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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Watching the Watcher
by Marc (address defunct)
***
A business man staying at a hotel gets the opportunity
of a lifetime when he notices a couple in the hotel
bar, playing at wife sharing. (MF, wife-sharing, voy,
cuck)
***
I was tired.
Why did I decide to drive from San Fran to LA? I know,
the Coastal Highway is a great road (not nearly as nice
as the Cabot Trail, Cape Briton, NS, but nice enough),
and I had the weekend to burn before some meetings in
LA. Never the less, it was a grinding drive this
weekend. Oh well, I'd be back home Wednesday.
It was my practice to visit important customers at
least once a year, and this was the West Coast loop.
It's lonely work, sometimes.
Anyhow, the Sheraton in Santa Barbara was nice enough.
I sat in the chair on the room's balcony, looking over
my notes, and staring vacantly out at the parking lot.
It wasn't the best room, but it was available, and in
my state of mind, that was all that was important. The
sun had just set: I didn't know what passed for
nightlife here, but whatever it was, it would have to
happen without me.
I was beat.
My attention was drawn to a mid sized Lexus that was
being driven strangely. It pulled into the lot, then
after a few minutes, out again. Finally, after another
couple of minutes it returned, and parked not too far
from my balcony. No one got out for what seemed a long
time.
Finally, the driver exited. He looked to be about 50,
he was tall, with not a lot of hair. "Baldy," I
decided, would be good name for him. He went around the
car, opened the passenger side door, and drew out a
woman who was obviously reluctant to be there. She
could have been in her early 30's. They weren't arguing
exactly - he was, if I read the body language
correctly, trying to convince her of something.
Finally she nodded yes, he picked up a bag from the
trunk, and they started toward the hotel's lobby.
There was more body language that suggested they were
married - I decided she must be a trophy wife. Well,
good for him. He wouldn't be alone in his bed tonight
as I would be.
I sat for another half hour on my balcony, watching the
light of the day fade. Now what? I could go to the in-
room bar, pop open a couple of mini bottles of rum, and
get relaxed enough to get to sleep early. Or, I could
go down to the lounge, and drink there.
I thought drinking alone in my room bordered on
unhealthy behavior: I'd drink alone in the lounge
instead. Yeah, I know, those are strange standards.
The lounge was fairly empty. Well, it was early. There
were a few couples dancing to a not-so-bad group
playing some sugary slow music, and a few others,
couples and singles, scattered about the bar and
tables. It fit my mood.
The barman delivered my first rum-coke, and meandered
off to tend to other customers.
I had my back to the bar, people watching, when "Trophy
Wife" came in.
"Where's Baldy?" I wondered. Were they having an
argument or something?
Was she after -- what did people call it -- space?
Trophy made her way to the bar -- not a table? -- and
sat down a half dozen stools from me.
That was odd.
She gestured to the barkeep, and before long was
sipping what had to be a white wine of some kind. It
was a token drink, more a prop while for waiting for
her husband than anything, I was sure.
She was facing the bar, looking at the reflection of
the crowd, when after a few minutes I saw Baldy enter.
I had another sip of rum/coke -- the world was whole
again.
He walked toward the bar. They made eye contact via the
mirror, but there was no overt sign of recognition
between them.
He walked past her! Odder still. Finally, Baldy settled
onto a stool a couple of seats on the other side of me
-- what the hell was going on? They must have had some
fight!
I turned toward the mirror, and watched him for a
moment. He seemed to meet her gaze, and seemed to
gesture impatiently to her. She in turn seemed to nod.
OK, it was clear I wasn't confused, this was the Baldy
and Trophy I saw in the parking lot -- they did have a
relationship, but they were concealing it here. Santa
Barbara is full of strange people.
Maybe not so strange. Trophy was talking to someone who
came up beside her, and in a moment left her seat to
dance with him. The expression on Baldy's face was
priceless!
They're playing THAT game. That wife-watching I-wanna-
be-a-cuckold game.
The evening is going to be interesting, after all. He's
a wife-watcher, and I'll be a wife-watcher watcher.
Trophy returned from the dance floor alone, and I saw
her subtly shake her head "no" to the reflection of her
husband. His expression grew angry, it was obvious to
me, and I'm sure Trophy saw that, too.
She spent a moment dabbing at her eyes - could she have
been crying? - then with a noticeable deep breath,
turned to face the people in the lounge. "Lonely," her
attitude cried. "Come talk to me," it screamed.
No takers! Trophy was going unnoticed. What a waste.
She turned back to the bar, a discouraged and sad
expression on her face.
She looked again at Baldy's angry face, then her eyes
met mine.
Wait a minute. Just because I knew they were playing
the game didn't mean I couldn't play!
I didn't do what most would, and avert my gaze.
Instead, I raised my glass to her image, offering a
token toast.
She paused for a moment, then raised her glass, too --
she may have been thinking she was returning my toast,
but I read it as "Invitation -- come join me."
So I moved next to her. "Hi, I'm Bill. If you'd like a
little company, I'd love to talk. On the other hand, if
sitting quietly is what you want, I'll go away. That
would ruin my day, maybe the whole weekend, or even the
rest of my life, but I'd go away. Could you be that
cruel?"
Her face transformed itself into a lovely smile. What a
trophy she was. "Bill, I wouldn't want to ruin your
whole life. Sure, sit with me for awhile. I'd like
that. I'm Maureen."
Her offered hand was wonderfully soft.
We exchanged resumes: mine was truthful. "This is just
a transient stop, LA for a couple of days, then home to
Chicago. The little software company I have there is
doing OK while I'm gone, but my VP sometimes gets
sidetracked, and the guys will be off solving some
problems that don't matter."
"How many guys?"
"Thirty five programmers on that project. I have a
couple of hundred people working there."
Her story didn't fit the facts as I knew them. "Just
took a taxi from the airport. My husband will be coming
here tomorrow to meet me, then we're off to look at
real estate in the area."
I thought I'd test that. "Santa Barbara is a nice
place. I'd like to live here. You and your husband are
lucky to have the chance. I'll bet you and he were
childhood sweethearts."
"No, it turns out we were both divorced, we met a
couple of years ago, and we've been together for less
than a year."
Trophy wife, I was absolutely sure of that now. Married
to a guy who I think is a voyeur, too. Time to test
that theory, too.
"Well, even if you are married," I said, "you can dance
with me, can't you?"
"Yes, yes I can," she agreed. I had seen Baldy's image
in the mirror make small encouraging gestures while we
were talking.
So, we danced -- formal dancing with formal distances
between us. Still. I liked holding her, and really
liked the expression on Baldy's face as I moved on the
floor with her.
After a few numbers we returned to the bar. "Should I
get a table for us?" I wondered aloud.
Maureen paused a moment. "Yeah, do that. I've got to go
to the lady's room, I'll find you when I come back."
I was sure she'd leave and never return -- Baldy would
take her upstairs, and act out what the voyeur in him
wanted to see. Sure enough, a minute after she left,
Baldy did too. Too bad. It was entertaining for awhile.
I was finishing my drink, getting ready to leave, when
I noticed Baldy through the lounge door, going to the
elevator. Alone.
Another minute passed, then Maureen came in, and found
her way to the table. Her eyes were a bit red, as
though she had been crying. "Can we dance some more?"
she asked, standing beside me.
I took her to the floor -- she kept her head averted,
but we were dancing closely, holding on tight.
A moment of that kind of contact went by, and then the
game changed -- I was sure I heard her sob.
"Maureen, are you all right?"
"I shouldn't be doing this," she said, not quite the
answer to my question, but it confirmed everything I
suspected.
"Maureen," I said, holding her firmly, providing a
strong lead to the dance, but not letting her pull
away, which I thought she might do, "Maureen, I know
what's going on."
"You couldn't possibly know what's going on," she
sobbed through her tears.
"If you mean I don't understand about voyeur husbands
asking their wives to entertain them by having sex with
someone else, you're wrong -- I do understand. Maureen,
I saw that man, the one I think is your husband" -- she
started to pull away, but my hold on her, masked by
dancing, was too strong to allow that -- "bring you
here. I saw him watching you, then watching us. Does he
expect you to seduce me?"
She stopped moving to the music. There was a long
pause, then she sighed: "Yes."
"And he wants to watch?"
"Yes."
"And you agreed to try, to try to please him?"
"I said I'd try, yes, to excite him."
"Excite him?"
"He has some trouble sexually, he thinks this would
help."
"Watching would help?"
"Yes, he asked me to do that.."
I let a minute pass.
"Maureen, if you want to please him, to put on a show
for him, I'll help. We'll make it good for him, and
I'll try to make it good for you, too."
"How could you," she wanted to know, "agree to do
something like that when you know he'll be watching?"
"I think it'll make it more exciting," I said,
"especially knowing that you want to do it to please
him."
"I don't think I can do it," she said.
"He'll keep asking until you do. Take me to your room,
I'll make it easy, I promise."
The music was all that spoke for a few minutes, then
she pulled away a little, and looked me in the eye.
"It would only be a show, huh?"
"Nonsense," I told her. "It would be a show for him,
but I'd love sharing sex with you -- that it's a show
would only make it better. How's he going to watch,
anyhow?"
"Our room has a balcony: he thinks he can sit on a
chair out there and look in through the window
drapery."
"I guess he tried that out already, huh?"
"Yeah, before we came down here."
"Did he ever ask you to do this before?"
"No, I told him it was going to be a one time thing
only, if I do it at all, and he agreed."
"Do you believe him?"
"Yeah, I really do."
"You know he'll keep after you until you do something.
Get it over with."
"I'll have to, sooner or later. I guess now's as good a
time as any.
At least it's all out in the open."
We left the lounge, and walked like two business
associates to the elevator, then to her -- their --
room.
"Before we go in, should we set up a plan?"
"The only plan I want is to get this over with as soon
as I can."
"That won't work. Look, play it out. Let yourself go.
Have fun. I think if you make it quick, he won't be
satisfied. You used to be single -- act that way. This
is a fling, OK?"
She thought that over. "Act single, huh? A fling? I did
that before, and you know, it was fun. OK. better than
that, I'm a wife on a fling. Give me a minute or two to
get into that scene."
She stood there, shook her hands a bit, getting into
character.
"I'm ready. Starting now, it's show time."
She stood on her toes a little, and planted a kiss on
my lips. She took her card key from her purse, swiped
it through the reader, the green LED's announced the
door was unlocked. My mind has funny insights,
sometimes. I think in this case a red light would have
been more appropriate.
"Improv time. Come along, Bill."
She took my hand and led me through the door.
"'Welcome to my web,' said Maureen the spider to Bill
the fly," she said with a smile, closing the door.
"Nice room -- bigger than mine," I said as we walked
into the main part of the suite. The drapes to the
balcony were closed except for a small gap, where they
were casually held back by a chair.
Maureen got the bright lights out, and lit only a small
bedside one. "That sets a nice mood, doesn't it?"
"It does," I said, and took her into my arms.
"I couldn't do things like kiss you down stairs," I
said.
"Like I told you," she said, setting the scene,
speaking loud enough for him to hear, "I'm mad as hell
at my husband, and this is my way to get even. Sure,
kiss me..." she couldn't finish, the last part was
muffled because my mouth covered hers.
"Oh, that was nice. He hasn't kissed me like that for a
long time. Can I have another?" she asked when we
parted.
"Oh, at least one other," and we embraced again.
"You're pretty good at that," she said, "I hope you're
good at more than just kissing. It's warm here.
Shouldn't you take off your jacket?" I complied, and
she kicked off her shoes at the same time.
She came into my arms again, her arms around my neck,
ready to kiss. I bent a little at the knees, though,
and supporting her back with one arm, and reaching
behind her knees with the other, picked her up.
"Oh, the big bad man is sooo strong," she said as I
moved to the single king sized bed and placed her in
the middle of it. "Big and strong, but maybe he's not
thinking ahead. I'd rather be on the sheet than the bed
cover."
She rolled off the bed, and pulled at the cover and
blanket on one side. I worked on the other, and in less
time than it takes to say it the bed became an altar,
covered in white, ready to accept whatever sacrifice we
cared to make.
"Now," she said, coming over to me again, "want to try
that again? Want to show me why you put me on the bed?"
And again, I had her in the middle of the bed.
She looked wonderful there, her hair long enough to
spread on the sheet, long legs covered by her dark
dress, legs shimmering in nylons.
"Now what?" she asked. "What's the big bad man going to
do now?"
I leaned toward her, wanting to lay there, to hold her,
but as I got close enough she pulled at my tie. "It's
not formal in here, now," she said, working at it.
It took a moment to get it off and on the floor.
"If it's not formal," I said, "then you're a bit over-
dressed, too."
"Oh? What are you going to do about it?"
I moved on the bed again, and knelt at her feet.
I slid my arms up along the outside of her ankles,
beside her knees, under her dress, up along her thighs,
to her hips.
"Lift up just a little."
She did, lifting her hips, and I pulled, drawing
pantyhose down, inside out, over knees, over ankles,
and with a flourish pulled them off her feet.
"I don't think you'll need those."
"Are you being presumptive?" she asked with a smile, as
she arranged her dress over her knees.
"Uh, Ms. Maureen, I don't think I noticed resistance
when I did that."
"Of course not, Mr. Bill, we southern women are taught
to be kind to our gentlemen friends. Besides, that
makes me feel really erotic."
I did some gentle pushing so that she was across the
bed, instead of lying along it. Her feet were facing
the balcony now.
I moved beside her, "Hey, you're good at this," she
whispered, and rolled on her side, moving her leg over
my hip as I pulled at her knee.
There was time for another kiss in this most intimate
of clothed poses.
During the kiss she freed her upper arm, and pushed at
mine, the one that was holding her at the small of her
back.
The kiss broke - she pulled away just a little. "I want
to excite my husband," she whispered, and she pushed
that arm down, over her hip, over the dress covering
her thigh, to her knee, and an inch or two lower, until
it was past the lower hem of her dress, directly on her
upper calf.
"Can you kiss me again?" she whispered again. "While
you touch me?"
I did meet her lips and while I did, I let my hand move
behind her knee, and pulled that leg even more over me.
It came freely.
And I began moving up along the back of her leg,
getting halfway up her calf until the dress became
tight and tangled between us.
We ended the kiss, and she looked carefully at me for a
moment. "I have to make some adjustments, if the
gentleman is going to be able to do what I think he
wants to do," she said, lifting her hips, pulling at
her dress.
"There. Let's try again."
We did, and my hand, on the back of her leg, was free
to move higher.
She whispered again, "Pull my dress up, OK, make sure
he can see."
I did, then felt moist warmth, felt her move even more
over me, her legs spread wide now, and my fingers were
grazing soft hair, then her vulva's lips.
I knew she was uncovered, I knew her pose let her
husband look at my hand, so he had to have seen my
fingers moving along those lips, back and forth, being
warmed, getting more and more moist.
In another moment she pulled her lips from mine. She
was almost breathless. "Don't tease me like that,
please don't tease."
"OK." The fingers, almost of their own will, moved
again, and were no longer tracing along the outside of
those lips. Instead they found her clit, engorged, wet.
"OH!!!"
"OH!"
My fingers were caressing, touching clit, pushing in,
busy as could be. Her hips were pushing against my hip,
responding. "I never expected this to be so exciting,"
she whispered, her voice quivering.
The next kiss was full of passion, with gasps included
as I touched one sensitive spot, then another.
"Think he likes the show?" I whispered.
"He'd better! I like putting it on!"
I'm sure she had an orgasm. Maybe more than one. "OK. I
need to come up for air," she told me, pushing me away,
onto my back.
She propped her head up with one hand, and looked at
me. "That was great. You're pretty good, aren't you?"
"I try to be."
"My turn to give you pleasure."
She used her free arm to push at my legs so they were a
little apart, still aimed at the balcony.
I reached for her, "Be still!" she commanded, as she
fumbled with my belt, until it was open. "Just lay
there."
She bent over me, so our lips met again. I felt her
hand on my stomach, then pushing under the waistband of
my slacks. Then under my briefs!
"Let's see how you like this," she said, and I felt
those fingers going lower. I closed my eyes as they
found my penis, and moved out along it, until her
fingers wrapped around my cock.
She lowered her head, so she was kissing me while her
had did magic. "I'm losing control," I said,
struggling, then felt her hand firmly around my cock,
squeezing. "This'll stop that."
It did.
She moved onto me, kneeling over me. Her hands started
on shirt buttons, then cuffs. "Sit up."
She moved so I could. She pushed at my shirt, I pulled,
and it was off. "Lie down."
I did.
She moved lower, and got the clasp on my slacks undone,
then the zipper. "You pulled some of my clothes off --
now it's my turn." Moving lower she tugged at my pants,
and they and my briefs started down, over my hips.
I watched as my hairy belly gave way to a hairier
groin. I watched as she pulled, and I lifted up, she
drew the band of material over my penis's shaft, to its
end and it sprang up.
She finished with the pants, pulled at socks, and soon
enough I was naked and erect. "You look good enough to
eat," she said.
"Maybe, but I still don't know what you look like under
that dress."
"Is that an invitation?"
"You bet," I glanced to be sure she was between me and
the gap in the draperies, so Baldy couldn't see my
lips, and whispered "I want you to put on a show for
our audience."
She paused for about one beat, then said, "That's an
offer I can't refuse."
She rolled off the bed, then moved to its side so she
was facing me and the drapery.
"If," she said as her hands moved to the clasp behind
her neck that was holding the dress closed, "if I take
this off, are you going to be nice or nasty?"
"What would you prefer?"
By then she got the clasp unhooked, and the zipper
lowered, and was hoisting the dress over her head.
Her voice, muffled by the dress, made a promise: "I
feel a little on the trashy side. I'm going to be more
nasty than nice."
And the dress was off.
"Pretty slip. Too bad about the bra, I like my women
not to wear them."
"I can fix that," she told me, and did that thing women
do, getting the bra off without taking off her slip.
We may have been putting on a show, but this woman
standing in front of me, wearing a filmy slip that
almost exposed as much as it concealed was turning me
on big time!
"Is that slip going to come off?"
"Are you man enough to take it off me?"
"You bet."
I was off the bed, and facing her, reaching down to
grab at the slip when she said, "No, not that way."
I stood, following her lead, and soon enough she had us
staged as she wanted -- her, with her back to me,
facing the window -- and lifted her arms.
"That way."
Any way was fine with me!
I bend down, grabbed the lower edge of the slip, and
began lifting.
And she stood there, arms raised, as it, like a
curtain, lifted, preparing us for the next act.
She backed against me as I dropped it to the side, she
pressed hard against my body.
She reached behind to take my hands, and drew them
around her waist, and extended her neck, tilted her
head, inviting my lips to her shoulder.
I was eager to follow her lead.
As I nibbled there, her hands guided mine, one to her
breast, the other lower, across her pubic mound.
"I think this is very sexy," she told me, moving her
hips against my cock.
"I think anyone would think that," I agreed, while I
pulled at her leg a little, enough to encourage her to
stand with her feet a little apart, enough to give that
hand access.
My lips were on her neck now, next to her ear. "Nod if
you think he likes this."
Her hand, covering mine, guided my fingers between her
legs, and she pulled up, pressing them between her
lips. She nodded.
"I like this," she said, and then there was that sharp
breath as my fingers hooked into her vulva. "I like
this a lot!"
"I'll tell you what I'd like..."
"Tell me."
"You said I looked good enough to eat, didn't you?" I
was loud enough for any voyeur who might be nearby to
hear me.
She was gasping, pelvis tilted to accommodate my
fingers, and she nodded yes.
"I want you to prove that."
"OK," she grunted. "As soon as you stop doing that."
"What part of me are you going to eat?" I asked, not
yet stopping pleasuring her.
"Keep doing that, and I'll be eating all of you."
"All?"
"Yes, all. The part that's poking my ass, the parts
hanging under that, maybe other parts, too, any part
you like, if you encourage me."
"Oh? Any part?" My fingers were busy.
"Any part you like, if you keep doing what you're
doing." She reached behind her, and found my cock,
began stroking it.
"That part, for sure," she said.
My fingers were busy little critters, probing,
touching, getting wet, getting warm. I stopped, brought
those fingers to my mouth. "You taste good."
"You're very sexy," she countered. She backed hard
against me again, and my fingers went back to work.
"You're really good at that," she told me. She reached
behind herself, and me, with both hands, her hands met
above my buttocks.
"Has any woman played with you there," she asked, her
fingers tracing between them, her words coming out in
pace with the finger fucking I was administering to
her.
"No."
She was shaking a little, maybe because of what I was
doing, maybe because of the circumstances, but shaking,
never the less. "I feel trashy tonight. This woman will
play with you there. I want to know how you taste all
over.. You're going to be my late evening snack. Get on
the bed."
I did, wanting to take advantage of her promise,
careful to lie so my head was to the balcony. I wanted
him to see, too.
Maureen moved to my feet, licked at my ankle. "Oh,
that's nice," I told her, looking at her, her face
partially obscured by my very erect cock. Then it was
my knee that got her mouth's attention. I bent my legs,
knees up, her between them, face to the side, nibbling.
Somehow she got to mid thigh, my penis was pointing at
her ear as her tongue did erotic things to my leg. She
got nearer, until my cock was at her cheek. "It's time
to stop teasing me, Maureen. It's time for you to turn
your head."
She did, and my cock moved along her cheek, then
crossed her lips.
I saw her lips purse, saw them touch the side of my
shaft. I moved a little so its head was at her mouth. I
got the most erotic light touch of a kiss. She reached
up, took one of my hands, and pulled it to my cock. Her
fingers wrapped mine around it, and she pushed my hand
down. My foreskin peeled back, exposing a purple
engorged head.
"That's want I wanted to see," she told me, and those
lips touched me there. She moved so that her face was
in profile to me, and the balcony, and I watched her
tongue wet her lips, then extend, and touch me.
Its pointy tip moved along my head, up, touching,
licking, probing at the end, pressing in there, while
her hand guided mine in a classic masturbation
movement, masturbating me, causing me to masturbate
myself, exciting me, exciting her, and I was sure,
exciting her husband who could see almost as well as I
could.
"Maureen, I want that in your cunt right now, I can't
take much more of what you're doing."
"In a hurry, are you?" she asked, lifting a little
while I sagged back to the bed.
She lowered he head, hiding me in her mouth. I could
feel little spasms as her lips made a sleeve for my
cock.
"I do like this. It's more erotic and better than I
would have believed. I'm right on the verge of an
orgasm!" she said breathlessly, while driving me close,
too.
She lay down on me, resting, chest on chest, cock
trapped under her, for a minute or two. "I hope you
have something left," she finally said.
"I'm still loaded, I've been holding back as much as I
can."
"Goodie. I want you to cum, but the first time won't be
in me, at least not in the usual place. I always was a
very oral person, and I'm not done being oral with
you."
She rolled off of me, lay beside me, leaned over my
head, so we could kiss while her hand was stroking my
cock.
"That's nice," she said, knowing I was fully erect.
She pushed at me. Not understanding, I just lay there.
"Bill, roll over. I want to do your back."
An offer I couldn't refuse.
She reached into the bed's side table, and withdrew a
bottle of baby oil. "I just happen to have this handy,"
she said.
She poured some into her hand, and let it warm there.
That went to my back, and in a moment was spread out
and rubbed in.
"Nice." I wanted to encourage her.
I and she were facing away from the balcony. She leaned
over my body, turned so she was facing away from the
balcony, and whispered "this is fun. I'm going to be
outrageous now."
I knew from the weight shifting on the bed she was
kneeling beside me.
Lots of kneading of my shoulders, then my waist.
My buttocks.
She got a hand between my legs, found my penis, and was
holding that, stoking me.
I was sure my entire back and ass was oily -- it was as
erotic an experience as I've ever felt.
"Ever use the expression 'Kiss my ass'?" she asked,
stoking.
"Sure."
I felt her move. Felt a light touch on my buttocks. I
nearly exploded, it was so erotic. "Ever have it kissed
before now?"
"No!"
"Want it kissed again?"
"Yes."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
Well, ask me to."
"Oh. OK. Kiss my ass, Maureen!"
There was that light touch again, low on my back,
centered at what had to be the start of my buttocks.
"More?"
"More!"
"Well?"
"Oh -- kiss my ass!"
I felt her hands on me, spreading me, and a light touch
again, lower still! She wouldn't do that, would she?
Her hands were pushing at my buttocks, I could feel
them so close to my anus.
"I like being trashy," she said, her hands kneading at
me, finger tips at my anus.
"Maureen, you're driving me crazy!"
"Good." She didn't stop.
"More?" she prompted.
"Yes, of course, more."
I could feel her changing position.
"Well, ask me."
I understood!
She was moving a little, then I said "Maureen, kiss
my..." I spasmed so hard I felt as though my cock drove
a hole in the bed!
I felt... I wasn't sure... fingers, tongue...
something, moving there, in the oil, I heard a noise...
I think it was a noise... from the balcony, as thought
something like a chair fell over.
It took a moment or two, until I finally relearned how
to breathe.
"Am I trashy enough?"
"Oh baby, you're the queen of trashy and I love it."
"Are you still hard?"
"Just barely."
"Maybe I'm not sexy enough to make you cum, is that
it?"
"You're... it's just that I want to be in you."
"Oh. Well, that's easy. Roll over."
I did, still erect. My mind drifted off topic for a
moment, "Bill, you're a super stud," it claimed, "for
not shooting a load into the bed just then."
Maureen positioned me so my head was toward the
balcony. A moment later she was squatting over me, her
hands on my shoulders, her pelvis above mine.
She wasn't looking at me, she was looking toward the
drapery where her husband was watching. "Use you hands,
guide yourself into me."
I did, I had my cock's head brushing against her lips.
She pushed herself almost upright, and with what had to
be a defiant look on her face, lowered herself.
I felt the pressure of her on my cock, pushing down,
and adjusted myself that last fractional inch so my
head started between her lips. That oily cock just
slipped into that warm, moist sleeve as she lowered
herself, and then, with her leaning backwards, becoming
more exposed again as she lifted up.
It... I... glistened with oil, with her secretions,
with sex, as she rode me, fucked me.
"I can't hold back!"
"Don't! Don't hold back anymore, fill me, fill me up!"
I had been on the verge of ejaculation for a long time,
and it... I... came, pumping into her. My body wasn't
my own any longer the rushing feelings of ecstatic
pent-up release made my mind numb as my body jerked
with each gushing release. Vaguely I realized that
Maureen rode me, mouth open, tongue touching her lips,
her face flushed with excitement, her eyes closed,
until finally my body quieted and she sagged down over
me, both of us completely spent.
That intimacy lasted a few minutes.
"You'd better go now. That was wonderful, but you'd
better go." I had forgotten my charter, my mission. She
had remembered, though.
As I rolled off the bed I saw the drapery had been
moved, it was now partly open. Baldy must have been
standing in plain sight when she was on me!
And now, he was going to enjoy her, too -- with very
slippery and sloppy seconds.
I quickly dressed and went to my own room a few floors
away, fell into bed and slept a satiated sleep.
**
I was sitting on the balcony in the morning, the
newspaper in front of me, a cup of coffee in my hand,
thinking of the night before, when a couple, hand in
hand, body language identifying them as lovers, one
pretty, a trophy wife, and the other an older balding
man, made their way to a Lexus parked nearby.
He took her to the passenger side door, opened it for
her, and before she got in embraced and kissed her.
A moment later he was in the car too, and it began
moving out of the parking lot.
As it turned right, I saw the passenger side window
move down and an oval of a face looking up at me. Her
hand emerged, waved, was withdrawn and the window
closed. Then the car was gone.
I spent a long time on the balcony, looking out there.
"This," I thought, "is something I'll remember until
the day I die."
I'll remember it, sometimes, bitterly, sometimes
sweetly, but I'll always remember.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 49