70 comments/ 65279 views/ 34 favorites Vacation Argument By: toomuchinmyhead AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story contains elements of extramarital and unprotected sex, and a husband who appreciates his wife's activities. If that is not for you, please move along to something you like better. Civil comments welcome. * It was the same argument we'd had for years, although it usually needed with her showing me her back, and closing a door, avoiding the end. This time we weren't home. Trapped in a hotel room, there was nowhere for her to go, and I pressed the advantage. Too hard, I guessed later. Hindsight is so valuable. Only the second day of a week away and I allowed my ego and selfish desires to run my mouth, and I said things I definitely should have kept to myself. The fact was I'd had to hold them in for so long because she would end the discussion before I could ever say them. And faced with the opportunity now, I was more concerned with having my say than having good sense, and it all spilled out. And oh, how I let it fly. How I have to do all the work in our sex life. How she doesn't participate, she just receives. How she has no imagination, no desires, no fantasies. How her entire contribution to what we do is saying no to everything but straight sex. How her ultimate fantasy is to get the same sex we had last time. How frustrated she makes me. How I have to say what I want only to have her call me a pervert and demean me. How she is constantly labeling what I tell her other people do as perverted and deviant and sick. How she can't role play, or talk dirty, or imagine anything other than laying on her back, allowing me to have her. And all the while I spewed my long-held venom, she sat, and sniffled, and then cried, but didn't say a word. Even as the tears spilled down her pretty face I kept it up, relief and vindication helping me to ignore the hurt I was causing, making me think of me, and my needs, my wants, and my desire to hurt her feelings. It felt good, and I finally took a deep breath. She looked up at me with tears in her eyes, but her jaw set and eyes hard. "Are you done?" "I think so," I said, hands on hips, victorious. "Thank you for finally listening and not shutting me off." Her eyes narrowed, turning harder. "Oh," she said dripping with sarcasm, "you are SO welcome; I'm glad I had the opportunity to hear all you had to say," she snarled, and stood. She walked to the closet and took out her suitcase. "And I hope you enjoy the rest of your vacation." She smirked, and started opening the drawers of the dresser and removing her clothes. "What are you doing?" She didn't answer; just hastily threw all her belongings in a pile into her suitcase, gathered her shoes into her shoe bag, and collected her toiletries. When she was done she headed for the door. I blocked it. "Where are you going?" "Move," she said, and the tone was not one I had ever heard, even when she was slamming doors on me at home. "I'm leaving. I'll see you at home." "You're going home?" "I don't know!" She barked harshly, "just get out of my way!" I had never seen her like this, and I squeezed to the side of the narrow doorway. She passed me, dragging her suitcase, shoe bag over her shoulder, bumping me on her way out. Her suitcase hit my foot, and she grunted as she pulled it over, unapologetic. She clumsily pushed her bags out the door, then stood still. She turned. "I love you," she said without emotion. A declaration of fact. "I hope this was what you wanted, and you feel good about yourself." "I hope you got the message," I returned, still elated from finally having my say. She looked at me and angled her head to the side. "I got a message," she snarled. "I don't know if it's the one you were going for." And she let the door close, and I was alone, in our hotel room, victorious and by myself. Still with the heady sensation of purging my spleen, I hit the courtesy bar, despite the fact that it was only ten in the morning. My chest swelled, and my male ego thrummed with the crushing defeat I had delivered. I drank until two, then passed out for a while. When I woke I was granted the dual gifts of regret and self-retribution, amplified by a monstrous hangover. I checked my phone but there were no messages. I went for a short walk, got some food and returned to the room. The adrenaline rush I'd felt earlier had dissipated and my hangover seemed impervious to aspirin, and after finding my phone still silent, I watched television until I fell asleep. I woke the next morning refreshed but still alone. Still nothing on my phone. After a shower I decided to stop worrying; she was a big girl, and could handle herself. I did some sightseeing that was mostly wandering around, telling myself that I would enjoy the vacation in spite of her. The weather was warm, there were attractive women in the waterfront city, and I strolled the boardwalk and the hotel strip, eyeing the scenery, human and otherwise. But I found myself imagining my phone vibrating and checking it frequently. Nothing. After dinner I broke down, and sent her a text. R U OK? After a while I got one back. FINE Well, at least she was alive and all right. WHERE R U? DON'T WORRY. IM FINE So, she won't say. I wondered if she went home. She had credit cards and all her stuff. Maybe she went to visit one of her girlfiends, or her mom, or something. K. I wrote. Then added, MISS YOU HAVE FUN she replied. Then after a few minutes another one. DON'T FORGET I LOVE U ME 2 I answered. At least there was that. I thought about going home, but figured there was no point. If she hadn't left, she might come back. If she went somewhere else I'd end up alone at home. I'd rather be alone here. After dinner I went for another walk on the strip, visited a few bars, but I felt like a loser, drinking alone. There were some hot chicks to distract me, but to tell the truth, I didn't feel chatty or friendly, and kept to myself. Frankly, I was hoping she was okay. It was the worst fight we'd ever had, and we'd never been apart angry. We usually just moped separately through the house for a few days until the hostilities eased, and we were forced to have a conversation. Then we'd look at each other and laugh about it, and things would get back to normal. So I wandered from bar to bar, having a drink at each, over tipping, and feeling a little sorry for myself. When the bars closed around two I took a cab back to the hotel. The next day was pretty much the same for me, passing time, insisting to myself that I was having fun without her, that she couldn't get me to give in. Around dinnertime she sent a text. I probably looked like a lonely businessman, sitting at my table, alone, with my phone. HAVING FUN? DOING OK ME 2. ENJOY. LUV U I wanted to say that I missed her, and had it typed, but deleted it. GLAD UR ALRIGHT I sent instead. She didn't answer. After dinner I dressed in club clothes, determined to have a better time. I took a cab to the end of the strip where the clubs were; no bars for me tonight. I convinced myself I wasn't a loser or too old for the crowds that would be at the clubs. Maybe I'd ask some younger girls to dance. But when I got to Luna, the first club, I knew I was out of my league. It was dark, and loud, and way younger than I expected, and I immediately felt the fool. But I screwed up my courage and lubricated myself, and stood near the dance floor. And, truth be told, I actually got a couple of dances with hot younger girls. It boosted my ego, and I hung out for a while feeling pretty good about myself, fantasizing about what could be, if only. And then I saw her. Or at least I thought I saw her. It was just a flash, way far across the dance floor, and I immediately convinced myself it wasn't her. But I found myself working my way though the dense, throbbing crowd to get a better look. Of course it wasn't her, I told myself. How could it be her? She was somewhere else, sulking and cursing under her breath about me. Wasn't she? I got to the area where I thought I had seen her, or someone who looked like her, but of course bodies had shifted onto and off the dance floor, and the human landscape looked nothing like it had when my eyes tricked me. It was dark. There were flashing strobes, and neon, movement. I looked carefully at everyone in the area, and got a few awkward glances in return. But she wasn't there, so I turned to go back. On the dance floor. Her hair, her height. Her frame. Just a glance between moving bodies, she was in the middle of the floor. My vision was mostly obscured, so I got on my toes and craned my neck. I saw a few more glances turn my way, but I didn't care. There. In the middle of the floor. She spun, but the lights flashed on and off. It could have been her, maybe; I didn't know, not for sure. I searched for a higher advantage point, scoped the raised tables off to the side, saw the stairs and made my way to it. I wasn't certain, so heading out on the dance floor and making a scene was out of the question. I kept on eye on the woman who might or not be my wife and jostled my way to the stairs up to the raised deck. It was less crowded, mostly groups at tables, and I pretended to be looking for someone as I weaved through. I found a part of railing with no tables against it and wormed my way into the group crowded there, ignoring their disapproving looks. And there she was. Dancing in the middle of the floor, hair bouncing, looking like the carefree girl I had dated and married. Definitely her; I got a good look, despite the flashing lights and darkness. Definitely her. Maybe. She hadn't gone home. She'd stayed on vacation, just like me. And from the looks of it she was having a lot more fun than I was. If it really was her. I realized she was dancing with two people; she was one of a trio, the other two a guy and a girl, younger than her and me. But she was keeping up with them pretty good. And she looked good, decked out in club clothes I had never seen. Was that a miniskirt? Was it really even her? The guy grabbed the other girl and dirty danced with her, it looked like; it was really hard to tell in the moving crown and flashing lights. And the girl gave it right back to him, grinding her ass back against him. And then he broke off and grabbed my wife and did the same. To my surprise, she, too, returned the gesture in the spirit, and sticking her butt out at him, grinding back against him. My wife? Really? The other girl grinned and hooted, pumping her fists in the air. My wife was bumping and humping with a guy? I felt a twinge of jealousy, but then again, I had had a few dances, too. Nothing like this, though. And really, I wasn't sure. She wasn't acting like my wife, that was for certain. Then the girl grabbed them both in her arms, and they faced each other, bouncing and jouncing, heads together. The guy turned to the girl and kissed her, mashing faces together. I think I saw tongue; I know I saw open mouths and hands rubbing low on backs. My wife kept her head in with them her hands around their backs, rubbing just like they were. And then the guy turned and kissed my wife. I think. I nearly dropped my drink off the rail. Their heads were still together, all three of them, but he definitely had his face turned to my wife, but the other girl blocked the view. I saw his hand on her back, and then it disappeared. But I really couldn't see shit, and I cursed to myself. The guy pulled his head back and howled a shout, and then another as the girl put her face into my wife. This time there was no mistake. I watched as a woman who I thought could be my wife kissed a girl on the dance floor, mouth open. Definitely I saw tongue. The girl's hand dropped to my wife's butt. My wife's hand dropped to the girl's butt, and I think I saw it go under her dress. Well what the fuck? My wife, who had no fantasies, who couldn't break out of her one-way-only sexual routine with her husband - her HUSBAND! - was kissing a couple of kids in the dance floor in public, and playing grab-ass? Argument or no, I was putting a stop to this. Right after I made certain it was her. I had to know for sure. I dropped my drink on someone's table as I passed and muscled my way through the crowded table area. I bumped a waitress and didn't apologize. I glanced down at the floor from the top of the stairs, making sure of their position on the floor, and didn't see them. I stood on the stairs, blocking traffic, searching the floor and the crowd surrounding it. There. At the far end, heading off the floor, away from me. Heading for the exit. I cursed and ran down the stairs, and immediately got tangled into the crowd. I stepped on a few toes, maneuvered my way through, but it took way too long to get to the exit. I burst through to the door outside to see them climbing into a taxi, all three in the back. I was going to shout her name, but froze when I saw his hand go under her miniskirt as she climbed into the cab. And she didn't swat it away. And she was wearing a miniskirt! Now past the noise and dark of the club I had a sudden doubt that it was really her, and shouting and running for the cab seemed like a foolish move if I wasn't absolutely positive. It looked like her. But it didn't act like her, or dress like her. The cab pulled away, and they were gone. Of course, as soon as they pulled away I was sure it was her, and cursed myself for not shouting and running. Dumb ass. The night ruined, I grabbed a cab and headed back to the hotel. Back in the room I tried telling myself it wasn't her, but I couldn't get it out of my mind. I paced. I watched television. I even went outside and walked the grounds, nervous energy and frustration driving me to distraction. What if it WAS her? Why was she dressed like that? Why was she kissing another man? Why was she kissing a GIRL? Really, it made no sense. I had tried for years to break her out of her limited scope of acceptable experience. The closest I had gotten was a few times I got her on top, and a sparse handful of the worlds shortest grudging blowjobs, none to completion. I had tried initiating dirty talk during sex, but she wouldn't have it. I'd tried fantasies, suggested light exhibitionism, suggested role play where we could pretend I was someone else, or she was. Nothing. The woman I was married to wouldn't even consider those things, wouldn't even discuss them; she just cut the conversation off with 'I don't like that'. Like the kid who hates Brussel Sprouts and never tried them. I finally fell asleep in front of the television and woke up the next day, still tired, still convinced there was a good chance it might have been her. And if it was, then she was in the city. I tried texting, calling, email even. No response. I set my mind to search. We had four nights left before I had to go home. If she were still here then it was likely she would be returning home with me on our flight. But there were only so many clubs, and I had the energy of the wronged to drive me. So I spent the next few days cruising the beaches and boardwalks and stores and restaurants, and the nights in the clubs and bars. A long shot, no doubt, but I looked anyway. Once I thought I saw her and went rushing up to a woman that was not her, and embarrassed myself. Another time I thought I saw her, or someone that looked like her, leaving a club with a group of people, arm in arm with two of the guys, laughing. But I was pretty sure that was not her. It wasn't her way. Each night I was more frustrated, and I became more convinced that she was not in the city, that she had left and gone home, or somewhere, and my optimistic enthusiasm started to dwindle. My last night I was out at the first club again, Luna, when I got a text. AT THE HOTEL. I beat it out of there and cabbed back. In the elevator, and walking down the long hall to the room I was on edge. Would she be there? What would she say? What should I say? I was multiple parts angry, sorry, worried, jealous and scared. I opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bed. Her bags were there. She looked up at me, and I looked her over. Same girl I had married. No miniskirt. No club clothes. No wild hair or dancing; just her. The woman who had left me alone after I had my sniveling, selfish tirade that I had held inside me for so long. In a rush I had a moment of clarity, and evaluated my actions that day against the overall view of my love and devotion, and a lifetime of happiness and fulfillment. Maybe not total sexual gratification, but I had married her only hoping for that, and knowing that whatever happened, I was better with her than without her, and the same went for her. We were meant to be together, she and I. Now, I'm pretty sure there are guys out there who would stand on principle, and insist that no matter what, if she left she should be gone, and if she can't figure out how to do what I want sexually, I should cast her aside. And truth be told, there were times I felt that myself, the night I drove her away being one of them. And I felt pretty good about myself at the time. But I'd had my say, then; I felt different, now. Smarter. So I did what a man, a husband, does. "I'm sorry," I said. "I acted like an ass. I wanted to say my piece, and I did. And I didn't do it well. I said hurtful things." I swallowed, hard. "I missed you. I was worried about you." I took a step towards her. "Stop," she said, holding her hand palm out to me, and I did. She looked me over and took a deep breath. "And thank you. I missed you, too. And I love you. But you had your say. And I deserve the same chance. Sit," she added, patting the bed next to her. I sat, turned towards her, and she did the same. She took my hands in hers, the way we always did after a fight, a sign that together we were okay, and that the fight was over. She looked at me and took another deep breath. When she began, her voice was clear and steady, controlled, almost as if it had been rehearsed. Like me, I guess, she had been running a dialogue through her head. "I'm glad you said what you said," she started, "and I want to apologize, too. It's my fault that it got to this point; my fears and beliefs that wouldn't allow you to say what you wanted before, my opinions that make you feel insecure about your desires, and I'm sorry." I guess I was expecting something more harsh. Not that. I was speechless and just nodded. "I could have done without the insults and criticism, but I guess I had that coming after so long. It hurt. A lot." She took another deep breath. "I cried. I was so angry." My heart went to her, and I started to speak, but she hushed me. "No. Let me finish." I sat back, and squeezed her fingers in mine, letting her know I was okay, and would listen. "I almost went home, I swear," she continued. "I was so angry, I wanted to hurt you the way you hurt me, just as bad. I-" she stalled, "I stayed. Checked into another hotel." Her eyes dropped and her head lowered. "I thought about what you said, about me, about us." She bit her lower lip. "I wanted to get back at you. I-" she stalled again, and lifted her eyes to mine, regret filling them. "I did things. I went out, and I- I did things." Her eyes welled with tears, and she blinked them away. "With others," she added, and a single tear ran down her cheek. "I'm sorry." I thought of the club, wanted to ask if that had been her, but made myself wait. That miniskirt. Kissing a girl? Instead I reached for her face and wiped the tear from her cheek. She sniffled and smiled. "Thank you." I returned the smile. "I wanted to tell you that.." she stalled, and took another deep breath. "That you were right, and I'm sorry." She gave a wistful half-smile, and added, "I'm sorry I caused such a mess, sorry I left, sorry I tried to hurt you; you didn't deserve that." She stopped. "Well, maybe at first you did; I was really angry. I was furious." She heaved a deep breath. "And after I decided to not go home, I was determined that you would not ruin my vacation." She gritted her teeth. "I went shopping. And I went out. I was determined to have fun. And I did." Vacation Argument I thought again of the dance club floor, the taxi. I remembered looking for her. But I didn't think she was done with what she had to say, so I held my tongue. "And I want to tell you," she said slowly, "that I was wrong, and you were right. And I'm sorry. Sorry for what I did to you, sorry for this week, sorry for denying you. For everything." And just like that, she appeared done. I sat back from her and absorbed, questions running through my head, all at once, trying to order them in my mind. She'd been forthcoming, but not clear, and I needed clarification. "When you went out and had fun," I began, "what do you mean?" She gritted her teeth and sucked a breath through them. "I can't tell you, not now. But I will. After we get home, I swear. I need to," she fumbled, "get my head around it a little, first." "Uh huh," I nodded. "Did you happen to stop by a club named Luna?" The images of her kissing that guy, that girl, getting into the cab. That miniskirt. My head was a whirl of confusion. "Yes. I went to a few. But, yes, Luna was one, I think." "Tuesday night?" "Maybe," she answered. "It's kind of a jumble, frankly." "I was there that night," I told her. I angled my head. "I thought I saw you. Someone who looked like you, anyway." Her eyes dropped from mine. I lifted a hand to her chin and pulled her face up, gently, to look at me. "She was as beautiful as you, anyway. She didn't act like you, though. She was," I paused, "wild. Dressed pretty hot, and acting like," I paused again, "like a wild woman." She blushed. I described what I had seen, and the red deepened on her face. "Was that you? It resembled you." Her hands went to her face after her mouth dropped open. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry, I-" she muttered through her fingers. "You were there?" I nodded. I told what I saw when she was leaving, getting in the taxi. Her blush deepened and she pulled her eyes from mine, dropping her head. "Can you ever forgive me?" "For what?" I asked. "For arguing with me?" "For trying to hurt you. For-" her eyes drifted, looking at an image far away, seeing something else. She turned to me. "I did things, this week," she whispered. Her lips tightened, and she bit her upper lip. "Bad things. I-" she stalled, "I did things you talk about." Her eyes lowered again, and so did her voice. I could barely hear her say, "Can you forgive me?" "I don't know," I answered honestly. "I don't know what you've done. Why don't you tell me?" "I don't think I can," she whispered. She got that unfocused, faraway look in her eyes again. I waited a second, but she drifted, remembering. "Hey," I said, touching her arm. "You can't tell me?" I watched a flash of guilt touch her face. "It's so bad you can't tell me? And you want me to forgive you?" "I didn't say it was bad, I said I couldn't tell you." She swallowed. "I'm not ready." "Then how can I think about forgiving you?" "You don't understand," she explained, and shook her head. "I don't think I'm explaining it right." She turned to me, our knees touching. I tried to pull away, but she took my hands in hers. "When I said you were right, I meant I understood. I get it now, why you want those things, why you want me to do stuff, with you," she said slowly, carefully choosing her words. "You were right. It's fun. I-" she balked, "I liked it. I let go, and I liked it. But I'm still getting used to the idea, you know? Like, it's like, I dunno, like new clothes, or something, I feel good wearing them, but I'm not used to them yet." She looked in my eyes, searching. "Kind of like that. I, I need some time, to, you know, wrap my head around it." She smiled wistfully. "I'm not ready, yet. I'll tell you when I'm ready." "I want to forgive you, I think," I responded gently, but firmly. I squeezed her hands and felt hers return the gesture. "But you have to tell me what I'm forgiving. One thing," I offered. "Tell me one. Tell me about the night after the club, when I saw you." A look of dismay crossed her face. It must have been something, I thought, to make her so worried. Or maybe just so far from her definition of 'normal' that it was uncomfortable. "I won't judge you," I conceded. "I will," she confessed in return. "Don't" I said, and wondered if I meant it, or was just curious. "If you did something I wanted, then don't, it's not fair to you." I tried to smile, wondering what she might have done. "If I pushed you, then I'm partially responsible," I consoled. "I don't know," she hesitated. I pulled my hands away slowly, my imagination getting ahead of my, spurring my eagerness and filling me with trepidation. I pushed it back under control and settled myself into the corner of the couch, taking a relaxed pose but feeling mounting tension in my chest. "I already know you were out, dancing" I told her reassuringly. "I saw who you were with." I waited until she peeked up at me from under lowered brows. "I saw how you danced with them," I said, holding her gaze, keeping my voice even, luring her into safety and wondering, in the back of my mind, which one of us was really in danger. "It was exciting. You were, uh-m, pressing yourself. Against them. Yes?" She nodded. "Was that fun? It looked like you were enjoying it," I led her. "I'm a little scared," she replied timidly. "Go ahead, it's okay," I reassured, "did you like it? You didn't look scared at the time. Tell me," I urged softly, "tell me what it was like." She turned her head slightly to the side, breaking my gaze, and her face got that faraway look again. "It was exciting," she began. "I let go, had fun. I was impulsive and motivated." Her tongue crept out and licked across her upper lip. "They were fun. Exciting. They liked me." "You were wild," I said. "Dirty dancing. I've never seen you like that." I remembered the scene in my mind, pictured it. It was hot, and I told her so. "It was exciting to watch. A lot of people were watching." I saw a flush creep into her cheeks as she bit her lower lip. "You were practically humping." "Yeah," she said, "I remember. I rubbed against them." She glanced at him. "Both of them." "It was hot? Exciting?" "Yes," then she added, "very." "Could you feel him?" I saw her cheeks darken. She knew what I meant; her face told me so. "I guess you did," I answered for her. "Tell me. Did you feel his hard cock pressing into you?" I watched her hand clench into a fist on her thigh as her eyes closed. I was imagining; she was remembering. "Tell me," I repeated softly, still not sure I wanted the answer. "Yes," she acknowledged, not meeting my eyes. She looked into the corner of the room, her eyes turning - what? Dreamy? "Yes, I could feel him. His dick was hard. For me. Pressing into me." Her voice was soft, seductive and ashamed. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" "No," she said, and her lips curled at the corner, "but he was," she quipped. "I'll bet," I confirmed. I felt myself growing at the memory, and was confused by my reaction. Shouldn't I be angry? "Then what?" "I kissed him," she said, and turned to face me, to look at me, to check my reaction. A subtle fire had replaced the fear in her eyes. "I kissed him, and he kissed me. I kissed another man, in front of everybody," she told me, and I heard the indecision slip from her words. "Tongues. We made out, right there on the dance floor." Her lip quivered. "It was so exciting, letting myself go, be taken by him like that. And she watched us." "So did I," "She's his girlfriend," "I'm your husband." "I didn't know you were there. I knew she was right next to me while I kissed him. She, uh, encouraged us...it was so hot." She took a deep breath and I saw her body relax. "So I kissed him harder; I didn't stop." "If you knew I was there, watching," I asked suddenly, backtracking, "would you have stopped?" Her eyes narrowed in thought. "I don't think so," she answered pensively. "I was trying to get back at you, remember." Her shoulders lifted a little. "I think it would have made it even better!" "Naughty," I teased. "Then what?" "You know," she said, her tone more relaxed, opening up a little. "You were there; you saw." "You want me to forgive you; you have to say what you did," I reminded her as I recalled her actions. I felt the swelling increase at my crotch. I'd known it was hot all along but I was allowing myself to admit it, now. "I kissed her," she whispered. "Yes, you did." "Uh huh," she confirmed. "I kissed a girl, right on the dance floor, with everyone watching," she related, her voice breathy. "I heard cheers and hoots and her boyfriend was telling me to go for it." She bit her lip again. "I liked it. I felt her pressing her boobs into mine, her hands on me, her lips." Her eyelids fluttered. "Her tongue was in my mouth; it was so nice, so hot. I felt so, I don't know, dirty and wild." "It looked wild," I said. I was fully hard now, and I think I squirmed a little, trying to adjust myself in my pants without making it obvious. She had kissed another guy, gone wild, kissed a girl! "I thought maybe it wasn't you when I saw it. I saw her grab your ass." "And I grabbed hers," she answered, leaning forward, eyes widened slightly. One of her hands rested on my leg, just above the knee. "It was soft, but firm, not a guy's hard ass. And then I-" she stopped, pulled back a little. Her tongue slipped out again. "I grabbed under her skirt. My hand was on her bare ass, under her skirt. I couldn't stop myself." She leaned forward again, adding pressure to the hand on my leg. "I just had this urge, and I let it take me, and I reached under her skirt, and then my hand was on bare skin, on her ass, so soft and hot." She was breathing through her mouth, her voice soft and soothing. "She squealed into my mouth." "No panties, then?" "A thong. I found out later." Her eyes turned dreamy again, for a second, and my hips pulsed involuntarily, legs tightening as I watched her remember the experience. She felt the tension in my leg, glanced at my bulging crotch and gave me a look, letting me know that she knew. "You like this story so far, I guess," she cooed, sliding her hand up my thigh. It stopped at the crease before my groin. She squeezed and her eyes narrowed. She stared at me silently for a second. "Wait till you hear the rest," she said with confidence. She shuffled off the bed onto her knees and her other hand joined the first on my other thigh. "God, what I did later." "Tell me," I urged. I felt my teeth grinding and tried to relax my jaw and failed. My body was pulsing with excitement and my brain was imaging multiple endings to her story. I wondered if her telling would be better or worse, and my fear and anger at what I imagined was shamed by the fact that I wanted her to be wild, to let go. My wife with a young couple? My brain tumbled with building passion and need. Her hands slid up to my belt and fumbled, opening my pants. "Maybe we should let him out while I tell you the rest," she suggested, undoing my belt and struggling my pants open. I looked down at her, watching her work intently, saw her eyes open as I sprang out of my confines; heard her inhale sharply as her hand wrapped around my shaft. She squeezed me just under the head and I groaned. "Tell me the rest," I managed, "you left. I saw you go. Saw you," I grunted as she reached in to cup my balls. "Saw you get in the cab, in your miniskirt." I grunted again as she stroked my hard length. "I saw him grab your ass. I saw you; you let him." "I wanted him to," she said to my cock. "I liked it, liked having another man touch me. It was so hot." Her eyes darted to my face, her hand still gripping my cock. "He did it right in front of the club. Put his hand up my dress, felt my ass." "And you let him." "I let him, yes." Her voice had lost most of the hesitance now, encouraged by my reaction. I pushed my pants down off my hips. She knelt beside me on the bed, assisting with one hand, fondling me with the other. Legs freed, I spread my legs. She returned her other hand to cup my ball sack. "I asked him if he liked my ass. I said, 'you like that ass, baby?'" "Were you wearing panties?" "Yes." She lifted her eyebrows and bit her lower lip. "But not for long. And I never found them." She hunched her shoulders and her lip curled up at the side. "I think they never came out of the taxi, maybe." "God," I grunted, "you wild thing." What had she done? I couldn't wait to find out, even as the potential scared me. I was beginning to breath more heavily, mouth open. "What happened in the cab?" Her eyes opened wide and she began to stroke me, slowly. "I climbed in and she kissed me again, while I was still kneeling on the seat. He got in behind me and was feeling my ass as I made out with his girlfriend." Her voice had deepened, become throaty and sultry. The sound invaded me, heightening my urge. "She fondled me. My breasts. She felt up my tits, and he felt up my ass. They wanted me." She stopped stroking and rubbed her thumb across the tip of my cock, smearing the fat drop of pre-cum that had bubbled up and sending sensations through me. "M-mm, I wanted them, too," she added. Her moistened fingers began stroking again. "I was so hot. You like that? Knowing I was hot and horny?" "Oh, yeah," I answered softly. "He put his hand into my panties, slipped it under, felt my bare ass. It felt so good, being so naughty. She stopped kissing me. She-" she stalled; her breath caught. "She pulled her shirt down, baby; she pulled her tits out." She leaned over me, her hand paused, and licked the head of my cock. I swooned, watching her tongue emerge, felt the electricity as it made contact, saw the string of pre-cum stretch between my cock and her mouth as she craned her neck to look up at me. "I sucked her nipples," she whispered. "I sucked another girl's nipples, right in the taxi. And she liked it. I did it good, I think. It felt good. I liked her tits. And then," she said, leaning forward, putting her face near mine, "his fingers touched my pussy." I felt the heat of her breath on my face, smelled her, her words hot as fire. My wife, her pussy with another man's fingers touching her, sucking nipples, damn! "His fingers spread my lips, inside my panties. Your wife was getting her pussy felt up by a guy. But he only touched me for a few seconds. I wanted him, wanted his fingers in me, but he pulled away. My pussy was on fire. I was still sucking her titties, though. And I heard him moving, and then they pushed me, twisted me around." She leaned down to kiss me, lightly, on the lips. Her words came out in a hiss. "He took it out. When I turned around he had it out of his pants, his hard cock, and he put his hand on my head." She kissed me again and I felt my body tense, waiting for the next sentence. Her mouth. I watched her lips form the words "And then your angry horny wife sucked his cock." "Oh, you slut," I hissed at her. "I never was before," she said, "but I wanted to be; then. I wanted to show you. To show ME." She slid down my body, still holding my stiff cock in her hand, until her chin was on my stomach and the head of my dick was pressed against her neck. She looked up and batted her eyes. "You wanna hear more?" "I think I need to, to make sure you need forgiving," I teased. "Well, like I said, I was sucking his hard cock in the taxi. I was really going at it, too, and-" "How do you mean?" "How do I mean what?" "I mean, how were you 'really going at it'?" She batted her eyes. "Oh," she smiled. "Like this." And she slipped further down, lifted my cock from my body, and lowered her mouth on it, taking most of my length in the first stroke, and pulling up slowly, sucking and licking as she went. When she reached the top, she hungrily bobbed her head quickly up and down; long, wet full strokes of her mouth, her hands following, slick with spit. She looked up at me, her mouth filled with cock. Her eyes smiled, and she pulled off. "Like that," she said, tickling the tip with her tongue. "Okay," I exhaled, "just wanted to be clear." "So like I said, I was sucking his cock, kneeling on the back seat of the taxi. And then his girlfriend fingered me." She stroked me lazily as she spoke. "Fingered my pussy, baby." A small lick at the tip. "My pussy was so wet, I was so excited, so hot, doing something so daring and dirty." "Did you like it? Having another girl feel you up?" "Oh, she wasn't copping a feel," she whispered hotly. "Her fingers slid right into my wet cunt," "Dirty girl." "Her?" "No. You." "To show you, to get back at you," "Whatever." "It was so strange, having another woman finger my pussy while I sucked her man's cock, and to be doing it in a taxi, damn, I was such a slut." She took another long, full suck of my cock. "But I had to stop. We got to their hotel, and we had to put ourselves together. I think that's where I left my panties. We walked through the lobby, hugging and kissing and laughing and feeling each other up." She crawled back up my body until she was at my face. "People saw me, stared at me, kissing both of them. Like this," she added, and her mouth was on mine, wet from sucking my cock. She pressed herself against me, grinding her pussy onto my hard shaft, groaning and grunting as she humped against me. She pulled back, licked my lips. "They felt me up as we waited for the elevator. People saw my ass, saw them fondling me." She blushed. "She kissed me in front of them and rubbed my pussy while they watched." Her hands slipped up under my shirt, rubbing my chest, settling on my nipples. I helped her pull my shirt off as she continued. "They stared and whispered, and I loved it. I was being bad, and liking the bad," she said, pinching my nipples. My back arched a little. "We got into the elevator, but no one got in with us," she smirked. "As the doors were closing he stood behind me and pulled up my shirt, and grabbed my tits, right as they watched and the door closed!" She held herself up on her arms, palms on my chest, pussy pressed into my cock through her pants. "She sucked my nipples in the elevator!" And she descended onto my nipple and nipped at it with her lips. I stroked her hair as she sucked and then bit, lightly, making me grunt. She pulled off. "Like that. It made me so hot. Did you like it?" I nodded. "Want to hear what happened when we got to their room?" I nodded again. She took off her shirt, sitting up on me, grinding herself against me. "You sure?" she asked. She unhooked her bra and let her tits hang in my face. I noticed marks on them I had never seen before. Hickies? She saw my eyes and looked down, and blushed. "Oh. That was a different night." My eyes went to hers, and she reddened and her eyes closed for a second. When they opened, she added, "I told you you'll have to forgive me." "How did you get them?" "No," she stated simply. "I can't, not now. I can tell you this one, because you knew the beginning, and," she squirmed on my cock, "you're enjoying it. The rest, well. Another time. When I'm ready." I pressed my hips up into her, and her eyes registered my agreement. "Maybe I should take these off, too?" "Not yet," I managed. She looked at me through narrowed eyes. Her tits wobbled a little as she adjusted her position, her nipples swelling and hardening. "You went to their room," I prompted. "Yeah," she said dreamily. "As soon as we got in we were all naked and on the bed, like a whirlwind. I was so hot, I just let them take my clothes off. They were kissing me, and feeling me up, and sucking my tits and fingering me. Both of them, together. Fuck, it was hot and naughty and so wrong, and I wanted them. Both." She lowered her chest to my face, scooting her hips forward a little, and her nipples brushed against my lips. I thought of the hickies, then put them out of my mind as I opened and took a hard rubbery nub into my mouth and sucked. "I was on my back, he was fingering my pussy, and she was sucking my tits, just like that," she said as I sucked. I looked up and her eyes were closed. "I put my hand on his cock, and I stroked him. He was hard. Hard for me, for my pussy." I switched to the other nipple. "She grabbed my other hand and moved it to her." She pulled her nipple from my mouth and leaned over my face. "To her pussy. Her shaved pussy." She kissed me, grinding on my cock. She was hot, telling me, remembering what she'd done, and I was just as hot hearing. I groaned into her mouth. She pulled from me, lay on my chest, her tits pressed against me and her lips went to my neck. I felt her breath in my ear. "I fingered her cunt. I finger fucked a girl," she whispered. I felt her tongue at my ear. "It was so hot, a cock in one hand, and my fingers inside a wet pussy, two strangers, hot for me." Vacation Argument "Horny slut," I answered. "Yes-s-s," she hissed. "I was so horny, such a horny slut for them." "Take your pants off now." "Yeah?" "Yeah," I told her. "You want to see where his fingers were?" She sat up on me, undid the snaps. She pushed her fingers into the waistband. "Where his tongue went?" She moved her legs to one side of me and leaned over me, pushing the pants down her hips with her panties. Her face was on my chest and she looked at me as she worked her legs out. Her breasts rubbed against my cock. "Where HER tongue went?" She wriggled the pants off, and lay naked on me. I didn't see any hair as she straightened. "Shaved?" I asked. "Not this story." She kissed me, and pushed herself back up. She sat on my cock, pressing it between her labia where it lay on my stomach. I looked down at the hairless juncture as she shifted forward and back, slicking my shaft with her juices. Shaved. Incredible. I felt harder, if that were possible. Her knees held my waist as she stroked my chest and shuffled her hips slowly, tantalizing me with smooth wetness. I wondered if she had any other hickies. "So, I was on my back, and they were both at me. I nearly came on his fingers, but he pulled them out." She grinned. "I told him not to stop, but he did anyway. But only long enough to get his face between my legs and lick my pussy. Your angry wife's pussy. Licked by another man. While his girlfriend kissed me and sucked my nipples." "Did you cum then?" "Big time," she hissed. "Right in his mouth. Then she put her tits in my face and I sucked her nipples. He kept licking me. His tongue was so good in me, and her nipples were hard. I liked it, sucking her tits. And she knew it." She leaned down and kissed me. The angle allowed my cock to rise and the head brushed her open lips. I pushed up and bumped her clit. She gasped into my mouth as we kissed. "She looked down at me, sucking her titties," she murmured as she rained kisses around my face, "and then she lifted her leg over me." She bit my lower lip. "She put her cunt on my face, and I licked it. I licked pussy, baby. It was so fucking hot and dirty and nasty, your angry wife, who didn't want to do the things you wanted, licking a girl's wet shaved cunt while her man licked me." She kissed me again, her tongue in my mouth, her pussy just out of reach of my pulses, not allowing me in. "I came again, I was so excited licking her pussy. It was good. Fun. Tasty. And so wet." She sat up, trapping my cock between us again. She caressed her own breasts, pinching her nipples. "I screamed into her cunt, and licked her clit, and made her cum on my face." Her eyes closed as she pinched and her head fell back. "I was such a slut." "Yesss," I hissed at her. She lowered her head and lifted her lips. "She was still on my face, I was sucking the cum out of her, sucking her lips and licking her clit." She angled her hips, lifted, aimed my head, holding me at her wet opening. "And then his cock went into my cunt." She lowered herself in time with the words. "Just like that. His cock was fucking me, in my pussy. Oh, fuck it felt so good." She began shifting back and forth again, now with my cock buried inside. "He fucked me so good. She got off my face and kissed me." She began lifting, and I fucked up into her as she came down. We both groaned. "Oh, she licked her juices off my lips as he fucked my cunt, and she fingered my clit, and I came on his cock; I can't remember ever being so horny, cumming so much. I just kept cumming and cumming." She fucked herself harder on my cock. "Fucking slut," I managed to squeak. "Oh, fuck yeah, I was so slutty, taking his cock, cumming on his hard dick, while she kissed me and fingered my clit, it was so good, uh, so hot, unh, oh, fuck, here it comes, just like that night, feel it; feel me cumming in your cock, oh! Fuck!" Her eyes opened wide and her mouth dropped open, and a long wail emerged, loud and hot and uncontrolled, and her climax spurred mine, and I felt myself explode inside her. "Yes!" Fill me! Fill me like he did! Cum in my pussy, fill it with hot cum!" My head swam and my cock disgorged itself inside her, imagining another man doing it, her enjoying it, orgasming with another man's cum flooding her cunt where mine was now. She collapsed on me, both of us panting and trembling, sweaty and sated. Her hair was across my face and I breathed her scent, held her; caressed her back, her ass. When her breathing returned to normal she moved up, put her face in mine, and kissed me. I kissed her back, softer now, the passion addressed and satisfied. "Forgive me?" she whispered. "I think so," I answered, kissing her soft lips. What else had she been up to this week? My softening cock slipped from her, and my load dripped out. I wondered what else had dripped from her during the time we were apart. "I might need to hear the rest of the stories first." "When we get home," she said, dangling her hair in my face and looking at me with lowered eyes, "I'll tell another one. One of the bad ones." "Worse than this?" "Slutty. Really slutty. Unbelievable." Her eyes twinkled. "You can't imagine what I've been up to." Maybe I could. But I could wait.