1 comments/ 23530 views/ 0 favorites Evidence By: Timekeeper While not exactly a cooperative story, this tale could not be told without the assistance of several good friends who provide a sounding board and insight into the male libido. He watched her, though she tried to keep her movements hidden. When she thought no one was looking at her, one delicate fingertip would trace the bruise on her wrist that only he knew was concealed beneath the long sleeve of her silk blouse. Her half-closed eyes betrayed none of her thoughts but he knew her too well – the slight shift in her breathing was all he needed to know that she re-lived each moment of the night before. Keeping his gaze directed at her face, he placed his drink down on the tabletop with deliberate carelessness, the sound of that impact shattering her trance, instinctively drawing her eyes up as her hands fell apart. He felt regret for a moment as she controlled herself quickly, and he hid his disappointment as she murmured a response to another in the crowd. Never before any other eyes had they shared these dangerous things, yet some part of her longed to have it known, wanted them all to see the evidence of his passion engraved in her living flesh. He joins her on the sofa, his hand sliding up along her spine so casually, knowing how sensitive her skin remains after one of their special encounters. As his fingers brush over the collar of her blouse their quest is rewarded with a shudder so slight he could feel it but no one else in the room could have seen any reaction. He touches, there, at the nape of her neck again and senses the pulse of her heart growing in tempo. His hand wraps around her slight neck, grasping firmly for just an instant, only long enough to hear her sharply indrawn breath. Rewarded, his smile sports an element of satisfaction. Now he knows she will find a way to draw him off. She can no longer deny the craving for his touch, the way he has forced her to need. Her eyes beg him to follow as she makes her way to the kitchen. He pauses a moment in the doorway, watching her ,noting how vulnerable she is, studying the sight of her long legs with only the very hint of a garter peeking from under her short skirt . He savors the anticipation, planning his next move with care. Two long strides across the room and her back is pressed against his chest, her hips pinned between him and the countertop. She tenses at the sense of his body so near hers, parting her lips as she hears the sound of his leather against her silk. Only when he stands behind her like this does she feel the fear rise for a moment - she can no longer deny how small she truly is in his arms. The mass of his body and the long open sweep of his leather trenchcoat conceals them both from all observers, freeing her to respond to his every desire. He seems so perfectly controlled until he buries his face in her hair, drawing in her scent like a crazed beast, his hands gripping tightly about her waist. Tipping her head back to look up into his eyes draws him down to probe her mouth with his tongue, gentle at first then forcing her to open, the pressure of his lips bruising as they crush down upon hers. Her first moan is forced from her throat and silenced by his hungry mouth while his hand seeks out the tender skin on the inside of her wrist and circles it in a gentle warning of the consequences should she be heard. The touch on her aching skin pulls her mind free for a moment to cast her glance around the room. Inside she is torn – the moisture trickling between her thighs mixes with the sheen of sweat on her skin – wanting to be surrender and needing to keep this dark desire a secret. The choice is taken from her as he suddenly lifts her off her feet with the power of his arms. Slowly he moves her farther from the crowd and a single word escapes her, "Outside". Her hands clutch at his neck in a moment of panic as she feels herself slipping to the ground before he shifts her entire weight to his right arm. Her face hides against his powerful shoulder, and the barest touch of his skin removes all thought of crying out from her mind, she might escape his touch but never outrun her own need. She tenderly explores his neck with teeth and tongue while his pulse pounds against her leaving no doubt in her mind as to what awaits them both on the other side of the door. The cool night air seems to swirl around them like a caress as he selects a car in the driveway, depositing her roughly against the unyielding metal hood, feeling her thighs part instinctively to wrap around his hips. She flinches away from the brutal metal surface, driving her pelvis into his before she can stop herself – hips resting on the car, legs forced apart by his body, the incredible heat pours out of her, soaking her satin thong. Goosebumps rise on her tender flesh as the breeze chills her overheated skin and she burrows her arms under the protection of his trenchcoat. His hands grip her thighs, nails pressing into the unguarded bare flesh above her stockings. Gasping for breath her head falls back and in the light of the moon he sees her eyes, glowing with yearning. His thumbs slide under the edge of the thin fabric that covers her sex, stretching until one side tears free. Her back arcs up to him in eagerness as the barrier between them fails, one hand frantically working at the clasp of his pants, nearly sobbing in frustration until he silences her cries with his mouth. Her blouse is forced up as his hands claw at her back, the closeness of their bodies impeding her battle to free him. Nails dragging on the rough fabric, at last she draws him out with gently teasing fingertips – already fiercely hard, demanding entrance to her body. Hips thrusting forward, he drives into her violently, she finds no escape from the prison of his arms as her body is drawn onto his cock. Her moan shatters the stillness of the night as he yanks her blouse down to sink his teeth into the curve of her breast, his cheek pressed to her throat as he feels her scream building, his own pleasure mounting as her body spasms around his hardness. Her scream destroys his own control and he spills inside her welcoming body. Supported gently in his arms, she slides down the hood of the car to stand unsteadily on the ground next him. He smoothes down the silk blouse, giving a final gentle kiss to the perfect impression of his teeth in her breast. Reaching up, she demands a last kiss before strolling back into the party, tossing a glance over her shoulder at the site of their encounter. As she reaches for the doorknob, she turns back to meets his eyes and trails one finger along the line of her cleavage, dipping down to caress the darkening bruise. Laughter spills into the night as he acknowledges that she was the hunter tonight. Evidence of Betrayal The following involves marital infidelity. If such storylines offend you, then please skip reading and move on to some other story. She had never intended to be an unfaithful wife, Kathy Franklin thought to herself as she backed her car out of the dark driveway and began the drive home. The notion had barely crossed her mind during the eleven years that she and Kevin had been married. She had always thought they had one of those perfect marriages. But things changed, everything changed, when she had found the Polaroids. It's not that she didn't like sex. Far from it. She'd discovered her clitoris at the age of eight, was masturbating daily at 12, and by 15 was allowing almost every boyfriend-of-the-month to unsnap her bra and clumsily paw her breasts. She'd lost her virginity at 17 in the back seat of her boyfriend's mother's red Camaro to the third boy she'd let touch her below the waist, who not coincidentally was the first boy whose fingers were talented enough, or lucky enough, to duplicate the effectiveness of her own. Once she'd discovered the usefulness of an erect penis, she proceeded in a more or less determined way to discover what the opposite sex had to offer. She had worked her way through a steady progression of boyfriends, some relationships lasting longer than others. If variety was a virtue, then Kathy was blessed. Big, small, and inbetween. Men who were willing to go down on her, others who weren't. Men who prefered her mouth to her pussy. And, for the most part, men who didn't. She'd fucked in cars, fucked in a boyfriend's house, fucked in her own house when parents and sisters were gone, fucked at parties in out-of-the-way bedrooms. In the beginning, when the boys were inexperienced and altogether too quick on the trigger, she'd slip a familiar hand down to strum her clit and try to sprint to orgasm, shoulder to shoulder with the hyperventilating, sweaty and altogether self-absorbed body above her. But as time went on, the boys turned into men, the rushed and frantic couplings relaxed into unhurried hours, and Kathy had relied more on her lovers' skills and less on her own fingers to find satisfaction. And now, on this drizzly evening, Kathy slowed at a stoplight and looked at her own tired eyes in the rear view mirror. With a sigh, she rechecked her hastily applied lipstick and wondered why she didn't feel more guilty. When she had met Kevin Franklin, she was 21, in her last year at the University, and was ready to settle down to just one man. If she had bothered to count -- and Kathy wasn't the type to really keep count -- she had been with more than two dozen boys and men since the Camaro. Kevin had been close to her concept of an ideal husband. He was handsome. He was in pre-med. He was kind to her, gracious to her friends, adored by her mother and even welcomed by her father. And he was, to put it mildly, a great screw. The day they married, Kathy swore to Kevin and to herself that marriage meant monogamy. She had thrown herself at marriage with the same enthusiasm that she had thrown at her previous freewheeling lifestyle. Kevin labored his way through medical school at the University up north, then even more intensely during his internship and residency in Houston, where Kathy discovered she had a talent for selling real estate. Their first son came along as Kevin finished med school, their daughter appeared two years later in Texas, and finally, when they had relocated to California and to Kevin's new practice in Santa Barbara, their second son and third child was born. Throughout it all, through the lean times when they borrowed money from both sets of parents, through the pregnancies, each more difficult than the prior, through the early years juggling babies and classes and clients and patients, Kathy remained convinced she had made the right decision. She and Kevin were soulmates. Bonded for life. Committed. Monogamous. Which made it all the more startling to her when she had found the Polaroids. It's not that she was snooping. Kathy had just been taking a few days away from the real estate office to catch up on some Spring cleaning. It was a simple enough thing, going into the big walk-in closet and working her way through the stacks and drawers. There, behind a large, wadded up mass of his sweaters buried at the back of a shelf, she discovered those four squares staring back at her. They were face down, their black backsides taunting her to pick them up and turn them over. The first picture almost made her faint. Her heart had drummed an erratic tattoo in her chest as she stared at the image of a hairy vulva, gaping open in blatant crimson arousal. It was a fuzzy shot, poorly focused, but it was clear enough to see black pubic hair that was not hers. Her shaking hands flipped to the second picture. This one was taken from further away. It showed a woman on her back, legs apart, her fingers spreading her labia for the camera. And for the cameraman. Who was this woman? And why did Kevin have these pictures of her? Kathy felt the blood rushing from her head, and she steadied herself with her free hand. There had to be some simple explanation. The third picture made Kathy's mouth go dry. It was a downward looking shot of a penis -- an erect penis -- inserted halfway into this very same pussy. It was, to Kathy's practiced eye and to her private horror, a most familiar penis. Kevin. It was Kevin fucking this stranger. Only she probably wasn't a stranger to Kevin, Kathy had thought to herself. The fourth picture was similar to the first one, with that same blackhaired bush and wide-open pussy staring back at her. But this one, Kathy remembered as her fingers choked the life out of the steering wheel, was clearly the last in the chronological sequence. In this picture the labia were yawning even wider at the bottom, no doubt having just recently released their grasp of Kevin's cock. They were glistening. And they were oozing a dribble of white that threaded down toward an equally blackhaired, brown-ringed and puckered anus. Kevin's semen. What Kathy had always thought of as her semen. Having come from what she had always thought of as her penis. Kathy made the last turn and saw the lights of her house at the end of the cul-de-sac. She felt her ears redden at the memory of those photographs. Her stomach tightened as it had so many times the previous few months. She remembered the initial confrontation that first night when Kevin had gotten home from the office. She remembered his confession of the 18-month affair. Eighteen months! He'd told her it was some pharmaceutical sales rep, just a "meaningless" and "physical" relationship. Kathy shook her head in silence as her car rolled into the driveway. She turned off the headlights and the ignition and just sat there for a moment. She had told her friends about it, of course, probably more than they really wanted to know. She had cried on their shoulders, listened to their advice. Some counseled divorce, others suggested she simply accept Kevin's apology and put the matter behind her. Neither choice would have been easy, she thought. It was a gut wrenching few months for both of them, a time of bitterness, of stretches of silence punctuated by screaming arguments. No, Kathy had finally decided, she wasn't going to let an unfaithful husband and some Other Woman turn her life upside down and put her into a rundown house with her three kids and a monthly support check. Kathy unlocked the front door and stepped inside. She turned off the porchlight, gave a brief glance around to check on the state of the darkened living room, then slowly ascended the stairs to their bedroom. No, and she wasn't going to simply forget about the betrayal. If Kevin wanted to play by a different set of rules, then she was going to play by those same rules. Kathy brushed her teeth and changed into her nightgown. She gave one last look at herself in the mirror. The years and the three kids showed. But she still had her pride. She knew she was still desirable. Kathy turned out the bathroom light and joined her husband in bed, feeling his half-asleep body rouse in her presence. He was naked, as usual, and her gentle touch urged him to hardness while her lips pressed into that sensitive area below his jaw that she knew so well. And as Kevin rolled on top of her, pulling her nightgown up around her neck, Kathy spread her legs for the second man in as many hours and silently allowed her husband to discover the silky arousal between her still-thickened labia. She urged his probing cockhead inward, wrapping her legs around his thighs and spurring him on with whispers and gentle nibbles and practiced hips. Kathy remembered how her new lover had first entered her with his stubbier, wondrously thicker cock, and how he had gracefully fucked her with smooth, unhurried strokes. She remembered how he had quelled her anxieties about her body, about the softness that came from three children and thirty-eight years. Anxieties about a husband who'd spent eighteen months fucking a woman who was ten years Kathy's junior. Kevin, heavy and hurried, lay on top of her and worked his erection into that other man's copious seed, thrusting his proud and oblivious flesh into the lubrication of a stranger's semen mixed with his wife's own excitement. He stabbed at her, soon almost frantic in his movements. Their lovemaking had been erratic since The Discovery. He had learned not to question any willingness for sex that Kathy might show him. Her mind drifted. Kathy remembered how earlier she had clutched her knees alongside her jostling breasts and offered her body to the man perched above her on straightened arms, his heavy-lidded eyes boring into hers as deeply as his steel-hard cock was plunging into her body, its upward curve grazing maddeningly across just the right spot. His bedroom had filled with the liquid sounds and smells of sex, the bed rhythmically creaking beneath them, the old wooden headboard thumping against the wall, her hips moving from side to side to better feel his hardness driving her half crazy with lust. And when her husband now climaxed, groaning in her ear and twitching inside her creamy grasp, Kathy felt the familiar spreading warmth and remembered how her lover had climaxed, breathless and incoherent, mere seconds after her own had rippled through her own body. In mute tribute Kathy lifted her hips and rubbed against her husband and granted herself one final, small orgasm, holding her breath as her vagina pulsed weakly around the base of his cock. She clung to her husband much like she had recently clung to that other man in that other bed, that playful man with the hairy back and strong arms and beard coated with her juices, that man whose whole body had shuddered with pleasure when he spurted his warm white offering high up inside her, groaning at each long, delicious ejaculation. He had emptied so much of himself into her that she had felt it oozing out ever since, leaving him with sticky sheets and her with damp panties on her drive home. And now, as her husband slipped his softening erection from her tender clutches, Kathy thought again of that fourth Polaroid, and this time she allowed herself just the glimmer of a smile.