his voice was so strained that I could picture the faces he was making. Talk about an intimate act: allowing another person to see the faces you make when you cum. Intimate, like a woman spreading her legs and pulling a man into her, turning him on until he lets go inside her.
I know what sex is for, as nature intended it. It is biology: the way a man puts his sperm into a woman. I heard it happen. I heard Ted cum in my wife, and his gut-wrenching groans made it clear that he was ejaculating in her. The strain in his voice as he grunted over and over told me that his body was pushing its fluid out. Out through his penis. And into my wife.
As I write this, eight hours after Ted said goodbye, my wife is upstairs sleeping. And Ted's sperm is swimming around in her womb. I didn't see it happen, but Sally and Ted were both happy to assure me it did. Three times.
Afterward, silence. The phrase, I believe, is "post-coital bliss." But it sucks to be sitting outside the bedroom door. I hadn't allowed myself to cum, and would not all day, because I knew that without the edge of my incredible horniness, I could not survive the beating my self-esteem was taking. So in the silence I reviewed everything I had heard, everything my wife and her lover had done right in front of me, so to speak, and I kept stroking my painfully hard cock. They were satisfied; they had satisfied each other. I was a wreck. "Click."
<CHAP 3>
Fifteen minutes of quiet. Sure I checked my watch; what else did I have to do? They began talking, and while I still could not hear the words, the tone was conversational. They talked back and forth like friends, and it all sounded so normal, except when I reminded myself that they were lying together, naked. My wife and her lover. My wife and her friend.
I guess it's good I kept reminding myself of that, because it was a little less of a shock when Ted suddenly groaned. A few seconds, then another groan. And another. A few words from him, and yet another. She was sucking his cock back to life. It had to be.
It was.
After 10 minutes or so of him encouraging her in her "work," I heard the bed creak, followed by Sally's a-penis-just-entered-me gasp and a deep, loud moan from Ted. The bed kept creaking, then the headboard started banging into the wall. Slow, fast, slow, fast. This time, Sally was fucking Ted.
I listened through the closed, locked door as my wife fucked her lover. I had no idea what specific moves she was putting on him, but I heard him react, and I knew whatever she was doing to him it was working. The fucking went on and on. The noises were... obscene. I felt like an eavesdropper, listening in on a couple's most private act, and then I realized that was exactly what I was. I was sure they did not have a thought about me, and both of them later confirmed that I was right. They were a couple, a man and a woman, alone and naked and fucking. "Click."
My wife made him cum in her again. The noise he made was unbelievable, as if she were drawing his very soul out of his body. Guys, you know how that second orgasm in a short time takes longer to arrive, and is so deep that it almost hurts? I heard it all. I heard a man gasp out his pleasure as my wife used her body, her pussy, to give him pleasure.
It was quiet again, then rustling of sheets. The bedroom door opened, and Sally walked out, completely naked, on her way to the bathroom. I know this sounds absurd, but the shock of seeing her naked was overwhelming. Of COURSE she was naked; hadn't I heard them having sex for the past two hours? Was it denial that made me so surprised to see her completely *******, leaving her lover's bed? Did the fact that I hadn't SEEN any of it mean it didn't really happen? Whatever the rationalization, the truth stood in front of me: He saw her. He touched her. He knew my wife's body. He knew my wife.
She looked at me, sitting in a chair by their bedroom door, my pants pulled down and my cock hard in my hand, and she laughed. She entered the bathroom and closed the door without saying a word. When she came out, she stood directly in front of me. Her nipples were slightly above my eye-level, her pubic hair right where I could reach out and touch. But I did not try to touch her. There was nothing in her stance that made me feel my touch would be welcomed. She faced me for about a minute, watching me masturbate furiously as I looked at her, then she said, "I'm having a WONDERFUL time. Bye." She smiled, walked back into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.
I heard her turn the lock. "Click."
Another half-hour or so of talking, punctuated by the sounds of kissing and the occasional soft moan. I knew what they were doing: talking together as friends, but casually touching each other as lovers. After hearing all the sounds of sex, why did it wreck me to think that he was just playing with my wife's tits while they talked? Intimacy, of course. It is one thing to fuck someone; it's another to love spending time with them in bed. Sally sounded so comfortable in there, and the more comfortable she sounded, the more it made me feel left out, and foolish, and hurt... cuckold hurt.
The vibrator started up again. "Good luck with this one," I thought; Sally never cums more than once in an afternoon or evening. But once again, the soft whir of the vibe was hidden by my wife's heavy breathing, then moaning, then... quiet. No, I thought, it can't be; this can't be the quiet before her orgasm. No. No. Not twice in such a short time.
When she came, she exploded. She, who is always conscious of not being too loud, especially in a hotel, held nothing back. She cried out a sound that anyone in the world would instantly recognize, and I felt as if everyone in the hotel knew that Ted was making my wife cum. The bed banged over and over and over again, and Ted's own groans over her pleasure made me feel worse, which I didn't think was possible. "Click."
Later, when Ted talked with me in the living room before he left, he said he was amazed that Sally was able to get him hard again after she came. He said he couldn't remember the last time he had sex three times in three hours, but she was so sexy and so exciting, and so focused on sucking him to hardness, that it happened. He told me he had to be on top, so he could control the strokes. He described it so matter-of-factly, sitting in the living room fully dressed and with me still jerking my frustrated cock, that it took a minute for me to register that he was discussing his method of fucking my wife.
He said his third orgasm "felt the best, although it was the smallest quantity of semen," which was the most humiliating thing anyone has ever said to me. Sitting there with my pants down, jerking my cock which had not cum through three of his orgasms and two of hers, I listened to him evaluating the quality of his orgasms and how much semen he squirted into my wife with each one. I literally could not talk; I grunted and jerked off harder. He got up to leave, and later wrote that he stopped talking with me because it had become a one-way conversation - him talking and me just moaning - and he got nothing out of watching me masturbate, even if he had just fucked my wife.
Ted went into the bedroom and spent five minutes saying goodbye to Sally, then walked by me to the door. "Take care" was all he said, and he was gone.
I went into the bedroom, where Sally lay with the covers pulled up to her neck. She kissed me and I felt her reflexively pull away. She looked at me for a moment, laughed and said, "Oh my God, it's so strange kissing someone without a mustache." I didn't cum even then, though it took every ounce of self-control.
We kissed again, and Sally said, "We were right. It was MUCH better without you in the room. I really like him. He's a good man, a good friend, and a great lover, and I can't wait for next time. But we have to be sure we always get a place where we can lock you out. Now, I'm really tired, and I want to take a nap before we go home. Please wake me in half an hour, and... please close the door on your way out."
I started to object, but decided against it. If I was able to sit on a chair outside the bedroom for three hours, another half hour wouldn't hurt. Besides, it would allow me to masturbate without disturbing her as I thought of all the powerful feelings I had experienced. So I tucked the covers around her, got up and quietly made my way out the door. I shut it as quietly as I could.
Apparently she had not yet fallen asleep, because as I sat down in my chair, I heard a familiar sound:
"Click."
Paul Pines
newatthis22a@yahoo.com
