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Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 02

By: Wilson Spalding



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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my third first-person sketch: though if I pay any more attention to these things, I'll have to call them "stories."

The title gives this one away: it's part 2 of "Beads & Pearls." This episode has the same characters partying down during Mardi Gras, but their second evening takes them on a different path. The "group sex" category pretty much gives away what's going to happen, though it could fit into exhibition or "loving wives" just as easy. Some of the content was influenced by requests and comments received via private message.

Your part, folks, is to share your reactions. Rate it and leave a comment if you can, it helps give a handle on what grabs folk (so to speak). For critical readers, the story has two build-ups. There is the big one in the end, naturally, but one happens about a third of the way through – you'll know what I'm talking about when you read it. It happened naturally in telling the story, but I'm worried that keeping it might be too much. Does it work or not?

Thanks,

Wilson

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After the first night of partying, our attitudes were all warmed up. Our heads, though, needed a morning to recover. We finally got out around the crack of noon and went sightseeing until the sun went down. We toured from Fort Pike to the French Quarter and the post-Katrina New Orleans was blossoming. While the return of life was a beautiful thing, the two of us were about dead. We slipped back into the hotel, showered and passed out for a two-hour nap.

First thing I saw waking up was Jessica's pile of beads from last night. The locals called them "throws" but you may as well have called them "schwings." Even with afternoon's history lesson, it was the sea of boobs that was still bouncing around in my head. Now I've been to a racy party or two at the Playboy Mansion but they just didn't compare to the electricity on the streets. It seemed on every corner, we heard some jazzy rendition of "If Ever I Cease to Love" and nobody was holding back on love last night.

I flipped over and ran my hand over the smooth curve of my wife's naked hip. She was facing away, still groggy, and I peeked over to chance a glance at her front half. Just lying there, she was still magnificent. From full lips to hips and all the magic between, I knew her prediction would be right. She'd be plastered all over usenet – and probably wind up as a promo for Mardi Gras flasher sites. I was ready to do Jess' right then and there but Lord help me; I wanted another round of high-risk nookie. I held off, but I had to roll out of bed lest I break off my kickstand.

We got a late start on the revelry. We made it down to the hotel restaurant and I refueled on beef medallions, I took the time to tease her about work-mates (hers and mine) stumbling over incriminating pictures. She was red-cheeked over flashing boobs but it wasn't like either of us was running for office. A little margarita therapy mitigated any regret down to "Yeah, fuck it."

Would it be more of the same tonight? No. Surprisingly, better judgment took hold. We had enough staggering around last night, so we focused on finding a classier venue. Turns out our concierge had connections and we had cash. That combination got us into one of the more exclusive Jazz clubs. It wasn't technically a "Carnival Ball" but it was costume-formal and it was still a trick to get an invitation.

We decided to play it up and took a cab out to a chichi shopping district to dress the part. A short ride found us a row of boutique stores and we hustled in before they closed. Jess picked out a champagne-colored flapper dress – just like you saw in old photographs. It had tons of beadwork and a sexy low cut. It was one-of-kind, perfect for Jessica, but it was two sizes too big: it had a loose fit and she wasn't wearing a bra.

She spun once in the mirror and very nearly flashed the world. She blinked a few times then turned to ask: "I love it, but is it gauche?"

"Uh, I don't know. Check the label."

"No, no," she smiled. "Is it too much?"

I checked her out. "Sort of a 20's bordello look. I like it."

She bent over the bed and her top puffed to the front, falling wide open. I saw practically down to her belly button. Plenty of boob. Straight on, the thin straps flared just in time to hide her nipples, but from the right angles, she'd be showing everything to anybody. "Wow."

"I should put on a bra."

I held up a hand. Honestly, I didn't see her bending that much and when she was upright, she was plenty decent (for a posh jazz club in New Orleans during Mardi Gras). The risk was minimal and the chance of teasing flashes high. "No, you definitely shouldn't."

"No? Want me to show off?"

"Well...yes." I looked around and dropped my voice. "That tit-groping fantasy last night? I can't believe how hard that got me." I checked over my shoulder one last time, then stroked the outer curve of her breast. "With you on my arm, I am a rich man. I can share the wealth."

She bit her lip and couldn't hide a coy smile. "Careful, now. I might take you up on that."

"Didn't I say I wanted to see you in pearl necklaces?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I offered last night... In the alcove."

"Yeah..." She'd started our alcove interlude on her knees but I'd spun her around for the grand prize. I glanced through the store and saw some husband-in-tow stealing glances at my wife. With a covert audience, I slid my hand across Jessica's ass. "I'm a busy man, dear. I can't do everything myself."

Her eyes popped and her jaw dropped. She took a breath to collect herself then shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know if you're playing."

I wagged my eyebrows and led us toward the cashier. "Sometimes, I might be serious."

I paid and Jessica put a jacket over her shoulders for the walk outside. She was still shaking her head as we hoofed it down the sidewalk, looking for an open men's store. "Nick, this sharing thing... you're a fantasy philanthropist–"

"A what? A philanderer?"

She gave me a sidelong glance and ignored the interruption. "My dear husband, I have always been a faithful wife but these fantasies..."

"What?"

She didn't want to answer. "They've really been turning me on."

"Isn't that what fantasies are supposed to do?"

"Fantasies, yes! But there's a line between fantasy and reality and you keep hinting about pushing the line back!" She stopped and adjusted the jacket over her shoulders. "Hon, all kidding aside: don't invite me to dine, then serve me for dinner."

"Invite me to dine"? It was poetic but Jessica was dead serious and it slowed me up. One part deep inside just wanted to push the big red button that said 'Do Not Push.' It was right next to the part of me that wanted pictures of her in flagrante dicklicto. Another part was slapping me upside the head with the logic stick. For better or worse, good judgment didn't get through before words spilled out.

"What happens in the Big Easy, stays in the Big Easy."

She was silent as I guided us into a terminally chic men's store a few doors down. They were reaching to lock the door when I pushed it open. The guy was friendly enough (especially when Jessica pranced in behind me) and since we were the only customers, both clerks (turns out there were two) gave us full service. Judging by the cloth tape measures hanging around their necks, they were both tailors – though they followed Jess around like puppy dogs.

I looked around for a few minutes. Milton and Reginald had absolutely no problem helping us out. The four of us were mid-conversation, all small talk about New Orleans and Mardi Gras, when she leaned over a chair to see what I was looking at. There was a moment of silence. Her face was angelically innocent as she sized up my potential suit. Below her long neck, a gaping neckline revealed fleshy, Playmate-quality boobs in all their glory. It was flash-for-effect, total vamping. Both clerks paused – didn't say anything – just paused and admired.

I admired, too – and that said something. She's a beautiful woman with a gorgeous rack but after ten years of marriage, it was a familiar view. Was a familiar view. Like seeing her flash last night got me hard, watching her flash now got me hard again. This was a little different, though: these guys knew our names. We'd been talking, building rapport – we wouldn't be disappearing in a crowd. I locked eyes with Jessica and gave her a subtle smile. I approve. When she smiled back, I knew she understood. I gave her the smallest of nods: run with it. She didn't respond for a heartbeat, then bit her lip and nodded back.

Where would she run with it? I had no idea, but I'd have fun catching up to her. I held up the suit and broke the spell. "How 'bout this one?"

The tux was just this side of a zoot suit. It sounds funky but it looked pretty good. The tailors finally managed to inhale and Reggie drew the short straw. He led me to the back for a couple of adjustments. Through sheer will, I kept my underwear from looking like a circus tent. Reggie and I talked women and he was effusive about Jessica's charms. We were back there for about fifteen minutes as the arteest made the alterations.

Reginald was out first; then came right back a moment later for one last check.

"How do I look?"

"Every girl digs a sharp dressed man."

I paid – I don't remember how much – grabbed a breathless Jess and rocketed out the door. We grabbed another cab and headed for the club. On the way, I made arrangements for the driver to drop our old clothes back at the hotel.

As I leaned back, I saw Jessica absent-mindedly playing with a piece of paper. "That the receipt?"

Her hand froze. She got a deviant smile and shook her head. "Phone number."

"Milton interested?"

She squeezed her arms together and her boobs practically popped from her dress. "Milton was brave."

I felt a rush of adrenaline but Mr. Winky wasn't sure. "How brave?"

She licked her lips – hinting – then bit her lower lip, suddenly unsure. "Well, you did want me in pearls... even if you were busy."

 Holy Shit, she ran with it. I bounced from flaccid to rock hard. I glanced at her chest – it was flushed red but not wet. I studied her hair and her dress. Her hair was mussed and her lipstick was gone. I tried to play it cool but I know I didn't make it. "Did you 'dine'?"

I thought I'd see canary feathers in that smile. "What if I did?"

I shrugged and slammed the humor button. "It would explain the discount. So what? You flashed him some more?"

"No, silly, we left that far behind. We talked about Mardi Gras, flashing, sex in public places... my husband wanting to see me groped. When he reached out I didn't stop him."

"He copped a feel?"

"No, he groped. We kissed." She reached inside the swooping neckline and brushed a finger over a nipple. "I So wanted you to walk in on us."

"Doing what?!"

"Imagine me on my knees, my dress puddled around me."

"Holy shit."

"I wanted to see your face when you saw cum on my boobs."

"I looked."

"I know," she smiled. "Reggie scared the hell out of him and he came all over the floor. You followed a minute later."

"Holy shit." Explained why Reggie came right back. "Did Reggie see?"

"Oh, yes."

I swear, I needed to fuck her right there in the cab. "If I had come up first?"

"I was hoping that... you would..."

"Join in?"

"Yes."

Holy shit. Have I mentioned 'Holy shit' yet? Sure, we had our little bedroom fantasies, but living any of them out...? Stupid. Unsafe! True, but we knew what we were getting into. Indecent! Of course! That's what made it exciting. I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. I really expected her to toss her head back and admit she was just kidding. "You're just fuckin' with me, right...? To see what I'd say?"

"Nick, I swallowed Milton's cock." She leaned over and kissed me. If there was any doubt in my head my head, it was gone after that. "Forgive me but you wanted to see me in a pearl necklace and I wanted to put one on."

"I forgive you." I tried to not be shocked at just how real our bedroom fantasies had just become. "Wow."

She nodded. "How do you feel?"

"Like I need to throw you over the hood of the cab and fuck you till the beads fall off. How do you feel?"

"I was a bad, bad girl." She leaned over and squeezed my cock through my newly tailored pants "A total slut..."

"And?"

"I loved it. Do you still love me?"

"Yes." The answer didn't take thought.

"It didn't work out like I planned. I want to do it again." With her breath in my ear; her voice was barely a whisper. "I need you to see me. If you're going to share me, I need to taste your approval..."

I nodded and glanced to make sure the cabbie was listening in. "There are rules."

Her eyes were half-lidded and she was breathing in deep sighs. "Name them."

"It's fine that you dine, just don't kiss me with cream on your lips."

She smiled. "I promise."

"Second is... seconds. I don't mind you sloppy but I don't eat cream pie."

"Cross my heart. Anything else?"

"Yes, but I don't have enough blood in my brain for any more rules right now."

We arrived at the club and my head was spinning. I hopped right out as the doorman swooped in to open her side. She looked awesome stepping out. The dress was knee length but slit up the sides and her legs looked something from a diamond commercial. She had to lean just a little to get out and a little was all she needed. I handed our invitations to him, but I don't think he noticed.

Inside, we checked our coats and took a seat. The bar area was open (and there was a crush around it) but the tables were reserved and we set up home base at our special spot. For twenty minutes, we just sat and took it all in. We absorbed live Dixieland, drank and watched people get down on the dance floor.

As I watched the floor, I realized just how good-looking this crowd was. It was enough to knock me out of my swingers' stupor. Jess was a standout anywhere but she had competition here. It was a good thing for me: the better dancers – the girls at least – were usually better looking, a natural byproduct of keeping themselves in shape. Most of the guys, on the other hand, were average. Some were GQ fodder (there's always some), others were just old sugar daddies. As for me, I was on the "rugged" side (definitely not a pretty boy) and just distinctive enough to escape the average class. The wonder-tux hid the physique but the girls could still see cheekbones and a thick neck. Put on a smile and I could charm just about anybody out of a bad mood.

After a couple drinks, I heard a peppy number and grabbed Jess. We stepped out and tore up the floor. We can dance – I'm not shy about it – and put with her dress, we had an audience. It was a good way to see and be seen – a good way to announce we were there. And it worked. After our first dance, a guy immediately asked to cut in and I gave permission. The second I turned around, I had eye contact from three women, all hoping I'd ask them. I picked the one with the biggest smile and tore it up all over again.

We held the pattern for an hour. Dance, sometimes with each other, meet back at the table, tie one on and go dance it off. I noticed a pattern, she did have a few repeats, I can definitely tell you: on the peppier numbers, her partners were treated to a good deal of shaking cleavage.

Away from Jess, I was treated to a tour of Cleavage of the World. Maybe it was in the air, but about an hour into it, I found my hand sliding down the curves of my partners, slipping past hips to cup glorious new cheeks. Nobody was better than Jessica, but they were different and that was exciting. It had the same kind of rush I'd been feeling since last night, but with a spin I hadn't felt in a long time.

Somewhere around 11:30, don't know the song, but a girl asked me to dance. Just walking, watching her walk to dance floor and I knew this would be good. The women there were all beautiful but this girl had magnificence of Jessica quality. Even rarer: she could dance. Her boobs weren't as well dressed as Jess but they were well put-together and she wasn't shy with them. By the end of the number, she offered a totally different number: her number.

I nodded and smiled but damn if some ethical bone didn't make me point back toward Jess.

The woman, Alena, smiled. "Bring her with."

Oh, Fuckin' A! I kissed the paper and put it in my pocket. This was looking good.

I had David Lee Roth going through my head: Just a gigolo. Some girls were older (and they were hunting), some were younger (but they were enthusiastic), and I wasn't exactly shy tonight. There was another girl – Betty – not half and hour later that leaned in and instinct just guided me to her. She gave me a long kiss during one of our dances and a she gave me a long, discreet cock-squeeze during another. It was the closest thing to hand job you could have with your pants on. This left me with another set of numbers. Set? Yup. A cell phone number and a room number. What's the old saying? Two cheeks in the hand is one step toward the bush – or something like that.

Somewhere around midnight, I was dancing with Alena again on one of the slow numbers. I glanced over and saw Jessica pressed against some guy. His hand was square on her ass and she looked good with it. Hmm... There was a pang of jealousy, sure, but our alcove-to-tailor moments bubbled back. He already had his hand on her ass and I pictured him fondling her tits. I remembered standing behind Jessica in the alcove, pounding away, and I pictured us back there with this guy in front of her, feeding her his cock. I'm pretty sure Alena felt my cock nudging her.

There was an up-tempo rag right after and everything was normal again. Still, the same guy orbited her the rest of the night. He wasn't a bad looking guy and I wondered if he saw me as competition (from that point, he danced with Jess more than I did). During a lull, my ass-grabbed wife met me at the table and I asked her about her new stalker.

"Admirer" she corrected.

Right. Must be a charming bastard. "Did you tell him you were married?"

She was wearing her ring, but... "He didn't ask."

"...Almost like being back in California."

"It's Mardi Gras." She took a sip of water, then looked me from the corner of her eye. "Should I have put on a bra?"

"Not at all. I'm just trying to gauge where this is going."

She cocked an eyebrow and looked off, apparently wondering that herself. She turned back with a shrug. "It goes where you let it."

I eyed her fabulous body and my gaze came to rest on that gorgeous face. I nodded toward her admirer. "Either him or we call Milton."

She waved her hand like a fan and took a second to catch her breath. "That would be two in one day. Are we ready for that?"

"Think Reginald is doing anything tonight?"

Good thing she wasn't drinking anything. I could tell her head was still spinning as I pulled her out for another dance. It was a peppy number and at this point, honestly, I felt like showing off. I spun Jessica like a rag doll and the more I saw her groove, the more I wanted to see her writhe. Enough vertical dancing, I wanted horizontal dancing. I wanted to see her beneath me – and like a thunderbolt – realized I wanted to see her under other dance partners. Why? Fuck it, don't know, but that vision got me hard.

We split after the song and partner-hopped for the last hour 'till close. Some of the women thought we must've worked there, maybe as hired dancers to keep people on the floor. No, but it felt good to hear.

I partnered up with a cutie that introduced herself as "Sheila." It was a slower number and Sheila pressed herself against me. By this point, I was walking hard-on and tried to be discreet but she was having none of it. She pressed herself against me and I could feel the heat between her thighs. When she started pressing her pelvis against my crotch I had to dance slower just to keep my undies dry.


Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 02



They announced last song and Sheila didn't want to let go. Jess wasn't asking to cut in so I went with it. As we swayed to a slow beat, Sheila's boobs against my chest, I spied Jess on the other side of the dance floor. Her legs were tastefully riding the guy's thigh and I'm sure there was a boner between them. It was late, it was Mardi Gras and they were just this side of in-bounds. I let my hand drift down to Sheila's ass, took a firm grip and tucked her up against me. She started a subtle little grind, her pelvis massaging my cock.

I let her. At that second, I wanted nothing more than to slip off Sheila's dress and caress the curves underneath. From everything I felt, she was feeling the same way.

When the song was over, Sheila glanced across at Jessica. She knew we were together but she asked for my number anyway. Sure, I already had a cue (head... expanding...) but I wrote it down and handed it over. Hey, lent was coming up and I wanted plenty of reasons to atone.

A minute later, I met Jess at the table. The band was packing up but they hadn't turned the lights on yet. She looked like she was out of breath.

"Hard dancing or dancing hard?"

"Well, he knows I'm married."

"Scared him off?"

"Not exactly. He invited us back to his hotel room."

"Us?" I pulled out a piece of paper with a hotel and a room number on it. I handed it to her and her brow furled as I did a little cha-cha. "The tux worked; I got an invite. Three, actually. We could meet for breakfast."

She shook her head. "I so want to."

My heart was pounding but I played it cool. "Meet each other for breakfast?"

"Do him."

"You little slut!"

Her eyes bugged but she could tell I said it in humor. A moment later, she swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

Yes? Yes what? Yes, she was a slut? God forgive me, but that thought about broke my zipper. Picturing her royally fucked by some stranger was intensely erotic. Not quite as powerful as actually fucking one of the girls I'd danced with, but watching her be my sex object would come awfully close.

We're officially "swingers" now. Go with it. I was torn, an instant dilemma in my head: did I watch my wife and forever have the images of her acting as my personal porn queen, or did I go out and sample new charms? I needed to strike fast if I was gonna have a chance to give new boobs a taste. "...Then go."

"I'm a little nervous."

I glanced for Alena, Betty or Sheila. "Have a drink."

She shook her head. "I don't want to unless you're there."

Ah-ha. I tried to reason it out. "In his hotel room. His territory..."

She nodded. "It's a little daunting."

Okay, we're moving to Plan B. I grabbed her hand, led her over to the guy, who seemed pretty nervous himself. We shook hands and she introduced us to each other. There was a bit of a lull – high expectations, but nobody knew what to say. I broke the silence. "Neutral ground."

"What do you mean?"

"Follow."

I led the two of them out and hailed a cab. I could tell they wanted more contact but he was nervous around me. I gave her a gentle elbow and nodded toward him. She took the hint, leaned over and kissed him. It was a short, gentle kiss on the lips.

Seeing my wife kiss another man sent a bolt of adrenaline through me.

After the first kiss, he felt the green light. They kissed again, their lips sliding together, their tongues doing a slow dance together.

I felt my palms tingle and I suppressed the impulse to make a fist. My stomach was fluttering and honestly, my cock was about to tear through my fly.

She brushed her fingers over his crotch and that was all he needed. He slipped one hand over her ass and the other square on a boob, right there in the street. Her spaghetti strap fell aside and he was kneading her bare tit under the streetlight when the cab finally pulled up.

"Jesus. We're gonna get arrested." I shoved them in; him first, her in the middle (a boob in view, her nipple pebble-hard), me on the other side.

The cabbie looked back with wide eyes. "Hey, nothing illegal in here."

"Nothing professional. We're all friends here."

"Oh... Okay."

"Take us someplace dark and romantic."

"Sure."

The cab took off. She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Thank you." She sealed it with a kiss – and I slipped the strap off the other side of her dress.

Her tits were magnificent and well-lighted by the Bourbon Street lights. Our friend didn't waste a second, leaning over to take a tit in his mouth.

She turned her head, switching kissing partners. I reached across her, under the dress, and grabbed both sides of her g-string. She lifted her ass just enough for me to slide the butt floss off of her. Now her dress was pooled around her midsection, and the cabbie was stealing glances when he could.

His fingers had found her slit and he was wasting no time, slipping his index finger inside her very wet hole. She responded by unzipping his fly. It took a little moving around to loosen his pants, but she got his underwear down and his cock sprang free. She made a grab for the trophy and he groaned.

It looked like was just going to set her lips on it, but she slipped onto floor, onto her knees instead. As she did, I took the moment to slip her dress completely off, leaving her only in her high heels.

She knelt and stared at his cock a moment, stroking it, admiring it. Really wasn't any different than mine – it just wasn't mine. It was like she was memorizing it. She started to lean over, making eye contact with him as she did. He was guiding her by the boobs as she did.

Her lips were an inch away from the shaft when she switched eye contact – to me. We were locked eye to eye as she parted her lips, hesitant but very wanting. I gave her a nod, and she took this stranger into her mouth. Our eyes were still locked as she sealed her lips around his shaft. We were still locked on one another as she started sucking back the length of his cock. He groaned and I smiled. She was just fucking gorgeous. On her knees, with a cock in her mouth, and she was just fucking gorgeous.

She closed her eyes and started blowing him in earnest. He was staring at her, the cabbie was swerving, trying to catch a view, and I was taking it all in. My wife – my slut wife – was blowing a stranger in a taxicab. And she looked awesome doing it. I knew I was next on her list. Then who? I was high on sex, suddenly sorry we hadn't done this ten years ago.

She opened her eyes as she cupped his balls. They made eye contact as she sucked him in. She glanced at me, seeking approval, and I gave a subtle, devious smile. What would I do next with my slut wife?

I knew the answer as I unzipped my fly.

The cabbie had made it onto darker streets. I pulled her ass into the air – and she let me, but she never stopped sucking. I slipped a finger inside her, then guided my cock to take its place. Now the cabbie was getting a full view.

I slipped inside her, feeling her wetness. Her body was moving as she blew the guy, and I could tell she was making love to his cock, trying to coax the cum out of him.

I burned the picture into my head. I had no idea if I'd ever see it again and I didn't want to forget it: my wife with a cock in a pussy and a cock in her mouth. We'd played the "slut wife" scene a hundred times, imagining a dildo as some random guy. Suddenly, my wife was in front of me, and an actual guy was in front of her, fucking her mouth. I'd been afraid to actually let it happen, but seeing it? All I could think was: Finally!

And she was loving it.

I gazed at the woman I loved. All my porno fantasies had merged with real life, right in front of me.

The guy started grunting and she started sucking hard. He was coming in her mouth. She swallowed, but let a little dribble down her chin. Us guys are visual, and she knew it. She was my porn queen.

She had a seductive yet triumphant look. The guy practically collapsed after he came. She leaned across his legs and I fucked her into oblivion. He was playing with her tits and she started coming. When she looked back at me – with the one dribble of stranger's come on her chin – I lost it. My balls tightened and I felt my cock grow half a foot inside her. I came hard.

After I came, all the sexual high had been pumped right into her pussy. We were exhausted but happy. He was elated, wanted us to come back to his hotel room for another round. We declined but traded numbers. We'd all be there another four days – at least until Fat Tuesday.

She didn't get dressed until the streetlights came back. The cabbie dropped him off at his hotel and we bid adieu (just to be in the New Orleans swing of it). She still hadn't wiped dried cum off her chin.

As we pulled up to our own hotel, I told him to keep going to dark part of the lot. Jess got out as I counted out the bills. I paid the cabbie enough to double the fare. He took it as a "Keep it under your hat" gesture.

The cab took off and we turned toward the hotel. She was biting her lip, her expression admitting she'd been a bad girl. "I've... I've never let go like that before."

"How does it feel to be a slut?"

The word shocked her. "I love... being a slut. I don't want to stop."

"You don't have to."

A moment later, she slowly nodded into it, doe-eyed and guilty. "Are we okay?"

"We're better than 'okay'." I almost laughed, thinking about how close I'd come to fucking another woman. Instead, I'd fucked my wife like she was another woman. "Can't even blame this one on alcohol."

We walked back to the hotel entrance, my arm over her shoulder. She brushed the last of the flaking cum off her chin before we strolled into the lobby. She had a concerned look as we passed through the door, like the sex high had finally worn off. "You're really not sorry we did it?"

It took me a second to think about. I was still in post-sex-bomb shock. What would it be like in the morning? I didn't know. All I could answer was what I felt at that moment. "I'm sorry we didn't do it sooner."

We were silent, contemplative – at least until we got into the elevator. She reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone numbers I'd accumulated. "Are they cute?"

"Uh-huh."

"We should call them..."



Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 03



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AUTHOR'S NOTE: I never really intended any of the sketches to turn into a series... but here we are. Something about the characters is too much fun to let go.

Like the last "Beads & Pearls" installment, this episode follows the same couple getting down during Mardi Gras. It's not necessary to read the others first, but it helps. The relationship is evolving, sexually, and knowing where they're coming from gives a little context to where they're going.

Spoiler alert: the "exhibition" category should tip you off for what to expect, though like the last installment, B&P3 would fit into the "loving wives" and "group sex" categories just as easy. If combining these topics offends you, stop reading now (it's definitely not a revenge story).

If combining these topics excites you, bang on. It definitely gets intense, dangerously over the top in real-world behavior -- but not so unbelievable that it turns into a parody.

Finally, note that this episode is enormous. I almost broke it into two installments on basis of size and category leaning (wink-nudge). Should I break it in half? Is it too much, not enough, or just right? Should I link in coupons for Kleenex? Leave a note and vote!

Thanks,

Wilson

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I was hung over. My skull was buzzing and my stomach wasn't quite right. It wasn't the drinks -- it was the sex. Last night, Jessica and I had become swingers. Now the adrenaline was gone and I didn't know what to do with all the experiences still smoking in my soul.

Jess was already up, brushing her teeth for the umpteenth time this morning. Was it the two rules? I pushed myself out of bed and staggered to the suite bathroom. My wife was naked, bent over the sink, her mouth frothy but fresh.

"How are you?"

She stopped brushing but she didn't answer right away.

"You okay?"

She rinsed one last time and leaned against the counter with both arms. Kinda looked like she was about to be frisked. Naked. I'd bet there was a movie like that somewhere. But this was my wife.

"Nick... what did we do last night?"

"Well, let's see..." I was getting excited and sick at the same time. "...We had a few drinks, you flashed a couple guys in a tuxedo shop and... you allegedly blew one."

She looked down, her expression guilty. "Do you think they had a security camera?"

"No clue." She was shaking just a little bit. "Why? Running for office?"

"You don't seem worried."

Sure I was worried, about a million things, but with the wife on the verge of breakdown, it was my job to stay calm. "It's Mardi Gras. It is what it is."

"What about the taxicab?"

"I looked. He didn't have a camera."

Jess laughed despite herself, then choked it back. "There was no 'alleged' in the taxi."

"No. No 'alleged'." It was only "alleged" in the tux shop because I didn't see it. The taxi, though... I remember Jess locking eyes with me as she wrapped her lips around another guy's dick. I watched my wife take pleasure from giving pleasure. A minute later, as she gave head to another man, I gave her slutty turn 8 inches of personal validation. "We did a lot last night."

Jess nodded and swallowed hard. She gripped the toothbrush and looked over her shoulder at me. "We said a lot last night..."

"Yeah..." My wife usually role-played a slut in our little games and our dirty talk was always a turn-on. Last night, we meant it for real and it didn't seem like a bad thing. "...But now the sun is up and the party's over."

Jess nodded. "I need to know: are we still okay?"

"I don't know if I'm okay." I pointed at her worn-out toothbrush. "Looks like you've got issues, too. But us...? We are okay. We're in this together."

Her shoulders relaxed and a smile broke though. She held up the toothbrush like it was a torch. "I remember the two rules!"

I nodded approvingly. It felt like there was so much more, so much we needed to talk over, so many dangers to avoid -- but I was overwhelmed. At least the two rules were easy. Maybe I would call them Jessica's Easy Rules (for when Jessica was easy). One, she doesn't kiss me with cum on her breath. Two, I don't eat cream pies. "Follow the rules for marital bliss."

She tossed the brush onto the counter, stepped in and kissed me like I'd never been kissed. I kissed her back, running my lips down her delicate neck. I caressed my hands down to cup her boobs, and the cup runneth over. I slid a hand over her firm ass and pulled her closer, close enough for her to feel my hard-on grow against her belly.

My trophy wife was now my hot wife. She's my wife. No, she's my wife. Is she really a slut? Yesterday, Jess blew three guys (one of them, her husband). She's a slut. Our private kink had escaped into the real world. Were we really ready for this? Last night, I swear I was ready to watch the cabbie give her a spin.

Okay, that was just stupid.

Jess slipped her hand into the waistband of my shorts. She gave me a squeeze and I felt like iron. She kissed my neck and whispered into my ear. "What are you thinking about?"

"My slut wife."

She slid to her knees, tugging my waistband on the way down. She moaned when my cock popped free. "Your slut wife that loves you." She enveloped the head with her wet warmth, mouthing it until I was on the edge of coming. She pulled her lips just far back enough to ask: "Do you love your slut wife?"

I was so hard I couldn't speak. She started sucking again, swirling her tongue around the head as she waited for the answer. When I could breathe: "More than ever. Does my wife love being a slut?"

Jess nodded -- sucking hard as she did. She really loved it.

I was suddenly lightheaded, a rush of nerves and excitement. What did that mean? All I knew was that all the butterflies in my stomach were flying toward my dick.

She cupped her tits, offering them to me, her nipples peeking between fingers. Her lips brushed my cock as she whispered: "Do you still want to see me groped?"

Whoa. That was a little fantasy from our first night here, after a night of her flashing the city. It was nothing, dirty talk during a quickie in an alley alcove.

"I'd definitely like to see you get some more beads..." But groped in public...? By strangers...? I felt myself harden -- uncomfortably hard -- and I tried to sort out my own reaction. Anonymous groping was the height of in-the-bubble fantasies. It was way over the top but Mardi Gras was making our kinky little fantasies come true. It was something she might do (and I might encourage) if we were drunk and caught in the moment. "Do you want to be groped?"

Jess hummed around my cock, doing magical things with her mouth. It was an answer; a slutty answer. That was all I could take. A second later, my wife wore her first pulse of a pearl necklace.

###

We were back on Boobin' Street and it felt more dangerous than the other night. Maybe because it was Saturday, 3 days to Fat Tuesday, and the crowd was in the zone. Alcohol was flowing in unmarked containers and people in wild-assed costumes were dancing through red lights. Or maybe it was that Jess wore a black tennis skirt and a tight, white sheer shirt over braless boobs. Guys and girls alike were walking into light posts staring at her. Or maybe it was because our fantasy passport had been stamped: we were hitting the streets as official swingers. Yeah, that was probably it.

I was stone cold sober but a little light-headed. There was this weird play between intensity and detachment, like expectation was pushing me to an out-of-body experience. And what did I do? I floated over my wife and looked down her shirt. I looked down a hundred other shirts, too.

Jazz was playing on every corner and even the traffic cops were wearing beads. Jessica hadn't even reached for her shirt and I'd already been titillated a dozen times. I wanted to reach out and touch. I wanted to see Jess reach out and touch. I wanted to see someone reach out and touch Jess. Somebody had to reach out to touch somebody, goddammit!

Boobs never failed to fascinate. There were big ones and small, round, pointy, full, flat, floppy, firm, beautiful and... beautiful. Sorry, there was no such thing as an ugly boob. I used to think so, but in a crowd, when a woman you've never seen before lifts her shirt and whoops it up for sheer joy, shape didn't matter: she had beautiful boobs.

I was waiting for Jess to add her own life to the party but it hadn't happened yet. It was a cool night but it wasn't chilly, so I wasn't sure why she hadn't flashed her headlights. Cold feet was probably the wrong metaphor but I don't think it had much to do with the temperature. She just seemed to be hanging back.

Maybe it was quality: we'd started satisfied. I had my orgasm and I gave one right back before we left. There was something kinky about going down on her while cum dried on her face -- though it was mine and both of The Rules were still safely intact.

Maybe it was quantity: there was so much bared breast, she might've felt she'd be lost in the crowd. Couldn't happen, I thought to myself, she had some of the best breasts in the city -- but competition can do crazy things to self-confidence.

We walked for half an hour, listened to street musicians and traded notes on New Orleans architecture. It felt like we were halfway to the Anne Rice house, and while I wanted to see it, I didn't want to see it tonight. I grabbed my wife's hips and steered her toward a crowded saloon. This situation called for alcohol.

I thought about using Jess as my human bumper but I don't think she was ready for it. Instead, I grabbed her hand and pulled her behind me. I'm not a huge guy but I'm big enough to clear a channel through a crowd and that's just what I did. We made it past a couple of overwhelmed bouncers and into a crush of drunken revelers.

Inside, it was steamy warm, discreetly dark and packed way past the fire occupancy limit. I parked my wife on a wall-side stool and waded through a hundred people toward the bar. The music was piped in but it was Louis Armstrong crooning What a Wonderful World. That alone would make Jessica smile.

I grabbed the two biggest margaritas they could make and headed back to Jess, though trying not to spill sent me a little off course. I made it to the far wall but I was still 20 feet and 30 people away. Jess saw me and nodded at the margarita... and somehow, that stopped me in my tracks. I matched her, frown for frown; then pointed at her neckline. No beads?

She shook her head glumly. I think there was a smile brewing but she held back.

I looked around for a set of beads. There were truckloads but I couldn't grab any while carrying two Jacuzzi-sized drinks. I faked trying to grab one, first with a glass, then my elbow, then my teeth (that almost got me into trouble). When I couldn't do it, I put on a frown worthy of Marcel Marceau. It was getting harder for Jess to hold back a smile.

The crowd was noisy nuts around us, but time had stopped for our little patch. I lit up my face like I'd just gotten the greatest idea of the century. I raised the glass like I was offering it to her (20 feet away), then I rethought and sipped both of them. Maybe I'll just stand here and drink. Her jaw dropped -- mock indignation -- and she pouted.

By now, our silent drama had an audience. There were maybe 7 or 8 people looking back and forth, watching to see how this was going to play out. I held up her drink like I'm sorry, did you want this? When she nodded, I tilted my head, a little perplexed. I pointed at her with the drink, pointed back at me and shrugged. Maybe a trade? What could you give me in exchange for this drink? Hmm...

Jessica took a moment, actually thinking about it, and her eyes got big. Our little crowd realized my desire at the same time and gave shouts of encouragement. Her smile finally broke through, a million watts bright. She rolled her eyes -- a little false modesty -- and she teased her hands over her flat, bare midriff. We traded one last glance and I think that's what she needed to get wild -- a fail-safe confirmation, one last chance for sanity before we flew over the threshold.

The crowd started chanting, growing from eight people to a hundred as she slowly raised her shirt. Her big, beautiful boobs popped free and the whole bar broke into a cheer. Somewhere behind, I heard a bell ring.

The crowd was roaring and she held her shirt up for a good 10 seconds. The more they wanted, the more she wanted to give. She did a 360º dance, giving a little love to every corner. I saw a few flash bulbs go off. Redefines 'flash bulb' doesn't it? By the time she lowered her shirt, she must've gotten 50 throws.

One good boob show could've made Mr. T jealous. She was now Mrs. T (for Tits). I was afraid that much plastic would weigh her shirt down. Jess put on string after string as I closed in and she already looked like a tribeswoman from a primitive mall.

I handed her the drink and had to shout to be heard. "Nice beads!"

"Thank you!" It took her two hands to take the margarita. "But I can't wear all of these..."

"Why?"

She leaned but still had to shout back. "Beads are great but I need to save room for a pearl necklace!"

"Whooooa!" "What?" "Helloooo, Nurse!" Half a dozen folk around us heard that one. If Jess was popular before, she was a rock star now.

Jessica leaned in and nibbled on my ear. Her stage whisper was almost lost in the noise but I still got it. "Thursday night you turned me around..." Her hands were sliding over my crotch. "...Will I get a pearl necklace tonight?"

"Probably several."

"Ooh, feeling energetic?"

The crowd was thick enough that nobody -- or almost nobody -- could see her squeezing my denim-covered dick. She was in a good mood, so it seemed safe to up the ante. "Philanthropic."

Jessica squinted as it sunk in, then her eyes popped wide. She flashed a devious smile. "In a sharing mood?"

"With you on my arm, I'm a rich man."

"Arm?" She laughed and gave me another squeeze.

"Stroke it any more and it's gonna be arms-length."

She gave one last obscene grab, then let go to tilt her margarita.

I shook my head and looked around, sipping my own vat of tequila. There was another bit brassy jazz playing and I was struck by another wonderful thing: Jess wasn't the only looker in the crowd. There was a range of beauty here tonight. A bit more than half were younger, but there were some silver foxes watching from the corners. I could see black, white, Asian and Indian women all laughing and drinking. Shirts were skintight or falling open -- and one girl flashed me when she saw me looking.

Somewhere by the bar, that bell dinged again. Small but perky; nice. I smiled and tossed her a necklace. This was turning into a good night.

About halfway into our drinks, one of the nearby guys started heading for the door. He held up a throw as he passed -- a request for a flash. Jess glanced at me and I nodded right back to her. With a big smile, she peeled up her shirt. Ding! Her nipples were rock hard and the crowd let out a cheer.

He was going to toss her the beads until she leaned forward with her shirt still up. He was not going to pass an invitation like that. She was still leaning, boobs out and butt pressed against my crotch as he made his way through the crowd. I could hear admiring murmurs float over like "Oh My God" and "Magnificent Rack!" As the guy put the necklace over her head, her ass slowly gyrated against me. It looked like a coronation but if felt like... last night in the taxi.

She gave him a bare-chested hug before he left. After the Magnificent Rack pressed against him, he had to make an adjustment before he could actually walk. Jess took it as a victory, pulled her shirt down and leaned back against me. She was basking as the guy disappeared into the crowd. From the front, she looked regal and relaxed, like she was queen of the land. People couldn't see her back; just how hard her ass was pressed against my crotch. She was flexing her butt cheeks, massaging my rock-hard cock through my pants.

I was ready to use my dick as her drink stir. She was only half done with her margarita, but I could see how much the alcohol was kicking in. I, on the other hand, was down to the backwash and felt only a hint of a buzz. It was time to refresh.

She grumped as I gave her the stool back -- she liked leaning against me -- and I kissed her before pushing my way toward the bar. It was a good thing I broke off, her ass on my crotch was making it hard for me to walk.

It must've taken 30 seconds to go 50 feet. It would've been frustrating if it weren't for all the boob brushes I was getting on the way. I felt one ass-grab on me that actually made me turn around. There were four giggling women and none of them fessed up. All I could do was nod and smile as I stepped away. I'll be damned if they didn't grab me again!

The bartender saw me and paused. He glanced toward Jess and broke a big grin. "For you, buddy, it's on the house! Whaddya need?"

I ordered two more of their gigantic Voodoo Margaritas and he was only too happy to oblige. I still left $10 on the bar and sipped as I slipped back into the crush. These drinks were strong.

I made it a point to walk back past the gaggle of butt-grabbing girls but kept my concentration on my drinks. With my hands full and my mind seemingly on not spilling, the girls took advantage. All four of them leaned in for an ass-grab. I laughed and gave a little hip gyration and that was all it took for the closest to squeeze the front. We gasped at the same time. Surprise! I was still hard from Jess and this cute, raven-haired MILF liked what she felt. I did a hip-thrust into her hand and all four of them burst into a cheer.

Four necklaces were royally placed over my head. Jeezus... I was ready to pop.

As I closed in on Jessica, the guy right in front of me waved some beads toward her. She smiled, a little coy, then noticed me behind him. I could see the switch trip behind her eyes. She gave a tease with the bottom of her shirt, then whoosh! Up it went. The crowd burst into another cheer.

The guy admired the view but I could tell he wasn't quite sure how to give a throw to a girl still flashing right in front of him. With her shirt still raised, Jess probably wasn't the safest teacher, either. She glanced at me -- this is for you -- then stood perfectly straight, chest up, and dipped her head. She snuck a pinky-brush over already hard nipples and the crowd deafened me.

The guy was smart enough to take the cue, stepping up to put the throw over her head. She whispered something and he started arranging the beads between her boobs! It wasn't quite 'public fondling' ...until she arched her back. Little slut! The guy took a double handful and the crowd went nuts. Jess wrapped her arms around him and gave a deep, open-mouthed kiss as he groped the Magnificent Rack.

It was a girls-gone-wild instant classic. Not exactly what I'd pictured the other night, but it was close enough. I was hyper-horny, then went suddenly numb. My dick was still straining denim, but I had that weird detachment again, like I'd just blown a fuse. Watching this hot babe working the crowd right in front of me... it didn't seem real. She's your wife! Part of me, not sure what, dropped into a coma. Part of me wanted to haul her into the john and fuck her right there.

The crowd was chanting "Do It! Do It! Do it!" Not sure what "it" was, but if felt like they were ready for a live sex show. Jess broke the off the kiss, still panting, and the guy staggered back. She pulled her shirt down and the screams calmed to civilized applause. As she waved to her fans, the lucky guy disappeared with a big, sheepish smile.




Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 03



I stepped in to fill the void and handed Jess her next margarita. She ignored the glass and plastered herself against me; smacking me with the same luscious kiss she'd just given a stranger. There was more hooting and hollering as I felt the heat of her shared mouth, the pressure of her very wanted lips. All the numbness faded under pure sensation: her leaning against me, her mouth on mine, her warm, tight body pressing against my dick. It felt like we had to be crackling lightning.

We never would've done this at a bar at home. Not the flashing, obviously, but even the heavy kissing in public. Here, now, it wasn't inappropriate -- it was demanded. We came up for air and she leaned back against the stool. There were no more bouncing boobs, though, and no more kissers lined up. The crowd started turning away, calming down. Jess seemed relieved and disappointed at the same time.

I handed her the drink for real this time. She finished her first with a great big gulp, got throat freeze, and reached for the next. She grimaced as she took the full glass.

I still had to shout. "Hey, is there anything I can do to warm up your throat?"

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "I'm sure you've got ideas."

I glanced at the cowboy sitting next to her -- the one that had been staring the whole time. "I'm sure I'm not the only one."

Jess looked at the guy. He turned beet red and she crossed her arms. "You owe me two necklaces, mister!"

The cowboy cracked a nervous smile and held up a pile of beads. The accent was thick southern. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't have any pearls ready."

Jess dropped her jaw and stomped her foot. "What are you suggesting?"

"Ah. I, uh--" the guy stammered.

The folks around us tuned back in. The cowboy glanced at me, a little unsure, and I gave him the it's cool nod. He looked down and I could see a sigh of relief.

He was working on a comeback, but her hips weren't a foot from his face. He drank in her slender legs; then leaned just enough to steal a half-peek under her tennis skirt.

"That's three necklaces!"

He had a shit-eating grin as he shook his head. "I'm a little drunk, sweetheart, and you're kinda standing. As sweet as you look, I still don't think I could reach way up there. If you'd like to come down here..."

"Kneel on this floor? You've got to be kidding!"

 Kneel? The cowboy's eyes flashed wide and mine did too.  Is she serious?He glanced at her knees, the floor and the front door. His thoughts were flashing in liquid pearl. Is she saying she'll kneel somewhere else?

"Well," he drawled, "I suppose we could finish our drinks..."

Jess covered her mouth, shocked. I'm sure. She glanced at me for guidance but I was looking back at the crowd. From the faces I saw, most of these guys imagined her kneeling. By the time I turned back to her, she'd turned back to him.

What, exactly, was my little slut thinking? I tried a hip-to-hip nudge to get her attention, but with the crowd jostling, it came off as a groin poke. Shit. She stumbled toward him and I know she felt how hard I was. He caught her, hands on her hips, and she flashed me a coy, over-the-shoulder smile.

Jess plopped into his lap -- "Whoops!" -- trying not to spill her drink on the way down.

The cowboy steadied her, his right hand going across her like a seat belt. He saw the ring on her finger, then glanced to see if I had the same. I could see a calculation as his left hand landed on her bare thigh. He offered the seatbelt hand to me. "Brent!"

"Nick." We shook while the wife took great big gulps of margarita, playing oblivious to the hand creeping up her thigh. "...And this is Jessica."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." We traded a look -- he was still calculating.

His right hand went to her bare midriff and his thumb slid under the lip of her shirt. Not that anyone but me could see in this crush, but his left hand was in danger of disappearing up her very short skirt. At this point, I couldn't hide my smile.

Brent caught it. "You two are quite a couple!"

"We have a good time."

Brent scanned the crowd, nodding. "And you give a good time! Nick, you are a lucky man!"

Jessica stopped mid-sip and sucked in a deep breath. His right hand was still on her midriff but his left was hidden under her skirt. "Four necklaces..." She mumbled.

I couldn't believe it. Did he really...? I looked a little closer and... Holy Shit, he really did! I could see his forearm moving. Rhythmically. No, I could believe it, but I couldn't believe how bad I wanted to watch it happen.

Those full lips parted and she took another catching breath. Her legs spread, unconsciously, and her skirt slid up. Her g-string was pulled to the side, exposing pussy, and Brent was rubbing her clit.

Holy Fucking Shit. In my head, I knew it. I knew what was happening under the skirt, between the thighs, but seeing it... hit hard. My wife, my loving little slut, was putting on a show -- and I wanted to watch more than anything in the world.

Jess caught her breath and tried to cover with another sip. The guy next to me peeked down then did a double take. He elbowed his buddy and that guy almost fell over. They watched as discreetly as they could, which wasn't real discreet.

Brent noticed them, then looked at me. Is this okay? I glanced at Jessica's chest and shot him a nod. He took the cue, his right hand popping her shirt up, exposing her luscious tits.

Jess glanced up. She was looking for my reaction, but she instantly noticed the other guys. Brent was rolling a nipple between his fingers, and I seemed to be okay with it, so she played it cool. As the cowboy fondled both clit and tit, she caressed his breast hand and took another long draw off her massive margarita.

After a deep breath, Jessica arched her back, pushing her swaying boobs into Brent's hands. It was white hot -- a good distraction as she brought her legs a little closer. Maybe she'd played it too cool before? As she sipped, she pulled her skirt back over the cowboy's hand. Not that it hid much.

It was a good thing it was so dark, and a good thing she was sitting. If everyone saw this... I don't know. I'm pretty sure only the three of us could see -- but it felt like the whole world might be watching. Part of me hoped it was. I do know her second massive margarita was more than half gone.

Brent adjusted between her thighs. Jessica hunched over a little and tried to take another sip but all she could do was bite her lip. Her tits started jiggling as he picked up the pace. She started panting and her thighs seemed to relax. Her gaze was lost in the tequila as she ignored the crush of people forming our human wall.

After a minute, it seemed like she hit a plateau. She closed her eyes in calm bliss as she started sipping again. Her half-naked body rocked to the rhythm as she drained the last of her drink.

Her breathing started picking up. Her eyes flickered open and she lofted her empty glass. Take it. The guy next to me took it, their hands touching, and Jess smiled at him. She was bringing her audience closer.

Jessica glanced at her other voyeur then looked at me with eyes wide, demanding my attention. She tilted her head down and my gaze followed. As I looked, she opened her legs and her skirt slid back up over Brent's hand. The cowboy had two fingers half-buried in her pussy.

God-- I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. All I could do was feel -- and I felt ready to swat his hand aside and fuck her where she sat.

I glanced around. The bouncers had no clue, though the two guys beside me were staring slackjawed. With a little space now, Brent pulled out to the fingertips and circled her very wet, very open pussy. You see this? You know what she needs? A beat later, he plunged those fingers right to the knuckle.

Jessica's legs fell wide open. No more playing it cool. Brent followed her lead and didn't hold back. His whole arm shook as his fingers pistoned deep. Her tits really started bouncing and she braced her hands on her bare, open legs. It was only his hand, but she was definitely being fucked.

The guys next to me couldn't tear their eyes away. Both of them were adjusting constantly -- and she was starting at their crotches. I knew the next steps, I could see it already: Jessica fingered on Brent's lap, giving head to a pair of strangers in public. These two could feel it -- they were on the verge of pulling their dicks out.

Should I? My God, I'd never wanted her to suck my cock more than I wanted it right now. She was pure sex. I don't think we'd ever even fantasized this far, this public, but here it was, happening. Do it!

My brain couldn't believe what my eyes were seeing. My imagination was already sprinting ahead, strobing flashes of fantasy, maybe predictions. I could see Jessica reaching behind her, pulling Brent's dick from his pants, sliding her pussy down his pole. I saw her reverse riding him as she switched back and forth, blowing the three of us. I wanted to see it; I wanted to watch my beautiful slut. I wanted to watch the crowd watch her. I wanted to see cum already dripping from her face as she wrapped her lips around my cock.

Stop. Not smart. I did not want to get thrown in the drunk tank.

Fuck her now! I ran my hand over my crotch but I was afraid I'd come if I pulled it out. Drunk tank, asshole. I shook my head. You can push this higher -- enjoy it longer. Could I? Would she? Look at her. There was no question. I would take her somewhere, another alcove in the shadows...

Jessica locked eyes with me as she held her breath. A second later, her chest heaved and her legs snapped shut around Brent's hand. Her mouth was open in a silent sigh and I think there was a tear in her eye -- but we never broke gaze.

Wow.

I tried to put words to what we just shared but it wasn't working. Jessica couldn't really breathe right now, much less say anything.

She took a moment, leaning against the cowboy's shoulder. "Never mind; I owe you a necklace."

Brent smiled. His left hand was her new panties, still locked between her thighs. His right hand was gently caressing the hang of her naked boobs. "Hey, for all the imaginations you fired tonight, I had to give a little back."

Yeah, that's nice. "The cowboy is a gentleman." I held my hand out to my wife. We need to go and I need to come. After a second to catch her breath, Jessica reached up and took it. Once on her feet, the crowd suddenly woke up as they noticed the Magnificent Rack was back. There wasn't even time for a bell to ring as she pulled her shirt back down. I could hear murmurs all around, everybody pretty sure they must've just missed something. The four of us; the two voyeurs, Brent and me, were the only ones close enough to see her little tennis skirt once again hide the Promised Land.

Brent nodded and squinted at the both of us. "Does this mean you're leavin'?"

"Yes it does." One voyeur's shoulders slumped; the other was still keeping eye contact with my wife's tits. "Jess, give the man a memento to remember you by."

Jessica blinked for a second but she found my wavelength. She glanced around, pulled up her skirt, and pulled down her panties in one smooth move. There was the briefest flash of pussy, then she draped her damp g-string over his wet hand.

I started to pull her hand, but I had a vision, a flashback of imagination. I wanted to see cum already dripping from her face as she wrapped her lips around my cock. I glanced at my sweet, slut wife and she smiled at me. It was the same smile I saw before we climbed into the cab last night. Yeah, she will. I leaned closer to the cowboy. "You still owe her a necklace, bud."

Brent lit up like a man receiving salvation. "A pearl necklace...?"

"Definitely no beads. Meet us..." Shit. Where? "...Two blocks north in five minutes."

He started repeating the directions but I didn't wait to see if he got it. I pulled Jessica's hand and we made our way toward the door. As we closed on the exit, people started clapping -- and Jess turned and waved.

"One more!" "Don't go!" "Marry me!"

Jess put a fingertip in her mouth, thinking about it. A second later, she lifted her shirt one last time. There was a rain of beads. I pulled Jessica past the bouncers and I got claps on the back as we left.

The night air hit us like a polar blast. Jess shivered a second, then quickly adjusted. It wasn't that it was so cold outside, it was that it was so hot inside.

We made distance in silence, power-walking half a block before we slowed down. It felt like we were perps, leaving the scene of a crime.

Jess looked back over shoulder, her finger back in her mouth. "Did we go too far?"

"We're only a half block away."

She hit me.

"We have another block and a half to go."

"Are you serious?"

"Sure. Yes. Wait. About what?"

She pointed back towards the pub. "Two blocks north."

"I thought I said two blocks but I'm kinda scattered. What did I say?"

"No. I mean... about a pearl necklace!" She blinked at me as the words hung in the air. "I mean; I want to. I really want to... but do you want me to?"

"Definitely." Really? I don't know. Jeezuz! Yes. The answer was 'yes'. "...Is that wrong?"

Jess put the contemplative finger back in her mouth, seriously thinking about it. She shook her head with just a hint of a smile. "Am I your whore now?"

"Huh?" Did she really just say that?

We dodged drunk pedestrians and I rolled her words over in my head. I felt pimptastically guilty, but I did set it up and she was willing. My wife = my whore? It was as if the words shared the same "w." God forgive me but I liked the symmetry. "Baby, you're the whore that I adore."

That hint broke into a full grin. "What happens on Mardi Gras stays in Mardi Gras?"

"Definitely."

We crossed the street, threading slow moving traffic, and Jessica got a whistle. The guy was on the far side, but she flashed him anyway. He almost fell over.

We were just past the two-block mark and we stopped by a very dark, very quiet alley. I was ready to pull her into the darkness, find another alcove like we'd found on our first night here. Keep her for myself. Let the fantasies stay fantasies. I took one step--

"Nick! Jessica!"

I turned to see the cowboy jogging to catch up to us. The other two voyeurs were right behind him. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. I wasn't sure if it was good or bad that I didn't immediately know if it was good or bad.

The cowboy glanced behind, annoyed, then back to us. "Are we still on?"

I had visions of Jess doing all of us, but I had to keep control. I pointed at Brent's followers as they caught up. "You didn't."

"Naw, I didn't." Brent thumbed toward the pair. "The guys... well, they heard. I guess it's up to you two."

One of the voyeurs raised his hands, looking for forgiveness. The other shrugged like a lost puppy, ready to go with anything. "Hey, I'll just watch, fetch coffee, whatever."

My wife looked at me with the tiniest head tilt, like she was asking permission. Little slut. I glanced between them and said it with my eyes: your call.

Jessica bit her lip as she considered it. I saw a glint flash from her hand -- she was playing with her wedding ring.

A mature, dick-shriveling wave of responsibility washed over me. Concerns of condoms, disease and stalker weirdos were a total buzz kill. I cocked an eyebrow and pointed around the group. "Who's done this before? Or anything like it?"

Everybody glanced around, looking for somebody more experienced. Why did this feel so familiar? The memory shook itself out of my noggin: we'd actually shared a fantasy like this one time. I shook my head and held up my hand. "Us either. Right time, right place. We're married, she's on the pill, so we don't even carry condoms. Are you guys... clean?"

They seemed ecstatic at the mere suggestion something might happen. I saw nods all around. "Yeah." "Nothing here." "I'm healthy."

It was really stupid, as if I'd ever know, but I scanned each of them. I didn't see heroin tracks, or missing teeth or gaunt faces. It seemed safe. "Okay. I'm not giving any of you do's or don'ts. What the lady says, goes. Cool?"

"Yeah." "Of course." "No problem."

All eyes shifted to Jess, who was still playing with her wedding ring. My wife blew me a kiss, then reached out to shake the hand of the closest voyeur. He was the taller one that took her margarita glass. As their hands touched, I swear her kiss hit me like a delayed shockwave. "I'm Jessica."

"I'm--"

"No," Jess cut him off. "Don't tell me. It's better that way."

Wha...? Kinky.

The other guy reached out. "Hello Jessica."

She shook his hand and smiled. She had that smile; her eyes were warm and wanton. It was an invite. "Hi."

Jessica glanced both ways down the sidewalk, making sure nobody else was watching. When the coast was clear, she slipped into the alley. Her hips were swaying like a snake charmer. We all just stood and watched like idiots as she disappeared into the shadows.

Once she was out of earshot, I turned to the other guys. "Okay, what are your names?"

The taller one was straining to see into the dark. He looked at me and offered a hand. "James." The shorter, slightly stockier one followed suit. "Vince."

"You guys know each other?"

Vince shook his head. "Not before an hour ago."

I clapped him on the back. "Amazing what wine and women can do, ain't it?"

"Women like that, yeah."

James adjusted his pants and glanced into the dark. I could see some worry under the excitement. "This is pretty intense, man. You sure you're okay with it?"

"I dunno. Never done it before. So far, though, so good."

I trotted into the shadows and the other three followed. In just a few steps, it got real dark. There was still a city glow over our heads, and party noise in the distance, but I couldn't see 2 feet in front of me. I kept my hands out, staggering around trashcans and milk crates. Score one for public works, though; at least it didn't smell like an alley. Still, I wondered just how my drunken wife had managed to get so far without tripping. 40 yards into the darkness, I got a "Pssst!"

There was a dimly lit alcove some 20 yards in the distance but Jessica's voice was just over my shoulder. I turned and could tell my eyes were adjusting; I could just barely make out her face. "Whew. Starting to think I'd lost you."

"If I had panties," she whispered, "I'd throw them at you."

"Good thing you don't." I looked hard through the darkness, seeing only brick walls and a 'NO LOADING' sign. The three guys were catching up to us. "What did ya have in mind?"

I could see her point at the lighted alcove. "Go see if there's anybody there. If it's safe, call me over."

"Gotcha."

I walked over to the alcove -- and the guys fell in behind me. The recess had a dim, single bulb light behind a safety basket. There were no markings on the door, but there was a doorbell. I listened at the door but couldn't hear anything. Two rings of the doorbell and we waited, all four of us looking around like it was a private eye convention. 30 seconds later, still no answer. We're clear. I whistled.

Jess emerged from the shadows a moment later -- stark naked and carrying a milk crate. "Nice." "Ohhhoho -- wow." "Ohmygahd."

A milk crate?

Her clothes were folded over her arm and she slid between us to set the heavy plastic crate in the middle of the alcove. She put her clothes right in front of the crate and crooked a finger at Brent. "You owe me a necklace."




Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 03



She patted the top of the milk crate and knelt on her folded clothes.

Brent didn't waste any time, unzipping his fly as he stepped over. He was pulling his dick out as he sat down and Jess flashed me a glance. I'm not sure what she was thinking; maybe she was just looking for my reaction. It was only a glance, though, as she turned and took a long, admiring look at Brent's cock before leaning forward and taking him into her mouth.

Ho, shi.... Jessica slid her lips further down Brent's shaft. She's my... I was short of breath, utterly shocked. Wasn't I? I saw this last night. What am I feeling now? Can it be shock?. I couldn't tell. I was used to porn, watching anonymous actors. By that scale, this visual was just friggin' smokin'. I didn't know the guy, but the woman... was my wife.

Brent groaned. I was afraid he was already coming, but no -- the alcohol saved him.

I didn't know what to expect tonight. When we walked down the alley, I had no idea what was going to happen or how. I didn't have to; Jess guided it along. I watched as she closed her eyes and caressed her tits. She was deep in the sensations as her lips made love to Brent's cock. She was a goddess, a natural; meant to be a porn star. Or maybe not, but she was definitely meant to be my wife-whore. Maybe that was the shock.

Porn star or not, this did need to be captured. She wouldn't always be young, but she was young right now. I pulled out my cell phone and snapped a shot. It had a pretty good camera -- and the picture was crisp and clear and captured forever.

Vince and James both pulled out their own gadgets. "Fucking awesome, man. Do you mind?"

I didn't want this kind of thing circulating. No, wait... right now, I really did. "Go ahead."

Both the guys stepped in a little closer, shooting my wife's face as a cock slid between her lips. I could see worry in her eyes, then she glanced at me -- right into the camera-phone lens. Jess and I had watched a few pornos, we'd made a few homebrew -- she knew how to look at the camera. And that's the way she looked at me.

Brent held up a hand. "Don't get my face."

Vince shook his head and took another pic. "You' re not that pretty, man." James clarified, just in case: "It's her face we want."

Jessica smiled for the cameras, gave a cutesy little wave, and wrapped her lips back around Brent's cock. It was simple: she was hot, she knew it, she shared it. Vince was snapping the whole time -- and Brent suddenly tensed up. Jess must've felt it. She popped her lips off and slid her hand down his shaft.

One stroke and the cowboy shot a rope across her nose. Jess was cooing, moaning as Brent took over, dragging his cock across her cheek as it pulsed out his cum. He splattered cum across her lip and left a glob on her jaw.

Jess felt it, and touched it as it started to dribble down. "Thanks for the necklace..."

There was a moment, something shared between Brent, Jessica and me. It was warm, hot, sexy... I couldn't really put my finger on it. Vince and James were sorta sharing it, but not really. They recorded it, though -- James with a camera phone and Vince with a little Canon digital.

Jess stood up and we all watched her boobs wobble. I think Brent was about to fall off the milk crate. The two voyeurs took a couple more snaps of her just standing naked, cum glistening across her smiling face. I wanted to watch her suck these other two, I really, really did; but I simply couldn't wait any longer.

"My wife, my turn..." Jessica smiled at me and I watched a strand of cum stretch between her lips and her cheek. She'd never looked sexier. I smiled back at her -- then guided her one step backward, toward Brent. Now she stood right between his opened legs, right where she'd been kneeling a moment ago. "...Like you were in the bar."

Jessica got a devious, wet smile. She bent over at the waist, her pussy just inches from Brent's face. She turned and stepped into the tennis skirt lying on the ground. She slowly slid the skirt up her legs like a reverse strip tease. Brent's dick was still out and it was getting hard again. Maybe he never got soft. Jess could have that effect.

She still hadn't said a word as she picked her no-longer-white shirt off the concrete ground. Dirty. She gave it a cute shake, slipped her arms through and pulled it over her head -- but she didn't pull it down. With boobs still standing free, she looked just like she had right after she'd been fingered in the bar.

Brent was staring at her ass, burning a hole through her skirt. He helped guide her as she lowered herself onto his right leg. The milk crate wasn't that stable, but the position was just like they'd had earlier. The cowboy knew what to do, sliding his hand up her thigh.

She smiled, a little coy, and her legs opened as his hand got higher. Her miniskirt slid its way back up and Brent began circling her clit. She looked at me, the splattered cum on her face shining in the light. "Is this what you wanted in the bar?"

"Close."

I pulled my cock from my pants and gave it a squeeze. I felt like I was holding a lead pipe. Between her thighs, Brent was already dipping a finger in her glistening pussy. She wasn't moist or damp -- she was wet. As her juices lubed his finger, he pushed it deeper and deeper.

I'd waited this long, I waited a moment longer as Brent slipped in a second finger. Jessica moaned as his two-fingers started fucking her. Really fucking her. Now. With a hand on the back of her head, I guided her cum-spattered face to my cock. Her eyes closed. Her whole body shook as her thick lips parted. My shaft sunk into her hot, wet mouth. "Now this is what I wanted."

It was awesome.

It was pure porn, but I hadn't downloaded this vision off the net. I felt almost out-of-body, watching, but the sensation never faded. What I saw wasn't that unusual in porn: a woman with come already on her face, blowing another man. But the woman I was watching wasn't some anonymous model; she was my wife.

Damn. Still shocked. I knew I wasn't going to last long.

Jessica had a hand on my shaft, stroking what she couldn't swallow. She knew she had me. She popped her lips off and two-hand stroked as she glanced at her audience -- they were still filming. With a glob of Brent's jizz oozing down her cheekbone, she looked me eye to eye. "Who's your little cumslut?"

"You are, baby."

She closed her eyes and plunged her mouth back around my shaft. I could tell she'd be smiling if it weren't for the cock in her mouth. This was not typical porn, I revised; it was premium quality porn. This woman wasn't an actress; she was an artist -- she loved it as much as we did.

Brent looked at me and I could see the pleading in his eyes. I glanced around my wife's rocking shoulders and saw he was pointing straight up. His hard shaft was rubbing against her tanned, toned ass. I nodded to him.

He pulled his hands back, taking a hold of her hips, and raised her up. She went with it, standing, bracing herself with a hand on her thigh. Brent guided her hips a little to the left and she slowed down. She knew what was coming. I wanted to see it but I couldn't be in two places at once. At least I knew it was being captured on video. She hesitated, locking gaze with me as Brent guided her hips lower. There was a pause; then her eyes grew wide as her ass sunk another six inches. Then another pause on the bottom -- and I knew this stranger had impaled my wife on his cock.

Her eyes closed and my head spun.

Brent started bouncing her hips off his lap, fucking her deep. I held my wife's head steady, pumping my cock almost as deep into her mouth. She gagged a little and I tried to be careful, but I didn't stop. She braced herself, one hand on her thigh, but she was moaning as her other hand cupped her breasts. I could just see the sides of her tits swinging as she was fucked hard on both ends.

She popped her lips off and she was breathing in gasps. She stroked me as she looked at Brent over her shoulder. "Oh, God, yes. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me..."

I was dizzy.

She was moving her hips, helping Brent out as he bounced her off his lap. With her eyes closed, she guided her mouth back to my prick. I could see her face scrunch -- she was savoring it as she took me deep, the tip of my cock edging into her throat. She started swallowing around my shaft, milking me with her throat. My God, her mouth was better than most women's pussies.

It hit me: we were in the reverse of last night: she was getting fucked by another man as she blew me. Was this as good? I was so lightheaded, I couldn't tell. It felt like all my blood was in my dick. It felt... better than last night. Why? Shock not as big? Just enjoying it more? Because I've always enjoyed receiving head? Because -- Oh, fuck!

I was coming.

I loved coming in her mouth, there was no better feeling, but habit kicked in. Jessica had long been my fantasy porn star, and now it was intensely actual. I pulled out as I felt the tingle rushing up my shaft. I gripped, but I couldn't hold back, shooting a massive pearly burst across her nose, splashing over a closed eyelid.

Jessica was still bouncing. Usually, when I came, she focused on me. This time -- she was still fucking. Brent was pounding my wife with a vengeance. I felt the second pulse coming as strong as the first.

I aimed low on her cheek. A massive blast splashed along her jaw. It was obvious how excited I'd been -- and for how long. A third and a fourth burst followed, low on her cheek.

She ran her hands under her boobs and cupped them, lifting them, offering them. She looked at me, her lips pursed, one eye closed with cum. She was into it. Her whole body was rocking from the fucking she was getting.

I was past shooting, now just oozing the last of the cum out my cock. I stroked the shaft, milking it across her high cheekbones, painting what Brent had missed before. I used my cock to wipe the cum from her eye -- and she gave my cock a deep, wet French kiss.

I staggered back and she leaned back -- forcing Brent's cock deeper inside.

Her big boobs were bouncing and cum was dripping from her jaw, splattering across her tits. I loved seeing that. For the first time, I watched another man's cock thrust deep into my wife's pussy -- and it looked beautiful.

As I cleared them, Vince and James practically body checked each other to get closer. They were still taking video.

I watched the four of them, and for once in our fantasy life, it wasn't all about my orgasm. Brent was fucking my wife and she was loving it. I felt a twinge of jealousy, a pang of guilt. Jess was moving her hips, massaging Brent's cock with her cunt. There was another flash of jealousy, this one with a hint of regret. Jessica's eyes were closed, she was moaning, making love to his shaft like this was the greatest thing she's ever done. And she looked good doing it.

My wife was better than any porno chick I'd ever seen... or at least as good as the best of them. Brent was in an altered state, Jessica's pussy like heroin. No, this was the right thing. I looked at the four of them and my hesitations faded away. This was meant to be.

Vince unzipped and pulled his dick out. James did the same and both men were rock hard. They both started slow stroking, watching the live sex show just a foot in front of them. I saw Brent whisper something and Jess' eyes popped open.

There was no surprise, no hesitation as she reached out for them both. She took a cock in each hand and stroking them in unison, bringing them closer and closer. Her tits were swaying and she leaned forward, licking her lips. She looked between them, deciding, and a second later, her mouth plunged over James' cock.

I'd just come -- this should take a while -- but I already felt myself hardening.

She was unbelievable, mouthing James and stroking Vince. She built a rhythm with Brent beneath her, then switched -- sliding her mouth down Vince's shaft. The sounds were sloppy wet, popping and slapping. It felt like she was doing me, too. She'd missed her calling.

She bobbed on Vince for a few moments, then switched back to James. There was no tongueing, no tricks, no technique -- just two guys fucking one girl's mouth. Her tits went from sway to jiggle as the four of them set a pace. They were a little rough, and from her groans, I could hear she was enjoying it.

I pulled my camera back out and framed the next picture. The guys were still shooting their own first-person video, and I took my own, framing the whole scene. I was watching a mostly-naked woman -- my wife-- fucked on one man's lap while blowing another two. This was a special kind of porn: a gangbang.

I thought of the groups of guys that had seen Jessica flash on our first night here. I thought of the party on that porch that went nuts for her -- and I remembered their invite. I remember fantasizing as we fucked in that alcove, imagining what I was now seeing. They wanted what I had.

I heard a grunt -- Brent -- and Jessica stopped bouncing. She didn't stop rocking, she was still noisily blowing her voyeurs, but Brent was holding her hips against his own. He started groaning and I knew he was coming deep inside her.

I could see Jessica slow her oral sex as she shifted her hips ever so slightly. I knew what she was doing -- she was milking the cum out of him. She'd done that to me a thousand times and it never failed to make every last pulse a strong one. I remember one time thinking that it felt too good to keep to myself, too good to not share. I tilted my head and looked below. Brent's shaft was buried to the base, his cock deep in her red, wet pussy. I saw her shift her hips again and all I could think was: it's about time.

I second later: What am I thinking? I was wasting time. Jessica hadn't let go of Vince or James, though I tapped Brent. My turn.

The cowboy lifted her hips and Jessica gently stood, her face still buried in James' pelvis. Brent's spent, wet cock popped out with a squishy, sucking sound. It was obscene, dirty -- and fucking hot.

I pulled my still-damp cock from my pants and slid in behind her. The milk crate was wobbly, but it was enough. I lifted my hardened cock to her sopping wet, freshly fucked pussy. As my tip brushed her lips open, a glob of cum dropped, plopping on the concrete.

She looked over her shoulder at me. I expected to see a self-conscious grimace, but she was wearing a wicked smile. She was still stroking the James and Vince as she wiggled her ass over my cock. "Do you like me like this?"

I grabbed her hips. No lube necessary, I pulled her down -- and plunged deep inside. "I" Thrust. "Fucking." Thrust. "Love." Thrust. "You." Thrust. "Like." Thrust. "This."

She could barely breathe. "OhMyGod... You'reSoHard!"

"Yes I am..."

I wasn't letting up and it took Jess another second to catch her breath. She turned back to the cocks bouncing off her cheek -- and James took two-hand hold of her head. He lined up, she didn't resist, and he thrust his shaft into her mouth.

It was like last night again, me fucking and her blowing -- but twice as much. Awesome. This time, though, her pussy was sloppy wet, covered in a foamy white gel, and wonderfully loose. I watched Jessica's back flex as she started bobbing on the cocks before her. I was seeing things I'd only imagined. It was a marvel, a drunken marvel how good it felt to be fucking my well-used slut wife.

I watched her switch back and forth between James and Vince and the rules went through my head. It was fine that she dined, but she wouldn't kiss me with cream on her lips. In fact, I found I really liked watching her dine. Second was... seconds. I had no desire for cream pie, but feeling her frothy pussy was a special pleasure.

I heard a grunt and James suddenly stiffened.

I slowed up and looked over her shoulder. "Watch yer aim."

I don't know if he heard me, but he was careful enough. His whole body jerked, but it looked like his cock was pressed right against her face. He was practically hyperventilating. "...Oh-God-You-Are-So-Fuck-Hot."

"Agh...!" Vince pulled out a second later and stroked himself against her face. "Shit!"

Jessica gave an evil little giggle as the men rubbed their dripping cocks against her cheeks. My cock was still slow-thrusting into her sloppy-soft pussy, but right now, she was all about the guests. She held them, one in each fist, and stroked them at each corner of her mouth. She gave a little switch, a little suck to each, and kept them right at her mouth.

Vince was still holding his canon digital, living this through his lens -- and he handed me the camera. With one hand still guiding her hips, I took the cam and looked at the display. It was a still of Jessica; her face frosted like a pastry, her eyes closed in bliss -- and the tips of 2 dicks stuffed in her wide-open mouth.

Slut. Beautiful slut. My beautiful... I was coming.

My eyes squeezed shut. I wanted to watch, I wanted to see my cock sliding into her, disappearing between the lips of her swollen pussy. But my eyes couldn't open.

I held on to her hips, held on for dear life. She was my sense of balance, my touchstone to my own body. I felt like I was emptying my soul into her.

I coasted a moment longer, waiting to feel a twinge of regret. It never came.

My sense of balance returned slowly. My eyes flickered open but I was still wobbly. Vince and James had backed off.

Jess was looking at me over her shoulder. She had a warm, warm smile. A loving smile. "Are you alright back there...?"

I pulled her hips as tight as I could into my lap. "I've never come that hard in my life."

She kissed her fingers, and touched my cheek. I could feel the moisture. It almost violated the rules, but right then, I didn't care. We'd shared something. We'd shared something cosmic.

A breeze blew down the alley and it felt suddenly chilly. The adrenaline spent, the alcohol fading, it felt like it was time to retreat.

Jessica pulled her shirt just high enough to wipe the cum from her face. It left her thin, white shirt a transparent mess -- and there wasn't much mystery to what that mess was -- especially if you got with two feet of her.

Vince was just putting his tool back in his trousers as Jess wiped off. He took the opportunity to snap off one last picture. "Well, that's two memory cards."

I wobbled to my feet. "Two things. First, you need to send us copies of everything. Second, you need to be discreet."

"No problem, man."

James started writing his email out. "You guys want to get some breakfast or something?"

Jessica smiled and patted his arm. "That's really sweet, but I feel like..." She looked down at her cum-soaked shirt, and the wet spots we left on the concrete. "...Well, I feel like I'm going to pass out. I think I'm just going to steal my hubby and head back to our hotel."

James nodded, but they all looked a little sad.

Brent handed us a business card. "Umm... use the personal email on the back. Got my phone and address there, too. If anything, uh, weird should come up, I'm hoping you'll contact me about that, too." He looked around. "Barring any weirdness, though, if y'all ever want to party again..."

Jess leaned to give him a hug, and it looked like he would've accepted one last rub against the rack -- but she glanced at her cum-frosted shirt and bailed at the last second. She curtsied instead and took his card. "If you guys are ever passing through L.A., give us a call. Can't guarantee anything'll happen -- but after tonight, I think we're all friends here."

Vince stood a little taller. "Damn straight!"




Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 04



****************************

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm keeping the "sketches" in the title just so it orders right in the list... but this story, and these characters, have moved way past sketches.

You don't need to read the first three to get the fourth one. It's pretty easy to grasp that our married characters have been very naughty and now they're dealing with it. To really get why, though, we had to see where the craziness began. We had to go to a time shortly before the beginning of the series.

This is not your standard stroke story: most of the narrative is flashback and introspection. Imagine throwing a cigarette in the corner of your sofa cushions. You start with some smoke, then you get hints of smolder, then a touch of flame, then suddenly the whole house is blazing. B&P 4 is kinda like that.

WARNING: If you're easily offended, don't waste your time or mine by reading any further. If you can't separate characters from the writer, you need a reality check. If you're compensating for something, or suffer from poor impulse control, high blood pressure, or guilty remorse, try something safely traditional in "erotic couplings." Your head may actually explode if you read this.

Whichever head explodes, feel free to share in the comments. Feedback is a wonderful thing for writers: it's lets us know if we're doing what we set out to do. Leave a note, won't you?

Thanks,

Wilson

****************************

I glanced at the clock. It was noon, already past usual Sunday service times. They still have church in the mornings, right? Maybe we could find some evening session at a Catholic church somewhere. Heck, my soul was a pile of Methodist debris, but confession would do us well.

Jesus, what had we done?

This New Orleans trip rolled around my head like a marble in a can of Boddington's. There was a whole mob of folk that knew what Jess looked like with her top off. Not that weird for Mardi Gras... but six of those guys learned how much Jess loved to cut loose. Seven guys if you count me. The 3 last night had photographic evidence – along with our real names and numbers.

We'd partied hard, harder than I imagined we might. A lot of dirty fantasies came to life. My wife had slipped into the role of sex toy and "slut" was our new term of endearment. I wondered if we'd gone too far. And where do you go when you've gone too far? Was that really when the bullet hit the bone?

I looked over to see Jess laying in bed, half naked, blankly staring at the wall. It was a little creepy.

"Are you okay?"

"I feel ill."

"Close your eyes."

"God, no. I'll just see them again."

"Brent? James? Vince?"

"Who else?" Her eyes finally closed, then shut tight. "And Frank, and Robert, and a few of the others."

My pulse jumped and my cock jumped with it. "Really," I covered under a cool reply. "...And a few others, huh?"

She nodded silently.

Last night, we were walking back after the alleyway craziness and I mentioned maybe keeping the swing-thing going when we got home. That's when sex in the office came up. She was coy about it, but hearing the names now didn't surprise me.

She buried her face in my side. "Yeah."

The office. God, what a can of worms that would be. I still get a very peculiar memory of "Frank" -- him in a cold sweat, his zipper wide open as he ran towards the front door. Yeah, there was a story behind that. It was how this craziness got started, the story behind this whole Mardi Gras trip.

They say what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Let me tell you, what happens in Vegas, never, ever stays in Vegas. Or New Orleans or anywhere else. If it's interesting, it'll find a way to get around -- just ask Jack Ryan or David Vitter or Eliot Spitzer. I wasn't sure how, I wasn't sure where or when... but it was inevitable something was going to pop up at some inopportune moment. Somebody in her office (like Frank) was going to find half-naked pictures of Jessica on some soft-porn boob site featuring "Mardi Gras action." Her whole office knew we were going, and I was sure they'd be combing the net. A week ago, I didn't really care. Last night, I would've piped the little gangbang to them live. Right now, I had some reservations.

Jess works for a small, 12-man marketing agency. The company does everything from imprinting kitchy promotional crap to producing television commercials. They are successful because their angle is consistent and focused: sex sells. Not original, but it fits their "edgy" clientele. She is the only woman in the office and rounds out the firm to a lucky 13.

She is first and foremost their bubbly flirt of a receptionist. Occasionally, she moonlights as their in-house model and back-up voice talent. She is a natural exhibitionist, embodying the firm philosophy with tight blouses, deep cleavage and short skirts behind a minimal glass desk. It has launched her from "perky phone girl" to being their company mascot

Risky behavior anywhere else was Standard Operating Procedure at this firm. Since sex sells, they talk sex -- it keeps them in the zone. Still, in the six years she'd been there, boundaries had never been breached. Tested, teased and taunted perhaps, but never compromised. These guys were smart and professional, even when it was so fucking tantalizing they just wanted to bury their face in her married cleavage.

Of the 12 men she works with, 6 are married (only 3 faithfully) and 6 are various shades of single. Jess gets along with all of them, each on different levels. One of the single guys is friendly but indifferent; he might be gay but nobody knows for sure. The other single guys are all shameless voyeurs, and the 3 philanderers are worse yet. The 3 faithfuls are courteous, professional and treat her with all the delicacy of sweaty sexual nitroglycerine.

Everybody there knows me and knows I could flatten the lot of them. There's no real physical competition. Everybody there knows she loves me. No emotional competition. The pressure is off. Maybe four years ago, at one of their raging office parties, I got a kick out of dipping in double entendre with my sexy wife. Once I did it, then everybody could do it. And for 4 years, they did. As long as she's comfortable, then it's all in good fun.

At later parties, after folk got their drunk on, conversations inevitably turned to sex. There was always plenty of bragging, all the way around, and they definitely knew Jess and I played sex games. For four years, no problems -- at least until this last New Year's Eve.

Not three months ago, I mingled at my office soirée and planned to party hop to hers around 11. By then, as I understand it, Jess was stoking a pretty strong buzz. With the company picking up cab fare, so were most of her workmates, a stable of clients, plus wives and girlfriends and caterers.

Jess escaped to the very dark second-floor patio for a little air and wasn't concerned when someone silently joined her. She leaned on the railing and listened to the palm trees rustle in the breeze.

Her eyes were closed and whomever had joined her still hadn't said anything. She nursed her fifth limoncello and swayed her hips, listening to the music emanating from inside. It's always been a dangerous drink for her (that and appletinis), but she didn't worry about her audience... And that's when she felt a hand brush over her ass and rest on her hip.

No speaking? A sensual touch? A risky place? This was exactly the kind of thing I did with her. That got her into it, encouraging the "mysterious stranger" with all the whispered dirty talk she could. She told him to unbutton her jacket, and he did. She told him to unclip her bra (the only thing under her jacket), and he did. She told him feel her tits and to push himself against her ass. And he did.

When she heard the zipper, she arched her back and bent over the railing. She was definitely ready. She felt a hand slide between her thighs and she spread her legs. Her soaked satin panties were pulled aside. A finger tested her dampness, then plunged deep. It was wonderful, and she rode the hand, but there was something just different enough that she looked over her shoulder. She blinked through the darkness – and saw Frank, one of the married guys!

Frank had a rhythm though, and her body was dancing to it. She could feel conflict under the limoncello but her sex was calling the shots. The finger disappeared and she felt the shaft of his cock slide under, wetting itself along her labia. She moaned as she felt the bulbous head nestle itself into her folds, positioning for the first thrust. She dropped her head, knowing what was coming.

...And Frank plunged deep inside her.

Only now did reason start to break the surface, as if his dick rammed thoughts out of her pussy and back to her drunken head. On the first hammering thrust: all she could think was that he wasn't me. Second thrust, that she was married. Third, he was married. Fourth thrust: he'd always wanted to fuck her – and he was kind of a jerk about it. She could feel her body rock to the vengeful force of a grudge fuck...

Fifth thrust... she was moving her hips to meet him. He felt really good. Sixth savage thrust, she only let this happen because she thought Frank was me. Seventh, he'd never announced himself. ...But Eighth: she'd never asked.

Ninth pounding thrust: she'd talked dirty to him, inviting him when he was still me. She couldn't encourage him now, could she? She wanted to moan his name. Tenth: she knew it was him after the finger... but before the cock. A wave of guilt wash over her and she felt suddenly dirty. It made her that much wetter.

Eleventh thrust: she would confess it all to me. What would happen then? She put her head down and tried to think of what to do next. She lost count as she wondered how to get out of this gracefully. Frank moaned and she realized she'd been tilting her hips to meet him. All the thinking slid back to her pussy, her thoughts wrapping around the cock stiffening inside her. He was about to come. She squeezed his cock with her pussy, milking his shaft inside her--

The break room door swung open.

She screamed and Frank jumped like he'd been tasered. The door closed in a rush and she had no idea who'd just seen them. At the same time, they both heard my voice carry over from the parking lot.

Frank stumbled out of the patio in a blind panic and got his dick caught in his zipper. He yelped and ran into me, sprinting for the cab waiting on standby. One of the other married guys, Robert, assumed I already guessed what was happening and tried to calm me down. It actually freaked me out even more as I struggled to find Jessica. I splintered the break room door on my way to the patio and found Jessica sitting in the corner, bra in her hand and a tear running down her eye.

She reached out to me. "I was drunk. So stupid. I though it was you."

I scooped her up. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine." Her sigh would've melted a breathalyzer.

"What happened?"

"Frank sorta fucked me."

"Sorta?" There was no "sorta" but it was a nice shot at defusing tension.

"I didn't realize it was him at first... Please don't kill him."

Note that she didn't say '...kill me.' She knew I would take a bullet before I let anything happen to her. "You seriously thought Frank...?" I looked around the patio and I could almost see how I'd do it. "...But you're okay?"

Robert poked his head in. "Is everything okay out here?"

I waited for Jessica to answer. She eventually nodded. "We're fine."

From below, we heard the taxicab pull out of the parking lot. Robert frowned and shrugged helplessly. "I opened the door, I saw something that looked consensual, I closed the door but..." He took a deep breath. "Should I call the police?"

"No," Jessica mumbled. She pointed at me. "I knew Nick was coming and I thought..." She broke into sobs, barely able to speak. "...This was really my fault. I'm an idiot."

Robert looked at me and shook his head. "No, Frank knew what he was doing and it was unbelievably stupid. Nick, please don't kill him."

I turned to Jess one last time. "Are you okay?"

"Well, except for wanting to hurl, I'm fine."

I turned back to Robert. "Frank lives."

He nodded, as serious as an HR manager. "I'll make sure we all get some harassment training."

Jess answered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Oh, Christ, you all know how to harass well enough already. Let's just let it go, okay? As much as we can?"

"None of us want to lose you, Jess. If you feel pressured..."

"Thanks."

That was the end of the sex, but only the beginning of the "Patio Incident." Guilt-spiked limoncellos started an immediate hangover. We didn't say a word on the drive home, though her shut eyes were damp with tears.

Once home, and still drunk, she stumbled to the master bath. Didn't even undress as she sobbed in the shower. The experience was burned into her, unforgettable, and she confessed everything she could remember. She was sorry straight to the soul.

I found myself dropping into hot rage even as my dick hardened. I tried to hold back, stalking out of the bathroom, but wound up punching a hole through the wall. Unfortunately, it was the bathroom wall and Jess screamed when my fist exploded through from the other side.

She saw jealous fury, and maybe there was some jealousy, but this was mostly fury. I didn't want to talk about it, but I shared the blame: Frank got his inspiration from me. Remember those drunken braggings? The "mystery man" was an old, dirty fantasy Jess and I had played out. I know; there's a difference between fantasy and reality, and Frank was a douchebag to use it, but I still felt like a hypocrite.

I held a seething grudge for about 10 seconds. The hole in the wall made me feel really stupid and the rage just drained away. I looked through the future repair bill and started to realize how thin a line separated our fantasies from reality. Be careful what you wish for, right? If there was any karma it was that Frank almost came, then got his dick stuck in his zipper.

What happened was all too human. In retrospect, I was a little surprised nothing had happened before now. Maybe because the reality was so similar to the fantasy, the Patio Incident felt unreal. I tried to wrap my head around the married seal being technically broken, but viscerally, I had to see it to believe it.

I undressed Jessica and joined her in the shower. We let the hot water run over us for who-knows how long until I broke the silence. What if Robert hadn't opened the door? She'd already told me this, but she answered again: she'd wanted to feel Frank finish. At least she was honest. What if Frank blabbed? Of course he would. What if she were labeled the office slut? In a way, after these years, it would be kind of a relief.

The more it sunk in, the more it actually turned me on. What if she hadn't screamed? Robert would've watched. What if she were tempted to do it again? That one was tricky. I could tell part of her wanted to, and she was feeling my own guilty excitement, but she'd also seen me punch through the wall. Sex was sex, and sex was good, but this was about our relationship.

I turned off the lights in the bathroom and climbed back into the hot shower with her. I brushed my hand across her ass and rested it on her hip. She was naked... but she told me to unbutton her jacket. I became Frank, but with one important change: I came. So did she. It was Marvin Gaye Therapy, an outlet to blow off pressure. It brought the experience back under our control, giving some serious sexual healing.

That was just the beginning. When we woke up, we played through another scenario where I was Frank and Robert joined in for a 2-on-1. Jess' blue jelly dildo made an appearance for some very real double penetration. She had the most orgasms I could remember in a long time. Over the next few days, other office names came up, other scenarios. It was dangerous fantasy territory, but the sex was intense.

If they only knew.

The office opened back up on January 4th and everybody was walking on eggshells, especially Frank. Was there harassment? Assault? Rape? I'm not sure what they feared more: her producing some sort of lawsuit or me just beating Frank to a bloody pulp.

Jess hadn't dressed any more conservative, but the whole office was nervously polite. After we'd spent the holiday getting over it (and building it higher), this was definitely a buzzkill.

By lunch, Jess sent out a company-wide email. They all knew something happened but few really knew what. She laid out details as tastefully as she could and shouldered half the blame. Lingering fears were defused with a little self-deprecation: she signed the email as "The Office Slut."

Once she'd said it, then everybody could say it -- and they did. The jest of the century covered an unspoken fantasy that could now be spoken. It was a thin line of not being an actual office slut that made it work (no matter that most of the office wished she were). Either way, by the end of the day, Frank was crowned both folk hero and village idiot.

That evening, Frank caught her in the parking lot. "Hey, Jessica."

"Hello..." It was the first direct word she'd said to him since the night on the patio. "Frank."

"Hey, nice email today." He stumbled a second, barely able to form the next sentence. "I just needed to formally apologize."

Jess nodded. "I don't think you're sorry, but I accept your apology."

"I, uh," Frank shrugged. "I wanted to ask you: how's Nick taking it?"

"Sweet of you to ask. I told him it was mostly my fault..."

He seemed relieved. "Are you guys doing okay?"

"When life hands me lemons, I squeeze them 'till the juice runs down his leg."

"Ooh, nice! I'm picturing a new spin on hard lemonade commercials." Frank rubbed his hands together. "Making it up to him. So he's not... uh... carrying a grudge?"

"Let me put it this way: all our fantasies lately have been..." She glanced toward the patio with a coy smile. "...On a certain theme."

"No kidding?"

"Some things leave a mark, Frank." If they only knew? Well, now they did. Jessica realized it and tried spin control. "It was up to us whether it was going to be a scar or a beauty spot."

"You two are amazing. I haven't told Edith yet. I don't think I will. It'll probably get back to her anyway, but I don't think she wants to hear it." Frank nodded as he turned away, still thinking about his wife. A second later, he spun back and caught up to Jess. "I've been wondering: the door opened, then you saw it was me?" 

"The door startled me. I knew--" Jessica bit off the sentence, already regretting her naïveté.

"Knew what?"

"I knew it was you at the finger."

"Oh," he nodded. Then it sunk in. "But before...? Wait. You let me...?"

"I didn't know what to do once I realized you weren't Nick!" She practically spat. "Jesus, Frank, I'd been talking dirty thinking you were Nick and I heard your zipper and I spread my legs. You were already knuckle-deep and I didn't know how to say 'whoopsie' under those circumstances."

Frank let a few moments pass as he considered it. "Did you at least enjoy it?"

"Eventually, yeah..." 

Frank looked pleased with himself. "If we hadn't been interrupted, what were you planning on doing?"

"I was drunk, Frank, I didn't have a plan." She turned back toward her car but he followed. She stopped as he hovered over her shoulder, his own curiosity drawing her out. "...Once I was into it, I guess I just wanted to feel you come."

"Would you have ever told Nick?"

"Of course."

He put a hand on her hip. "Please tell me you still want to feel me come."

She turned on her heel. "You're married!"

"So are you," Frank shot back, then it dawned on him. "But you didn't answer the question..."




Sketches – Beads & Pearls Ch. 04



"No." Jessica bit her lip, then turned back toward her car. This would get around the office, too. "I have to go."

"No, you have to come! And so do I! Wait! " Frank shouted after her. "'No' to what? 'No' to answering or 'No' to...? Shit!"

Jess got home and told me all about it, from the email to the parking lot conversation. I told her Frank would blab and he did. Everything made the rounds the next morning. From what Jessica could see, reactions varied from incredulous dismissal to taking notes. The thin line between tease and slut seemed more a dotted line now.

It got back to her by way of good-natured wink-wink, nudge-nudge invites to "just hang out" on the patio. A couple of those moments were genuinely awkward, leaving her cold. No sense of discretion or a little too serious. Most of the time, they just laughed it off... though the good ones got her hotter than Tabasco sauce.

A sign of budding clinical hypersexuality? Maybe, but for the first time in years, we were having sex every single night. Of course, I couldn't leave well enough alone. A week later, I suggested she up the ante with a little wardrobe adjustment.

She usually wore a short, tight skirt and some sort of classy but revealing top. Think: jacket over a camisole and demi-bra. She responded by dropping the camisole from the ensemble. Her lace-covered boobs always seemed to be bursting from the jacket. If she bent over, the jacket flared open, giving "unintentional" flashes all day long. It was the first thing to get me thinking about Mardi Gras.

Jessica had the kind of looks that turned men stupid, and she knew it, but this shot the ego boosts into pure exhibitionist thrill. By the end of January, the office had risen from risky to risqué. Her cohorts weren't bothering to hide their stares. If they were blatantly obvious -- without being obnoxious -- she took it as a silent request. She usually granted a coy lean here or there.

While most guys admired from safe distance, Frank was increasingly touchy-feely. It was the demurring game: he came close to fondling, she pretended to not notice (even as the other guys did).

Jess told me all about it, three days running, looking for a reaction. I could tell she was going back to that unanswered question: What if she were tempted to do him again? But she wouldn't explicitly say it. Or couldn't. I don't know.

Implicitly, through our latest round of kinky fantasies, she knew what excited me. By her number of orgasms (same fantasies), I knew what excited her. When it came right down to it, I wasn't sure it should happen in real life. My word was the last fail-safe before my flirt wife became my hot wife. My slut wife. I couldn't quite give that word.

That's when I finally suggested Mardi Gras. I didn't think Jessica would have a problem flashing a little boob and I was right. Or a big boob, in her case. If that was all that happened it would've been fine, but I had ulterior motives. After the patio, and everything in its wake, I wanted to see what could happen without mistaken identities, without caveats or asterisks.

What happened? I gave the word and we went absolutely crazy. Our second night here, she blew a tailor and later a dance partner. Last night, she blew three guys from a bar in a French Quarter alley. One of them fucked her and I'd never been as hard as when I'd fucked her sloppy seconds. That 4-on-1 was one dirtier than a workplace 3-on-1 we'd only fantasized about. And I was right: she looked great in beads but better in pearl necklaces.

Why New Orleans and not home? I wanted to watch my wife become my porn star. And I did. Couldn't have done that if I unleashed her on her office. Did that get the craziness out of our system? Didn't feel like it. It felt like it was becoming foreplay.

###

Jess still had her face buried in my shoulder. She was a bit shivery, but it seemed like she didn't want to move. I'm not even sure if she knew how chilly she was.

I pulled the covers over us and she snuggled up to me. Her boobs pressed against my side. Usually, that was enough that I'd just have to play with them. Right now, I was preoccupied.

Under the covers, Jessica warmed up. Her body relaxed and she stretched herself against me. For as warm as she was, though, her nipples had hardened into fleshy little pebbles.

"Do I need to ask what you're thinking about?"

Her voice was muffled, her face still buried against my shoulder. "Do I need to answer?"

"Your discretion."

"That's kinda what I was thinking about."

"Your discretion?" Her leg was draped across me and I could feel heat radiating from between her thighs. "Or lack of it...?"

She nodded into my shoulder, but she didn't speak. After a minute, she unburied her face to stare at mine. "Ever since the Patio..." She took a moment, tracing a finger down my belly as she composed. "God, this week has just blown my mind."

"Yeah, me too..." I knew where she was going and I wasn't going to let her off the hook. "So, what about the patio?"

"Well, at work..." She wrapped her hand around my cock and gave it a squeeze. "What if I really did...?"

"Did what? Spit it out, girl."

"Well, yeah," she broke out in giggles. "What if I came home from work with a Monica Lewinsky dry cleaning mess?"

"Nice," as I choked back a laugh. Mess? I closed my eyes and saw dry, gray patches flaking from her black blazer. Maybe she'd meant it as a Frank-sized mess, but I saw Jess as her whole office's objet d'affection, their bukkake girl. I was not thinking with the big head. "What if..."

She gave my hardening shaft a gentle stroke. "You would be turned on?"

I glanced at her hand. "Hell of a way to ask, you little slut." 

She giggled, but I was in deep thought over all the people that wanted to be deep in my wife. I love sex, obviously, but sex doesn't equal love. I was new at swinging, but I'm guessing that attitude made it possible to share in the first place.

"Yes, it would turn me on, but..."

Her tone was concerned even as she slowly stroked me. "But what?"

I pulled her a little closer. "Babe, there's a million things I worry about."

"Name one."

"I can name eight: they all work in your office." She giggled, lowering her head across my body as she listened. "If I lend you to Frank, the others will be jealous. I see complications and entanglements and collateral damage."

"Yeah..." Jessica kissed and flicked her tongue over the tip of my cock. Her lips brushed and tickled as she whispered: "But I can solve that."

"How?"

"By doing this..." The tip of my cock was just inside her mouth as her tongue slowly swirled over it. "To anybody that wants it."

"And everybody would want it." I can't explain why, but some part of me wanted my wife sexually used. "And I want you to give it." Well-used, but not used up. "...But I want you coming home warmed up, not topped off."

"Didn't topping me off last night warm you up?"

"Yeah..." Not only was she used, I watched her enjoy it. She'd validated my dark desire, absolving my guilt. If I'd had regrets, they swirled down the drain when she showered the cum of four men off her tits.

She French-kissed the tip, giving me the original 'hard sell'. "...Getting topped off warms me up." 

"Kinky..." I had a sudden vision: three girls that work in my office. That instant, I was nervous my wife wouldn't be the office slut. "Just remember the Two Rules."

"Is that it?"

"That's all I..." Her mouth plunged down the shaft, taking my breath away. "Can... think of... Right now..."

It felt like she'd sucked my 8" cock out to 14". I didn't last another second.

Last night should've left any mortal man empty for a week. With Jess' lips, I full again. A moment later, so was her mouth. She stroked me, cupping my balls, milking every last drop from me. She was supernatural.

She swallowed and tucked me back between my legs. She patted my slowly softening cock and rested her head on my belly. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and deep red as she smiled. "Thank you."

She was thanking me? I just came like a fire hose! Oh, right. "You're welcome."

###

Sunday passed but we never made it to a church. We never reached for a drink, either. Instead, we toured the rebuilt levees of New Orleans and took pictures of storm damage that still hadn't been cleaned up.

For as much sexual momentum as we'd had, we swung the exact opposite. We didn't talk about last night or the night before. We didn't talk about The Patio or our "negotiation" this afternoon. We didn't call anybody for a follow-up freak session.

But I was thinking about it. All of it. It looked like she was too. All day Monday, as we toured the deep Bayou, I was bipolar on our sex adventures. I had a passing fantasy that all three guys from last night suffered horrible accidents. Then I imagined setting up a repeat performance. The next moment, I was planning how to get all the incriminating evidence back. Buy, beg, bully or steal? It was digital though: we'd never, ever know for sure if all copies had been deleted.

I thought about closing our relationship back up once we got home, no matter what we said about "sharing." I was in an altered state at the time, thinking with my dick. Did I have some sort of subconscious dominance fetish? The more I gave her away, the more I controlled her? I don't know. I didn't think of myself that way, I didn't think of us that way. Jessica was my wife; my companion, playmate and partner. There were moments that "sharing" seemed like the dumbest idea ever.

Fat Tuesday rolled in and we barely saw any of the carnival. Nor did we talk about our own clowning around. We were quietly warm to each other as we toured pirate sites around the coast. By dinner, over Irish coffee, we were getting some of the sexy spark back.

By Ash Wednesday, we actually found a church -- St. Louis Cathedral, ironically -- and attended services. I looked up at the big white steeples then back down at my wife's bare calves as she crossed the threshold. God, I felt like such hypocrite. Not that I preached being a prude, but I was an unrepentant sinner going into a house where contrition was de rigueur.

I sat in the pews and thought about us starring in some mighty fine home-grown porn. If it wound up on the net, we couldn't deny it. We couldn't say we "needed the money." Had we made a mistake? We could say it was a mistake... but would we? It was only a mistake if something bad happened.

In the face all the post-Katrina tragedy and suffering, gratuitous, consenting sex seemed a celebration of life. Not everybody would agree. They'd say I'd lured out my wife's inner slut, that I was her sexual enabler. How many around us would crucify us if they knew?

The congregation stood in unison.

The priest was speaking, his lips were moving, but it didn't match. All I could hear was Jessica's moans echo through the cathedral, and the murmur of "amen" in answer. I shook my head. I was losing it.

We sat down and I saw her skirt had risen up. I rested my hand on the closest of those perfect knees and gave a little whisper. "Whatcha thinkin' about?"

Her cheeks flashed pink. She bit her lip and shook her head, pretending to listen to the sermon.

I gave her a gentle nudge.

She took a breath and leaned over. I could barely hear her over the echo in the cathedral. "I was praying for forgiveness."

"For what you've done or what you're going to do?"

I swear her cheeks glowed the red of the stained glass.

"Can't lie, can you?"

She shook her head. "But I can kneel."

"You are a naughty, naughty girl..."