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That's No Lady - That's My Wife

By: gossog



(Fair warning: this is a cuckold story. The guy's wife cheats on him, and really rubs his face in it. If you hate that type of story, you'll hate this one.)

*

After Lewis had been dating Deborah for about four weeks, he took her to dinner to meet his best friend Theo, and his date Sara. Theo and Sara had been together for a year already; Deborah was the new kid on the block.

Just after dessert was ordered, Deborah's phone rang, and she stepped outside to take the call. The others took the opportunity to compare notes.

Lewis smiled expansively. "As you can probably tell, I'm quite taken with her."

"You two need to get a room," Theo said. "I could barely keep my food down."

"Theo!" Sara scolded. Though she also had an acerbic sense of humor; perhaps she was most upset because she didn't think of it first.

"Do you guys like her?"

"I don't," said Sara, with a straight face. Lewis knew her well enough to recognize when she was teasing. "She's too pretty, too smart, too funny, too classy... I can't stand people like that. So, um, thumbs down. Sorry."

Lewis and Sara glared at each other at a standoff until she broke, laughing. "Okay, she's cool. She is too good for you, though."

"Okay, so Sara is a declared bitter rival... Theo, I'm not sure if I want to know, but what do you think?"

Theo's answer was uncharacteristically noncommittal. "She's got a lot going for her. I don't think I've ever seen you happier. Don't let her get away."

Sara was a little puzzled at this, and looked to him for clarification, but he didn't offer any. She turned to Lewis. "So... are you going to pop the question?"

"It's only been four weeks," he protested. But he knew. The first night he had taken her home he knew.

They had stepped inside his apartment, nudged the door shut, and started embracing and serious kissing for the first time. Her lovely body pressed snugly against his, not just as a goodnight hug, or a slow dance, but in a manner hungry, exciting, and promising. She had told him earlier that night: underneath her silky deep blue dress, she wore only a sheer thong, practically nothing. His imagination had been on overdrive all evening. Now, with her finally in his arms, desire overwhelmed him. His penis quickly grew hard, and without warning, way too soon, he climaxed in his pants.

He felt betrayed, sucker-punched, violated. Everything was over before it had even started.

Then Deborah rescued the night, and their future. "It's not always like the movies, is it?" she said, not in ridicule, but commiseration. "Let's get these clothes out of the way and get to bed."

She seemed to have cleared her memory of that event; and his dick didn't appear to be traumatized either. After a minimum of foreplay, she guided him inside, and from then on the night was perfect. The next morning he knew that some day he would ask Deborah to marry him.

Now Sara wasn't ready for that sort of intimate detail, he guessed. His answer was much less personal. "She could be. If so, you'll have to find a way to make peace with her."

"I'll try," she said, sighing dramatically. "She'll have to meet me halfway."

Dessert arrived, Deborah returned, and the conversation drifted to other things.

The next day, Lewis called Theo.

"Did I put you on the spot last night? It seemed like you were holding something back."

"Not really. I meant what I said, but..."

"You can tell me now."

"Just be careful. Your girl is exceptionally beautiful, and things can get kind of weird if you don't keep an eye out."

"What are you talking about? I mean, Sara's pretty too; should I be telling you the same thing?"

"No, Lew. Sara's cute. I like her a lot, but she's cute, and Deborah's gorgeous. There's a big difference. Other guys are going to take risks around her. And she's human, and she's going to have temptations as well."

"How can you say all this, when you don't even really know her."

"You're right. We just talked for a couple hours. And man, nothing's wrong with her at all. In your shoes, I'd be doing the same thing. But it's going to be different with her. That's just part of dating a super-hot girl."

"I don't think it's going to be a problem, Theo."

"I hope not. And I'm not going to say any more. I hope you get everything you want out of this, all the happiness in the world. Just watch your back."

The conversation was starting to really annoy Lewis, and he cut it short. "Thanks, Theo. Talk to you later."

Was there any truth to what his friend said? Certainly there was no shortage of cynics and nay-sayers on his side. Wasn't it Mencken, or Bierce, or somebody who said that only misery lay in store for a man with a beautiful woman? No, that was bullshit. Biased, sour, uninformed; might as well have come from a horoscope. Too general to apply to every single case.

Theo was on the mark about Deborah's looks. She was exceptionally good-looking: leggy, tall, slender, with spectacular breasts and a refined, softly angled face. She had a bright, wide smile that in private situations she could quickly turn naughty; and her green eyes could give a look that would bring a man's blood to a boil. Dark auburn hair extended to the middle of her back, and though she had never colored it, in certain lighting conditions quick highlights of red would appear, like spears of lightning from miles distant.

Lewis, on the other hand, considered himself just merely above average: in decent shape, just under six feet tall, a freelance writing career, and a decent sense of humor. Was there a danger of Deborah being enticed away by another man, lured by better looks, more wealth, more power? That seemed to be Theo's point. But Lewis insisted that there was little reason to worry about this.

* * *

The following October, he asked Deborah to marry him; when she accepted, he felt like no substantial misfortune could ever befall him again. The next day, his Red Sox were eliminated in the playoffs; eighty-four years of frustration and counting. Maybe when they finally win it all, he thought, it'll feel almost as good as when she said yes.

Now engaged, and living with her, Lewis expected to feel completely secure, yet there was still the tiny mustard seed of doubt, or a pebble in the shoe, the little voice wondering what if his fiancee was tempted and gave in? Everyone desired her; Lewis saw this all the time when they were together in public. What if someone else offered something he could not?

He decided to quell his fears by confronting them almost head-on. While getting ready for a formal art gallery opening, Deborah stepped in front of the mirror wearing a backless, deep-cut, partially sideless evening gown. "Wow," he said, marveling at the expanse of skin showing. "I'm worried some rich young stud is going to carry you off."

She faced him in the mirror, applying some eyeliner. "That's why I have you at my side. To protect me."

So that was that: a running joke between them, which she didn't seem to mind, and helped put his mind at ease.

Theo was best man at the wedding. His speech praised the groom but saved the real laudatory language for the bride. True to his word, he had never raised any doubts about their relationship since that day Lewis called. He wished the happy couple all the best, and sat down to a round of applause.

Lewis took the mike and informed everyone that Theo was also engaged, nearly two months as of today, and his bride-to-be was among the bridesmaids, second from the left, could you please stand up, Sara.

After the wedding, Deborah still kept in touch with a few male friends, and he sometimes felt a twinge when one of them gave her an affectionate hug, or a kiss on the cheek. He imagined any straight guy would harbor at least some sexual desire for her. That was excusable, as long as it was never acted on. She noticed Lewis's response a few times, and assured him he had nothing to worry about.

Shortly after their first anniversary, the running gag of "you're going to get swept off your feet" ran one time too many. "Don't worry so much, honey!" she snapped. "It makes you sound really insecure. Like you don't even trust me."

"Just teasing," he said, backpedaling. Evidently this had bugged her for some time; he scolded himself for not noticing that. "I do trust you, honey. I'm sorry." He never joked about it again.

Aside from that little seed of doubt that wouldn't go away, he saw no reason for mistrust. Even if she wanted to, finding the time to sneak off with a man would be some feat: her marketing job at an up-and-coming firm required long hours. She always called to let him know when she'd be heading back, and caller ID always confirmed, just in case he ever felt the need to check, that she was indeed at the office.

Ironically, his freelance writing career, and home office, gave him much more opportunity to fool around. That was a knock on the door he left unanswered.

Sometimes she would arrive home as late as nine in the evening, interested in nothing more than a light dinner, some quiet time with her husband, a little TV perhaps, and then she would lead him into bed. Or, into the sunroom, all lights out, making love by starlight.

* * *

Nearly three years after they were married, on a Tuesday afternoon, she called him, giddy with good news. Her company had closed a major deal, the fruit of several months of hard work, and there would be bonuses and vacation days for all involved. "Thanks for being patient all this time, sweetie," she said. "In a month or two, we could finally have the great honeymoon you deserve." Right after the wedding, during lean and precarious times for the firm, she had been able to spare only three days for a quick trip to California.

"In fact," she said, "Fiona is throwing a big party at her house this weekend. I'll have to shop for an outfit."

"Do I know Fiona?"

"Probably not. I think you've only met Tom and Leigh, that one time you met us for dinner?"

"You're right," he said. That was over a year ago. In essence, he didn't know anyone she worked with.

"They're no longer together."

"Ah, that's too bad," he said. "Actually, this party will be a great chance to meet some of your coworkers."

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I'd love to have you come along, but I'm worried it won't be very interesting. We'll be in our little cliques, talking shop."

Her reluctance surprised him. They went together to everything, except the occasional girls' nights and guys' nights. "It can't possibly be as dry as those publisher parties," he said. "I've survived those; I'll be able to mingle without hanging onto your arm for dear life."

"That's true..." she admitted.

"Don't worry, I'll be on my best behavior."

Her resistance suddenly melted away. "Oh, honey, of course you can come. It'll be semi-formal. Maybe that black Italian suit you have. I'll get something to match."

On Friday night they got dressed to go. Deborah's mood was bubbly, even a little frenetic. In the hall mirror she made last-minute fixups to her lipstick, and gazed warily at her eyebrows, with a bearing so grave Lewis had to hide a smile. She probably had jitters about having to introduce her husband to everyone in the office; worrying about whether people she liked and respected would have a good impression of the man she loved. He could understand that; it was almost like taking a prom date to meet the parents.

He looked dapper in black suit and silver-gray tie. Big deal, he thought. Look at her.

Deborah looked ravishing in perhaps the sexiest outfit he had ever seen her wear in public. He was always reluctant to second-guess her decisions -- he hated it when others did that to him -- but he couldn't resist saying "Are you sure that's appropriate for the party?"

"Sure it is," she said. A black silky ruffled miniskirt bared her legs almost entirely, and her gauzy black sleeveless top wasn't see-through, but suggested that if you looked closely enough, it could be. A sexy yet not obscene neckline showed just a couple inches of cleavage, enough to pique a man's interest. As she turned, he could detect bra straps under her top: barely noticeable, but definitely there. Seeing this reassured him.

"We've all worked so hard the past few years, that it's nice to be able to dress up and really celebrate," she explained. "I know it's a little risqué, but it's a chance to have some fun."

He had to concede that this seemed reasonable.

"Besides, you're the one I'm going home with," she said, with a naughty smile. "If anyone wants to feel envious, let him."

Now that's something to look forward to, he thought, feeling himself blush a little. His imagination fast-forwarded to a few hours later, when they would return and he could strip this sexy outfit right off her. He would take his time, and savor every sight.

"Okay," he said jovially, taking her arm. "For a night, I can feel like Donald Trump."

"There you go, honey. We're going to have a great time."

They arrived at Fiona's opulent estate just as the sun was beginning to set. Several BMWs, Porsches and even a Ferrari were parked along the winding drive inside the property gates. "This house is a palace," Lewis said, awestruck.

"She got it in the divorce," Deborah said. "More than five thousand square feet, all for herself."

As they walked along the flagstone path, the evening air still warm, she cautioned him. "Honey, I'm just saying this so you don't get freaked out. You might see some guys flirting with me, or a little hug here and there, a dance or two. That's just because of all the hard work, all the bonding we've done, and now it's a chance to let off a little tension. So I just wanted to tell you in advance."

"That's okay," he said. She seemed more apprehensive than he was, anyway. "I'm not going to keep you on a leash." He grinned. "But I do get to show you off, though."

"Of course."

Deborah rang the doorbell and Fiona Gray welcomed them in. She was a stunning tall redhead, maybe 30 years old, wearing a green dress that lovingly hugged every bit of her enviable figure. "Hiiiii, Deb! You look fantastic! " she said, hugging her. "And you must be Lewis! I'm so glad to finally meet you!"

"My pleasure," he said, accepting a quick hug. Fiona wore a delicate, captivating fragrance. Was she wearing anything else underneath that dress?

"I've heard so many good things about you from Debbie! I'm sorry we've been keeping her away from you all these nights."

"Well worth the wait," he said, putting an arm around Deborah's waist.

"Debbie, you've done very well," Fiona said. "Come in, come in."

Lewis beamed. She certainly had a way of making a guy feel good. It might have been a pleasantry she tossed any guest's way, but it sounded absolutely sincere. To overanalyze a compliment from a beautiful woman seemed silly anyway, and he stopped trying.

At least fifty people were there already, mingling among rooms and dotting the hallways in twos and threes. Lewis figured the ratio to be four men to one woman, as if many of the wives had not been able to attend. Maybe their husbands had warned them away like Deborah did. Or, some of the men, who on average were in their twenties and early thirties, were single and hadn't brought dates.

Deborah introduced each person they met, and Lewis quickly found it difficult to keep track of all the names. There was Tom, a handsome blond guy, in a sharp wool suit but would look equally at home in a wetsuit with a surfboard. They quickly embraced and she gave him a peck on the cheek. A guy named Brad had tight curly hair, and the attire and attitude of a young investment banker.

Then there was Nick: handsome, dark, Mediterranean-looking guy, more muscular than the others, wearing a more expensive suit. Nick's handshake was excessively, impolitely firm. He radiated the insolence and privilege of a man who had effortlessly attracted women his entire life. Lewis glanced at his wife, and noticed subtle signs that of all the men he had met, she found Nick the most appealing. She laughed a little more enthusiastically at one of Nick's bon mots; she showed no offense when Nick checked her out, head to toe, after a hug that lasted a little longer than the others. Worst of all, Nick also gave Lewis an appraising look, clearly questioning how an average guy like Lewis could snag a hot chick like Deborah. That smarted, and Lewis fought to keep a poker face. Sorry, honey, he thought. This guy Nick you like: he's a serious asshole.

Were there any ugly people here? Lewis wondered. The women were as a rule good-looking as well. Perhaps the plain Janes hadn't been invited; or simply didn't get hired. One willowy blonde named Tricia wore a memorable white dress, held by spaghetti straps baring her shoulders. The thin, satin material didn't cling to her figure, but draped off her curves just enough to strongly suggest, if not prove outright, that she wore nothing beneath. No panty lines marred the contours along her bottom; and no bra straps spoiled her appearance above the waist. The continuous smoothness of her elegant, unfrilled dress made the points of her nipples even more apparent.

Lewis had to settle for handshakes with these women instead of hugs, as he didn't know them as well as Deborah knew the men. Now this is totally unfair, he thought, facetiously. It's an outrage.

He had to admit that seeing his wife enjoy interacting with men that all seemed better looking, smoother, and wealthier than him was a bit intimidating. Yes, being her husband trumped all that; but given an even start from scratch, competing for her interest against these others, would he have had any hope to prevail?

He tried to dismiss these insecurities as they reached the bar. The bartender poured their drinks, flirting casually with his wife. He fished out a tip, which was waved off. She touched his arm. "I'll be right back, honey. If you're not here, I'll look for you." She stepped into a crowd of well-dressed revelers and disappeared from view.

He waited for a while, watching people go by, trying to place names to faces he recognized. There goes Tom, he thought. Tricia passed by, the woman in the white dress; she was easy to remember. Another man stopped by for a drink, and even said Hi Lewis, but his name had faded from memory. He saw Fiona cross a far corner of the room. She spotted him and gave him a warm smile before returning to her rounds.

When he had finished sipping his drink, his wife still had not returned. He went looking.

He found her in a large formal room that had been cleared for a dance floor. Three couples danced to ballroom music, one of them Deborah and a tall blond man he couldn't remember meeting. Ballroom was becoming a lost art; more people were watching than dancing. She didn't notice when he entered the room.

Lewis wasn't a skilled dancer, but he knew roughly where the man's hand should rest: at the woman's waist, to guide and steady her. These men needed to work on their technique; their hands roamed along the woman's side. Sometimes up high, almost under the armpit, and at other times low, at her bottom. Deborah's partner, Tom, was no different: he deftly twirled her around, and then his hand rested on her bottom. He might have even given her a squeeze; in any case, she laughed and repositioned his hand. Lewis considered this too presumptuous, taking advantage of the close quarters in which dancing brought partners together.

He watched them finish the song, keeping a close eye on Tom. He wished his wife had worn something less tempting. Her top wasn't blatantly revealing, but it did tend to draw the eye to her chest. Much of the time, Tom's gaze was fixed there. And when she spun on her feet, her miniskirt would flare up, showing brief glimpses of her lacy black panties. Even at rest, her legs were attention-getting, from her high heels up to the too-short skirt. Maybe Tom was imagining her in even less clothing. His hand couldn't keep still, inching up and down along her side.


That's No Lady - That's My Wife



A faster tempo song came up. The people dancing put aside formal dancing for a freer style, and more couples joined them. Tom stood behind Deborah, whispering something in her ear that made her scoff and giggle. Lewis moved closer and watched more intensely. She still wasn't aware he was watching. She wasn't even checking.

Tom moved in closer, one hand at her hip, until their bodies were touching, front to back. Her bottom had to be brushing against his crotch; if he was getting hard from this contact, she would notice. It didn't seem to bother her. His hands were sometimes at her hips, but also roamed along her sides, and over her tummy, upward. She danced more sinuously, closer to him, pushing against him. Perhaps feeling bolder, he reached upward from behind her, gently cupping her breasts through the thin top before she batted his hands down.

She shook her head and issued a few scolding words. Lewis couldn't hear what was said, but it seemed a very mild, almost joking reproach to a man who had just fondled her. Just a few seconds later his hands were there again, momentarily squeezing her breasts against her then relaxing. With two fingers of each hand, he then stroked a few circles around where the nipple would be if Deborah's breasts were bare.

Why are you letting him do this? Lewis wondered. He pushed to the front, and Deborah finally noticed him, startled. She said something to Tom and walked over.

"Oh honey, I'm so sorry, I was supposed to come find you." She kissed him as if nothing was wrong.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" he asked.

"Sure, honey," she said innocently.

He led her to the hallway. "What the hell was going on in there?"

"What was what?"

"What that guy was doing with you!"

Deborah never handled criticism too well, and he could sense her bristling at it. "I told you there would be a little flirting going on," she said, petulant. "You said you'd be okay with it."

"He was fondling you!" he said. "That is not okay!"

For a long moment she stared at him, unwilling to concede; a defiance that disturbed Lewis because it should have been obvious that he was right. Well, what do I do now? he thought. Keep repeating my point until she sees the light?

Her expression softened, and she relented. "You're right. We've both had a drink or two, and it got a little out of hand. That doesn't make it right."

"You should have slapped him for touching you like that."

She frowned, disagreeing immediately and strongly. "I am not going to slap someone I work with for a simple mistake."

"Have mistakes like this ever happened before?"

"It was just bad judgment," she said. "I'm really sorry." She kissed him warmly. He realized he was semi-hard; a good kiss from her would do that. Her outfit didn't hurt, either. He was getting to appreciate it more and more, in sort of a voyeuristic way that unsettled him. She was his own wife, for heaven's sake.

Later, he would realize she didn't answer his question.

"I will more than make it up to you tonight," she said.

He smiled, looking forward to it. "I'll hold you to that."

Deborah inhaled deeply, then let it out in a rush, her habit when something was finally settled.

"You want to get something to eat?" he said.

"In a little while. I just want to make the rounds. Hey, I have someone you could meet. Her name's Evelyn. She's a writer, too."

"Okay..." Lewis preferred that they stick together for a while.

"And she's cute. Don't run away with her, now."

Deborah towed him into the living room where an attractive brunette in a black cocktail dress stood sipping a martini, surveying the crowd. After introducing her to Lewis, Deborah slipped away.

Evelyn was a tech writer for the firm. She was undeniably pretty, and her elegant dress boasted a deep neckline. She was gracious and friendly, and they talked shop for a while, complaining about deadlines and editors. Though her slim figure did not fill out the dress the way Deborah's would have, no man would complain about the fit. When she leaned forward a little, or turned a bit, or moved her arms to illustrate a point, the neckline gaped just enough to reveal a braless breast almost completely in profile.

If Lewis were single, he would have hit on this woman hard.

He tried not to stare; but when he saw a bare nipple in shadow, her dress hanging a fraction of an inch away, she caught him looking. She adjusted her dress and resumed talking. He guessed she was used to that kind of attention.

Too soon, another man took her by the arm. Lewis was alone again.

He wandered back to the bar, got another drink, and waited. He felt isolated standing by himself; it seemed everyone else had a companion. Hanging out at the bar too long would convey another image he didn't wish to. He decided it was better to walk around.

At the other side of Fiona's house was another large room, designed for nothing in particular but now serving as another dance floor. The music and crowd here were more raucous. He maneuvered his way forward.

To his dismay Deborah was the center of attention, with five men surrounding her. The scene gave Lewis a sinking feeling in his stomach. At first he couldn't even accept what he was seeing as real.

Her top was off, revealing a lacy, diaphanous black bra. She had worn before, in public, bikini tops roughly the same size, but they were opaque. This bra showed her nipples and the swells of her breasts, which swayed and jiggled as she danced, the bra doing its best to keep up. With her top gone, and most of her back and belly bare, Lewis saw for the first time just how short her miniskirt was: really just enough to cover her butt, and worn low. She was practically down to her underwear among a group of guys with one thing on their mind.

Two men moved in and sandwiched her, front and back. They caressed her freely, taking advantage of all the skin exposed. The man in back (Brad? Yes, it was Brad) patted her butt, enjoying its firm, round shape covered by the short skirt. She gyrated more forcefully, pushing against his hands. Feeling more adventurous, he reached underneath her skirt, where Lewis knew only a pair of lacy black panties protected her bare skin. Those were translucent as well; when she modeled them for Lewis, her dark triangle of pubic hair showed through easily.

The man in front, who Lewis thought was maybe Steve, or Stephan, who had been staring at her chest, stepped in close, reaching behind her. He moved his hands gradually over her shoulders, to her collarbones, and tentatively down toward her chest. The brazenness of this surprised her -- Lewis could see it in her face -- yet she still accepted what both men were doing. Stephan's hands crept lower and lower, following the slopes of her bra-covered breasts until he had one in each hand. Brad had his hands at her hips now, still underneath her skirt.

How far would she let them go?

Stephan stopped groping her breasts, and shouted something over her shoulder. Brad let go of her hips and was now doing something behind her back. Seconds later, Lewis knew what it was: he was unhooking her bra. When he finished, the bra snapped forward, all tension gone, held only by the straps at her shoulders. The cups rested loosely and precariously on her swaying breasts. She glanced down, her mouth a little O of surprise, but kept dancing. A few beats later, the cups were misaligned and most of her bare breasts were showing.

Stephan lifted the straps from her shoulders. She brought her arms forward, letting him pull the straps off, and she shrugged out of it. Now topless, she closed her eyes and swayed as the man caressed her breasts. This was a slippery slope, and no one showed any signs of wanting to stop sliding. In back, Brad returned his hands to her hips, exploring his way underneath the only clothing she was still wearing.

Anxiety bubbled inside Lewis. It really seemed necessary to step in and forcefully break this up. What held him back was the fear that she would shoo him away, preferring for the moment the other men's company. He would have find an opportunity to pull her aside. She'd obviously had too much to drink; otherwise, she wouldn't be behaving this way. He would take her home.

Suddenly she got spooked and stopped, surveying the room. Their eyes did not meet; she probably didn't see him, though she might have thought she did at first. Still, she covered her breasts with her arms and seemed to explain something to Brad, laughing and even once rolling her eyes. Her top and bra were handed to her, and she stepped over to the far side of the room.

Great, Lewis thought. I'm the one she's talking about; and if I walk in now, I'll look like a fool. I'll have to catch her later.

He retreated to the kitchen. Plates of hors d'oeuvres waited to be carried out by caterers in crisp black and white uniforms. For a while he watched them file in and out.

Deborah found him this time. She was still putting her top back on. "Hi, Lewis," she said, pushing an arm through. She smoothed out the hem and tucked it in.

"I saw you out there," he said.

"Hmmm?" She picked up a strawberry from a plate about to go out, and bit a chunk out of it.

"You had your top off!"

"Honey, you said you wouldn't freak out," she said, with a pained look. "It's just a little fun and games. I'm not the only one, either."

"I don't care about the others," he said. "I don't want you doing this stuff."

She finished her strawberry, and reached for another. "That's how our company gets along. We bond. We're a team."

"Have other men done this to you? How long has this been going on?"

She sighed, and rolled her eyes again. "A few guys have touched my boobs, or goosed me. It's no big thing."

The half-eaten strawberry slipped out of her red-stained fingers and bounced on the floor. "Whoops," she said and bent over at the waist to pick it up. Lewis naturally turned his focus to her smooth legs, ascending from black pumps, calf blending into thigh.

The skirt rode up high enough to show that his wife no longer was wearing underwear.

"Where are your panties?" he hissed.

She stood up. "I don't know. Somebody has them. What are you, my father?"

"I'm your husband, goddammit. Look, your bra's gone too, isn't it." Her top, semi-sheer in the bright kitchen lights, hinted at the silhouettes of her breasts.

"I'm still fully dressed," she protested. "As much as the other ladies."

"And the guy with his hands between your legs. Have other guys done that, too?"

She glanced away for a moment, as if looking for a cue card. "Sometimes."

"While you're wearing a skirt?"

"No, no skirt." She handed him the stem of her strawberry. "Lewis, you ought to mingle, meet some people. It looks like you're not having any fun at all." She turned and left.

He stood there holding the stem, digesting what she had revealed. Flashing her breasts. Letting other men touch her breasts and (under her skirt) her bare bottom. And maybe even worse. Could be. Her answers had been plenty evasive.

Reluctant to stand too long by himself in any one place, Lewis began roaming again; at least it would look like he was circulating.

In the hallway he edged by Evelyn and an anonymous guy. They were certainly having more fun than he was: she stood against the wall, one knee raised, shoe off, while her man nuzzled her lips. For good measure, he had slipped one hand through the plunging neckline of her dress and was fondling her left breast. How long before they took it upstairs and she had everything off? It had been a long time since Lewis had coveted another woman; but he envied this man's prospects. Evelyn looked like a really enjoyable lay. He looked away, feeling like a voyeur, and sped forward.

Fiona appeared and gathered everyone's attention, repeating an announcement she had delivered to several rooms. "Our hot tub is fixed," she said, to scattered cheers. "I know none of you are dressed for it, but I do have some spare swimsuits. There are even some for the guys, courtesy of my ex-husband." Some chuckled at this.

A few people followed her to the cabana, to select a swimsuit and change. Lewis had no interest in this. Sitting even closer to people who knew each other, but not him, would just be more awkward. He returned to the bar for a club soda. Best not to be both depressed and drunk.

Afterward, he ventured out onto the back deck. In one corner was the in-ground spa, where three people sat, a woman shoulder-to-shoulder between two men. As Lewis moved closer he was not surprised to see the woman was his wife.

The churning water was chest-high for the men on either side; Deborah sat a little deeper. The bubbles obscured anything beneath the surface. He looked for straps on her shoulders and saw none; she had not put on a top. For Christ's sake, Lewis fumed. He could imagine her conversation with Fiona in the cabana: "No, just the bottom half; I don't need the top. I'll just let my male coworkers stare at and fondle my bare breasts."

The man to her left (Greg?) had his arm around her shoulders. The man to her right, Roger: where were his hands? Somewhere underwater, hidden: perhaps her breasts? Or maybe in her lap, looking for a way inside her bikini bottom?

She said something to Roger; his eyes widened, and they laughed. She moved her right hand, which was still underwater; but from the angle of her shoulder, it looked like she was reaching between his legs. Oh god, Lewis thought. Certainly sitting next to a gorgeous topless woman was making the man hard. Even Lewis was getting hard watching. And now she's touching his dick?

Roger stood up slightly, reached down with both hands, and sat down again. What was he doing? Pushing in a boner that had popped out?

Lewis had the answer soon enough when Roger fished his dripping swim trunks out of the water and laid them on the deck. Deborah reached in again. Though her hand was underwater, it was obvious what she started doing: she began stroking the naked man's penis.

Lewis felt his face turning red. She knew he was at the party, and still she was doing this, flaunting it. Roger breathed more and more deeply as she stroked him. Seeing her initiate this was much worse than seeing her go along with other guys' wishes. It was all too easy to imagine what was happening underwater. In spite of himself, Lewis was getting visibly aroused. His dick poked against his loose boxers and his trousers.

Lewis was perturbed to find a small voice within himself empathizing with the man at Deborah's side. He has a gorgeous woman at his office, but unfortunately married, totally unattainable. She dresses well, professionally, so almost everything about her is left to the imagination, which is still stirred by the occasional peek down her blouse, or those red-letter days where she comes in wearing a sweater. How she looks in a bikini, or wearing nothing at all, he figures he'll never know.

Then there's finally a party, and she shows up, and he finally gets to see her let her hair down. She wears a sexy outfit, showcasing the dynamite body he always knew she had. When she gets a few drinks in her, she's a big flirt, and a fun-lover, even more than he hoped for. And the hot tub, she's cool with that, in fact she's even cool with climbing in topless, next to him, even giving him a handjob because hey, we're all having fun here...

It was much easier to blame his wife for providing the opportunity than to blame the guy for taking her up on it. Roger's eyes were closed now, obviously enjoying this more and more, an intimate moment sort of hidden under the bubbling water. He was probably imagining her naked too, and his dick being put to better use. Finally he shuddered, and leaned back in obvious ecstasy. After several seconds he gazed at her with appreciation and a weary smile.

Lewis's wife had just jerked off another man.

Dizzy, Lewis stepped over to a stucco column and leaned against it for support.

The man reached for his swim trunks, shimmied back into them underwater, gave Deborah a hug, and climbed out. Good riddance, Lewis thought.

Deborah turned to Greg, the man at her left; Lewis feared she would do the same for him. Instead, they spoke for a moment, and she stood up, her bare breasts clearing the surface and removing any doubt she was topless. Perhaps she was getting out too. Greg scooted forward a bit, now sitting on the edge of the seat.

She wasn't getting out. She faced Greg and climbed onto his lap.

Oh great, a lap dance, thought Lewis. Just like a stripper. His wife's breasts, still above the water, jiggled as she gyrated and bounced on his lap. A few seconds of this and Greg started playing with them, even leaning forward at times to kiss them. No doubt they were slippery and tasted of chlorine, but (no surprise there) he didn't seem to mind. He said something and she hopped off; Lewis hoped this meant the dance was over. Instead, she reached underwater and helped him remove his swimtrunks as well. Then she got back on his lap and continued dry-humping him, now with the guy naked.

She held his shoulders and arched her back as he manhandled her breasts, teasing, stroking and pinching. His erection had to be poking against her bikini bottoms, vainly trying to find its way in. The temptation must be unbearable, Lewis guessed, to be so close to having real sex with such a beautiful, nearly naked woman. Could this really be considered a tease? Probably not; guys paid good money at clubs for entertainment just like this. Greg's boner had to be trying to poke a hole in Deborah's bikini.

The guy went rigid for several seconds, then seemed to collapse. Lewis sighed. His wife had let another man come, another guy's jizz spurting against her bikini bottom.

She finally stood up again, navel deep in the bubbling water. Please let this be the end of it, Lewis begged, trying to telepathically convince her to stop. A married woman isn't supposed to act this way.

To his momentary relief, she did stop. She blew a kiss to Greg and climbed out of the spa. Water sheened off her lovely body and Lewis was once again taken with how beautiful she was, and how difficult it was to stay angry, even when she had wronged him as blatantly as this. Her face beamed and her breasts bobbed as she stepped onto the deck. He was shocked to see not a soaked bikini bottom, but sodden pubic hair and bare skin.

Deborah hadn't gone into the pool topless. All that time, she had been naked. Which means that the second guy... oh, shit, Lewis thought.

She stood on the deck, looking magnificent, naked head to toe. Water beaded and dripped along her bare skin. Several onlookers whistled and she smiled appreciatively. A young man with a crew cut handed her a towel and she leisurely dried off. You've had your fun, Lewis said to himself; please, Deborah, put on some clothes, now.

She seemed in no hurry to get dressed again. She folded the towel over the back of a chair and greeted another man, who had taken off his tie and unbuttoned his collar. He looked her up and down in a comical, exaggerated motion and she laughed. He followed this with a funny observation, at least to her, and she lifted her breasts up like an offering, squeezing them together. They both laughed. They embraced quickly; she air-kissed him on both cheeks, European-style. He responded by kissing her left nipple, then her right. She wagged a finger at him: naughty boy.

Lewis shook his head. For God's sake, Deborah, please stop screwing around and get dressed!

The man left; she blew a kiss in his wake. She looked around for a moment, not noticing her husband. She seemed entirely comfortable being naked among many people.

Another man approached; Lewis recognized him as the asshole, Nick. He had changed into a Speedo swimsuit that was almost obscenely small. It showed off his well-toned body and the bulge of his package. He and Deborah stood face to face, admiring each other. So this was the worst-case scenario Theo had warned about.




That's No Lady - That's My Wife



She pointed at Nick's crotch, mentioning something Lewis couldn't hear, and Nick's reply made her giggle and blush. He reached out to caress her breasts and she arched her back slightly, forcing them forward and upward. He rubbed her stiff nipples with his thumbs and she closed her eyes and sighed.

Stop this, Lewis wanted to scream, and she seemed to hear him: she grabbed Nick's forearms and asked him to stop. Perhaps sex underwater was okay, but above ground violated some sense of propriety. But she was looking at Nick's crotch again, and reached out to cradle the man's cock and balls, snug in the dark Speedo. He folded his hands behind his back, giving her full permission. She gripped his swimsuit and started to pull it down.

She only pulled it a few inches, just enough to let his dick flop out. Even though not fully hard, it was already large, and growing. As she she took it in her hands, there was more than enough room for her eight slim fingers to wrap around the shaft. "Wow," she said, a word even a novice lipreader could spot. She licked her lips and placed a hand between her legs, moistening herself.

He suggested something and pointed to a darkened corner of the patio area, a place still within Lewis' field of view. She nodded and followed Nick there, slipping her fingertips inside the back of his half-pulled-down Speedo, palming a tight bun.

Lewis shivered at the raw eroticism of the scene. He dropped a hand to touch his own erection, surprised how strong it was. Even though he still nursed a vain hope that she might stop this entirely wrong course of action, her self-confidence, and complete awareness of the effect of her nude body on other men, was enthralling. Her desire was focused, obvious, and purposeful. She would take a man's desire and attention, and pay it all back with interest.

At the dark corner, Nick leaned against the wall, hands behind his head. Deborah peeled his swimsuit down to his ankles. His erection throbbed.

No, no, no, no, thought Lewis. She kneeled and took the tip of Nick's cock between her lips and tongue, tasting it. He gazed down at her with a satisfied smile, as if this were a familiar position for her; as if she had done it before. Her breasts swayed gently as she gradually took in more. Her cheeks tightened and released as she sucked.

Nick held one hand in her hair as she thrust her head back and forth, her breasts quivering. Her beautiful lips, with which she kissed Lewis each night, to which she had carefully applied a slight reddish gloss at the house, were wrapped around this man's thrusting cock. Lewis was painfully hard, ashamed to realize this was turning him on.

Her hair whipped back and forth as she worked faster. Nick watched everything. Her breasts bobbed, her nipples rock-hard. The view most people at poolside had was from behind: her slightly spread thighs flexed, her butt tight, and her pussy lips open and wet. It was probably an amazing show.

I can't watch, Lewis told himself. I especially don't want to watch the ending. He turned on his heel and stormed back inside, almost toppling a slim bikini-clad woman in his path.

That's it, he decided. The next time I see her I'm taking her home. But I'm not going to follow her around and watch her fool around with every man here. I'm her husband. She has to come to me.

He returned to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.

Deborah did come back, maybe half an hour later, and no longer naked. But all she wore was a red thong. It wasn't hers, and fit badly. Most of her butt cheeks and a bit of pubic hair peeked out. Her breasts jiggled as she walked, and despite himself Lewis felt as infatuated with her as ever. Erotic and beautiful, even in spite of her behavior. Or possibly because of it.

"Hi, sexy!" She said, wrapping an arm around him, her breast squishing against him. She'd had a little more to drink, and tended to become even more animated as her inebriation increased. "Wanna fool around?"

The idea occurred to Lewis, and he couldn't completely discount it, that she might have forgotten she was married to him. Just another party guy to flirt with. That was not a pleasant thought.

"Where'd you get the thong?" he said.

She giggled. "Oh, that's Leah's. I didn't want to walk around compleeeetely naked, huh?"

"Come on, Deborah, I saw you in the hot tub. I saw you giving oral sex."

She stepped back and folded her arms. "No, you come on. All you've done tonight is scold me. I can't believe I thought it was a good idea to bring you here."

"Don't change the subject. I don't want you fooling around with other guys any more."

"Lewis," she whined, "it's just for fun. These people are my friends. Sure, we might do a few naughty things, but we're all adults! We don't need chaperones."

"How can you be someone's wife and then have sex with another man in a fucking hot tub?"

"I wasn't 'having sex,' I was just flirting with him. So I was naked, so what? Fiona was out of swimsuits. And, you know, if you're playing games, and a man and woman are close together, well, sometimes our bodies respond. He gets hard. I get wet. And I don't want to stop enjoying it."

"The man's dick was inside you. Wasn't it."

"Yes... but, he didn't come."

"He didn't come." His tone made clear he didn't believe her.

"He didn't come inside me. He pulled out. Honey, it's just flirting. If they come inside me, that's crossing the line, I know that."

Lewis had no interest in arguing semantics all night. "Let's get your clothes and go home."

Her mouth fell open. "What? Am I not allowed to have any fun at all?"

"If you value our marriage."

She waited for him to back off, to qualify his ultimatum. He summoned up all the resolve he had to stand his ground. His natural instinct was to do whatever would please this beautiful woman. Whatever it would take to keep her happy.

She sighed. "OK. I'll go home early. I'm doing this for you, you know." She hurriedly peeled off the red thong, almost tripping over it.

"What are you doing?"

She handed it to him. "While I get my clothes, why don't you find Leah and return this. Short blonde hair, hot little body. She might have a top on by now, but she's probably still naked.

"In fact," she said, hands on hips, "why don't you fuck her. A quickie while we're waiting. Maybe it'll make you feel better." Nude, she turned and stormed off. Lewis stared after her, mesmerized by the way her bottom swiveled as she walked. I can't let her manipulate me like this, he thought.

Screw Leah, he decided. Not literally. Let Deborah take care of returning the thong. He stuffed it into his pocket.

Actually, he mused, the thing to do would be to get Deborah into another job. This company was toxic.

He stood where he was and waited for his wife to return.

It took longer than he had hoped, but she did come back. She hadn't found her clothes. She probably hadn't looked for them.

She walked arm in arm with Nick, who at least had the decency to pull his Speedo back up and stuff his cock inside. She looked like a schoolgirl in love with the star quarterback, with the girl naked and tipsy, and the guy looking aloof. Nick mostly gazed at her and paid Lewis little attention at all.

"Hi, honey," she said, stopping a couple feet away from him. She was ready to say something more when Nick, standing behind her, reached around and started fondling a breast. She swatted his hand away, but he was not to be deterred. A second later, he started again, and ignored her half-hearted swat. He rolled a nipple gently between thumb and forefinger. She didn't protest again. Her skin was pliant in his fingers, deliciously soft.

Lewis could think of nothing to say.

"Honey, I'm, um-" Deborah hesitated as Nick reached for her other breast, now caressing both. She tried to regain her composure, but the drinks she'd had and Nick's hands were making it impossible. "I'm uh, oooh! .... um, Nick invited me over, so I'm going to go to his place..."

Nick had moved in right behind her, bodies touching, and let one hand drift down over her belly. "Nick, no!" she said, but he pressed on, brushing her pubic hair, finding the moist slit between her legs.

"So I'll be at Nick's and, uh-"

Nick inserted the tip of his middle finger in her wet pussy, exploring.

"Ni-ick!" she chided. "I'm talking to my husband!"

Nick pushed in deeper, which made her gasp. Lewis saw her pussy lips fold and stretch around Nick's finger.

Lewis knew that Deborah wasn't unhappy at all, that her scolding of the man molesting her naked body was just words. She sounded angry, but her eyes were bright, and she had the slight scarlet flush in her cheeks and neckline that he recognized from their sexual adventures at home. No, she wasn't angry at all. Instead, she was close to having an orgasm.

"So, uh..." She looked at him plaintively; if she could somehow just manage to say what she needed to, then she could be free; but it was so hard to put the words together. "... Nick'll take me home, uh, don't wait up for me?"

Lewis glowered at his wife, standing there naked, letting another man squeeze her tits, stick a finger up her pussy, right in front of her husband, and seemingly in denial that she was going anything wrong. If he kept her here long enough, face flush, nipples rock hard, pussy lips soaking Nick's fingers, she would come, moaning, right here, standing in front of him. Right in front of everyone. And she wouldn't care. In fact, it would only make her climax harder.

The image of this made his own swelling dick strain against his slacks, blood surging into it. His wife was being willfully, brashly debauched, and welcoming it with a lustful hunger. This not only appalled him, but fascinated and aroused him. What's happening to me? he thought. And if I keep watching this, getting more and more turned on...

Deborah still waited for his answer.

"I can't keep you here," he said. "Go."

Obligation fulfilled, Deborah turned to Nick, whose finger popped out like a gasoline nozzle from the tank of an absent-minded driver. More of the fake scolding continued as his hands roamed over her body. Then she leaped into his arms, kissing him, and he held her by her bottom as they left the room.

Well fuck, that's it, Lewis thought. She's gone. Right in front of me.

In a clear state of mind, he would have retreated to a private area to let his erection subside. Instead, he stood where he was, his imagination swimming with visions of Deborah in different situations, all the revelations of the night swirling together. Would she wait until Nick got her home to give herself up to him? Or was he fucking her in the back seat of his car right now?

He needed to find a bathroom to go jerk off, let off some tension. It wouldn't take long. He was hard enough that if he wasn't careful-

"Hi, Lewis!" Fiona appeared at his side. "Having a good time?"

"No," he said, distracted. "No, I'm not. My wife... she walked out of here naked with another man." He was regaining his train of thought. "No fault of yours, but this party really sucks."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Fiona said, looking concerned. "Who was it?"

Why does it matter? he thought. "Nick."

Fiona brightened. "Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be telling you this. But I had a weekend fling with him, and oh, god, he wore me out. He-"

He waved her off. "Enough. Please." His mind had quickly substituted Deborah in place of Fiona, moaning in pleasure as Nick fucked her, eyes closed, fingernails digging into his back, breasts swaying with every thrust.

"Sorry." She laid a hand on his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. "I saw you on the deck, watching her. I honestly thought you were going to come, too."

"What?" Stop it, Fiona, he thought. In his mind, Nick and his wife were seconds away from climaxing. Back here, Lewis was overheating and in danger of coming too. Fiona was a sexy woman on her own, and standing intimately close to him.

"Even now," she said, feeling his dick through his trousers. "Your wife is beautiful, and I can tell, even though you don't like it, what she's doing is turning you on." She gently rubbed the head of his cock between thumb and fingertips.

"Please don't do this," he warned, fearing that it was already too late. He was reminded of old cartoons where the sun was so hot the thermometer's mercury would burst through its top.

"That has to-" she began.

"Dammit, you-" Lewis didn't finish the sentence. He shivered and gritted his teeth as he came, spurting hot semen into his trousers. Even after the first pulse, he was trying in vain to hold back, but other muscles and sensations had taken over. "Oh god..." How worse could things get? How obvious was it to everyone around what happened? Only a matter of time before the wet spot soaked through--

Fiona looked shocked for a moment. Lewis feared she would either start laughing, or recoil in horror, or drag him to the front door and kick his ass out. But she did none of these. Instead, her demeanor instantly changed when she realized what she had done.

"Oh my god, Lewis, I didn't mean to do that!" she whispered, taking him by the arm. "Shit, what do we do... Here, come with me. We'll change you into some clean clothes." He followed.

She deftly guided him between groups of guests, along a corridor toward the back of the house, and up a staircase. Lewis wondered if it was now apparent what had happened, if it had soaked through his slacks. He didn't have the heart to take a look.

"This way," she said, guiding him by the shoulder. He noticed her fragrance, a pleasant reminder of their first meeting, just a few hours ago, before this nightmare happened. "I am so sorry, I just feel horrible!" Her right breast brushed against him as they entered a darkened bedroom. She flipped on the lights. The room was furnished, but evidently not lived in. A queen-size bed, immaculately made, lay next to a mahogany nightstand. A door to the left opened into a private bathroom.

Fiona locked the bedroom door. Lewis welcomed the privacy. The noise from the party downstairs was muted.

"I think there are still some clothes left from my ex-husband," she said. "You can wear his home. I'll have your slacks dry-cleaned and get them back to you." She looked him in the eye, her pretty face showing grief. "You had a horrible time tonight, and it's my fault."

He shook his head. "No, it's not your fault. You're not the one who caused it."

She looked pained. "I know. Debbie. Here, have a seat on the bed." She carefully crouched in front of him and untied his shoes.

"I can do this," he demurred. "If you can get the other pants..."

"No, this was totally my fault. Let me get you fixed up." She doffed his shoes and socks, arranging them neatly to the side. "Okay, stand up," she said, taking his hand. She unbuckled and unzipped him, then gingerly pulled down his slacks and boxers, avoiding the sticky semen. She didn't make a scene over it, neither titillated nor repulsed at the sight.

She helped him step out of his pants, and left them on the floor while she led him to the bathroom. "Stand here, and we'll clean you off." She soaked a clean washcloth in warm water and soap.

He glanced at himself in the mirror; looking pretty pathetic, standing there in a dress shirt and tie, with no pants. Fiona was inexplicably going out of her way to tend to him; such a turnabout from the wicked smile she'd shown when fondling him downstairs. Or maybe not: she was still touching him again.

She crouched down and cleaned his thighs and waist first, frequently rinsing the cloth and applying another dot of liquid soap. The warm water felt luxurious. In happier times, he thought, this might be a good spa service.

"I have to be careful not to get this dress wet," she said. "I would take it off, but I'm not wearing anything underneath." As very pleasant images flooded into his mind, she started cleaning his scrotum. He quickly grew hard, and stammered out an apology.

"Don't feel bad," she said. "It actually makes it easier to clean. Believe me, I'm not trying to make you come again." She rinsed the cloth, and applied it to his shaft. "If this is getting too much for you, let me know."

"OK so far," he said.

She grinned. "It's a good thing I didn't take my dress off."

The image of her doing this naked made him instantly very stiff. "Careful..." He tried to distract himself by thinking of other things.

Too soon, in his opinion, she was done, and stood up. "There, good as new. I'll lock the bedroom door and get you some pants while you air-dry. Then you can head on home."

Lewis was about to simply say "thanks", but was reminded why he was heading home alone, and grew bitter. "Maybe I could just take the rest off, go downstairs, and join the party."

"You could," Fiona said. "It's not the best idea, though."

"No, it isn't."

They walked out toward the bed. "Stay right here," she said. "I'll lock the door so no one walks in on you. I'll be right back."

"Thank you."

"Thank you, Lewis. You're taking this very well. I want to make it up to you. I promise, your slacks will be as good as new." She kissed him lightly on the cheek and left. The door clicked as she shut it. Her scent lingered on his cheek, and he realized he was still hard.

Even through the walls, he could still hear the party going strong downstairs. Perhaps Deborah was at Nick's by now; eyes bright, mouth laughing, breasts bouncing as she stumbled into his bedroom. Maybe her pussy was dripping with anticipation. Maybe...

I have to stop obsessing over this, he thought. He stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to collect his thoughts without slipping into sexual fantasies. It wasn't easy, and he didn't really succeed. He wondered what was taking Fiona so long. After more than an hour, he fell asleep.

He awoke to a knock on the door, then the click of a key in the lock. The party noise was gone; the air seemed thick with silence. Fiona peeked inside, and then let herself in.

"Oh, shit! Lewis, I am so sorry," she said, anguished. "I completely forgot about you! I went to find some pants for you and I completely forgot! I feel awful about this!" She walked over to the bed and sat at his side.

He didn't say anything; he was taken by the sight. His dick, open to the air, began to harden. Fiona wore only a pair of dark silk boxers, to which her fair skin and bare breasts made a sharp contrast. She noticed what he was staring at and smiled apologetically. "Oh, when I'm home alone, I don't bother getting dressed up for bed," she said. She pointed to her boxers. "If it's really warm, I don't even wear these."

She glanced between his legs, noting his response. "Would it be more comfortable if I put a shirt on?"

"No, that's fine," he said. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Almost quarter of four. Everybody's gone. I was almost ready to climb in bed before I remembered." She looked glum. "I am so sorry. This is terrible, what I've done. I've been so rude."

"It's OK. I don't think you meant it," he said. "I'd better go home now."

"I looked around, but I don't have any of my ex-husband's pants left," she said. She laid a hand on his thigh. Lewis couldn't tell if there was ulterior intent. "The swim trunks I know I had, but I can't find. I know, that's no use to you at all. But... it's so late, why don't you stay tonight? I'll get your trousers dry-cleaned first thing in the morning."

Lewis pondered this. The idea of sleeping on the metaphorical couch was not appealing. Even less so if he happened to misread any sexual advances from Fiona that weren't really there. She was warmhearted, and beautiful, and nearly naked, and comfortable around his obvious sexual arousal; but he didn't trust his instincts or perceptions any more. There had been more than enough humiliation for one night.




That's No Lady - That's My Wife



"I'd rather just go home. Like this. No one's going to notice." He was right; from her gated property to his garage, he wouldn't be showing anything below the waist in public.

She led him downstairs. The house was a little chilly; he wasn't used to walking around bare-assed. Sprawled on a sofa near the entryway a nude woman lay face down. "That's Arianna," Fiona whispered. "Let her sleep." The door opened to a still and balmy night.

She kissed him quickly as they parted. The moonlight cast her breasts in lovely stark shadows. After the door closed, he snickered. His dick was still hard.

He drove home to an empty house. He didn't expect Deborah would return until the next morning. He stripped off his shirt and climbed into bed.

His dreams were full of Deborah, sometimes half-undressed, but most of the time naked; repeating some of the events at the party and doing plenty of new things. She had sex with one nameless guy after another, and Nick, and even Evelyn and Tricia. The climactic scene had Deborah on her back on the bed, wearing only earrings and high heels, moaning and shuddering, as Fiona, also naked, was licking her pussy. He awoke to sticky sheets, his dick still pulsing.

Saturday morning, noon and evening passed by, and his wife didn't come home. Lewis did nothing constructive that day, obsessed with continuing vivid images of her with other people. He jerked off in the shower, and while toweling off was already hard again; he sat on the toilet and jerked off again. He didn't bother getting dressed.

Throughout the day he was either in a state of recovery after just climaxing, with a fleeting, conscientious thought to clean up the mess he had made, or already erect again. Only by sunset, when his dick was pretty sore, did he have the will to stop.

The low point was probably early afternoon, when a delivery courier rang the doorbell. He absent-mindedly opened the door mid-stroke, and the pretty Latino woman in tight uniform was treated to the sight of a naked man with stiff cock in hand, his come spurting out toward her. She dropped the package with a shriek and ran back to the safety of her truck.

"Sorry," Lewis said, though she was too far away to hear. His mind cleared for a moment; taking the package, he quickly went back inside and locked the door. The package was for Deborah, from Daphne's Daydreams. A lingerie shop. Was this for his benefit, or for someone at work? His cock stirred.

On Sunday, he was in better shape, able to clean the house, run some errands and catch a movie. He expected her to return that day, but she did not.

Monday morning, a little before seven, Deborah came home.

Lewis was in the kitchen eating breakfast, wearing a ragged but comfortable pair of boxers, when he heard the throaty growl of a sports car coming to a stop. He went into the living room and nudged aside the curtain to take a peek.

Nick's Jag convertible, its top down, was in the driveway. Nick walked around to open the door for Deborah, who was wearing one of his dress shirts and nothing else. It fit loosely on her and was completely unbuttoned. He helped her step out of the low-slung seat.

Lewis stared. His neighbors were picking up newspapers, finishing morning jogs, and driving to work. And here was his wife, basically naked, open shirt, coming home with another man.

Nick slid his arms under her shirt and held her close. She snuggled up to him, moving suggestively, lips against his. He brought one hand forward to cup a bare breast. On one side the shirt began to slip down and bare a shoulder.

She glanced toward the house, as if she had noticed Lewis peeking through the window, and said something to Nick, probably that she really should go inside. He gave her one last squeeze and let her go. He backed out of the driveway and sped off as she walked leisurely toward the front door.

Lewis opened the door before she rang: she was still trying to button her shirt. Only the two lowest buttons were fastened. The shirt gaped open to reveal her breasts. She smiled innocently. "Hi honey. Sorry I'm late."

He stepped aside to let her in. "I don't know what to say, Deborah. I really don't."

She gave him a hug that he didn't return. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have stayed out so long without calling you. I lost track of time."

"What did you do, for three days?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He was amazed to find out that his answer was yes.

"Well. Um... I left Friday night, you saw that; and we went back to his house. We fooled around for a long time, and we didn't get back to sleep until the sun was up. By that time I was a little sore, and just really spent. I know, I'm trying not to make you jealous."

Now why would that happen, he thought wryly.

"So when we wake up, it's almost noon," she continued. "He says we're running late; he's taking me out on the river with some friends. Now I don't have anything to wear, at all, and there's no time to go shopping. So he gets one of his dress shirts, like this one, and I wear that. I button it all the way up, except the top one, and it covers almost everything.

"We get to the boat, and it's three other guys and us. I'm the only girl there. So naturally I'm the center of attention. The boat is really nice, with a deck up above and a cabin below. As I'm climbing up and down it's obvious that I'm not wearing anything under the shirt. The guys are peeking up my legs and at my butt. Probably they see my pussy a few times; the shirt isn't that long. I'm having fun teasing them.

"After we've had some beers, they all start getting really chummy: arms around my waist, hands on my thigh and stuff. When I sit on their laps, I can feel how hard they're getting. Of course, I'm making things a little bit worse, because I lift the shirt tail a little so it's only my bare butt on their lap.

"They start getting bolder, and soon everyone has rubbed my butt once or twice, and one guy even had his hand so far up my leg that he touched my pubic hair. I let him feel up there for a second before pushing him away."

Lewis pictured this all quite vividly, his mind happy to fill in necessary detail. His hardening penis pushed against his boxers and threatened to poke through the front flap.

"But it's really hot outside," she said. "With a bikini I might have been comfortable, but in the long-sleeve shirt I'm baking. So I try rolling up the sleeves, but that doesn't do much good. The next thing I do is undo some buttons up top, and get some air circulating that way. Of course, now all the men are not only trying to look up from below, but now are peeking down the shirt too. If I lean forward, they can pretty much see everything. It's obvious from the tent poles in their swimtrunks that they're getting really excited.

"Even then, it's still uncomfortably hot," she lamented. "I don't really want to sweat too much inside someone else's clothes. So I decide to do what I had been putting off doing, which is to completely unbutton the shirt and just take it off. So it's a tradeoff: even though I feel a little cooler now, I have to be naked in front of four men. Of course they start getting ideas."

Lewis said, "I bet those men couldn't resist."

"I'm the one who couldn't resist!" she said. "I'm wet just thinking about it! Here, feel me." She guided his hand underneath the shirt hem to her moist pussy. At least she's telling the truth now, he thought.

"Actually, I've got an even better idea," she said, and took off the shirt. She was thoroughly enjoying telling her story, animated and aroused. She was happier than he'd seen her in some time. Her beauty was startling. At times he so relished seeing her nude that he wished she would never dress again.

She pointed to his boxers. "Take those off."

He complied. His rigid cock throbbed.

"Yeah, that's a better idea," she said. She led him to the kitchen table, and turned out a chair. He sat down, and she sat on his lap, facing him. Just like the pool with that other guy, he remembered, and felt momentarily sour. Then she guided him inside her, and it felt wonderful.

"God, you're so wet," he marveled.

"Yes, that's how I felt." She started moving up and down, side to side, slipping deliciously along his hard cock. "There was so much sexual tension, starting when I first stepped on the boat. And now that I was naked, there was no avoiding what we all wanted.

"One guy already has his trunks off, so I lay back on this long, cushioned seat and let him take me. I know I usually don't come from just having someone inside me, but the situation is so sexy that I have an orgasm even before he does. After he's done, another guy starts, then another. It's so awesome. When one guy is getting his second wind, there's always another one ready. Never have I been just coming, or close to coming, for so long at a time."

"I suppose none of them came inside you, huh." Lewis's doubts were obvious in his tone of voice.

"Oh, honey," she said, "that was a long time ago. I didn't know when was the right time to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"Well... pretty soon after I was hired, there was more fooling around as I got to know the guys. Just a pat on the shoulder at first, an arm at the back; getting me used to being touched. A hand at my knee, for a moment, while making a point. Then a hand on my thigh. A pat on my butt; then a pat that sort of stays there, exploring a little bit.

"The guys use any excuse to give me a hug, chummy at first, but more and more lingering. I start to feel how aroused they are as I embrace them, their you-know-whats pressing against me. They're getting more confident that I'm not going to turn around and sue for sexual harassment. I notice them staring more openly at me, down the blouse when I bend forward, stuff like that.

"Gerald -- did you meet Gerald? -- convinces me to stop wearing a bra to work. I slip over to the ladies' room to take it off, and put it in my desk. I'm wearing that white sweater, and just the feel of it rubbing on my nipples makes them rock hard. He touches them. It's the first time one of the guys touches me there. Suddenly I want him touching me everywhere. I take everything off, and we fuck on the conference table."

"Oh, god..."

"Pretty soon, I'm doing this with a number of people. Sometimes after hours, sometimes during the day. But it was kind of a courtesy that if we had sex, he wouldn't come inside me. Some guys were good; others didn't have the self-control. I think some of them pretended not to be able to because they preferred to just come inside. Kind of sneaky, they thought.

"So what the nice guys would do is have a wad of kleenex, and pull out of me, and come into that. But after a while nobody was really doing that anymore. I was usually on my back, on a desk or couch or something. If he pulled out when he came, he would just spill onto my thighs or tummy. Some guys would shoot really strong and get some on my tits."

Had she ever used such coarse language before? Lewis wondered.

She said, "When that happened, it didn't make sense to get dressed right away. I would walk down to the ladies' room to get cleaned up. A couple times it was closed, and I had to go to the next floor. Anyway, pretty soon everyone has seen me this way, walking down the hall naked, with dripping come on my legs and tummy and tits."

It's like an orgy office, Lewis thought, stunned.

"And the thing about that," she said, "is if another guy saw me like that, it made little sense to say no when he found me later and wanted some action. He's seen my bare swollen pussy. He's seen the smile on my face. He's seen the come dripping from my body. Am I supposed to tell him I don't do sex in the workplace?"

"But..."

She laughed. "There was this one time where I was walking to the ladies' room, and one of the VPs takes me by the arm. There were some clients from overseas and I had to do a presentation right now. No time to clean up. No time to get dressed. So I have to stand there in front of two guys who are suddenly very interested in what our company can offer.

"I would prefer to get cleaned up as soon as possible, but the visitors have lots of questions, and I'm there for over an hour. The come on me is beyond sticky and is mostly dried by now. Finally, there's no more questions, and the visitors whisper something to my boss. I can't hear what it is, so I stand there with my hands behind my back, waiting.

"My boss says we've got the contract, and that I did very well. All he'd like me to do is give each of the visitors oral sex. I say okay, and the guys look like they've walked into a candy store. So I do them both. I really don't like to swallow, but it wouldn't be polite to spit it out, so what am I going to do? After that, they both want to fuck me, so I have to do that too." She chuckled. "This one guy, he just loved my tits and was playing with them for the longest time, just pushing and tapping them and watching them move. At that point, I'm getting pretty worn out. Still, afterward, my boss is so turned on that after he sees them out, he clears off his desk and fucks me right there. Then, finally, I get to go clean up."

She still moved sinuously on his lap as she told the story; probably this was preventing him from getting too angry.

"So back on the boat," she continued, "it was getting more crowded on the water as we got toward this marina. So all of a sudden the guys get more modest and put their trunks back on. I didn't have that option, and I was still feeling horny, so I just lay back and feel myself up. I'm on this deck where everyone in other boats can see me, so no doubt I'm getting a lot of attention. I close my eyes, and I can hear them whistling and cheering.

"After a while, I'm getting really, really hot, knowing all these men are staring at my naked body. My legs are spread, my knees in the air, and my pussy is right out there in the open. So I slip a finger between my legs and slowly up inside me. I'm breathing harder, and harder, and-"

Lewis had heard more than enough and came hard, grunting and bucking against Deborah.

"Oh, honey," she said. She almost looked contrite. "We had a great arrangement. We still have." She kissed him tenderly. "When I'm home, I'm all for you, you know that. I do anything you like. Don't you like this?"

Theo was right, Lewis thought. I am in over my head. She really knew how to manipulate him, to the point where he couldn't even articulate and defend his side of a debate.

She stood up. "I have to get dressed. But I'll come home early tonight, sweetie. I'll cook some steaks." She stooped forward, to whisper in his ear. "i'll wear exactly what I'm wearing now."

"Fine," he said, managing a smile. "See you then."

He put on his boxers and some gym clothes, and went out for a walk. There was still dew on the grass, and some low-lying clouds. Deborah talked about an "arrangement"; but the only one he agreed to was the one they recited at the altar. She had simply made unilateral changes to suit her needs.

Maybe he could amend this arrangement, too.

When he returned, Deborah was gone. He showered, started toweling off, and caught the phone at the last ring before the machine would have picked up. It was Fiona.

"Your clothes are ready," she said. "I was wondering if you'd like to stop by and pick them up, maybe stay for dinner?"

"That sounds excellent."

"I won't mention anything to Debbie. I'll leave that up to you."

They made arrangements for seven o'clock. Lewis didn't plan to tell his wife about it either. Let her wonder what he was doing for a change.

That evening, Fiona answered the door having just stepped out of the shower herself. She wore two white towels, one turbaned around her wet hair, and the other wrapping her torso, from beneath her arms to halfway down the thigh. She wore an expression of surprise and puzzlement.

"I'm sorry, did I tell you seven-thirty or seven?"

"Seven," Lewis said, chuckling. He was sure of that, and he guessed so was she.

"Oh, that's all right, come in." She ushered him into the foyer and unwrapped the towel around her head, laying it on a table. She arranged her damp hair into a rough resemblance of last Friday's style. She smelled of soap and shampoo.

"Hey, thanks very much for doing the clothes." His pressed trousers were laid over the back of a chair, his boxers folded on top. Next to the boxers was Leah's thong. He had forgotten about that.

"You're welcome. The thong, I don't know whose it is, but I washed that too. I found it in your pocket."

"Debbie said that's someone else's. I didn't get to meet her. A blonde woman. L-something."

"Leah, probably. Leah?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Sounds like her."

"Fiona," he said, "why did this happen? She said it's been going on almost since she started with the company. Back before we were married."

She was silent for a while, looking pretty remorseful. "It's the company culture. They encourage and reward that sort of thing, and they look for people who are into that. I got caught up in it, too. It cost me my marriage."

So that's why she's all alone in this huge house, he thought. Deborah was right.

"And," she said, "I still feel like dirt for what I did to you that night. You probably thought I was crazy."

"It didn't make much sense."

"Well, I read you wrong, that's what happened. I knew what Debbie was doing, and I knew she hadn't told you, so that night was when you were going to find out. Now most guys, when this happens, they're furious, shocked, violated. There's nothing good about what they witness. No bright side.

"But a few men really get off on that. I don't think that's wrong; I'm not going to judge anyone. And some of these men don't even know that about themselves until they find out."

"I'm not one of those guys," he protested. "I'm solid in the first group." If he could convince her, then he might be able to convince himself.

"And some guys," she said, "do like to watch their wives with others, but want some of this action themselves. Like it's more fair. Because the total humiliation, with him getting nothing, goes so far, but not enough."

He figured it out. "So that's why I'm here."

She took his arm. "That's why I invited you."

"You know, I don't think a pity fuck is going to do us any good."

She moved closer. "If I didn't like you already, you wouldn't be here. I'd send these home with your wife. And I might feel some sympathy, but if I really didn't care for you, I'd just say 'hey, sucks to be you.'"

"I don't know whether to be flattered or not."

"Don't let your pride prevent you from doing what you really want."

He stared at her. Even in the towel, about as informal as she could be, she had a beauty equal to Deborah's, yet more upscale somehow. Was it just the palace she lived in? No, not that; where his wife had a sexy girl-next-door persona, Fiona looked like a supermodel. And not one of those stick figures, either. Shapely legs, a really nice bust, and some parts he really wanted to unwrap the towel and see.

"Let's start over," he said. "Hi, Fiona! Am I early?"

She hugged him. "No, you're right on time." She kissed him tentatively, tasting, and he returned it tenfold. He found where her towel had been folded underneath, keeping the whole thing up, and tugged it out.

He stepped back, hands on her shoulders. He had to see. He shook his head in wonder and admiration. Creamy pale skin. Breasts to rival his wife's; and really, he wasn't thinking about Deborah any more. Reddish-brown bush, to match her hair once it dried. Waist and hips that could fit in a sheath dress, but still add some vavoom when she moved.

She looked back, eyebrows arched, mouth open in nearly a laugh. "Let's go."

They went back upstairs, not to the guest bedroom, but to hers, and she reclined with a "hurry-up" posture as he quickly doffed his clothes. Their lovemaking, from a third-person point of view, wasn't that remarkable, but they were in it for their own enjoyment. Certainly there would be future opportunities to try braver things.




That's No Lady - That's My Wife



He lay supine afterward, as she snuggled next to him, head on his shoulder. "I still owe you dinner," she said.

"You don't owe anything."

"Is it OK if we order out? Otherwise it'll be at least another hour."

"I couldn't make you slave away in the kitchen after something like this."

She ordered Thai, and they ate noodles and curry while sitting side by side at the kitchen bar. "Do you want me to take Leah's thong back?" she said.

"That would be great."

"On second thought... why don't you bring it?"

"I don't even know her."

"Good way to break the ice." She picked up the phone. "Leah? I've got Lewis Proll over here, and he needs to stop by and drop off something you left at the party." She laughed. "Yeah, she gave it to him. No, he's a good guy." She muted the phone and asked him, "Can you stop by Leah's house? About two miles away."

"Sure," he said.

"Okay, he'll be there," she told Leah. "Bye!"

Fiona fetched a small gift bag and laid the thong inside. "I'm not trying to chase you away," she said. "I just want you to meet a cute girl. I think you'll hit it off."

"No, you're tired of me," he joked. "Already trying to pawn me off."

She scoffed. "Come back Thursday, maybe Friday. We'll do something." She kissed him. "Is this too weird for you?"

"I think I can get used to it."

He drove to Leah's. She was short and blonde, not quite petite but a nice build, with a prominent chest. She wore a white sleeveless tee, and white bikini panties of seemingly the same thin cotton. Her nipples and cameltoe were lasciviously apparent.

"You have something for me?" she said, grinning.

He proffered the gift bag.

"Oh, is this mine?" she said, pulling out the thong, laughing. "I feel like Cinderella with the glass slipper."

"We should see if it fits." Funny what some good luck does to a man's courage.

"Let's do," she said. She reached behind him to nudge the front door shut. She pointed to the panties she was wearing. "Why don't you take these off?"

He considered that an excellent idea. He knelt to pull them off, and was then inches away from her shaved pussy, almost at eye level. Suppressing his baser instincts, he stood back up.

She was already peeling off her T-shirt. "Most of the time, the thong was all I had on," she explained. "Until your wife borrowed it." Now she was nude, and slowly spun around once, checking herself from all angles. "Now we'll get a better idea of whether it fits."

He said nothing, engrossed in admiring her form.

"Aren't you going to help?" she said. It was the same sort of fake exasperation Deborah used when playacting with him. Not that he minded.

"I kind of like you the way you are."

"I'll do it," she said, and stepped into the thong. "How do I look?"

He walked around her, checking out her ass, her legs, everything. "You look hot." He shook his head. "Wish I had seen you at the party."

"I didn't last long like this," she said. "Before I knew it, some guy was yanking it off."

"We're satisfied this is yours, Cinderella?"

"I guess that makes you my prince?"

"For the moment. But first, let's take off that slipper!"

*

(Author's note: This story is inspired by "My Wife at the Company Beach Party" by clarkoverns. A comparison may be interesting. You'll find one scene that's almost directly lifted from there, and then expanded upon.

This is my first LW story, and I have the feeling I just kicked over a hill of fire ants. Comments on the mechanics, style, or characterization in the story are still welcomed, even the negative ones. But if you have nothing constructive at all to say, you may be moderated.

The ending has sort of an epilogue feel and doesn't flow as well as the rest of the story. I could have brought down the curtain right after Deborah's return, but there were some loose ends I wanted to tie up. Also, I didn't want to start yet another Ch. 01 and make you guys wait for the rest.)