21 comments/ 51787 views/ 21 favorites Sharing Susan Ch. 01 By: 35_mwm_fantasy I awake to the sound of my wife Susan stepping out of the shower and opening the door of the bathroom a crack to allow the steam to escape and the mirror to clear. I lie in bed as the dim morning light filters through the blinds, and from the bed, I can just glimpse her in front of the bright lights and mirror where she is getting ready for work. Her blonde, shoulder length hair is dark and damp, clinging to her back. At 37, she is still very sexy, but also very much a woman, with full hips, a very rounded, high, but heavy ass, and surprisingly shapely legs. I can see her reflection in the mirror, as she is leaning forward and putting on lipstick and mascara, and then I almost fall back to sleep as she is blowdrying her hair. I don't fully wake up until she comes into the room and turns on the lights, saying "Come on James, get up. Just because you work at home doesn't mean you get to sleep in." "Just a few more minutes," I protest, turning over and pulling the blankets around me. She opens the closet, and drops her towel, and in the full light, she stands before the mirror that hangs on the closet door. She reaches into a drawer for a bra, putting out what looks like a serious piece of engineering, with thick straps and heavy underwire to support her gorgeous, heavy breasts. They are large, rounded globes that still seem to float before her as she moves, with pale pink aureole and nipples that show though almost anything she wears. She has always been both proud and embarrassed of her breasts, and her choice of bra reflects this, supporting them with all that wire and those straps so they will not sag, but also concealing their shape and movement from the eyes of clerks, waiters, and co-workers who are always mesmerized by them. After fastening her bra strap, she chooses simple, white satin panties, and slips into a modest blue wrap dress that falls to just past her knees. She puts on pumps that just barely suggest a heel. She comes over to the bed, gives me a peck on the cheek, and says, "Have a good day honey. I'll be home around 5:30 unless the closing on the Dewer house goes through." As she walks out of the room, her surprisingly high, girlish voice calls out, "Don't sleep too late!" I lay there as I hear the sounds of the front door closing and then her car backing out of the drive, and my cock is throbbing, but not because my wife was naked and getting dressed in front of me. Had I asked her to stay for a few minutes and have sex with me, she probably would have, but after eleven years of marriage, the stresses of work and life, Susan and I rarely have sex anymore, and sexual intensity of the early years of our marriage has almost entirely faded. Somehow the intimacy of our marriage, our role of help and support in every situation, the awful grind of life, doesn't leave room for us to see each other as sexual objects arousing passion and fulfilling desires. We live a deeply caring friends more than passionate lovers, now, but two weeks ago, my wife became an instantly arousing presence for me, but only when I began to imagine her with another man. Watching my wife get ready for work, I wasn't watching her at all. I was imagining watching another man watch her. I lay back under the covers, and begin to stroke my cock, letting my hand slide from the base all the way up to the tip, and then back down. I close my eyes, and remember how two weeks ago, driving back from Christmas with my family, we stopped late at night at a motel in the Midwest. * * * We had been driving for hours, and the weather was turning bad, with snow flying and visibility becoming bad, and we took the first thing we could find, a little place that looked like it was built during the Kennedy administration on the outskirts of a very small town. In the cold and snow, its neon lights advertising free cable and a pool seemed like paradise, even if the place looked more than a little dilapidated. "Come on honey," I said. "Just grab your purse, it's too cold to mess with all the bags. We'll get them in the morning." We bundled into our coats and went into the desk. The whole place seemed deserted, and Susan spotted a bell on the desk and rang it. Soon enough, an old and very polite Pakistani man came through a door behind the desk, obviously we had woken him from a deep sleep. "Good evening," he said. "Very good to get off the road in this weather." As I worked out the details of the room, Susan wandered around the lobby, still quite cold. He gave me an old fashioned key with the number 120 on it, and directed me to a glass door leading to a hallway. Susan and I gratefully opened it, tired with driving, and instantly we were surprised by the smell of chlorine. We were in a very very dimly lit, small, indoor pool, with a hot tub next to it. All the light came from the underwater lights, creating a deep blue glow. Our room was accessed by sliding glass door. There were four rooms that opened onto the little pool, but they all seemed to be vacant, and we opened ours and went into to find a big double bed and a bathroom. Susan took off her shoes and went into the bathroom to freshen up, and I gratefully took off my heavy boots, and turned on the heat, and propped myself up on the bed, flipping through the channels. I had a bit of the road daze on me, and I could barely see, but I was wired and not ready to fall asleep. Susan came out of the bathroom. "This place is so weird" she said. "Its like a time warp. Feels like the 1960s or something." She opened the curtains just enough to look out into the pool. "There doesn't seem to be anybody here but us," she remarked. She walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge, and took off her heavy sweater, and then a turtleneck, and she sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off her socks and then her jeans. Wearing only high-cut white cotton panties and a flimsy, unlined cotton bra, she stretched out on the bed. "You tired?" I asked her. "No, just so tense from the long drive and the road. What time is it, anyway?" "Looks like just about midnight, I said." She got up, and walked around the room, and then she went back to the window, peering out into the dim gloom. "That hot tub looks great,"she said. "I wish I would have brought my suit." "Doesn't matter anyway," I replied, "The pool hours probably end at ten or something." "I think we're the only ones here," she said. "I doubt that old guy would care as long as we were quiet. I'm going to check it out." She wrapped a towel around herself, stepped outside the room, and closed the door. A few minutes later, she reappeared. "It's great," she said. The water so hot I could barely stick my toe in it, and there is nobody around. Come on." I stripped down to my briefs, grabbed a towel, and followed her out. We slipped into the hot tub, which felt amazing after the road, and began to relax, chatting about our day, Christmas, about wanting to get home. Every so often, it got so hot, one of us would sit up on the edge and cool off for a moment. In the dim light, Susan's bra and panties were completely translucent, and clung to her body, but once she was back under the gently bubbling water, it was hard to tell she wasn't wearing a bikini. We thought we were entirely alone, until we heard the door open, and from one of the rooms we thought was vacant, a man carrying a towel, a small bag, and dressed in black trunks came walking over to the pool. Susan and I looked at each other, but then she shrugged, and slid deeper into the water. "Hello fellow travelers," he said in a smooth voice. "Do you mind if I join you?" "Please," I said, motioning with my hand, "the water is warm." He set down the paper bag, and slowly eased himself into the water. "Oh, that does feel nice after a brutal drive" he said. He was in his mid forties, with dark hair and a bit of belly and a drinker's nose. "Would you care to join me?" he asked, producing from the bag a bottle of vodka. "I'm sorry," I should have some glasses. Before we could even answer, he got up from the hot tub, and padded back to his room. I immediately looked over at Susan. "Are you ok? Maybe we should go. He can see, well, everything, honey." I gestured to her. She looked down at the water. "Oh, he seems harmless, and that drink does sound good," she said. "So what if we pay for it by giving him a little thrill. He was wearing a wedding ring, so I don't think he'll try anything Anyway, who says its me he is interested in," she laughed, "maybe its you!" I was surprised by her answer, but not shocked. Susan doesn't regularly drink, but when she does she really enjoys it, but it hits her hard. As a young woman, she wasn't particularly modest, and she was always quite frank about sex, but our sex life cooled off, and she became much more reserved in her professional life as a realtor, always worrying about what other people would think, about any hint of gossip that might affect her business reputation in our close knit community. Our new friend came back carrying classes and an ice bucket, and slipped back into the water. "My name is Ray," he said, offering me his hand to shake. "I'm James, and this is my wife Susan," I said, as his warm hand grasped mine tightly. She brought her hand up from under the water and gave a little wave. "Thanks so much for allowing me to join you," he said. "Let me repay that kindness." I'm sorry I don't have anything to mix this with, but perhaps the ice will take the sting out of it." He made up a glasses for each, handed them out, and then said, "A toast, to shelter in the storm." As we clinked glasses, Susan sat up a bit straighter now, with her breasts just floating just above the water, her bra completely translucent, and as we tipped back our glasses, I could see Ray stealing a glance at her exposed body. What most surprised me, though, was how this made me feel. Instead of feeling angry, or threatened, I suddenly felt a tingle of excitement. I was confused by this, and it look me a minute to even be sure what I was feeling, but then it hit me. This man is looking at my wife. He must have heard us come out, and was probably even watching us for awhile before he decided to try to join us. He must want her, must be turned on at how naked she is, must have seen her sitting on the edge to cool off, and he was so excited by this, he has come out to join us. Just the sight of her body has driven him out of his room tonight. And suddenly, I see my wife of eleven years with different eyes, and everything begins to tingle, and I can feel my cock begin to pulse. Susan turned to set her drink on the deck, as she said, "Thanks so much, Ray, I really needed that drink. The drive was so scary and stressful today." "Your welcome," he said, smiling at her. "So where are you two from, and what do you do?" "I'm a realtor," Susan tells him, taking another drink, "and James works as a freelance writer for a number of non-profit groups." "What she means," I joke, "Is that she brings home the bacon, and I'm trying to save the world." We all laugh, and Ray takes the bottle and pours us each another drink, telling us that his work keeps him on the road, and that he spends entirely too much time in hotels. As we are drinking and chatting, the hot tub is growing almost unbearable, and Susan finishes her drink, and then slowly pulls herself up onto the edge of the deck. The water streams off her body, her nipples are as visible as if she wasn't wearing a bra, and the wet fabric clinging to her makes he look even sexier. Her wet panties reveal her neatly trimmed pubic hair. Ray doesn't steal a glance this time, but openly stares at her, his eyes roving up and down her body. Susan meets his gaze, and hands him her empty glass, leaning towards him, "fill me up," she says. Ray takes the bottle, and makes her another drink, and while his attention is on the glass, she winks at me, before she slips back under the gently bubbling water. Seeing Ray look at her like that, and her brazen flirting with him, my cock is now throbbing, and I'm so hot from the water that I feel almost dizzy. I want to get out and cool off, but I don't dare expose myself. "The water is great," I say, "but I wish we could turn down the heat just a bit." "Yes," Ray says, "Its great at first, but for proper drinking and relaxing, its just a bit too much, ins't it," and he pulls himself out of the water to cool off, too. I notice that he is perhaps also aroused, but its hard to tell with his black trunks in the dim light. "I think I saw the thermostat over there," Susan says, as she turns around, pulling herself onto the deck, her whole back is turned towards Ray and I, and the white, wet panties cling to her ass. As she steps up, the outline of her pussy lips are clearly visible to us both. She makes a small show of raising her arms over her head, stretching, and then walks over to the wall. "I can't find it," she says, after a minute, walking back to us, her breasts gently swaying, her whole body as visible and as dripping wet as if she were a college girl in a wet t-shirt contest showing off for all the boys. I can't believe how aroused I am by this, and I keep stealing glances at Ray, watching him watch my wife as she slips back into the hot tub and sips her drink. We chat as if everything is normal. Susan talks about the bad real estate market, and how good it was to get away for Christmas, and Ray nods and makes polite comments, all just as if we were passing time waiting in line for a movie or something. After another drink, I say "Ray, it was very nice to meet you, but we should probably be getting on to bed. It should be an early morning for us." "Yes, says Susan, pulling herself out of the water." "It was my pleasure to meet such a nice couple," he says, and, looking Susan up and down again, he adds, "and James, I hope you won't think me too forward if I say that your wife is one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the pleasure to meet." I'm flustered by this, and Susan blushes too, since now it makes her exposed body suddenly an undeniable fact instead of something we were both pretending to ignore. "It was our pleasure I say," and I get out of the water, my erection still throbbing, and I'm not sure if Ray has noticed, but I know that Susan has. She and I both wrap ourselves in towels and walk the few steps over to our room, leaving Ray sipping vodka in the hot tub. As the door closes, Susan turns, presses her body to me, and puts her hand on my throbbing cock. "Where did this come from," she whispers in my ear. "I don't know," I whisper back, "you just looked so sexy, and I couldn't believe that you were just, so. . . so naked in front of him" I moan slightly as she strokes me and pulls me towards the bed with one hand as she lets her towel fall, and then unsnaps her bra with the other. "Come fuck me, James" she whispers, urgently. In our dark room, I pull off her panties, and she lays back on the bed, spreading her legs as I peel off my own shorts. My cock throbs, so hard, and she whispers again, "now. . . fuck me" and the head of my cock rubs against her lips and she pulls me into her. I am surprised to find her completely wet. Usually I have to go down on her, slowly work her up with all kinds of foreplay before she is creaming like this. Obviously even more turned on, I slip into her with almost no effort, no friction, as I slide all the way to my balls. "Baby," I whisper, "you feel so good," I moan. I push into her, with slow long strokes, as she moans, and she spreads her legs even wider, and begins to rub her clit with her left hand. "You are so hot, oh, baby," I whisper. "Why are you so turned on, tell me." "Just fuck me," she says, a bit drunkenly, moving her hips, and I do, but I can't let it go. I want her to say it. I want her to say that showing off in front of another man made her this way. I pull my cock out, letting just the head of it tease her, almost pressing into her, and then pulling away, slapping her with my long, throbbing shaft. "Why are you so hot. Tell me" I hiss, but she only responds with a moan. "Tell me," I plead with her again, as I slip the head of my cock into her. She puts her hands in my hair, and whispers, "I liked it." I slide further into her, "Liked what? Tell me, tell me what you liked." She moans, her hand on her clit, and I pull her hand away, grasping her wrist. "Tell me, honey, I need to know, I need to hear you say it." I pull out of her, and look into her eyes. "Oh, god" she says. "I . . . I. . . I got so turned on, being so naked like that" she whispers, and as she admits it, my cock throbs, and I slide into her, and she is, if possible, even more wet, more open now. "Yes, I could see it," I whisper gently "You liked that you were in just a wet, white, bra and panties, your whole sexy body visible to a strange man." "Oh god, I'm not like this . . . I don't know why I'm feeling like this, but I. . . I feel so turned-on, so sexy, I. . . oh god," and I push her left hand back to her clit as I pump her slowly, with force, barely able to hold off my own orgasm. "and then I noticed" she whispers, "that you were getting turned on, too. I know you were, so just admit it" she says. "You tell me, James, tell me why you are so turned on." "I. . . oh god. . . I don't know, just, seeing you there, his eyes looking at you, knowing he was so turned on by you. . . I don't know. . . it was just so. . . . oh god. . . . so sexy" I say as I pump her. "You liked that I was naked in front of him," she whispers to me as she wraps her legs around me and I pump her even harder. "Yes I say," pumping her hard, as she works her clit, and I say what she won't, what I think I shouldn't, and it scares me to say it: "I liked that he saw you naked and that I could see that he wanted to fuck you." She moans, and I can't stop myself. "He wanted to fuck you, Susan, his eyes were all over you, he was watching your every move in that slutty, wet bra and panties and all he was thinking about was pumping you like this" I say, but as I begin to cum, I don't tell her that I'm imagining it is Ray fucking her, and I am watching him, and I'm lost in the vision until suddenly Susan pushes me off her, and hisses at me. "Not inside me, I'm not on anything right now. . ." and crashing back into the real world, I remember, and I make sure I'm fully out of her as I cum so hard, my sperm jetting out onto the bed, and on her thighs. Before I am even through, she pushes my head down between her legs, grabbing my hair, and she is moaning, her hips moving, and I can feel her, powerful orgasm shudder her entire body. I crawl back up on the bed, wondering what she was imagining when she came, me fucking her and Ray watching, or Ray fucking her and me watching, but I'm too scared to ask, and we both lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling, panting, both shell shocked. "Now I really need a drink," I say quietly. She doesn't say anything, but after a few minutes, she pecks my check, gets up off the bed, and goes to the window. "He is still out there," she says, "Do you really want that drink?" "Do you want another another drink," I say? And as I do, I know we are talking about two things, and I wonder what she is imagining, and I'm not even sure what I want myself, now, but I feel my cock stirring again. "I do if you do," she says, looking at me, and then lowering her eyes to the floor. "Tell me what you want James," "Oh, honey, I'm not even sure just what happened, and I don't know what I want." But this isn't quite true. While I know I don't want her to fuck Ray for real, I don't want her to bring him back to the room, I do know that I want to see her tease him again. I want to watch my wife turn him on, show him her body. "She turns, and I can see that she is just about to go into the bathroom, and I stop her. "I do want something," I whisper. Sharing Susan Ch. 01 "What she says," a bit breathlessly, like we are teenagers playing a game of truth or dare. " I want you to put on just a towel, and walk over there, and ask Ray if you can make you up a nightcap, and when he hands you the drink, I want you to drop the towel, and I want you to be sure that he gets to see absolutely everything, and then I want you to come back here and fuck me as you tell me all about it" "Oh god," she says, putting her arms around me. She is shaking, as she gets a towel from the bathroom. "Is he still there?" she asks. I look out of the window from our darkened room, and he is still sitting in the hot tub. "Yes," I whisper. She comes out, and the towels are not all that generous. This one barely covers her pussy, and her round ass, and the tops of her tits are exposed. "Wait, that's only a bathmat, I say," as I realize she has chosen the smallest possible covering that can still make her seem innocent. The small, thick, towel meant to be on the floor barely covers her. It has a gap just between her breast, and if she bends forward at all, she is almost completely exposed. "Tell me what to do," she whispers. "Go out there, and then ask him for a drink, and when he hands it to you, drop your towel." "Tell me why," she asks, almost breathlessly. "Because it will turn me on," I say. She kisses me on the cheek and squeezes my cock, and then pulls open the sliding glass door and starts walking over to Ray. I peer out from our dark room, and I don't think he can see me, and I stroke my cock as I watch her stand above him. I'm sure looking up at her like this, he can see her pussy, and her lips must still be engorged, slightly open, and so wet. She stands, talking with him for a moment, and then I see him mixing up one drink, and then two. Susan, reaches out to take both of them, and her towel falls, and I see her move back, in seeming surprise. She stands up, and I can just hear her laughing. Ray pulls himself out of the pool, and now, even though he still has his trunks on, I can see even at this distance and in the dim light that his large, heavy cock is fully erect, and I'm sure Susan must notice it, too. I can't believe that I hear them both laughing, sounding a little drunk, and I can't make out what they are saying, but Susan keeps hold of a glass in each hand, and Ray picks up her towel, pauses a minute, and I can believe how hard I am as Susan courtesies to him, shakes her damp hair, and even though her back is to me, I can imagine her breasts swaying before his eyes. Ray says something to her I can't make out, and drapes the towel over her shoulder, and she turns and comes walking back to the room. I slide the door open, and she comes in, handing me a drink. I close the door, and she says, "Let's have a toast to Ray," and we both drink. "What happened," I say. We are both reeling a bit from all the vodka, and she says, "come fuck me." She lies down on the bed, and I stay standing, pull her to the edge, and tease her with my cock. We haven't had sex like this since we first met, and those intensities, the sudden newness of her body, is flooding over me as I see her with Ray's eyes. "Tell me, I say." "I just asked him for a drink, but I felt so excited, I was shaking just standing in front of him" she whispers. "And then, I asked him to make a drink for you, too. He said he enjoyed meeting us, and was happy to share, and he poured the vodka, and then when I had taken both glasses, I just let the towel fall, and I felt. . . so . . . so. . . excited, and" she barely can say it, "so dirty." As she says it, I push into her wet, creamy cunt, and feel no resistance at all she is so hot. "What happened then, tell me more," I say, as I begin thrusting into her, making her tits bounce. "He said I was a completely sexy woman, and he wished that I were his wife, and his eyes were all over me, it felt like he was taking me with his eyes" she moans. "Did he touch you," I say? She moans as I fuck her. "Tell me, did he touch you?" "No, no, he was a perfect gentleman, but. . .oh god, I wanted him to," and as she admits it, I start to cum, and pull out of her, my sperm jetting onto the carpet at the foot of the bed, and as I drop to my knees I go down on her until she comes. My hands reaching up to her tits, squeezing her nipples in my fingers as she lets go in a powerful, shuddering orgasm. The next morning, we both wake up late with terrible hangovers, and we don't talk about what happened. We act as if both of us have forgotten, as if by forgetting, we can avoid what it would mean if we admitted it in the light of day. * * * And so, dear reader, I find myself two weeks later, in bed, after my wife has left for work, and I'm stroking my cock, imagining her dropping her towel in front of Ray, but instead of what really happened, I'm imagining her bringing him back to our room, and I'm wondering if I can remember Ray's last name, and maybe find him online, and maybe, and maybe. . . as I cum in our sheets. Sharing Susan Ch. 02 I lay back in our bed, still overcome from thinking about our encounter with Ray. Susan has left for work, and I stayed in bed, stroking my cock and remembering how she showed her body to this stranger in a hotel, and thinking of the moment that she went back out to the hot tub to ask him for that drink. That image of how she dropped her towel in front of him, that moment, her choice to drop her towel, makes me cum harder and more intensely than I have for years. I am remembering my wife, naked in front of this strange man, how drunk and exited she was, his eyes roving over her beautiful body, and I find that I am just as confused and excited as I was in that moment. I try to shake it off. I get out of bed, wipe the cum off my belly with my t-shirt, throw the shirt in the hamper, and walk over to the bathroom. I run a hot shower, and stand under it, thinking about getting back to work. Susan must be at her real estate office by now, getting ready to meet her clients, and I have work too, writing a grant for a non-profit that is trying to reclaim wetlands from a sea of Midwestern corn and soybeans. I let the water run, trying to get my mind on my day ahead. I turn the heat up until it is almost scalding, as if I could wash the memory of Ray's intense eyes looking at my wife off my skin. I get dressed in jeans and a crisp t-shirt, and with my hair still wet, go to the kitchen to make coffee and start working. With a cup of hot black coffee at my side, I sit down at the kitchen table where I work and open my laptop computer. The google search screen greets my eyes as it does every morning. I take a long drink of the hot coffee, hoping it will clear my mind, but instead a series of images flash before my eyes. Susan in her bra and panties, pulling herself up out of the hot tub, the white cotton translucent, the steaming water running down her skin. Ray, looking at her, and then at me. Peaking through the curtain of our hotel room as Susan walks back out to the hot tub, after I have asked her to go to Ray and ask for another drink, and then drop her towel in front of him. Susan underneath me, just after she returned naked to our room, the taste of vodka on her mouth, vodka Ray gave her, and how she drunkenly admitted to me she wanted Ray to touch her even though she did not invite him to and he did not try. Imagining his voice, as she is standing naked in front of him, a glass of vodka in each hand, her whole body exposed, as he looked her up and down and told her that he wished she was his wife. My hand are almost shaking as I put down the coffee and begin to type. r-a-y . . . if only I could remember his last name. Ray, something, it began with the same letter, had almost a ring to it, as if it were a made up name in a movie, and what was it that kept him on the road? Some sort of sales or something . . . I try to think back into that drunken night, to see past the images that are seared into my brain and think. And then suddenly, as if the memory isn't in my mind at all, but comes from outside me somewhere, my fingers move on their own, R-A-Y-M-O-N-D R-O-C-H-E-S-T-E-R C-O-N-S-U-L-T-I-N-G, they type. I see the cursor blinking at me, and I press the enter key. His website is the first hit on google, and I click it, almost holding my breath. A simple page with his name and contact information. There is a small head shot, in which he wears wears a jacket and tie, his intense eyes unmistakable. The same eyes that saw so much of Susan, and that saw me watching him watch her. And, below, his name, his email address, a street address that I immediately suspect is his home, a phone number, fax number, and just below that, his cell phone. I swallow hard, and drink more of the coffee, staring at the screen, feeling almost paralyzed by the cell phone number, which almost seems to glow as I think about what it might mean to dial those numbers. I pick up my cell phone, and even as I do so, I know that I shouldn't. That at the very least I should talk with Susan about it, slowly, see how she feels about it. We did not talk about what happened. Both of us waking the next morning as if we had gone to bed early, somehow knowing that we must close the lid on Pandora's box and keep our marriage as it is. We have gone on as if it never happened, living together, sleeping in the same bed, moving past one another's bodies the same way we move past the decade old furniture in our house. Though we never made a conscious decision not to talk about it, we both silently decided together that somehow what happened was a mistake, a drunken indiscretion to be forgotten in the sober light of the morning. Looking down at my cell phone, I know somehow that if I asked Susan, we would talk, and she would wisely say no. She would explain that we were not kids anymore, that what happened with Ray was exciting, but that sex was only a small part of life, and that we had jobs to do, and money to save, and maybe a child in a year or two. That we needed stability, and not all the potentials of jealously, uncertainly, and all the risks of strange sex in our life. That we are not a couple of college kids anymore, even if we acted like it on a weird, drunken night far from home. I hesitate, thinking of all this, knowing it as certainly as I have ever known anything in my life. And yet, I know too that underneath that reserve, there was something else that I glimpsed, something that I want to see again, something I need, that I am craving, something that will carry her away, that will turn her into a different kind of woman, the woman that is now seared onto my brain, my skin, my cock, this other Susan. And I know that I can never bring out this other Susan alone. To not act is to let that Susan go, probably forever. As I admit that to myself, my hands shake, and I feel my cock start to throb, and I slowly dial Ray's number. I press the phone to my ear, and I hear it ringing. I count, one . . .two . . . I think I should put the phone down. . . three. . . .that I am being crazy. . . four. . . that I am betraying my wife Susan to this other Susan, almost like I am cheating on her with her some else, her best friend or her sister. . . five. . . and just as I pull the phone away from my ear, I hear on a click and a strong voice, "Ray Rochester," he says, expectantly. I freeze. "Hello?" he says. "Hi," I say, hesitantly, softly. "Hello. Can I help you?" he says, gently. "Ray, um, this is a little odd, I met you a few weeks ago," my voice trails off. I don't know how to begin. "Where did we meet?" he asks. "Well, its a bit awkward to say it, but. . um. . . I met you at a little hotel, just after Christmas, on the road . . .with. . . with. . . my. . w. . . .wife," I admit. "Well. . .hello, he says," his voice warmer now, more intense suddenly, as if he had suddenly come closer. "Yes, I remember. Her name was Susan, wasn't it?" "Yes, Susan," I whisper, feeling as if I am betraying her just by saying her name to him. "Yes, I remember, and your name was?" "James," I say, a little more confidently, settling my nerves a little. He doesn't speak right away. "Well James, it is very nice to hear from you, and I very much enjoyed sharing a drink with you and Susan." "Yes, I enjoyed it too," I reply. I pause, and neither of us say anything for a moment. "So . . . " he says warmly, slowly, "how are you James?" "Well, I say, I'm not sure." I just admit it. I'm confused, the images of Susan and Ray flash though my mind again, I'm shaking, my pulse racing, and my cock is as hard as it has ever been. "I'm just a little confused," I tell Ray. "I see, " he says. "I can imagine that you are, really. Was that the first time something like that happened to you two?" "Yes," I tell him. "Well, something like that can be very intense. How long have you and Susan been married?" "This will be the start of eleven years together," I say. "That's very good James," he says. "I'm sure that married to a beautiful and intelligent woman like Susan, well, that you want to stay very happy with her." "Yes, that's true," I agree. "Tell me about how that night was for you," his voice is warm, deep, and firm. A command. "It was. . .well, very exciting, we never did anything like that. We almost just went back to the room when you came, but then you had that vodka, and , well, one thing led to another," I explain to him. "I see, and that makes sense," he says. "And you enjoyed it?" "Yes, I. . . I even suggested that she go back out to you, and . . . an. . . and ask you for those two last drinks," I say. "I see," he replies. "And did you tell her what to wear," his voice is even deeper, his breathing on the phone suddenly audible. "I, yes, I asked her to put on just the towel," I admit. "And was it her idea to drop it, or did you ask her to do that, too," he asks. "I asked her to," I say. "Mmmmmm, I see. That is good James, I'm glad you called me." "Thanks for talking to me," I say to Ray. "I'm happy you remembered us. I've been thinking about what happened quite a bit. " "I have too, James," he says warmly. "Really?" I ask. "Yes. Susan is a very beautiful woman." "Yes, she is," I agree. "Can I ask you something, James?" "Of course," I say. "Does Susan know you have called me?" "No," I admit. "OK," he says, as if sensing how nervous I am. "It is very good to talk James, and we need to talk about what happened, don't you think?" "Yes, I want to talk with you about it" I say, my voice shaking a little. "Good, now I want you to tell me everything, from the the beginning. And don't leave out any of the details. We need to understand just what it is that happened," Ray says. "Yes, I agree," and so I tell Ray, everything. How Susan wanted to get in the hot tub after the drive, how we didn't have suits but thought we were alone, how modest she always is, how embarrassed she usually is of her breasts. I tell him about how he surprised us, how we almost went back to our room when he arrived, but how strangely excited we both became, how the vodka hit us so hard. As I talk, he murmurs in agreement, and I can her his slow, steady breathing. Occasionally he makes a comment about how beautiful Susan is. He tells me that she is an ideal woman, that her curves are beautiful, that he enjoyed watching her heavy breasts sway every time she moved. As he says these things, I can hardly keep from touching myself. "And, what happened when you two went back to the room," he asks. "She demanded I make love to her," I say. "She was excited?" he asks. "Yes. There was no foreplay. She pulled off her bra and panties, lay on the bed, spread her legs, and demanded that I fuck her," and I am almost out of breath as I tell him this. "And it was intense?"he asks. "Yes. It was so quick, too, she came almost as soon as I entered her," I tell him. "And what about you?" he asks me. "I . . . oh god. . .I've never been so excited," I whisper. "I can imagine that," he said. "It must have been very intense, especially since she is usually so modest. And how did it happen that she came back out to ask me for that last drink?" "Its hard to admit, but I'm almost as excited confessing this to you," I confess to him. "I am too, James," he assures me. "Now, what happened." "She said she wished she had one more drink, because we were both still so excited and shaky. I told her to ask you for the drinks, and I told her that I wanted her to go all the way, to show her body to you. I told her to get a towel, and she went into the bathroom and choose the skimpiest towel there. At the merest touch it would fall away, and as soon as I saw that, I knew she wanted you to look at her. I watched her go out, stand in front of you, and I was stroking my cock as I watched her towel fall, and I knew you were looking at my wife, totally naked, showing her body to get you excited. I loved it, and I was scared of how powerful the effect on both of us clearly was," I finish, hardly believing that I'm admitting all this to him. "So you suggested it, but she wanted to do it?" he asks? "Yes," I say. " "That's good James," he said. "I need to know these things, and it pleases me that you can share them with me. I like that you were watching us both, enjoying it, being excited by what Susan was showing me." "I was, very much. Just thinking about it now. . . its why I called you," I admit. "I like that James. I want you to know. . . are you listening. . . .good. . .I want you to know that I am very, very aroused right now, listening to you, and thinking about your beautiful wife Susan. Now, tell me, what happened when she walked back into the room," and I can hear his breath through the phone. "We had a toast, with your vodka, and then I threw her on the bed, and climbed on top of her," I say. "She was so wet, and I wanted her to admit how excited she was. I asked if you had touched her, and she said you didn't. I asked her if she wanted you to, and she said, yes, and as I said it, I came," I tell him. "Oh, James, that is very, very good. Did you cum inside her?" he asks. "No," I admit? "Why not?" he asks, clearly curious. "Its embarrassing to admit, but we don't have sex very often at all anymore, and she stopped taking birth control. So, I had to pull out," I say. "Thank you for being so honest with me, James. That must be a little difficult for you. Does it feel good to be so honest?" he asks. "Yes, sir, a relief, like a wight lifted off me," I tell him. "You sound like you could cum right now, James," he says, his voice even deeper, stronger now. "I. . . oh god, I could," I admit. "My cock is throbbing," I admit. "Good. You can stroke it while we talk, but do not cum until I tell you it is time, OK?" he says. "Yes," I agree, breathlessly. "Now, do you and Susan go to bed at the same time each night?" he asks. "Almost always," I tell him, my hand slowly working my cock. "Does she ever go to bed without you?" he continues. "Yes. If I'm working late, on a deadline. She always goes to bed without me, and I can be up quite late," I explain. "Oh, that is perfect James," he almost purrs as he says it. "Now, I know this will be a little difficult, but you are going to give me Susan's phone number, and I'm going to call her while she is in bed, and you are up working. Does she keep her cell phone by her when she goes to bed?" he asks. "No, but we have a land line, and there is an extension by the bed," I tell him, imagining the white princess phone on Susan's bedside table. "Give me the number, James," he says, a command. "Oh god, I'm so scared," I admit, and I know he can hear the fear and excitement in my voice. "You need this James, and even more than that, you know that Susan needs this. You need to help her," he assures me. "What time does she go to bed?"he asks. "Always at 11:00," I tell him. "That's good James, at 11:00 tonight I am going to call Susan, now what is the number?" he demands. "Oh god," I hesitate. And then I say, "555-069-0000." "Thank you, James," he says. "I know that was difficult for you. Now, I want you to cum thinking about Susan showing her body to me, thinking about my eyes on her gorgeous tits, her wonderful smile, how her tits are swaying back and forth as she gently laughs, revealing her body to me, not even wearing panties, her wet cunt right in front of me, how she wants me to touch her," he says, gently, firmly, his voice in my ear, the images searing, making me so aroused. "oh god. . . I'm cumming, I'm cumming," I almost scream into the phone. "Yes you are James," he says, clearly pleased. "And I am going to cum later, with Susan. Now, be sure that she is alone in your bedroom when I call at 11:05," he tells me. "Yes, I will," I say. "Good James. We can talk again, tomorrow. Goodbye," he says. "Goodbye, Sir, and thank you" I say. I hear a click, and the line goes dead. I hang up the phone. Sharing Susan Ch. 03 Susan comes home late after a showing a house to a new client. As soon as she walks in, I can tell she is frustrated by the way she throws down her purse and kicks off her pumps. "Oh god, that last one was such as asshole," she sighs. "Tough day?" I ask her. I'm in the kitchen, steaming vegetables and grilling a fish, and she walks over and pecks me on the cheek. "The worst," she says. "The Wilson closing took forever, the lawyer was late, and then this guy that wants to see the house up in sunset hills delays, keeps me waiting around, and then barely does more than walk through the front door before he starts telling me how much he hates the house, and the whole time I catch him just staring at me in all these weird ways," she says. "I'm sorry your day was so difficult," I sympathize with her. "Here, sit down," I say. She does, and I serve our dinner, and we eat quietly, not saying much at all. After forty minutes or so, I tell her that I am on a deadline, and will have to work late. She nods, it is so familiar, and says she is going up stairs. I do the dishes, and then I disappear into my office. I work a bit, typing a few sentences on the grant, but mostly I'm am just waiting to hear the phone ring. Waiting for Ray to call her. I keep glancing at the time, and then at the extension. The time crawls by until finally, at exactly 11:05, the shrill bells of both the princess phone upstairs in the bedroom and the red extension line in my office begin to shriek at once. I can feel my heart racing, and on the second ring Susan picks up. As gently as I can, I lift the heavy receiver off its cradle, cover the mouthpiece, and press the phone to my ear. "Is this Susan?" I hear Ray ask. "Yes, who is this?" she asks, suspiciously. "Susan, I don't know if you will remember me. We met a few months ago, just after Christmas," he begins, gently. "Really? Where did we meet?" she asks. I can tell from her tone that she is both annoyed to be called so late, and suspicious, probably thinking it is one of her real estate clients. "Well, its a bit awkward, I feel so forward, but it was at a small hotel. My name is Ray. You, your husband and I all shared a drink" he says, warmly. "How did you get this number?" she asks. Her voice is sharp, suspicious. "Well, no mystery," he says. "I remembered your names, Susan and James Salters, and you both said you lived there in Cedar Rapids, so I just called information. You're in the book, as they used to say," he chuckles. "I see," she says. Not as sharp a tone, but still very weary. "And what is it you want?" "Well, I have kept thinking about our very unexpected and pleasant night," he says. "And how much I enjoyed spending time with you and James, and I just wanted to call, to see if we could maybe all be friends," he says. "Ray, it was very nice to meet you, and I'm sure that you are a very nice person, but that just is not going to happen," she says. Her voice stern. "Susan," Ray pauses, "I can imagine how rude it must seem, me just phoning you up like this. Let me apologize. I've had a little bit to drink tonight, and I really just wanted to say hello to you, and to tell you just how much I enjoyed meeting you, and James, too," he says, and his voice is gentle and charming. "Really, you enjoyed meeting James, too," she says, a bit sarcastically. "I did," he replies, smoothly. "He is a very articulate man, and I enjoyed talking with him, and I think he enjoyed it, too," he tells her. "I think I know what you really want, Ray. I've run into men like you all my life," Susan says, her voice not so stern, a bit of humor there, I can tell, though I doubt Ray can hear this like I can. "I'll be totally honest with you Susan," he says. "I have been thinking about you. How could I not? I feel like you gave me a real gift on that lonely night, sharing a little time with me, and, if you'll pardon my saying it, sharing your really stunning beauty with me, too," he says. "Aren't you married Ray?" she says, sternly again. "I seem to remember you wearing a ring," she says. "Where is your wife?" she asks flatly. "Susan, my wife of 20 years died last year," Ray says, his voice quiet. "Bullshit," Susan says. "No, not at all," he says. I am shocked as I listen in on the extension in my office. There is the change in his voice. If he is acting, it is very good, he seems almost choked-up, and I press the phone to my ear. I do seem to remember him wearing that wedding ring, but I can't remember what he said about it. He certainly wasn't grieving when we talked earlier, and now I'm sure he is lying to her. "Really?" she says. "You know Ray, this is a very old line," but I can tell Susan believes him, there is a softening in her voice, a warming. "She died unexpectedly," Ray explains. "A drunk driver hit our car." "I'm sorry to hear that Ray," she says, with real openness now. "I guess that kind of explains why you are dialing my number late on a Tuesday night when you should be in bed, and when James might have answered the phone," she points out. "Will you have a drink with me Susan?" Ray asks. "Its late, Ray," she says, on guard, but still with a warm voice. "Look, I had a really tough day, and James is downstairs working," Susan tells him. "Please Susan?" he asks, playfully. "I'm pouring myself a vodka, and I would really like it if you would have a drink with me and tell me your troubles," Ray says. She hesitates, and I can hear her shifting on our bed, upstairs. "You know, I'm not really a drinker, Ray," Susan replies. "Just one?" he pleads. "Alright, hang on" she tells him. "I have to go down to the kitchen." I hear her put the phone down on the nightstand, and she comes downstairs. I put the extension down, quietly, out of sight, and I hear her knock quietly on my office door. It opens, and she peeks in. "How are you doing honey?" she asks me. "Its hard going," I tell her. "But I'll probably be done by two or so with any luck," I say, turning casually back to the flashing cursor on my screen. "I'm going to have a nightcap and turn in," she says, "Want one?"she asks. "Wow, you did have a hard day," I say. "Enjoy it, I need to stay clear and get this done, thanks though," I say, hoping she will think I'm absorbed in my work. She closes the door, and I hear her in the kitchen, and then the rattle of ice and a glass, and her footsteps returning upstairs. I pick up the extension, and press my ear to it. "Are you still there," she says into the phone. I can hear the rattle of the ice from her drink through the line. "Yes, I am," says Ray, "waiting for you." "You must be very lonely, and probably a little weird," she tells him. "I am lonely Susan, but you are the first person that made me think there is still something waiting for me, maybe" he says very gently. "Don't get your hopes up, Ray," she says. "I'm just having a drink with you." "I hope you don't think I'm too forward," he says. "But I think that maybe you are a little lonely yourself tonight, and that's why we are talking. Where is James, if I might ask," he says. "Working late," she tells him flatly, downstairs in his office, so don't get any ideas" she says, but I can hear the smile in her voice. "Ah, I see," Ray says. "I've had a really tough day, Ray, and you seem like a nice guy and all, and you've obviously had a really bad year, but I really should go," she says suddenly. "At least finish your drink with me," he asks. There is silence on the line, a very long pause. "Ok, one drink," she says. Again I hear the rattle of ice as she takes more of the vodka. I hear Ray drinking, too. "Did you enjoy the night we met, Susan," he asks, his voice firm, strong. Again, there is a pause, and then the sound of Susan sipping her drink. "I did Ray," she admits. "But come on, that was just one of those things that happen in an odd situation like that." "I thought that you did enjoy it," he says. "Now tell me if I'm wrong, but I think that in that moment, totally anonymous, you felt free and alive, in part because you didn't have to think about what everybody in that small town might think about how you felt or how you acted. I know you must get a lot of unwanted attention. I bet since high school you've been very modest, always doing the right thing, never flaunting yourself," he says. "You have no idea Ray," she says. "I have to be so careful, I need to protect myself, and James, and our family when we have one. I think about that all the time, and men are so disgusting," she says. "But you know how beautiful you are," Ray replies. "And I know you enjoyed sharing that with me, and to me it was a real gift. A memory I really treasure," he tells her. There is silence on the end, and I wonder if she is about to hang up on him. It seems like it, as if both Ray and I are holding our breath. Then, we both hear the rattle of ice in her glass. "I. . . Ray," she begins. "Its hard to admit, but. . . I did, but look, I"m married, where do you think this could go?" she asks. "Did you talk to James about it. How did he feel?" Ray asks. "Oh, I don't know" Susan replies. "I think he was excited by it, a bit, but I would never put him in that kind of position," she says firmly. "You know what I think, Susan" he says. "I think he really enjoyed seeing you so free, and alive, and so beautifully sexy," Ray tells her, and I'm amazed at how smoothly he is leading her down this path. "Maybe," she says, with just a bit of the sing-song lilt of vodka in her voice now. "What are you thinking right now, Susan?" he asks. "I was remembering the hot tube" she says flatly, almost as if she doesn't want to say it. "Me too," Ray replies. "Susan, tell me what you are wearing, right now," he commands her. "You can't be serious," she says. "You want to. Tell me, Susan," he says, so firmly. "I'm wearing a blue, silk wrap dress, very modest. I wore it at work today," she says. "Surely you are wearing something underneath it?" he says, playfully, a smile in his voice. "A white maidenform bra, and white satin full-back panties," she says, a bit of a catch in her voice. "Not very sexy, Ray," she says. "That is a very serious bra, isn't it Susan?" he continues. "Yes," she says, flatly. "I bet the underwire is digging into you, and straps are cutting into your shoulder," he says. "I bet that bra is keeping you all together, making sure nothing moves too much, that you don't distract anyone," he tells her. "Yes." she says, in almost a whisper. "Take off your bra, Susan. It's time to get a little more comfortable after your hard day," he tells her. "Come on Ray, really?" she says. "Take it off, or hang up," he says. He thinks he has her, but I can't believe it, and I think that she is about to hang up, but she stays on the line, and I hear the rattle of the ice in her drink again. And, then I hear her shifting, around. "Are you taking off that dress," he asks? "Yes," she whispers. "Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm, I'm imagining you Susan, taking off your dress, and now I want you to reach back and unhook your bra," he tells her. "Yes, I'm unhooking it now," she murmurs, her breathing heavier in in the phone. "Let it fall to the floor," Ray commands her, "and then slide your panties over that round ass and down those gorgeous legs" he tells her. "I wish you could really see me" she whispers. "I'm sliding my panties off," she tells him. "I'm imagining you, Susan, and I want you to feel like I am right in the room with you," he says, warmly, his voice husky now. "I feel it," she says. "Good. Tell me you have just stripped for me," he commands her. "I just stripped for you," she whispers. Her voice shaky, and it is hardly audible to either Ray or me. "More, Susan, say it. Tell me," he commands her. "I just stripped for you, Ray," she says, firmly. "That's it," he encourages her. "It feels good Susan, being able to share yourself like this. You've been keeping it together for so long, being so modest when you know what that body is, what power you have, how gorgeous you are. You are safe with me, Susan, and you can give in to what you are even afraid to admit you desire. I know you are wet, Susan. Touch yourself," he tells her. "Oh God . . . "she says. "That's it. It feels good, doesn't it," he asks. "Yes," she admits to him. "Slow Susan, don't cum yet. You are going to do something for me," he tells her. "What?" she asks breathlessly. "Susan, I want you to follow my exact instructions. If you don't, I'll hang up, and you will never hear from me again. Understand?" he says. "What do you want me to do," she asks. "I want you to dress in your sexiest bra and panties, the ones you had a fantasy about when you bought them, but I bet you have never worn since, even for James," he says. "Ray, I. . . I," Susan doesn't know how to reply. I can tell that she is confused, and I am surprised. Does she have fantasies like that? "Don't resist Susan, do it, like I know you want to do it," he says. Through the phone, I hear her moving, and then her dresser drawer opening. "I'm putting on a sheer, lacy white thong, and a matching white bra, both are just almost completely see-thru," she tells him. "What did you imagine when you bought them?" he asks. "I've never told anyone this," she says. "But. .. oh god, I can't believe I'm going to admit this. . . I've had this fantasy, since I was in high school, of being a cheap stripper. . . I've never even told James that," she says. I am shocked to hear her say it as I listen, pressing the phone to my ear. I had no idea that my demure, always modest wife could imagine herself like a stripper, or that she would want to. "Then you have the shoes to go with your outfit, don't you Susan?" Ray says, confidently. "Yes," she whispers. "What do they look like?" he asks. "Clear acrylic plastic platforms with a six inch heel," she tells him. I had no idea Susan had shoes like that. I can't believe that she has had this secret fantasy life. I thought I was the only one dreaming about something more than just our marriage. I am excited by it, but also scared suddenly realizing how much Susan has kept hidden from me. "Oh, that is so sexy my little stripper," he purrs into the phone. "Put them on," he tells her. I hear the closet door open upstairs, and I know that Susan is getting the shoes she has kept hidden from me. "I'm wearing the shoes for you, Ray" she says into the phone. Her voice is different now, higher, breathier, sexy. I've never heard Susan speak in this voice before. "Oh, very nice Susan, this is very good, but you know, every stripper has a stage name. Do you have a stage name?" "Yes," she says in this new, impossibly sexy voice, talking like she is Marilyn Monroe or someone. "What is it?" he demands. "My name is Pamela," she tells him. Her voice a high, breathy sing-song that drips with sexual submission, and suddenly I feel like my wife is gone and the sexiest, most available stripper imaginable is waiting for Ray in a private room, except that it is my bedroom and she is my wife of eleven years, Susan. I can't believe he is bringing this out of her, that she must have been thinking of herself secretly as Pamela for years in her most intimate fantasy. "Now Pamela, I want you to put on your sluttiest lipstick," he tells her. "Yes," she tells him in that amazing new voice. "I'm going to get made up for you Ray," she says. Even through the phone, I can hear her heels clicking on the bathroom tiles. "Now, Pamela. . . my sexy little stripper, you are so hot, I want you to feel how hot you are," Ray tells her. "I want you to feel like you are about to go on stage and perform, showing that body, grinding those hips and shaking your tits for all those men. You can feel them looking at you, wanting you, you know you are working them up, making their cocks throb just by walking past them. And then I am going to pick you out and take you back to a private room to really dance for me," he tells her. "Oh god," she moans. "Thats it Pamela, this is what you really need," he tells her. "Now, I want you to do something Pamela, and you have to do what I say, ok little stripper?" he says. "Anything," she coos into the phone. "Promise me, little stripper, are you ready?" he asks. "Yes," she says. "I want you to go down, and bring James up with you, and I want you to ask him to fuck you," he tells her. "I. . . ." her voice shifts, back into the voice of Susan, "I can't do that. . . this . . .it isn't right," she says. "Pamela, listen," he says. "He is a man, and he wants this as much or more than you do, trust me you little stripper. Bring him up, and when he is in the room, pick the phone back up," he stops speaking, and there is silence. "Do you want me to hang up, Pamela?" he asks. "No" she whispers into the phone. "Then do it, stripper, you silly little dancer" he says. I hear Pamela put the phone down, and upstairs, I can hear our bedroom door open. I quickly hang up the extension in its cradle and turn to my screen, as if I am working. A long moment passes, and then I hear her in her heels descending the stairs, and then she knocks softly on my office door. "Honey,' she says, I have a little surprise for you," she says. She opens the door, and I can't believe how sexy she is. I've never seen her like this, her mouth is overdrawn with bright red lipstick, even her eyes made up with shadow, the heels force her to carry her shoulders back, her breasts seeming to thrust forward, the white bra and panties making her look like an absolute little fuck toy instead of a modest, professional woman. "Oh my god!" I say. "Baby, you look amazing, I can't believe it, wow," I look her up and down. "Come upstairs with me," she says, in almost the Pamela voice. She reaches out to take me by the hand, and she leads me up to our bedroom. I'm shaking as she does it, knowing what is waiting, but I know she must be even more nervous, thinking I don't know. "Honey," she says. "I don't want you to be mad, but there is someone on the phone, and I think you should say hello," she tells me. She hands me the phone, and I press it to my ear. "Hello James. I think you remember me?" Ray asks. "Yes, I remember you very well, Ray," I say. "Good, now give the phone back to Susan," he tells me. I do, and she presses it to her ear, and then she starts to tell me things. "Sit on the bed, baby," she says in her high voice. I do, and she starts to grind in front of me, beginning to give me a lapdance, and I can't quite hear what he is saying, but Ray is clearly giving her instructions. She reaches down, unbuckles my belt, undoes the top button of my jeans, and frees my cock, which is throbbing and dripping. "Oh my god, you are so fucking hard," she hisses into the phone. "Do you want to fuck this little stripper," she asks me, as she puts her free hand on my shoulder and straddles me. "Yes. . . . Yes, I want to fuck you till you cum," I tell her. "Oh pull my panties aside, and feel how wet my cunt is," she says, and she is so close with the phone I can hear Ray, telling her what to say. "God, I've never felt you so wet," I tell her. "I need to be fucked baby, fill me up like a wet little slut," she hisses. As she says it, I grab her hips and push into her, sliding into her hot wet cunt. "Oh, fuck, you are so hot, ride me, ride me," I say. I can hardly keep from cuming, and I can just hear Ray, murmuring in her ear, telling her what to do. "That's it, ride my cock and touch your clit," he says, and she does. "Spank it," he commands, and she is slapping her wet cunt as she bounces up and down on me. "Now, Pamela you dirty little rule-breaking fuck-toy, cum like the dirty slut you are" he commands her. "Tell James to slap your tits hard and you work your clit and cum you dirty, slutty little stripper," he says.