Miles Naismith
 

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of sexual acts. If it is either
illegal or inappropriate for you to be reading this, please stop now. Or at least
before you come to the good parts.

Distribution Rights: May be distributed freely without modification on Usenet,
Usenet II, not-for-profit web sites, not-for-profit ftp sites, and news archival
services which offer free public access to archived articles. All other rights
reserved. Copyright 1998, 1999 by Miles Naismith.
 

LUCY STAYS

By

Miles Naismith
 
 

"She wants you to stay."

Lucy stopped, but she didn't turn around. Her hand was resting on the doorknob.
She knew she should go, but fear and a prurient fascination made her hesitate.

"Tell her." The deep voice was commanding, arrogant.

"Please stay, Lucy."

Lucy's eyes squeezed shut. Her grip on the knob tightened. But she didn't move.

"She wants you to stay and watch," came the deep voice, smugly confident. "Tell
her."

"Please stay, Lucy. I want you to," whispered her friend, low and pleading.

Lucy was torn. Prudence said to leave, and quickly. Something more primitive
said stay. She was frozen between the two when she heard the footsteps approach.
She felt a large hand lift hers from the doorknob, and pull her around toward the
living room.

As he led her across the room, she opened her eyes. The scene was just as surreal
as when she had innocently walked in that door on an average Tuesday in August
to return a borrowed chafing dish and some serving pieces to Anne. The man
leading her by her hand was still nude, still erect, and still not Anne's husband.
Across the room, Anne's head was tilted down, but her eyes looked up at Lucy.
She had on a white terrycloth bathrobe. Lucy's sense of unreality deepened as the
man bowed slightly and gestured at the window seat in the bay window. As he
turned and walked across the room to Anne, the setting sun cast a pale, faintly red
light through the sheer curtains behind her, washing out colors in the room and
adding to the surreal feeling.

At Anne's almost imperceptible nod, Lucy abruptly dropped onto the seat, stiff
and upright, primly swinging her knees together and crossing her ankles. In her
pristine white cotton polo shirt and pleated shorts, she was the epitome of the
thirty-five year-old soccer mom. Which was, of course, exactly what she was: a
demure, monogamous mother of two confused as to why she was still here. But
her thoughts were not on her children, nor her husband, nor even her own shock
and surprise. In reality, she had no coherent thoughts at all. Her mind was simply
filled, obsessed, with a snaky intermingling of voyeuristic anticipation, fear that
the man would hurt her or Anne, and a morbid, compelling sense of arousal,
unlike anything she had felt before, that shocked her by its very presence.

Staring as if in a trance, Lucy watched the man turn Anne to face her and bend to
kiss her neck from behind. Still kissing her neck, the man brought his hands up,
his hands folding under the collar of the robe on either side. Anne stood
unresisting as the hands slid to the sides, over the shoulders and down her arms,
taking the lapels with them. The robe pulled up from the belt and opened, its fall
halted short of her waist as the front hung suspended for an instant on Anne's
erect nipples. Then it dropped again, only to be held at her waist by the belt.

Lucy watched as Anne's hands twitched up, a reflexive attempt at modesty, she
supposed, stopped by the sleeves that still covered Anne's forearms. A petty
thought <My breasts are better; a little bit smaller maybe, but I don't droop as
much> flicked quickly through Lucy's mind, just as quickly forgotten as she
watched Anne blush. The red flush moved like a tide from Anne's cheeks down
her neck to her chest, momentarily stopping at the tops of those pure white
mounds that had never known the sun. When the man used his forefingers and
thumbs to gently stretch the nipples toward Lucy, the breasts themselves turned
pink.

Lucy heard a small gasp, and realized it had come from her. For a moment, her
attention turned inward. She hadn't noticed when her nipples had become so hard,
but now she was acutely aware of the pressure of her bra against them. She
realized she had been gripping the edge of the seat with white-knuckled strength
and relaxed her hands, letting her arms cross under her breasts, squeezing the
sides and lifting them a little. She squirmed on the seat, trying to get comfortable.
A gasp that didn't come from her drew her eyes back to her half-naked friend and
to the naked man who stood behind Anne.

The man's left hand had come around Anne's left hip and disappeared under the
flap of the robe. Lucy could see nothing of it except a terry-covered mound, a
mound that pulsed in the same slow rhythm as the wrist that moved forward and
back, in and out, from under the robe. She watched the slow movements for what
seemed a long time. Another gasp caused her eyes to flick back to Anne's face.
Anne's mouth was open and her head had arched back against the man's collar
bone. Lucy was sure Anne was about to orgasm.

With that realization, Lucy's mind began to work again, if only for a moment. <I
should leave now. It'll be too personal if she knows I've seen her come at the
hands of this stranger. It'll affect our friendship,> Lucy thought. <How could I
explain this to Fergus if he found out? How could I face the neighbors?> Then she
flushed with shame. Not for Anne, but for herself. She was going to stay. She was
going to watch her friend stripped bare, body and soul, before her. The thought
excited her, inflamed her. Nothing this exciting had ever happened to her, and her
mind was engulfed with an erotic intensity that wouldn't let her leave.

The wrist was moving in and out of the robe faster now, and Anne's panting kept
pace. Lucy watched as Anne stiffened and her face strained, mouth wide open and
eyes unfocused. She heard Anne's breath catch, three times, almost like hiccups.
<How can she be so quiet?> thought Lucy. <I'd be screaming.> Then she saw
Anne's hand flash down to pull the man's hand away. Lucy nodded in sympathy.
Fergus too often kept rubbing her after an orgasm, after she had become too
sensitive.

Lucy's breath was coming more quickly now. One thumb moved unnoticed up to
her nipple to caress, but she jerked it back down when she felt it. The man was
turning Anne's back to her. Anne seemed almost passive. Lucy had never seen her
like this. The Anne she knew was active, confident, always ready to do what
needed to be done in the community. She wondered what power the man had over
her.

The man put his hands on Anne's shoulders and pushed gently. Anne bent forward
at her hips, spreading her legs slightly at the same time. Lucy was presented with
a featured view of Anne's terry-covered rear. Lucy's eyes went up to the man's
face and, for the first time, she really looked at him. He was tall, but not as tall or
powerful as Fergus. Black hair brushed straight back, with a hint of five o'clock
shadow. He had a trace of a smile but it didn't reach his eyes. Those eyes were
hypnotic, deep and cynical. Lucy couldn't look away. Movement finally drew her
eyes back down, as the man's hands slid down Anne's back, finally reaching the
fold where the robe doubled over the belt. The hands pushed. The belt loosened,
and suddenly the robe was gone.

Lucy stared at her friend's sex, as if in a dream. She saw the outer lips engorged,
dusky with desire. The inner lips had pushed up, blossoming like a pink flower in
the darker furrow. Anne's lubrication gleamed in the light. <Is that what I look
like?> thought Lucy. <Do I look like that right now, under my panties?> At the
thought, Lucy again felt the pressure of the bra on her nipples, and she knew she
was wet like Anne.

Lucy could not see Anne's face, but the wet sounds and the small rocking motions
of the man's hips etched an image into her mind. She started to get up, to walk
closer, to see that shaft in her friend's mouth, but she caught herself and sat down.
Lucy's eyes closed and she let passion well up, listening to the nasty, dirty sounds
that burned in her brain.

A soft grunt focused Lucy's attention back on the naked couple. The man's hands
were on each side of Anne's head as he pushed her back from his pelvis. With a
push on one side and a pull on the other, he turned Anne to face Lucy. Without
prompting, Anne dropped to her hands and knees, eyes fixed on Lucy, face red
again. There was a shiny streak of moisture on one cheek. The man's eyes were on
Lucy as well as he knelt behind Anne, and he had that same tiny smile.

<He's going to fuck her now,> thought Lucy, mildly surprised by her choice of
words. It was not her normal vocabulary even when thinking of sex. Her eyes
widened as the man drove his hips forward. She saw Anne's mouth open,
soundlessly except for an explosive exhalation of breath.

<He's fucking her. He's really fucking Anne. He's fucking Anne while I watch,
and she's letting him.> Lucy's attention to the scene before her was total. Lucy
didn't notice the thumb on her nipple this time. She didn't notice that she was
rocking her hips, pressing against the seat's cushion, in time with the man's thrusts.

The movement of Anne's head was hypnotic as it jerked forward each time the
man's pelvis slammed into her rear. Lucy watched as Anne's stare lost focus,
became glassy-eyed, and then disappeared under closed eyelids. A guttural moan
escaped Anne's lips, and then Lucy again heard the breath catch, more little
hiccups this time, as Anne's back and neck arched up stiffly for a small eternity,
and then collapsed.

The man stayed still in Anne until she had finished her shudders. Then he
withdrew and allowed Anne to fall to her side, looking spent. As the man stood,
Lucy's eyes were drawn compulsively to the man's penis, still standing erect, shiny
now with Anne's juices. <His thing, his *cock*, is still hard! He must not have
come,> she thought. <Oh God, does he plan to do something to me?> She forced
her eyes away and looked at his face. It was a mistake. His eyes captured hers
again and wouldn't let her go. He began to walk toward her with a hard, thin
smile. Lucy sat frozen in her seat.

Lucy looked again at his erection. The window seat was low. She knew that if she
leaned forward a little, her face would be level with his penis. <He's going to put
it in my mouth,> she thought, <covered with the taste of Anne.> She shivered and
wondered whether she would let him. Whether she could stop him.

Instead, he stopped and offered his hand. Unthinkingly she placed hers on his
palm. He pulled her up and turned her to face Anne in a motion that couldn't have
been smoother if they had been dancing. Lucy felt those hands each grab a
handful of cotton knit, and then her arms were forced up, over her head, as he
pulled her shirt off. Almost before the shirt hit the floor, his hands made the
return trip down to her waist, pushing her arms back down, with his thumbs
hooked in her bra straps. Lucy stood shocked, breasts bare to her friend, bra inside
out around her waist, still fastened.

The abruptness filled her with excitement. He hadn't asked permission. It would
be like rape if it were not for the fact that she had not fought it, had thrilled to it.
She felt passive, helpless, although she was not actually restrained. The feeling
filled her with both dread and arousal. So caught up in her need was she that she
didn't even blush when she saw Anne, head propped up in her hand, watching his
hands move up to play with her nipples.

Lucy hadn't noticed when one hand had left her breast, when it had undone the
top button on her loose fitting shorts. The other hand on her breast and the sight
of Anne's hand moving to slide between parted thighs had captured Lucy's
attention.

But she did notice when the hand slid under the waistbands of both shorts and
panties, down through her bush, and along her sensitive folds to the entrance to
her vagina. Even as her hips surged forward to help impale herself on the finger
slipping inside her, even as a moan escaped her mouth, reality hit her like a splash
of cold water. Sanity exploded in her brain with blinding suddenness, and she
knew she couldn't do this. The husband and family that she had quite literally lost
in his eyes flashed into her brain, and the thought of consequences overruled
desire.

She turned to the side, jerking his arm out of her shorts with both hands. She
raised her arms to bring her bra into place and snatched up her shirt. Her shorts
had fallen to her hips; she pulled them to her waist and held them with one hand.
She heard Anne call out as she ran to the door, but the words didn't register.
In seconds she was driving away in her bra, the crumpled shirt pressed
tightly to her chest over it. A block from her home she stopped and pulled
on the shirt, thankful that there was no one to see her. She sat there trying
to think, trying to decide what to do.

Anne would call tomorrow, and Lucy still had the chafing dish in her car. She
would have to talk to her, to see her, sometime, but she had no idea what she
would say. She decided not to think about that now. More pressing was the
question of whether, and what, to tell her husband. And when. Her mind whirled,
tumbling turbulently from one thought to another. She finally decided she'd have
to figure out what to do about her husband later as well. She drove the short
distance home and went in the door.

Steeling herself to face her husband, she opened the door and announced her
arrival, only to be met by silence. Walking to the kitchen, she saw the note under
the refrigerator magnet: "Took the kids to pick up Chinese. Back soon." Breathing
a sigh of relief, she made for the shower, as if to wash off any evidence of events.
In a white terrycloth robe very like Anne's, over a tee-shirt and panties, she was
still towel drying her short, brown curls when the silence was shattered by the
chatter of her children and her husband's hello. She went through the usual
routines of greeting and serving the food without any of them noticing that she
was mentally absent. When her husband and kids elected to plop themselves in
front of the television to eat, she took her plate into the den, ostensibly to check
her email.

She was staring at the screen saver when the kids bounced in to kiss her good
night. After trying to sort out her feelings, she had finally decided that she would
wait until after she had talked to Anne before tackling Fergus. She rationalized
this by worrying about what Fergus might tell Charles, his golfing buddy and
Anne's husband. <After all,> she thought, <I didn't really do anything wrong. I
didn't cheat. I don't tell Fergus every time someone hits on me or tries to cop a
little feel at a party. This isn't so different as long as I didn't do anything.>

Having made the decision to procrastinate, she leaned back in her chair and began
think about what had happened. She closed her eyes and remembered,
remembered how much more intense her arousal had been than anything she had
felt in years. <Fergus is a fine lover,> she chided herself, <he makes me come
every time. He knows just what makes me feel good. He's very considerate and
gentle. He loves me and he's faithful.> Even as she tried to believe it was enough,
she heard a second dialogue in the background, saying, <Yeah, but it's the *same*
every time. The same foreplay, the same positions, the same conversation about
getting ice water afterwards. He makes you come, but he doesn't make you
*want* to come. He doesn't drive you out of your mind with desire, with
wanting.><How can he? We've been married thirteen years. I've seen him grunt
on the toilet seat. What chance does he have to create such excitement. We know
each other too well. It's not fair to compare.> <But *you* can still feel that
consuming passion. You felt it today. Today was hot, today was lust Don't you
need some of that too?> And all the while, like a video loop, image after image
flashed fleetingly through her mind. Anne's wet vagina as she sucked the man's
penis <no, his cock>, she corrected herself. The open-mouthed surprise on Anne's
face when he drove that cock into Anne from behind. Her own hips thrusting
forward against his hand, driving the finger inside her.

She first noticed the smell. Herbal Essence. Shampooed hair. Even as she began
to break out of her erotic fugue, her husband's hands encircled her from behind,
cupping her breasts as he always did, <even around the kids when he thinks they
aren't looking, > the old peeve appearing like a Pavlovian response. Cupping her
breasts was just routine now, after all the years. Kissing her neck, he said, "Good
night, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late."

Tonight, however, the hands on her breasts and kiss on the neck, so perversely
like and unlike the scene at Anne's, pulled the trigger on her desire. Quickly she
spun the desk chair around and jerked his open his robe. The boxers he used as
pajamas were at his knees before he could react. She grabbed the flaccid penis
and sucked it into her mouth. Fergus's face looked blank, uncomprehending, at
this wanton act, but his penis knew how to react. She felt a sense of power and a
surge of desire, both at how quickly the shaft hardened to its full length in her
mouth, and at knowing it would be entering her body soon. Once it was hard, she
backed all the way off and then let it part her lips as she moved her head forward.
Like it was a first touch. She knew HE would already be hard when HE brought
HIS <cock> to her. She wondered what HIS cock would taste like. She struggled
to remove her robe while she held his erection in her mouth. Seeing her problem,
Fergus grabbed robe and shirt and pulled both up. As the shirt came through, she
had to let his erection fall from her mouth. She raised her rear from the seat and
pushed down her panties. Without ever fully standing up, she dropped to her
hands and knees in front of Fergus. Wanting to feel wanton, lewd, to show her sex
as Anne had, she let her head drop to the floor, presenting her rounded ass to her
husband.

"Fuck me, Fergus! Dear God, put it in me now. Please," she pleaded. In her head
she heard, <What's come over me? I must look like an idiot. What will he think of
me. What am I doing?>

If Fergus didn't know why, he knew what to do. Lucy grunted as she felt him
shove his <cock, dick, prick> into her <pussy>. She closed her eyes and it was
HIM behind her. <He's fucking me, just like Anne. And I'm letting him! Letting
him fuck me!>Then she remembered the eyes, the knowing, cynical smile. She
came for the first time. As she felt the cock churn in an out of her channel, she
thought she heard a groan, like Anne might make fingering herself as she
watched. She came again. She was building up to another when her husband
grabbed her hips and pulled himself as far into her as he could go. <Not now,>
she groaned to herself, <just a little more and I'll be there again.> She tried to
shake her hips back and forth on his cock to get that final friction, but he held her
too tight as his convulsive jerks signaled his climax. Suddenly he let go, pushing
himself abruptly back, apparently too sensitive to let it go soft in her the way he
usually did. They lay panting on the floor.

"Do you want some ice water," came the familiar refrain after a few minutes.

"Yes, please."

She retired to the bathroom, back in their comfortable routine again, to clean up
before sleep. As she went through the motions, her mind was troubled. She knew
she hadn't really been with her husband in any way that really mattered. She had
been with HIM. It felt like cheating.

The water was waiting when she emerged, and so was Fergus.

"Jesus, that was great. What brought that on, Sweetheart?"

"I don't know," she lied. "I was reading a hot romance on the web, maybe it
worked me up without my realizing it. Or maybe you just caught me during that
fifteen minute period once a month when a woman really wants a man, like those
two comediennes talk about, the Mommies or whoever they are. All I know now
is that I need to sleep."

With a tender kiss and a whispered, "Thanks, Honey," Fergus turned over and was
soon dead to the world. It took Lucy a lot longer.

BRRRRINNNGGG. Lucy stirred groggily. BRRRRINNNGGG. She reached over
to the bedside table and jerked the phone off its cradle before it could ring again.
"Hello," she said, unenthusiastically.

"Uh, Lucy . . . uh, it's me, Anne. Uh, oh shit, are you still speaking to me?"

"Yes, Anne. You're my friend. But what the hell was that?" Lucy was wide awake
now.

"Oh Lucy, I'm so sorry. I didn't do it on purpose. We didn't have it planned or
anything, it just kind of happened."

"Quit sniveling, Anne. You're forgiven. But if you don't tell me what's going on,
I'm going to come over there and strangle you!"

"Well, you sort of walked in on me and my lover."

"I guessed."

"Charles is away for the week. In New York. Couldn't take me though, just had to
concentrate on business." A hint of bitterness. "I invited Wade over to help
console me."

"You invited him? The way you were acting I thought he must be blackmailing
you. Or threatening you somehow. I've never seen you that way. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, ungh, I'm fine. It's just that he. Makes. Me. Want to let. Him. Take me."

"What's wrong Anne," asked Lucy, suspecting she already knew.

"NOTHING," squealed Anne, then lower, "Just thank you. For. Staying. . .Oh God
. . ."

"You're doing it, aren't you. Right now on the phone. Jesus, Anne. . ."

"Yeeesss. Oh yes. . ." Lucy heard the phone thump. She heard Anne panting in the
background. Then she heard HIS voice.

"She wants you to watch again. Tonight. Be here at nine o'clock." Click.

Lucy was preoccupied as she went about her errands. Picking up the clean shirts
from the cleaners, doing the weekly grocery shopping, gassing up the car, picking
up the kids from the mini-sports camp at the country club--all were accomplished
on a kind of autopilot. The kids were a little puzzled when they received no reply
or a distracted, "Huh, what did you say again?" to each anecdote of camp events
or request for some privilege. But they happily settled into something as near to
quiet as they ever got when Lucy let them start eating the french fries from the
McDonald's drive in window in the car as they drove home.

Once home, the kids took their burgers and shakes into the living room to watch
TV. Lucy went through the motions of fixing a light dinner for Fergus and herself.
Ripe tomatoes and fresh mozzarella sprinkled with basil and olive oil. Salade
Nicoise. A bottle of blush wine. Closing arguments to the jury.

<He's an arrogant asshole. He just told you what time to be there like there was no
question that you would come. What are you going to do if he grabs you this
time? He isn't worth cheating on Fergus. What kind of pervert wants to see her
friend get screwed any way? What would Fergus say if he knew? Can you imagine
the talk if anyone found out? You're a thirty-five year old mother--act like one.>

<So you tell him no touching. It's not cheating if you don't do anything with HIM.
So you like to watch, so what. Who will tell? Who will know? You don't want to
be afraid to live, to have to follow every little rule of propriety for the rest of your
life. You weren't like that when you were younger. You'll feel that old excitement,
that thrill of doing something dangerous and new again, tonight, but maybe never
again if you don't go now.

How many chances will you ever get? You *want* to go.>

She managed to hold up her end of the dinner conversation with Fergus despite
her distraction. But her mind was focused on the invitation.

Her third glass of wine, two more than usual, found her decision made.

"Honey, Charles is off in New York all week, so I asked Anne over for later. Her
sister found her a tape of The Moonspinners and you know how she loves Hayley
Mills. I told her I'd fix popcorn and watch it with her. I hope you don't mind."

"Tonight? Tonight is supposed to be the big grudge race in the go-cart game on
the Nintendo," Fergus complained. "I promised the boys. They think they can beat
me this time. I thought I mentioned it to you."

<You did. I'm counting on it.> thought Lucy, as she said aloud, "If you did, I
forgot. Well, I'll just call Anne and cancel. If you promised the boys, you've got to
keep it."

"We can just explain to them . . ."

"No," said Lucy, "I'll call Anne and reschedule."

Lucy walked into the den and mumbled into the phone while the dial tone
hummed in her ear. Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she yelled to the
kitchen, "Fergus, Anne has invited me over there to watch it. I may be late if we
sit and talk. Would you mind? The boys will need a shower before bed."

"Go ahead, Honey," Fergus yelled back. "We can handle it. Don't be too late
without calling, now."

"Yes, Daddy, sir," Lucy mugged, "I'll be home by curfew. Love you."

Lucy walked into the living room to the sounds of ersatz engines revving. "See
you later, guys. I'm going over to see Miss Anne. You be good for your Dad. And
don't beat him too badly, you know he pouts when he loses."

"See ya' Mom," the boys said in unison.

Then Teddy said, "Too bad Mom, but Daddy's gonna' be toast.""You too,
nerdface, you'll never catch me.""Eat my dust, dirtball.""Watch this . ." The boys
didn't notice that their mother had left.

It was exactly nine when Lucy pulled into Anne's driveway. It was ten minutes
later when she finally decided that she wouldn't chicken out and walked to the
door. A shouted "Come in" answered her knock. HIS voice. She went in.

The room was shadowy. Only a small lamp on an end table provided any
illumination. It was enough as her eyes adjusted. The man was sitting in a low
upholstered arm chair that faced the entrance hall from the other side of the living
room. His knees were spread and Anne knelt between them, her hands on his
thighs, her head bobbing up and down in his lap. They were both naked.

"You're late." Accusatory.

"I, uh . . ."

"It doesn't matter. Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"Take off your clothes. Or leave."

"Good bye, asshole." Lucy turned to leave.

"Wait, Lucy," said Anne. "Please stay. He won't touch you, I promise. But it's too
weird if you just sit there and watch with all your clothes on."

"That's right, Lucy," he said, with a hint of disdain, of sarcasm, "I promise not to
touch you. But you look at us, we look at you. That's the deal."

"Please, Lucy."

Lucy stood at the entrance hall, looking uncertainly first at the door, then back to
the two faces across the room. <This is too much.><It's not cheating if he doesn't
touch you.><I can't just strip in front of Anne.><She's naked in front of you
now.><I didn't shave my legs today.><How many chances will you ever get?>
She turned her back to them and pulled her shirt out of her waistband. Slowly she
crossed her arms in front of her and grasped the bottom of the shirt. Up and off it
went. Her bra fastened in the front. It quickly joined the shirt on the floor. With
her thumbs under both waistbands, panties and shorts slid together to the floor.
Two small backward steps out of her sandals and she was bare. Instinctively, one
arm moved across her breasts while the other hand covered her mons. She heard
the man snigger behind her. Standing to her full five foot six, Lucy put her arms at
her sides and turned around.

"Satisfied?"

"Lovely." A hint of worldly wise amusement in his voice. Then commanding, "Go
sit in the other chair." It was close to the one they occupied, separated from it
only by a small lamp table.

Summoning her will, Lucy walked proudly across the room, chin up and chest
out. She stared directly into his eyes, and for the first few steps felt she could stare
him down this time. The feeling didn't last. His eyes held hers the length of the
room, but she had to look away. Flick to his cock, erect in his lap. Flick to Anne's
face, looking back at Lucy over her shoulder, hands still on his thighs, her eyes
checking out Lucy's body. Flick to his eyes again. Still right on hers. By the time
Lucy reached the chair, she knew he planned on having her. She knew it with
certainty. The knowledge made her nipples grow erect and she began to lubricate.
He wanted to make love to her. <No, to *fuck* her!> She didn't know if she could
stop him. She was glad when she reached the chair, glad to have a reason to turn
away. She sat.

The man put his hand on the back of Anne's head and loosely gathered a handful
of her hair as he pushed her down toward his lap. His eyes were on Lucy's. Lucy's
eyes were on his erection. And the lips about to engulf it. Lucy's eyes widened as
his hand kept pushing Anne down until Lucy was sure Anne would choke. But
Anne's eyes were closed and she showed no sign of discomfort. He pulled her
head up until only the tip was in her lips, and then slowly down again.

"She really likes you to watch, you know," he said conversationally, as if it were
quite normal for him to have his penis in the mouth of a fortyish blonde suburban
housewife. Down and up. "Look at her hands." Down and up. Lucy saw that the
hands were no longer on his thighs. She fleetingly wondered why she hadn't
noticed them leaving. One of Anne's hands now gently pinched her right nipple.
The other was sliding between her legs.

"Anne swallows it all when I come in her mouth." Down and up. "Do you
swallow your husband's come, Lucy?" Down and up.

Lucy's shook her head a tiny bit. No.

"Well, you'll swallow for me when the time comes." It was not a question. Down
and up.

"I like to watch too, Lucy," he said. Down and up. "Show me how you would like
me to touch your breasts." Down and up.

As if by a mind of their own, Lucy's hands moved to her breasts. Keeping her eyes
on Anne's mouth moving up and down, Lucy's finger tips glided over the whole of
her breasts, just barely touching, everywhere except the nipples. She started to
trace a path around each breast, a path that slowly spiraled in toward her nipples.
As the finger tips reached the edge of her small areolae, she looked up into his
eyes. With a shudder of desire, she closed all five fingers of each hand around her
nipples, still just barely touching, and pulled each nipple up ever so slightly.

The sudden motion of his hand in Anne's hair pulling her completely off his cock
pulled Lucy's eyes to the other chair. Lucy's hands froze on her breasts in
mid-caress as he stood.

"I think it's time to let Anne come. Don't you, Lucy?" the deep voice inquired.
"How would you like to see her fucked tonight?"

"Wwwhat do you mmmean?" Lucy stammered.

"I mean it's your choice tonight, Lucy. Missionary, sidesaddle, whatever you want.
I'll take her ass if you tell me, Lucy." Anne's eyes widened at that last and her
head jerked around to glare at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lucy's
voice intervened.

"God no! Doggy. Do her doggy style. But not in her ass. Please?"

"You heard the lady, Anne. Kneel in front of Lucy. Hands and knees."

Anne's face was inches from Lucy's knees, looking down at the rug. The hair on
the top of her head almost touched Lucy. The man knelt behind Anne and his
hand again closed in that hair. He gently pulled her face up to look at Lucy.
Anne's face was blushing red. The man suddenly thrust his hips forward. Anne's
breath puffed out, blowing on Lucy's knees, and her eyes widened. He let go of
Anne's hair, but her head stayed up, looking at Lucy. The man continued to thrust
in and out, but slowly now.

It was deja vu. Again, in Lucy's mind the same litany as before: <He's fucking her.
He's fucking her right in front of me. He's fucking her so close that I can almost
touch it. He's fucking Anne right in front of me and she's letting him!> Without
conscious thought, her left hand moved to her left breast and pushed it from the
side, then cupped it, the thumb moving to the nipple. Her right hand slid between
her closed thighs to press gently on the closed lips of her sex.

"Open your legs, Lucy." The man continued to thrust very slowly.

Lucy shook her head no.

"You watch us, we watch you. That's the deal. Open your legs, Lucy."

"Please, Lucy," Anne whispered.

With a flush of shame and a shudder of excitement, Lucy closed her eyes and
opened her legs.

"Put them over the arms of the chair, Lucy."

Shaking again with shame and arousal, she did. She opened her eyes and looked
down. Her hand was still at the top of her slit, but her lips, her slick protruding
lips, were uncovered, flaunted, inches from Anne's face, close enough for HIM to
touch if he reached out. Her hand began to move up and down. The man began to
thrust harder. Lucy shook on the brink of orgasm, watching her hand move,
watching as each hard thrust pushed Anne's face a little closer to that hand.

His voice stopped her short of orgasm, drawing her eyes to his. His eyes seemed
to increase in intensity as he spoke. "Take your fingers away, Lucy. Put them in
your mouth." Still caught in his eyes, she slowly tasted herself on her fingers. She
felt the tongue on her vagina then. She started to panic. <I'm not gay> her mind
screamed. <Why am I pushing my sex into a woman's tongue. I AM NOT A
LESBIAN!> Then, as her excitement continued to build, she knew. It might be
Anne's tongue, but Lucy was reacting to HIM. Lucy closed her eyes and began the
climb to release, but suddenly the tongue faltered and then it was not there at all.
She didn't have to hear the little hiccups to know why when she saw Anne's face.
Watching Anne orgasm increased her own need.

Still thrusting in Anne to that slow rhythm, he reached out and took Lucy's hand
in his. Her eyes widened with fear. He had promised not to touch her. But all he
did was put Lucy's hand on the back of Anne's head and then he withdrew. With a
little moan, Lucy closed her eyes, ashamed that she wanted Anne's tongue so
badly. Ashamed, but close to release. She pulled Anne forward, directing her to
her clitoris again. Lucy closed her eyes and put her head back.

"Lucy, look at me."

Stiffly, muscles tense under the influence of Anne's fluttering stimulation, Lucy
turned to the sound and saw his erection close, very close, to her face. Jumping
slightly with his pulse, slick with Anne's lubrication. Approaching the edge, the
point of no return on her orgasm, Lucy stared.

The deep, self-assured voice again. "Lean forward, Lucy. Take me in your
mouth."

And suddenly that was just what Lucy needed, to have HIS cock, to taste HIM.
Her hand came up and encircled his base. She leaned forward. She was sticking
her tongue out to barely touch the tip, moving her hand up the shaft at the same
time, when the cock in her hand stiffened even more, and she felt the first pulse
of his come hit her lips. She licked and swallowed reflexively, pushing his
member down as she threw her head back and moaned out her ecstasy when
Anne's tongue forced her over the edge to orgasm. Arching and bucking her hips
into Anne's face, she didn't feel the semen that hit her neck and her breast. Finally,
convulsively, she pushed Anne away and slumped in the chair.

Dazed by the intensity of her orgasm, she sat motionless for a timeless interval.
When she finally gathered herself, she was alone in the room. She walked like an
automaton to the entrance hall and put on her clothes, trying not to think. As she
sat motionless in the driver's seat, she couldn't keep her thoughts in check any
longer. <Oh God, what have I done? I've cheated on Fergus. This time I did do
something, I touched HIS cock. I swallowed his come. I've committed adultery.
Will Fergus forgive me? What if he wants a divorce? What about the kids? What
am I to do?> Sitting in the driver's seat, her mind in turmoil, she slumped forward
and cried.

Fergus was asleep when Lucy got home. She took a shower in the children's
bathroom so as not to wake him. He groaned softly and turned toward her when
she slipped into bed. His arm moved and he rested his hand lightly on her hip.
Then his breathing resumed slow regularity. She lay motionless on the bed, his
hand burning her like a hot iron, until sleep finally overtook her chaotic thoughts.

BRRRRRNNNNNG. Lucy opened her eyes blearily. She didn't have to look to
know that Fergus was not in the bed. BRRRRRNNNNNG. She squeezed her eyes
shut and waited, hoping someone else would answer. BRRRRRNNNNNG.
Giving up, she lifted the handset to her ear.

"Lucy?" said Anne.

"I'm not coming back, Anne. I'll talk to you later," said Lucy, wearily.

"Wait, Lucy, he's gone for the day. I need to talk, just the two of us. Can I come
over?"

Lucy shuddered in revulsion. She didn't want Anne in her house right now. "Not
now," she said. "I'll meet you for lunch at the Trellis. One o'clock."

"Oh Lucy, thanks," said Anne with relief. "See you there."

Stumbling to the bathroom, Lucy noticed it was already almost ten. Fergus must
have taken care of the kids again this morning, letting her sleep in again. She
thought to herself that she should be grateful to have the extra time to decide what
to say to him, but she simply couldn't muster the energy to think. She felt like she
had a hangover, although she hadn't had that much to drink the night before. She
palmed a couple of aspirins into her mouth and washed them down with water
from the sink. Then she ran her bath.

Forty-five minutes later, she emerged, washed but not fresh. Despite the fact that
she knew it would do no good, she felt as if she should return to the bath. Instead
she brushed her teeth again.

At one o'clock, she was sitting on the terrace at the Trellis, waiting for Anne. She
had no distinct memories of how she got there, having dressed and driven with
little conscious thought. She pushed her glass of white wine back and forth, and
nibbled out of habit rather than hunger on the Irish soda bread. Five minutes later,
Anne arrived.

Anne sat opposite Lucy at the table. As their eyes met, Anne's face turned red.
Lucy felt her own face heat up. Anne spoke tentatively, "Hi, Lucy. Are we still
friends?"

"Of course we are, Anne, but I need to know what's going on."

Just then, the waiter arrived, and the intensity of the moment was shattered by his
query as to whether Anne wanted a drink. The two friends embraced the mundane
task of ordering as a welcome delay before they returned to face their
uncertainties and wariness of each other. When he had gone, Anne spoke.

"You sort of got caught up with me and my lover," said Anne.

"But you and Charles . . ."

"I love Charles, Lucy. This was just something that got out of hand. I don't want to
hurt Charles. I just couldn't stop myself."

"Is he blackmailing you? Threatening you? I've never seen you like that."

"It is kinda different from the 'Let's make Anne chairman of the fundraiser' image,
isn't it," Anne smiled. "I think that's why it was so seductive. With Wade, he takes
charge. He commands me, no discussion, nothing to think about. I can do things
with him that I don't think I could do with Charles because I don't have to worry
what he will think of me. . . . Like with you." The last was delivered in a very
small voice.

"Oh God, Anne," said Lucy, distressed, "are we gay somehow?" Lucy's face got
red again. "I came when you were . . . you know." An even smaller voice.

"I don't think so, Lucy. It's him. It's Wade. He makes me want to give myself to
him, makes me want what he wants. You felt it too, didn't you?"

"God, yes! I felt him like a hand in my brain, pushing me. And I wanted to be
pushed. I thought I was going crazy!"

"I'm sorry I got you into this," said Anne, head down. "It was a mistake. He's
going to break it off. I guess he's beginning to get bored with me. But I could hear
that old fascination in his voice when he called out to you. I just wanted to make
it last a little longer. I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you, Anne. Nobody made me stay. I hate to admit it, but I wanted
to stay. I wanted to see. I wanted you to see. I've never done anything wild in my
life."

Lucy turned her head from Anne, looked away, and spoke, "That's what makes me
feel so bad. I chose to do it. I betrayed Fergus' trust. But I'm afraid I'd do worse, if
I go back. I won't, you know? Watch again, I mean."

"I didn't think you would, Lucy. That's not why I had to talk to you. I have to
know if you're going to tell Fergus. He and Charles are too close. I don't want
Charles to find out from Fergus. I'd rather tell him myself, if I have to."

Lucy twisted the rings in circles around her left ring finger. "I have to tell him,
Anne. I just couldn't live with myself if I didn't. I just hope he'll forgive me."

"Can you wait until Saturday? Please? Wade will be gone forever Saturday
afternoon, and I can tell Charles when he gets back that night. I don't want to have
to tell him over the phone. Please?"

"OK, Saturday." Lucy was surprised at how much relief she felt at having a reason
to delay telling Fergus. She knew it was a mistake, but it was so much easier to
delay.

"Don't you worry about AIDS, Anne? And what if he tells people? Do you trust
him?"

"I do trust him, Lucy. I trust him to be just who he is. He's too careful to be a big
AIDS risk. He's a health nut. Besides, I got myself tested a few months after he
first took me. Negative. And I don't think he'll ever tell. He's an arrogant,
infuriating, egotistical jerk, but he sees himself as honorable. It's always a risk,
but I think this one is small."

"Well, I think you are fooling yourself, but it's your life. You don't sound too sad
that he's leaving you."

"I'll miss the sex, the intensity, but I don't love him. He took me on some kind of
roller coaster ride inside, but it wasn't the one I had when Charles and I first fell
in love. This was dark, sort of dangerous feeling. But it's mostly worn off. It was
exciting, but I'm not sad that it's almost over."

"Would he really have tried to take you in your rear?" Lucy whispered, face red
again.

"We did that once," whispered Anne, blushing in return, "and I made him use a
condom that time. But I told him never again."

"What was it like? I've never done it?" asked Lucy, curious.

"Well, he used lots of lubrication, so it didn't hurt too much, just when he was
pushing in. After I got used to it, it just felt strange, like I had to go or something.
Full, like."

"Did you orgasm?"

"Yes," said Anne, blushing even more deeply, "but not from that. He made me
play with myself while he did it."

The waiter arrived with food, occasioning a temporary end to conversation, and
then departed. Both were relieved to have successfully dealt with their secret, and
the talk reverted to their norm for the rest of the meal. In due course, Lucy was off
to pick up her kids from day camp again, feeling much lighter in spirit than she
had before.

The lightness of spirit lasted until Fergus threw open the door shouted his hellos.
As Lucy gave him a dutiful kiss, she knew she couldn't wait until Saturday to tell
Fergus. The sick feeling of guilt inside wouldn't let her. Overshadowed by dread,
she sleepwalked through her evening routines until it was time for bed.

When she emerged from the bathroom, teeth brushed yet again, Fergus was sitting
up against the headboard, half under the covers. He turned out the light as soon as
she slid in. She felt his arm slip under her, pull her against his side.

From the dark, his voice came, "Wanna tell me about it?"

"What do you . . . ," Lucy started in automatic denial, then paused, and sobbed,
"Oh, Fergus, I"m so ashamed. Please don't hate me. . ."

"Whoa, Lucy. I'll never hate you. Now tell me what's wrong."

Slowly, haltingly, the events at Anne's house came out. All except the tongue
touch to his erection and the semen on her lips that she had licked and swallowed.
She just couldn't bear to tell Fergus that. She rarely took Fergus in her mouth,
even less frequently let him finish there, and she never swallowed. She just
couldn't tell him she'd done it with another man. That she had had HIS semen on
her tongue, her neck, her breasts.

"Please don't hate me, Fergus. I love you. I don't want to lose you. Please forgive
me."

"You are stuck with me, Lucy. I love you too. I'll never hate you."

"But can you forgive what I've done?"

"Hmmm, that would be watching Anne, getting pawed by surprise, letting Anne
make you come, and putting your hand on his erection," said Fergus. "Just
terrible. Shoot, woman, if that's the worst you do in your life, you'll be a saint. But
I do want to know why."

"I truly don't know," said Lucy. "I was taken by surprise at first. It was nasty, dirty.
I couldn't imagine letting anyone watch. I had never done anything like that in my
life."

"That's the first time," said Fergus, "but you went back."

"I wasn't going to. But I just got to thinking that I had never done anything wild,
you know, really wild, in my life. My mind was telling me I'd never have another
chance. I'm sorry, Fergus, I don't even know why it mattered. I'm happy with you.
I don't know why I thought I needed to do it at all."

"So that was the reason for that episode in the den?"

"Yes," said Lucy in a small voice.

"Did you enjoy being with Anne? Do you want to do it again?"

"No," mumbled Lucy, blushing, "I'm not interested in women."

"Then why?"

"It was him. I don't know how to explain. His eyes, the way he looks at me. It's
like my will drained away. Somehow he made me want it. He's scary . . . no,
dangerous. Anne feels it too."

"What does he look like?"

"He reminds me an older Gabriel Byrne. Dissolute or something. Except the eyes.
The eyes are the same . . . dark and deep."

"How big is he. Is he bigger than me?"

"No, you're taller, and he's not as powerful looking."

"That's not what I meant. Is he bigger than me?"

Lucy blushed again as she understood what Fergus was asking. She blushed
because she was in a position to know the answer. Because Fergus knew she
could answer. "No, Fergus, he's about the same. Maybe a little smaller."
Instinctively she knew this was the right answer, even though Wade had seemed
thicker, somehow.

"So Anne has a playmate," mused Fergus. "Does Charles know?"

"Oh God, no," cried Lucy, "and please don't tell him. I promised Anne I'd wait
until Saturday to tell you, so she could tell Charles herself when he gets back
Saturday night. Wade will be gone for good by then."

"Wade?"

"That's what she called him."

"Ah, Wade!" whispered Fergus as he rolled out of the bed and stood up. Suddenly
the bedside light flicked on. Fergus was nude, erect. "Take off your nightgown,
Lucy." A command. Still shaken, unsure of what he thought of her, she complied.

"So Anne took him in her mouth, eh. Show me Lucy. Show me what you saw. . ."

Fearfully, Lucy moved over to the edge of the bed. What was Fergus doing. Was
he trying to punish her, somehow? She stopped close to him, her head down.

"Take it, Lucy. Show me what Anne was doing."

Slowly Lucy raised her head, her eyes bright with moisture. She leaned forward
and took him in, feeling the slippery preejaculate against her tongue. Fergus
moaned and pushed his hips toward her. "So you watched Anne on her knees,
sucking him? Just like this?" He groaned.

And suddenly Lucy knew that Fergus wasn't punishing her; he wasn't even
thinking of her. He was thinking of Anne! Thinking what it would be like to put
his <cock> in Anne's mouth. For a second, she was washed with anger, and then
realized how ludicrous that was. Then she thought of HIM, of taking Wade into
her mouth, just like Anne. Just like this. Suddenly the beginnings of excitement
overtook her for the first time that night. It was like his fantasy freed her for hers,
and she responded by taking him farther into her mouth, swirling her tongue
around the underside. Fergus groaned again.

Then her mouth was empty. "Turn around, Lucy. Put your ass up for me like Anne
did." Lucy was only too happy to comply. On hands and knees, she let her head
droop to the mattress, until the crown was touching the sheet. Behind her she felt
Fergus moving, lining up his penis, then thrusting forward.

A vision of him plunging into Anne formed in her brain. She looked at own her
breasts, bouncing back and forth in time with Fergus' thrusts, but she saw Anne's
breasts. The thought of her husband roughly taking Anne opened some final
barrier to pleasure in her mind, and released her to think of HIM. For the next few
moments, each of them used the other as a proxy, joined only at the loins, not in
mind or spirit. Each coupled with someone who wasn't there. It was wild, wanton,
mindless release. Lucy slammed her body back against Fergus' pelvis and keened
a song of abandon. Without warning she froze, moaned, and felt her vaginal
muscles spasm rhythmically.

Lucy began to relax and fall forward, but Fergus grabbed her hips and pulled her
forcefully back, impaling her again. And again. Lucy came again. She was just
finishing her contractions when Fergus began pumping in short quick strokes,
finally holding her tightly to his body as his hips jerked spasmodically. "Oh Lucy,
my love, oh God," he cried at his release.

Lucy fell forward, turning on her side as she did. Fergus crawled beside her and
made spoons, hugging her tightly to him from behind. Neither spoke as their
breathing slowly subsided. Fergus got up, saying, "Back in a sec."

Lucy knew he had gone for ice water, and tonight she needed it. A thin sheen of
perspiration covered her, less from the temperature than from her excitement. She
pondered Fergus' cry at climax. <Maybe he wasn't with Anne . . . > she mused,
pleased at the thought but guilty as well, because she had been with Wade in her
mind.

She sat up when Fergus returned through the door, dropping her calves over the
side of the bed. He handed her a glass, but not the usual tumbler of ice water.

"After all that, I thought you needed something more than water," he said. "It's
Stoly from the freezer. Cock the wrist and one motion, just like they showed us at
the Serbian Crown."

Remembering the waiter who had put his arms around her from behind to show
her the proper motion to throw down the shots of iced vodka that flowed freely
that night, and who incidentally managed to cop a feel of her breast as he pulled
away, Lucy smiled and downed the vodka in her glass. It burned in her throat, but
it felt good, different from the cloying routine they had developed. She hoped it
was a harbinger of other changes.

"Now I really do need some water," she said.

Fergus grinned as his other hand proffered the glass. "After something like that,
you can have anything you want from me. I've never seen you so passionate. It
was great."

But his face was serious as he sat on the bed beside her. "You can go back
tomorrow, if you want. Lucy, I listened to what you told me and it sounded to me
like you will always regret it if you don't let yourself go at least once in your life. I
can live with it, if it's just this once."

"I can't go back, Fergus," said Lucy, eyes downcast. "You don't understand."

"Then explain," said Fergus.

"Fergus, if I go back, I am going to be fucked. Is that what you want?" Her voice
was flat.

Fergus looked surprised. Lucy normally didn't talk like that. "You managed to
avoid it so far. What would be different? You're not falling in love with him, are
you?"

"Oh Lord, no, Fergus. I am not in love with him. But the feeling around him is
like that except dangerous and dirty. It's the same feeling of a rush, except it's not
like love. It made me feel . . . I came close, Fergus. I wanted to let him have me,
just like he had Anne. You just don't understand. There's something about him. It
took all my strength to pull away. If I go back . . "

Fergus was silent. Finally, he spoke, "You can go back if you need to, Lucy. Even
if you can't resist him. I took you off the market before you had a chance to
experiment, and now you're regretting it. Have a fling if you need it. It's okay. It's
better than knowing that you're living with regret at not taking your chance.
Maybe coming to resent me for it. Just come back to me."

"Don't say it," whispered Lucy. "I'm not going back."

"I love you, sweet wife," said Fergus, pulling her into his embracing arms.

"Oh I love you so much," answered Lucy.

They sat together for quite a while, then rose to slide into the bed. Eventually they
slept.

Friday night found Lucy alone in the house when she arrived home from her job
as an occasional fill-in at an exclusive women's shop. She didn't really need the
work, but she loved the employee discount. Fergus had left with the kids before
she had arrived, taking them first to race real go-carts at a track an hour away, and
then another hour on to visit the cousins at Jane and Bob's. They would return late
the next afternoon.

Breezing into the kitchen, she found a note on the refrigerator door telling her she
would find a chef's salad within. She spread the evening paper in front of her on
the breakfast table and read through it randomly while she ate. She felt much
more relaxed now that she had decided not to go back. Maybe Fergus had meant
what he said the night before, and maybe her nipples hardened even now as she
thought of spreading her legs for HIM, of letting HIM enter her, but it was so
much easier just to say no. No to the worry. No to complications. <No to the only
other cock you'll ever have the chance to experience?> came the insidious inner
dialogue.

His was not the only penis she had touched or seen when she had married Fergus,
but his was the only penis that had ever been inside her. The thought used to
make her feel proud. Now it made her feel confined. <Fergus told you to go. Don't
blow this chance.> said the inner voice, <You *want* to feel it, you *want* to let
go, to be wild and wanton just once. When will you ever have this chance again?
And with your husband's approval?><And what if Fergus changes his mind,>
came the response. < What if he finds he doesn't want a wife who isn't surprised
or seduced, but deliberately goes to Anne's house, knowing she is going to give
herself to HIM. Is it worth it? What if they make you have oral sex with Anne this
time? Do you want that? Act like an mature adult.>

With conscious effort, she quelled these thoughts. "I'm going to take a long, hot
bath, put on my nightgown, and eat ice cream in front of the TV tonight," she said
aloud to the silent walls. She smiled and walked into her bedroom.

Only to be plunged back into turmoil again when she saw the bed. Or rather, what
had been placed on the bed. Elastic top white stockings. White high heels. White
silk bikini panties. And her short white silk dress with the high neck and low
back. The one Fergus loved so much because she couldn't wear a bra with it. All
white, like a virgin bride.<Or a virgin sacrifice.> The inner voice was amused.
But Lucy was not. <How can he love me if he pushes me at another man? What
kind of crap is this?><Maybe it's because he does love you. Maybe he knows you
want just once to break out and be wild. Can you doubt now that he wants you to
go? You may never have this chance again.> "But I can't go now. I told Anne no,"
she said out loud.

Turning from the bed, she threw off her clothes, uncharacteristically letting them
stay wherever they hit the floor. She took her long hot bath, unconsciously
diligent to wash and shave with unusual care and thoroughness, using the body
lotions until she felt soft and smelled sweet in every nook and cranny of her body.
She was still naked, blowing her hair dry in the bathroom, when the phone rang.
Thinking it might be Fergus, she rushed to pick it up.

It was Wade. "Anne told me you are alone tonight. She wants you with us. We'll
pick you up in twenty minutes." Click.

Numbly she replaced the phone on the hook. She turned her head to her left,
slightly, to see her reflection in the big mirror doors of the closet. She saw a
woman with uncertainty etched into her face, and, as glaring as a neon sign
behind her, the white patchwork on the dark bedspread. Suddenly she knew why
her ablutions had been so thorough, why her bikini line was freshly shaved. She
put on the white panties. Twenty minutes later she was being driven away in the
back seat of Anne's car, listening to Mozart from the speaker.

He had arrived in a huge red Cadillac convertible, something from the sixties with
fins on the back. Seeing his eyes when he opened the door of his car for her, she
knew he planned to take her that night. If there had ever been any doubt, it had
been dispelled once and for all when he spoke over the soft rumble of the car
engine, "Tonight I am going to fuck you, Lucy. Even as your wedding ring
sparkles on your finger, you will spread your legs for me and guide my cock into
your pussy. With your left hand, Lucy, the hand that wears that ring. And you will
come, Lucy. As you will come again in the morning when I fuck you in your own
bed, after I drive you home. That is what will happen if you walk through the door at
Anne's. Make up your mind before we get there."

His arrogance was both infuriating and exciting. She thought about the image he
described, her legs apart, guiding his cock into her, and felt demeaned. And
aroused. She knew that if she rubbed her finger over the crotch of her panties she
would find it slick with lubrication. A new litany began in her mind, so close to
the previous one, but with one ever so important difference: <HE's going to fuck
me. HE's going to fuck me right in front of Anne. HE's going to put his cock in me
and fuck ME. And I'm going to let him.>

An icy finger of fear caressed her spine about five minutes from her house. "This
isn't the way to Anne's. Where are you taking me?"

"Why, tonight is Friday night, Lucy. Date night. I am taking you dancing."

After the Mozart in the car, the raucous rock band was almost a physical assault
when he opened the door to the club. Taking one woman on each arm, he steered
them to the bar. Anne and Lucy sat on stools, while he stood between them.

"You ladies look as though you could do with a cocktail. Allow me. Stingers all
around," he ordered, doing a passable Cary Grant imitation.

Lucy was irritated that he had ordered for her without asking, but smiled at the
Cary Grant accent. It never occurred to her that Wade might be charming. She
had never tried a Stinger. She was surprised when it turned out to be good. The
first one went down easily, and he ordered a second round.

For the next hour, the three of them bantered, laughing and joking at each other's
witticisms. Lucy found that she was really enjoying herself, and marveling at a
wonderfully engaging side of Wade that she never would have guessed existed.
She began to see how Anne could have been attracted to him in the first place.

Then, in the middle of a pleasant and quite ordinary exchange, in a normal
conversational tone, he said, "Are you wearing panties, Lucy?"

Her head jerked around to see if anyone had heard. No one appeared to be looking
at them.

"I asked if you were wearing panties, Lucy."

"Since you ask, yes," she said defiantly, matching the conversational tone.

"You don't need them. Take them off and give them to me, Lucy."

"I'll do no such thing," said Lucy.

"I want you to be acutely aware that you are here with me to be fucked tonight,
Lucy, just as Anne is. Are you wearing panties, Anne?"

"No," Anne replied in a small voice.

"Show Lucy that you are not wearing panties, Anne."

Anne looked around the bar area uncertainly, and then pulled up her skirt, giving
Lucy a quick glimpse of her pubic hair before smoothing the skirt back down over
her thighs.

"Your choice, Lucy. The panties or I will take you straight home."

Lucy grew annoyed again at his arrogance, at this public display, but she was
excited by the prospect as well. Up to this point, she had given no overt sign that
she might actually accede to his will, other than simply by coming along. If she
did as he asked, she would have to admit to herself that she was here because she
*wanted* him to take her. And he would know it too. But it was so sordid. She
left for the ladies' room without a word. Anne started to follow, but the man put
his hand on her arm.

In fact, she needed to use the facilities. She pulled up her skirt and pushed her
panties to her knees before sitting on the toilet. She sat, staring at the panties, well
after her need had been relieved. When the door banged as another patron
entered, she was jarred back into focus. She wiped herself and then stood. Then,
bending down to her knees, she pushed the panties the rest of the way to her
ankles and stepped out of them. She balled them in her hand and looked at the
whiteness showing in her palm. The realization was slow and deliberate: <I'm
going to let him have me.> Anne's bag on the vanity told her who had just
entered, and she hurried to rinse her hands and to return to the bar. At least she
could get this over with without having to do it in front of Anne.

Arriving at her stool, she held out her balled fist, bracing herself for the
embarrassment she expected. She expected him to shake them out in front of him,
letting anyone who looked figure out what she had done. Instead, he looked her in
the eyes as he took them from her in his own balled fist and put them directly into
his coat pocket. The tiniest hint of a nod of his head ended the moment.

Lucy found that she was acutely cognizant of the missing underwear, just as he
had wanted. The short pleated skirt covered her to a few inches above her knees,
plenty to maintain modesty, but she had to consciously resist the urge to tug it
down. She became very precise in her movements, taking great care to keep her
knees together. She couldn't remember ever being out in public without panties,
and it amazed her how different it felt. She amazed herself that something that
was no more than barely naughty could make her so aware of her sexuality.

When Anne returned, Wade turned the women away from the bar. With one hand
one Lucy's elbow and one on Anne's, he steered them through the Friday night
crowd to a more sparsely populated alcove filled with tables. Without hesitation
he guided them to a table where four twenty-something businessmen, ties
loosened and coats off, sat with their beers.

Looking at one of them, he spoke, "Excuse me, uh? . . ."

"John."

"Excuse me, John, but I need your help. I am going to dance with Anne," nodding
toward her, "but that will leave Lucy without a partner."

Lucy's mouth opened at the at this new presumption, but before she could speak,
John had risen and smilingly offered his hand. "I would love to dance with you,
Lucy."

"Uh, thank you," her voice said. <What the hell> her inner voice said. <You like
to dance and it's been a long time.>

When she and John had returned from the floor, she was introduced to Justin,
Bob, and Paul. Justin claimed her to dance again. To her surprise, she found
herself exhilarated as all four vied for her attention. She was acutely conscious of
her breasts, unbound in public for the first time in years, and of her bare bottom.
She had to exercise considerable care not to let her partners spin her too fast.

The second time John took her to the floor, he was much more bold. She was
deeply conscious of his eyes straying to the jiggling bumps her nipples raised on
the silk as her breasts moved underneath. And though she had pulled it back
quickly, playfully scolding him, one straying hand had made it to her ass cheek,
and she was sure he knew she wore no panties. The thought made her feel
deliciously naughty. She hadn't felt this sexy in years. Between the attention and
the couple of additional Stingers she had sipped between dances, she had almost
forgotten how she had gotten here, and certainly had no thought for her conjugal
status, although the men had noticed the rings.

As she danced again with the others, they too began to see what liberties she
would allow. It was like being single again, and the wandering hands and
whispered invitations left her no doubt as to what they would like to do to her.

The third time she danced with John, the music was slow. He pulled her tightly to
him, forcing his thigh between hers, leaning down to kiss her neck. He danced her
to a dark corner just off the floor and roughly kissed her mouth. One hand slipped
across her bare back and into the side of the backless dress. It was no longer fun.
Lucy became frightened. As Lucy struggled, trying to move away, she started to
turn away from him, which brought his hand to her bare breast under the dress.
She quickly tried to turn the other way, but he was too strong. She felt other hand
as he began to draw up the hem of her skirt by little fistfuls, still maintaining the
pressure that trapped her there. For a moment she couldn't decide whether to give
in, to be wild, but then the thought of being seen by the crowd around them was
just too much. Summoning all her strength, she pushed him off and turned to flee,
only to find herself enclosed in another set of arms.

After first stiffening with fear, she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized it
was Wade. He eased her behind him and spoke, "Thank you for dancing with
Lucy, John. We're leaving now."

John started forward, beers and youth firing his aggression, "Who says, asshole?
Maybe the lady wants to stay. . ."

In a tiny flurry of movement too fast for Lucy to see clearly, John ended up on his
knees with one hand twisted awkwardly between Wade's, and a grimace of pain
on his face. Wade spoke again, "Don't try my patience, John. Lucy is mine. We're
leaving now, but I suggest you stay for a while." John rubbed his wrist and glared,
but didn't follow, when Wade and Lucy walked away.

The other men at the table called out their good natured protests as Wade and the
women passed their table, but they were ignored as Wade held Lucy's arm and
ushered her out the door. Anne followed behind them.

Soon Lucy found herself in the front seat of the car, with Anne in the middle.
Lucy sat subdued, the exhilaration of the flirting having disappeared in that
instant of muted force, unable to reconcile the conflicting facets of Wade's
character she had seen in the club. They were well under way when Wade finally
broke the silence.

"Anne, I think we should remind Lucy why she is here. Why don't you turn and
face her. . . that's good, lean back on me a little. . . Since I will probably be too
busy with Lucy at first to pay much attention to you, go ahead and make yourself
come now."

Anne faced Lucy with a helpless look on her face, but she didn't move. His arm
came over her chest and pulled up her skirt, exposing her naked mons. Lucy
stared, not quite believing Anne would let him do this to her. Then slowly she saw
Anne's hand move to the juncture of her thighs and begin to slide between them.

His voice came again, from above Lucy's line of vision. "She needs to spread her
legs, Lucy. Please put her leg over your lap, dear."

Anne lifted her right leg and swung it toward Lucy. Lucy found herself sliding
toward Anne to put herself under Anne's bent knee while Anne's foot came down
on the seat beyond Lucy. As Anne spread her legs, Lucy ended up holding Anne's
knee against her chest with her right hand; the only place for her left was on the
inside of Anne's thigh. She heard Anne sigh as she unconsciously began to caress
the leg under her hand.

Meanwhile Anne's own hand had not been idle. Slowly at first, and then picking
up speed, she ran her fingers from the top to the bottom of her slit, spreading her
lubrication from end to end. Occasionally one of her fingers would disappear into
her, but more and more the strokes centered around her clitoris. More and more
her back stiffened a against Wade, her knee pressed harder into Lucy's chest, and
her breath came in ragged gasps. Lucy continued to rub the inside of Anne's thigh,
fascinated again to see her friend lose control, slide into orgasm in front of her.

Then his arm was back, pulling Anne's hand away. "Stop, Anne."

"NO! I need to finish!"

He spoke, "Finish her, Lucy. It's the only way I'll let her come."

Suddenly conscious of the hand caressing Anne's inner thigh, Lucy jerked it away
and said, "No! I can't do that. She's a woman!"

"Oh please, Lucy," said Anne, "I'm close. I need to finish. Please help me, Lucy."
Then Anne's hand grabbed Lucy's and pulled it to her sex. She held it there as she
bucked her hips against it. Looking at her hand like it belonged to someone else,
Lucy saw it begin to move of its own accord. Anne let go and leaned back stiffly,
still bucking her hips. Up and down her friend's sex, sliding across her clitoris,
finally down to her vagina. Marveling at the subtle differences in feel from her
own genitals, Lucy pushed a finger into Anne. Again. And then she added
another. In and out, the heel of her hand sliding across the clitoris while her
fingers went deeper. Anne was moaning now, hips shaking in involuntary
syncopation with Lucy's hand, until once again Lucy heard through the open
mouth, from the straining face, the funny little hiccups of breath that marked
Anne's climaxes. Lucy slowed her strokes and gradually withdrew her hand,
amazed at what she had done. Anne did not excite her sexual response like a man,
but she felt powerful to have caused those orgasms, and the whole nasty, naughty
outrageousness, the wildness, left her with a wet vagina and hard nipples.

Before Lucy was over her sense of wonder at what she had done, they were
turning on to Anne's street and HE was speaking, "We're here, Lucy. Come in and
be fucked, or go home. The keys will be in the ignition."

At the door, Anne turned her key and stepped through, then turned back to face
Lucy, who was behind her on the stoop. She offered Lucy her hand. Lucy turned
and looked over her shoulder at his eyes, burning into hers, and then took Anne's
proffered hand and stepped into the dimly lit house.

Lucy felt, rather than saw, his body behind her as Anne led her to the master
bedroom. The bed swam in a pool of soft light that faded to shadows at the
walls. Lucy wondered how it had been done until she realized that the muted
track lights that usually illuminated the paintings on the wall had been turned to
focus on the bed. It was like a stage for her performance. Or an altar for a pagan
ritual. When Anne dropped her hand, Lucy was bathed in that glow at the foot of
the bed.

"Remove her clothes, Anne."

Anne stood behind Lucy, with the backs of her knees against the bed. Anne's
hands pulled the short zipper in the back and slipped the dress over Lucy's
shoulders. It made a small puddle of silk around her ankles. Anne made no further
move for a moment, as Lucy exchanged stares with the man. As he looked, Lucy's
nipples tightened even more, causing little crinkles in the areolae. His lips formed
the infuriating smile again. She sensed Anne sitting down on the bed behind her.

Lucy next felt Anne's hands on either side of her lower right thigh, then sliding
ever so teasingly down to lift her ankle and slide her shoe off her foot. The caress
was repeated on the left side. Anne's hands reached up from below, high on her
thigh at her stocking tops, when he spoke again, "No. Leave them on." All the
while Lucy stared into his eyes.

As Lucy stood naked, no, more than naked with only her stockings, in that pool of
light, he began to move at the edge of the shadows. His hands moved to his neck
and removed his tie, discarded without thought on the floor. Button by button, he
undid his shirt, and it joined the tie, tossed on the rug without a glance. Lucy
looked at his crotch. She saw no bulge, no tenting. She didn't understand. She was
naked before him, ready to be fucked, and he had no erection. Disappointed,
worried whether she was attractive enough for him, she watched his hands
unfasten and unzip his pants. Then a flash of pride skittered fleetingly through her
thoughts: the tip of his erection peeked out of the waistband of the very tight
black jockey shorts he was even then pushing down. Lucy knew she had caused
that erection, and it excited her to know that soon it would push its way into her
vagina. <He's going to fuck me with that cock.> she thought.

"Bend forward, Lucy. Keep your knees straight."

Bending forward at the hips, Lucy knew she was giving Anne the same view of
her sex that Anne had given her that first day. Except that Anne was less than a
foot away from her nether lips, instead of across the room. Lucy felt even more
exposed than when Anne had licked her two nights before. <Is she going to lick
me again? My God, I want her to! Oh Lord, am I gay?> Lucy shivered in
anticipation.

As her back reached near horizontal, he stepped forward and cradled Lucy's head
in his hands. Slowly he guided her mouth to the tip of his cock. He stopped there
and spoke to Anne, "You make Lucy ready for me, Anne. Use your tongue. Make
her wet and ready." Lucy jumped a little as a long swipe of that tongue traveled
the length of her slit.

Then he pushed forward between her lips and said, "You make me ready to fuck
you, Lucy. Make it swell. Cover it with your saliva, the easier to slip into your
pussy. Suck it, Lucy." Lucy's cheeks hollowed as she literally sucked on his cock,
as her tongue circled top and bottom of his glans. The precursors of his come,
viscous streamers of salty seminal fluid, were gathered in the hollow of her
cupped tongue and swallowed as he rocked gently in and out in a barely
perceptible motion.

Behind her, Lucy felt Anne's thumb enter her vagina, and her fingers spread out to
caress her mound. Lucy felt the thumb pulled out slightly, and then back in. With
each retreat, Lucy felt Anne's middle finger slid wetly over her clitoris. Rapidly
Lucy began to build to a climax.

But before she could come, she was jolted by a feeling that dissipated the building
erotic charge even as it gave her a sinful thrill: Anne's tongue licked Lucy's anus.
Lucy's mouth opened to cry "Stop," but he pressed his cock in deeper, stifling her
outcry as she shifted to keep from choking. For several excruciatingly <dirty>
exciting seconds, Anne's tongue worked the sensitive bud while her thumb
penetrated Lucy's vagina. Lucy was washed with a fear that HE meant to do her
there, but also with a feeling of wantonness the like of which she had never had,
even when she was younger. The climb to orgasm began again, from a higher
plateau, while Anne pressed at her rear, softer than any finger, but insistent
nonetheless. Then it quit.

The man had pulled Lucy an awkward step away from Anne, severing contact
with her tongue, and Anne dropped her hand from Lucy's sex. At the same time,
he had pulled his cock from her mouth and raised her head until she continued on
her own to stand upright.

"It's time to fuck you, Lucy," he calmly stated, as he pushed her back toward the
bed. "Sit."

Lucy felt Anne's hands on her hips guiding her as she sat. She ended up between
Anne's widespread legs, leaning back against the dress that still covered Anne's
chest, with the crease where her buttocks met thighs at the edge of the bed. The
man knelt down in front of her, his erect penis level with her knees. Gently he
took a white nylon-clad calf and raised it, moving it outward, placing the calf
outside Anne's leg. The process was repeated on the other side. Lucy looked down
to see that she was once again spread open to his view, just as she had been when
it had been the arms of the chair under her legs instead of Anne's knees. The
opaque white tops of the stockings seemed to emphasize the bareness of her sex,
more even than if she had nothing at all on. It was obscene. It excited her. She felt
Anne's chin on her shoulder and knew that Anne was looking down at her too. It
excited her more.

Lucy saw him slide forward on his knees, bringing his erection ever closer to her
sex. Finally she felt it brush against her lips. Her eyes were glued to his penis as
she waited for the inevitable. <HE's going to fuck me now. And I'm going to let
him.>

"Guide me in, Lucy." Her right hand started forward, but he caught it in his left.
"No, Lucy, use your left hand. I want you to watch as you guide me into your
pussy with your wedding ring."

Almost like a spectator, like an out-of-body experience, Lucy watched her left
hand take his <cock> between her thumb and her fingers and line it up with her
vagina. As her fingers curled under, she couldn't actually see her ring, but his
words had sensitized her to it, and she felt its presence. The thought of her ring, of
Fergus, made her flush with shame, even as it heightened her arousal with the
wanton, nasty badness of it. <I'm putting another man's cock into my husband's
pussy. I'm putting HIS cock into my pussy. He's going to fuck me now.>

And he did. She watched, fascinated, as the head of his penis disappeared into
her. She felt the entrance, the slow friction as more and more of the shaft
disappeared. He kept pushing deep into her vagina until he could go no further.
Lucy was so slick with wanting that there was no discomfort with this invasion,
and she watched fascinated again as the shaft reemerged. The next thrust was
quick, and then another, and the state of constant excitement that had waxed and
waned in her all night finally could be denied no longer. She came. He kept plunging
in and out of her as she fell back from orgasm to a plateau of arousal, slowly starting to
build back again to that sweet release. She felt him plowing in and out and her litany
began. She didn't realize she was speaking aloud, this time, "Oh God, oh God,
he's fucking me. He's fucking me right now. He's fucking me right here in front of Anne.
He's fucking me in my pussy." Suddenly she was there again, moaning out her
pleasure, her release.

She felt him continue as once again she fell back to the plateau, but his thrusts
were coming quicker now. Her excitement started to climb once again as she
realized he was about to come, to shoot his semen deep into her. She felt him
freeze, then a series of jerky thrusts, irregular, not rhythmic like before, signaled
his orgasm.

She hardly remembered the aftermath. She woke up during the night, groggily
wondering why she was naked. Then the sounds, the moans and the pants, the
gentle shaking of the bed that had awakened her came into focus, and she
remembered what had happened. She remembered she had been fucked, just like
HE was fucking Anne now, and her hand wandered to her clitoris. But exhaustion
and alcohol consumed won out, and she slept again before her passion could be
roused.

The sun's glare hurt her eyes when she awoke, and a tiny headache that kept time
with her pulse testified to the drinks she had savored the night before. The
clock-radio said that it was 11:30. She had slept late, but she must not have slept
well. She was still very tired. Still, she had to get up. Fergus and the boys were
due in that afternoon. She had to get home. Stepping to the foot of the bed, she
looked at her clothes. One look at the stockings and they went into the trash can.
She didn't see her panties. <HIS pocket> she remembered. She pulled on her dress
and looked unsuccessfully for his jacket. Finally, giving up on panties, she slipped
on her shoes and walked to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Sleepyhead," said Anne, cheerfully. "I'm making some brunch,
and there's coffee in the pot."

"I can't stay, Anne. Fergus and the boys will be back soon. Please take me home."
Lucy was depressed. It didn't seem so exciting in the sunlight.

A toilet flushed in the background, and then he stepped around the corner. "I'll
take you home." He walked to the door without a backward look, and went out to
the car and started it.

"Are you OK, Lucy?"

"I'll be fine, Anne. Got to get home is all." Lucy turned and walked quickly
toward the car.

Nothing was said during the short ride. They both got out in Lucy's driveway. He
followed her into the living room.

"Thanks for the ride," said Lucy flatly. A dismissal.

"We're not finished, Lucy," he said. "I told you I was going fuck you again this
morning, on your own bed."

The memory of those words last night rushed back. She had forgotten. A little
thrill tweaked her body. But this was daylight, in her own house. Not some
fantasy.

"I don't think so. Last night was enough." She walked back to her bedroom. She
needed a shower. He followed.

"You want to, Lucy. You want to have me fuck you right here on your own bed."
He stepped close to her.

With a sinking feeling, she knew he was right. She did want this one last act of
wildness, of wanton indulgence outside the bounds. But she said, "I don't want to.
Please go." His eyes caught hers, held hers. "Prove it to me, Lucy. Let me feel
you. If you are dry, I'll go." His hand moved down her thigh to her hem. "But if
you're wet, we'll both know what that means." Staring into his eyes, she couldn't
force herself to object as his hand found her slit under her skirt. She knew what
he would find. She'd been wet thirty seconds after he said he was going to fuck
her again out in the living room. She closed her eyes and moaned as
he began to run his fingers back and forth in her slick folds, sliding gently over
her clitoris. "How do you like to be fucked, Lucy?" he asked. "How do you like
Fergus to fuck you in your bed, Lucy?" His fingers kept moving. "From behind." It
was a whisper. Gently he pushed her onto the bed, onto her hands and knees. Lucy
heard his zipper, then felt the tremors in the mattress as he knelt behind her.
<HE's going to fuck me again. On my own bed. He's going to fuck me on the bed
where I sleep with Fergus. Oh God, and I'm going to let him.> The litany changed
as he flipped up her skirt and pushed his cock into her. <HE's fucking me. Oh
God, He's fucking me again.> Flushed with excitement, ashamed to be here on
this bed, fucking a stranger, she let her head drop to the bedspread. <HE's fucking
me just like Fergus did. On my own bed.> The litany trailed off into incoherency
as she came, still blushing with shame. Behind she felt him pull her hips tightly to
him, and then again the shuddery, irregular thrusts that meant he was ejaculating
in her.

She fell forward on the bed. She felt the bed shake and heard his footsteps as he
left without another word. When she heard the door slam shut, she let herself
sleep.

Lucy came out of a half-sleep dream to feel a warm body next to hers. As she
moved, she heard her husband whisper, "Hello, sweetheart. I missed you." She
came to full attention when she felt his hand slide between her legs. In a panic she
grabbed his arm with both hands, but he had already found the soggy evidence of
her infidelity. "You really did it, didn't you? I still love you, you know. How was
it?" His hand rubbing up and down now, too strong for her small hands to stop.

"Oh Fergus, forgive me. I wasn't going to do it, but when I saw the clothes . . .
Please don't hate me." Still his hand moved.

"Feel me." He moved her hand to the front of his shorts. He was hard. "Does that
feel like I hate you? I want you, Lucy. I want you more than ever. I want you with
another man's come in you. I love you and I want you now, Lucy, my wife."
During his speech he had moved between her legs, pushing them up and open
with his.

"The kids," she started.

"Still at Jane and Bob's," he answered.

His erection was pressing in the crease of her thigh, then against her mons, then
sliding to the left. She started to reach down as always to guide him, then stopped.
Then she moved her left hand down and put him in her.

Lucy watched as Fergus' face got red and strained. He was pounding in and out of
her now very fast now, and she knew he would come soon. Her own doubts and
guilt wouldn't let her take pleasure for herself, while the traces of the other man
were still on her, in her, but she needed to give herself to him, to her husband. She
bucked her hips against his and tightened her vaginal muscles. She whispered in his
ear, "I need to feel you in me, Fergus, deeper." And she felt him come,
deep inside her, putting his seed on top of HIS.

She felt her love for her husband fill her, and she held him tightly to her. She
wanted to hold him like this forever, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that
soon he would have to think about what she had done. That soon she would have
to think about what she had done. Even as she pulled him tighter, she knew their
relationship had irrevocably changed in ways that she did not yet know. She
stared at the ceiling and pondered the future, afraid and excited at the same time.

Then she smiled when she heard him say, "Ready for some Stoly?"

------------------------- End --------------------------
 

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