I made my husband wear my panties, while I forced him to suck cock!
Unending BE - episode 266208
I saw , still lying on his back, but now fully exposed. The bedclothes
were gone; so were any shorts or pajama pants he might've been wearing when he
came to bed the previous night. With his legs bent and spread apart, I had a
clear view of Mark's rigid cock standing tall and proud. Mark's right hand was
wrapped around his shaft, tugging the skin up and down as it pumped in slow
strokes. His head (the one on his shoulders) was facing away from me, thank
goodness, and was tilted to the left. He was looking at the Andres photo
catalogue he had commandeered from my closet, grasping it in his left hand,
which was resting on his nighttable. I had seen Mark masturbate before, but only
when we were having some kind of sex together and then only for a moment or two.
I remembered mutually masturbating once, long ago, when we were young and daring
and still dating. But I had never had the chance to watch him when he thought he
was unobserved, when he was at his most natural. I watched in fascination as his
hand moved up and down, pumping his cock in a rhythm that I knew matched the
throbbings he felt. It was marvelous, seeing the way his body built its way
toward a rising pleasure even as his mind was occupied elsewhere, focused not on
his own body but on the erotic photographs that held his attention. My mouth was
dry as I watched his hand speed up its tempo a little, quickening its pace as he
built to a climax. So soon? I groaned inwardly, feeling cheated by the quick
conclusion I foresaw. But I was more than a little pleased as well. So, you
can't hold it in after weeks without making love? Good! And I hope that my
little peep show this morning made things worse! I grinned as I contemplated the
torture he must have experienced as I exhibited my naked body to him, and then
yanked it away untouched by his horny little hands. Suddenly his pace slowed
again, and I looked on in wonderment as he let the book slide out of his fingers
and reached out with his left hand. After a brief moment his hand closed around
the erstwhile contents of my lavender sack--my cock, still attached to the
leather harness I had worn the last time, with Kathy. I was dumbstruck as I
watched my husband Mark bring the cock closer to his body, rubbing his chest,
his nipples, with the tip. I was thunderstruck when he held it up for a moment,
looked at it...and then slowly inserted it into his mouth! His lips closed
around the cockhead, sucking, moistening, and I looked on as he slowly, softly
pushed it and pulled it in and out of his mouth, a little deeper each time. Mark
knew how to give a blow job?!? Where the hell did he pick THAT up? I almost
smacked myself on the forehead. Of COURSE he has a pretty good idea of blow job
techniques. He's had 'em, hasn't he?!? Maybe he even learned this from ME, I
thought, and I continued to stare as he extended his tongue and gave the
cockhead a good, sloppy licking, wetting it down thoroughly. I was tingling as I
began to think about that. If he was moistening the cock, lubricating it, that
must mean... And he did not disappoint me. With his eyes closed, his right hand
still gripping his now-straining cock, my husband guided the latex penis down
between his spread knees, under his balls, to his dark anal opening. I held my
breath as he pushed a little, changed the angle of the penis in his hand, pushed
more, and gasped loudly. "Errrrrrr," he grunted, and I felt rather than saw as
the cockhead pushed into him, penetrating him, pushing past the tight ring of
muscle at his entrance until the head was just inside him, the rest of the cock
hanging down. Mark moaned, and suddenly his right hand was pumping furiously,
jerking with hard, fast strokes. He was panting and moaning now, quick sharp
moans as his climax neared, the cockhead in his anal aperture driving him into a
frenzy. His hips were bucking wildly now, his left hand just barely keeping the
head of the cock inside him as he stroked himself with abandon, and I heard a
loud "Aaaaah!" as the building tension met its sudden release and his body went
rigid for a moment, and then I could see the spurts as he ejaculated into his
hand and over the top of it, his cum soaking the hand clenched around his cock
and spilling onto his stomach, which was heaving with his deep, ragged breaths.
I watched as his body slowly relaxed, the latex cock softly emerging from the
opening it had barely entered, his legs straightening as he unbent his knees,
and suddenly I realized how vulnerable I was to discovery. As Mark began to
recover I tiptoed back down the hallway with mincing little quicksteps, making
it to the front door and picking up my shoes. I waited with baited breath until
I heard him get up and head to the bathroom to clean up. As he turned the
faucets and started running a shower, I exited the front door, the sounds of my
escape camouflaged, I hoped, by the running water. All the way to work the image
of my husband naked, writhing, uninhibited, danced before my eyes. After a while
on the Parkway I started to worry I might plow into a Jeep or something, and so
I stabbed at the radio button, searching for something to distract me. No such
luck, because the first words I heard were "...welcome back to Dr. Joy, here to
discuss love, intimacy, and relationships. We've been speaking to Dina, who has
been feeling a distance growing between her and her husband. Now tell me,
Dina...how has this been affecting your intimate relationship?" "Ummmm....what?"
"Your sex life, dear, your sex life. If it were a casserole, for example..." In
the car I snorted once, loudly. "...if it were a casserole, would it be piping
hot? room temperature? yesterday's refrigerated leftovers?" "Oh, DEF-initely
leftovers. He almost NEVER wants to have sex any more..." Dina was getting
positively chatty. "And just the other day I found a stack of adult magazines!
In his desk, downstairs! He says that he just buys them to, you know, look at
the pictures..." I snorted again, even louder. Dr. Joy apparently concurred,
because she said, in a flat no-nonsense voice, "He's *not* just looking at the
pictures, Dina." "But he saaaaaays..." Dr. Joy cut her off immediately. "Dina,
that's what he would tell his mother if she found them. Are you his mother?"
"Noooo," came the uncertain reply. "Dina, he is masturbating. He uses those
magazines to look at while he is masturbating." "But...howcome he isn't...I
mean, why isn't he satisfied with meeeeee?" she whined, and I tuned out
mentally, catching only the words "masturbate, masturbate, masturbate" somewhere
in Dr. Joy's response. But Dense Dina had clarified something for me: why should
I be concerned or upset about Mark's behavior this morning? After all, he was
just putting the photo book and sex toy to the same use I had! And I had enjoyed
both of them very much. So had he, I recalled with a grin. As I squeezed the
Toyota into a miniscule parking spot and climbed out of the car, I was struck by
a sudden thought. Instead of worrying about why Mark was masturbating, instead
of wondering about what he got out of it, wouldn't it be better to capitalize on
it? This morning my husband had unknowingly told me what he enjoyed, what turned
him on. I stood there, holding the door open, rooted to the spot next to my car.
Wouldn't it be great if I could find a way to bring that freedom, that lack of
inhibitions out of him? A thoughtful expression must have crossed my face as I
flashed back to our lovemaking, and his tendency toward silence, especially when
he was having one of those "stealth orgasms," the ones where he barely made any
noise and his whole body just went rigid all of a sudden as he came. He was
moaning this morning, I realized, twisting around and really getting into it.
Could I still bring that out of him? I thought. I had, once upon a time, but
after being married for so long... I smiled, a faint, small smile, and licked my
lips, my tongue moving slowly across them. So *that's* what he likes, hmmmm?
Well maybe it was time to find out what we could do together to improve on that.
And Kathy DID ask me what I had in mind when I bought it...The wheels in my head
began to spin a little faster, and I absently stepped back and slammed the car
door shut. That day, during my lunch break, I went out to do a little shopping.
I got home late that night, by intention this time, rather than carelessness. I
didn't open the front door much before eleven o'clock, having whiled away the
evening playing Tetris on my work computer, ordering in Chinese food, and
thoroughly enjoying the sensation of working late while my husband might be
waiting up, instead of the other way around. When I finally did get in, I was
pleased to notice that yesterday's mess had not recreated itself; Mark must''ve
gotten boredwith TV really quickly and found something else to occupy his day. I
smirked at the thought, wondering if the "something else" had anything to do
with his activities that morning. By the time I reached the bedroom I had
assumed a weary air, plodding slowly down the hallway and emitting tired little
sighs. Mark was in the bedroom already. In fact, he was in bed with the lights
out, but not asleep. Behind my tired pose I smiled to myself. All was exactly as
I had planned it, and hopefully my husband did not suspect a thing. I entered
the room humming "Try a Little Tenderness"--"women do get weary..."--as sort of
an early warning. Turning my back to Mark, who was propped up on one arm as he
lay in wait for me, I began to climb out my clothes, slowly, wearily. "Awwww," I
heard him say in what little "bedroom voice" he possessed. "Rough day, honey?"
Still facing away from him I grinned, and, trying to keep the grin out of my
voice, I let my breath out raggedly and grated, "you have NO idea." From there I
launched into a lengthy diatribe about the horrible day I had, how exhausted I
was, how rotten my boss was, how lousy I felt, and how, on top of everything
else, I was probably getting PMS. None of which was true, of course, except for
possibly the lousy boss part. But then, today he had been out sick, and how much
better can a boss be? As I undressed I dropped my clothes in a heap on the
floor, every gesture indicating my tired, cranky attitude. At least I hoped so.
I showed practically no flesh at all, the polar opposite of the little
exhibition I had put on that morning. After slipping out of my blouse I grabbed
hold of the most unsexy t-shirt I owned, a big ratty thing with a faded picture
of "Hello Kitty" on the front; to add insult to injury, I even slipped out of my
bra after I was already in the shirt, yanking it unceremoniously out of my
sleeve ("ta-daa! look, Mark, no boobs!"). I pulled down my skirt in one quick
motion, tugged down my pantyhose, and without even changing my panties (oh, I
wanted to--but sacrifices had to be made) I climbed into a thick, bulky pair of
sweat pants. Snug-waistband, cover-everything, unattractive, no-access sweat
pants. I didn't brush my teeth. I didn't go to pee. I just wrapped myself like a
mummy in my blanket and turned over, facing away from Mark. My husband was
completely flummoxed. My performance had so deflated him that he hadn't tried a
single one of the seductive moves he had planned. After hours of waiting for
me--I was five hours late--he had been ready, primed, posed naked under his thin
bedsheet (I had noticed, but then, I had already foreseen this maneuver),
anxious to renew our intimate relationship. Or at least anxious to get some,
which sort of amounted to the same thing. But he had been throttled. He had been
hoodwinked. Bamboozled. My preemptive strike had reduced him to a meek whimper:
"well...can I give you a backrub, Honey?" I responded with a short series of
negative grunts, and burrowed deeper into my cocoon. He gave a deep, theatrical
sigh that was probably pretty sincere and turned over to face away from me, hurt
and angry. Perfect! The next morning, Thursday, I awoke early for work and
hopped out of bed. Today I got dressed as hastily as possible, skipping my
shower, jumping into my clothes, hustling for all I was worth. Again my husband
feigned sleep, this time due to his wounded ego and not his voyeuristic
tendencies. I pretended not to notice until I reached the
"earrings-and-accessories" stage, when I turned toward him and walked around to
his side of the bed. Sitting down beside him--he scrunched his hips over a
little to avoid contact with me, the poor hurt sweetie--I murmured "Oh,
darling...I'm sooooo sorry about last night...I was just sooo tired, and it had
been such a looooong day..." No response. But when I reached down and caressed
his left hip, he made no movement to pull it away. Gotcha! I injected a little
more TLC into my voice, a more soothing quality. "Let me make it up to you,
Honey. How about dinner tonight? Come meet me at work, and we'll go out to a
nice restaurant," (I rubbed up and down, softly, pleadingly) "and then
afterwards...well, we'll see about afterwards. Whaddaya say, Big Boy? OK?" He
emitted a slightly whiny-sounding noise, sort of an "nn-nnnn," like a big puppy.
"It's a date, then," I said, kissing the back of his head. "I'll see you at
five." I rubbed his back reassuringly, got up, and left the apartment, silently
cackling to myself all the while. In the middle of the day, about noon, I called
home and got the answering machine. "Hi-- we're not here right now,
but...BEEEEEEEEP." "Sweetie, it's me," I opened. "I'm sorry--I'm going to be a
little late. So could you please get here at five-thirty instead of five
o'clock? Oh, and one more thing...don't wear any underwear tonight, Sweetie.
Bye! See you soon!" Of course I wouldn't be able to meet him at five. My work
schedule was eight-thirty to five-thirty, always had been. But this way I had an
excuse to call and slip in my real message about his attire. I spent the
remainder of the afternoon assembling reports and ignoring my phone, letting the
voice-mail get everything. Mark called five times. I didn't call him back. By
four-thirty I had abandoned all pretense of getting any more work done, and
panic set in. Had I pushed him too hard? Would everything work out the way I
hoped tonight? What if he was angry with me? Was this really a good idea? But I
had passed the point of no return already, and I steeled my resolve. Dammit, it
had been months since we had made love at one-hundred-percent capacity. He had
been so busy, so wrapped up in his work that I had been lonely, frustrated, and
aching with need for months. Would my little tryst with Kathy have occurred if
Mark had been tending the home fires properly? I wondered. Well, maybe--but I
wouldn't have...then again, maybe that line of reasoning had its flaws. Still, I
deserved to be in the driver's seat for a while. And deep down I *knew* that he
would enjoy this. He absolutely positively would. I hoped. By 5:25 I was sitting
at my desk looking busy, despite the fact that the office had cleared out a
half-hour earlier when all the nine-to-fivers departed in a cloud of dust. Not
even a single secretary remained to buzz Mark in, so when he called my intercom
to let me know he was there I had Security open the door for him. After a few
wrong turns my husband eventually navigated his way to my desk, where I sat with
a pencil stuck behind one ear, a stray tendril of hair trailing down in front of
my face, and my lower lip sexily pouting as I "concentrated" on some piece of
paper or other. Mark drew closer. "So...you ready to go?" he asked, a little
testily. "Ummm...one sec," I responded absently, watching carefully out of the
corner of my eye as he walked right up to me, his body language conveying his
cranky hostility. "Look," he said as he reached me. "I--" His words trailed off
as I turned toward him suddenly, my eyes ablaze, my hands making a beeline for
his crotch. With no fumbling at all--and I was mighty proud of that--one hand
held his pants material straight while the other unzipped his fly in one swift
tug. ZZZZZZZPPP. Without hesitating, or speaking, I sent my hand diving into his
open fly, and I made a pleased noise in my throat when I noted his compliance
with my "no underwear" instructions. I wrapped my fingers around his cock, which
was still flaccid--perhaps out of shock--but began to respond immediately to the
attention. I carefully maneuvered it out of the opening, taking special care as
the crown emerged from between the zipper tracks, and lowered my mouth to it.
There is nothing--NOTHING--quite like the sensation of a hardening, thickening
cock in my mouth. With my eyes closed I enclosed his penis in my wet lips,
enjoying the texture of the soft, rubbery flesh, the small, thin droopiness. But
the attraction for me is the way a soft cock begins to almost jump in my mouth,
warm and pulsing, and then begins to grow, filling out inside me as I pull back
my teeth and let it expand between my lips. His penis grew hot, the pulsations
faster, the small softness giving way to immensity, to hardness. I love that
feeling of ballooning, the ecstasy on my lover's face and in his groans as his
cock becomes erect inside my mouth, the rise in tension and excitement that
always seems to me to be akin to the onset of an orgasm. By the time he is fully
hard I have always pulled my head back a little, my throat unable to accommodate
the size of the monster I have brought to life. But it's always fun to try. Mark
looked like he was in shock. For weeks we had had practically no intercourse of
any kind. For days I had been torturing him in his unbearable horniness. For
hours I had ignored his very existence. But now he stood there, his knees
buckling slightly, as I commenced a leisurely licking of his erect dick with the
broad, flattened surface of his tongue, punctuated by extended moments of taking
only his cockhead between my lips and sucking it in and out, like a child would
a popsicle. And then I pulled away from his wet, glistening penis, turned my
head up to face him, gave him a wide, dazzling smile, and pulled at his pants so
that his cock was once again encased. Very cautiously, I zipped his fly back up.
I had dumbfounded him yet again, as the stricken expression on his face so
clearly showed. "I can't do this *here*," I murmured. "There's so many other
people around." Mark obviously did not agree with my assessment of the
situation, but he was too much in shock to articulate his views coherently.
"But....I.....I mean....You--" I stood up next to where he was still
standing--in more ways than one--and patted him on the cheek. "Come on, sailor,"
I grinned, slipping my hand into his. "Let's go out and begin our evening. I
*promise* you that it will be one to remember." He looked at me, puzzled and
more than a little suspicious. I returned his look with a smoldering smile that
expressed all the deviltry I had been containing for the past two days. A moment
later we entered the elevator for the short ride down from my second-floor
office. As soon as the doors closed I attacked him, mashing his lips with my
own, my hands rubbing his back, snaking under his suit jacket, caressing his
unfettered ass through his pants, which were just tight enough to cop a good
feel. As the bell dinged for the Ground Floor I snapped off the kiss and
straightened myself up, gleefully staring at the hard-on that still raged at his
crotch, threatening to burst its bonds at any moment. As we left the building I
could see that his eyes were a little glassy, and contained just a hint of fear.
I chuckled low in my throat, insinuated my arm through his, and snuggled up to
him as we walked three blocks to the restaurant. As we neared the familiar green
awning with "Phillipe's" in gilt lettering, Mark grunted once, a little noise of
disapproval. Following his gaze, I saw two teenagers sauntering ahead of us, a
boy and a girl who were obviously in love, or at least thought they were. Both
were in jeans, and as the girl awkwardly shuffled forward with her head resting
on the boy's shoulder, I noticed that his hand was planted firmly in her back
jeans pocket, plastered against her backside. "Oh, please," my husband muttered,
"just get a car and climb into the back seat like everybody else." "Oh I don't
know," I murmured. "Actually, that looks like it probably feels really nice."
And, without further ado, I leaned my head on his shoulder and slipped my arm
around him, moving my flattened palm down until it was circling his ass, under
his suit jacket. "I'd stick it in your back pocket," I whispered in Mark's ear,
"but that wallet you have there is in the way." He jumped forward, and looked
back at me, his cheeks flaming. I smiled mysteriously and swept past him into
the restaurant. "What has gotten into you?!?" he demanded, once we had been
seated. I looked back at him appraisingly over the top of my menu and replied,
"you're blushing, dear." As his fading blush brightened again I surreptitiously
slipped one foot out of my shoe and extended my stockinged foot until it touched
his. Then, slowly and deliberately, I ran my toes up his leg and to his crotch,
where I lingered for a moment, flexing the toes experimentally. For a second,
his legs opened wider and I felt him push his crotch slightly forward against my
foot. Then, as he realized what he was doing, his eyes widened and he stared at
me, goggle-eyes. "Really," he asked. "What *has* gotten into you?" I smirked at
him and jabbed my toes forward so that they poked him right dead center. He
closed his eyes briefly, and by the time he opened them a mischevious gleam was
apparent. He reached down one hand and grabbed my foot at the ankle; with the
other he started tickling my instep. I am horribly ticklish, so the effect was
instantaneous. I burst out giggling, gasping for him to stop. He just tickled
harder, staring right back at me. Then we both heard a loud cough right next to
us, and looked up to see a rather uncomfortable waiter standing patiently beside
us. Mark blushed. I blushed. Somehow we managed to stumble through placing an
order with only a modicum of stuttering. But as soon as the waiter left, I stuck
my foot out again and caressed Mark's calf with it. "You're incorrigible," Mark
grinned at me. "You ain't seen nothing yet, buster," I responded. Once again my
husband stared at me, but he no longer looked apprehensive. Now his expression
was one of a man intrigued. Pretending to be busy with the wine list I titled my
head a little and sat still, letting Mark's gaze linger on me, drinking me in.
Finally I raised one eyebrow and looked back at him, a slightly challenging look
on my face, full of promise of things to come. His eyes went a little glassy
again and the color returned to his cheeks. I smiled and returned to my wine
list. Dinner was lovely, the food delicious, the atmosphere romantic, the erotic
tension between Mark and I rising with each bite. I alternated between looks of
smoldering passion and feigned innattentiveness. He began to look like his head
was going to explode, as he switched back and forth from staring at me in awe to
smoldering a little himself. Finally we were done and Mark was going to order
dessert. "Let's not, honey," I said to him, searing him with a look of pure
heat. "We can get dessert....later." Mark gulped, swallowing hard; I was really
getting to him now. "Uh, OK," he said to the hovering waiter. "Why don't we
just...um...get the check." "That's a good idea," I murmured, my foot beneath
the table returning to its exploration of my husband's thighs. "I think maybe we
should go home now. It's getting late." Mark's eyes bulged--that wasn't all that
bulged, either, since my toes were massaging his crotch--and after straightening
himself carefully he got up from his chair and we left. As he reached out to
open the door, I snuck up behind him and caressed his derriere once again. Again
he jumped, and I let out a quietly devilish laugh as he stepped to the curb to
hail a cab. As soon as we got into the back of the cab Mark attacked me, pausing
only long enough to give the driver our address. I let him have his way with me
for a little while--a process I thoroughly enjoyed--but before too long I called
a halt to the proceedings and pulled away, a little mussed. "Mark," I hissed,
"the driver!" "Let him get his own girl," he responded, unsuccessfully reaching
for my breasts. "He's *watchinnnnngggg*," I protested, giving Mark a little
shove, and indeed the cabbie was falshing glances at us through the rear-view
mirror, a broad grin on his face. Mark sighed and settled for squeezing over
next to me so we were huddled together in the back seat. The annoyed expression
on his face revealed his frustration at his wife's anti-exhibitionism. He was
wrong; I really could've cared less about the driver. I just wanted to keep Mark
at a peak level of anticipation and desire. I looked at my reflected image in
the side window and smiled, knowing that I was succeeding. When we eventually
did get into the house Mark made as if he was going to jump on me and wrestle me
to the ground on the spot. But I headed that off at the pass too. "Honestly,
Sweetie, I just feel too disgusting to do anything just yet. I haven't bathed in
days, and I bet you haven't either." Mark was looking at me as if I were a
little green Martian who just landed on the planet in front of him. "Whaaaaat?"
he expostulated, sputtering that he had just showered, and what the hell-- I
stepped close to him and put a finger across his lips. "Please, honey. Just a
little while longer, I promise. You go in and shower first, nice and
squeaky-clean, inside and out." He looked puzzled. "Inside and out, that's
right. And then I'll go and take a bath..." He looked apoplectic; whole months
have gone by with me in the bathtub. "...a *short* bath, and then I promise
you'll get what you deserve." Mark was melting, but he manfully tried to stand
his ground. "Remember," I hushed him, "you *did* promise me whatever I wanted on
Thursday, and it's Thursday now..." He had the good grace to look a little
shamefaced. I gave him a light smack on the butt. "Off with you, then...hop in
the shower. Spit-spot!" My husband looked confused--he hadn't expected Mary
Poppins after all that foreplay, and he was worn out after all my teasing him.
But he dutifully entered the bathroom and started his showering process, sending
reproachful looks my way until he finally shut the bathroom door. I knew it
would be the shortest shower on record, so I lost no time in running to the
bedroom, stripping, jumping into a bathrobe, and grabbing the biggest towel I
could find. Just as he was exiting the bathroom I bundled a few vital items into
my towel, concealing them within the folds. I brushed past Mark as he was
entering the bedroom, a bundle in my arms and an innocent smile on my face. He
was naked and still wet, his cock at half-mast as he stood there dripping. I
saluted it with my free hand and tenderly stroked his chin for a second, saying
"I'll just be a little while." As I neared the bathroom door I reached out and
spanked him smartly on his rear end--SMACK-- jumped into the bathroom, and
locked the door behind me. I hadn't been kidding. I did bathe quickly, but
thoroughly, washing my body and all of my orifices with soapy, slippery hands.
Although I had been trying hard not to show it, I was as worked up as Mark and
maybe more, since I knew what was coming and he didn't. After muttering a quick
"I really hope this works" I got myself together, dressed, and covered up with
Mark's oversized terrycloth bathrobe. Quivering slightly I unlocked the bathroom
door, pulled it open, and made my way to the bedroom. When I got there,
everything was perfect, better than I had hoped. During the day Mark had
neatened up the bedroom and made the beds, which beckoned to me to muss them up.
The lights were dimmed to a decidedly romantic level, and fresh flowers--the
white roses he had sent me when we were first dating--adorned the room. Somehow
my husband had even found the time to light some candles while I had been
bathing, and their strategic placement around the room added to the evening's
romance. The object of my affections was resting on the bed, propped up on one
arm like the night before. But this time he was on top of the covers, and I
breathed a little faster as I gazed at his nakedness, the body I knew so well. I
approached him and took his hands in mine, raising him up to kiss me deeply as
we stood beside our bed. I held nothing back; I gave him the soul-kiss I had
been yearning to share with him all evening, the deep searching comingling of
our tongues, our lips, and our passion that I had missed for months. We stood
that way for a long while, our mouths bound to each other in a deep, unhurried
embrace that made up for all the separations we had endured, all of the long,
lonely nights we both had hated so much. When the kiss finally broke our eyes
remained locked together, mine misty and welling up a little in the passion of
the moment. "I love you," he said, simply and sincerely. I could not speak, but
my eyes spoke volumes. "So," he said, breaking the spell, "what shall we do now,
hmmmmm?" He waggled his eyebrows in impish glee, and I grinned back at him
savagely. "Well," I retorted, "that depends." "On what?" he snapped, the
impishness giving way to outright deviltry. I took a deep breath. "On how far
you want to go...and how much you trust me." After a long night of surprises,
Mark was clearly taken aback by this final challenge, which must represent the
climactic shock of the evening. He narrowed his eyes and gave me a sharp,
searching look. I looked right back, promising much and pleading for him to take
this chance. He smiled, enjoying the way I unsuccessfully tried to hold my
anticipation and excitement in check. "Well..." he drawled. "I *did* promise you
anything you wanted..." I pushed a little to sit him back on the bed. "I have a
little...present for you," I said, and spread my arms wide in front of me. "All
you have to do is unwrap it." He looked at me quizzically, a half-smile on his
face, and reached out for the knotted bathrobe belt around my waist. As he
loosed the knot I shrugged back with my shoulders and dropped the heavy terry
robe to the floor behind me. My husband stared. I stood before him in a pale
green demi-bra I had bought the day before at a specialty lingerie shop, one
which fitted me perfectly, lifting my breasts up and out, my nipples clearly
visible through the thin material. Around my waist was a matching garter belt
that was clipped to thigh-high stockings, a touch designed to appeal to my
husband's ideal of beautiful, intimate femininity. And where my panties should
have been was the cock I had purchased so long ago, gleaming slightly after the
soapy scrubbing I had given it in the tub, wisps of my dark pubic hair escaping
from behind the black leather patch that held it in place. Mark's eyes widened
in disbelief, and I imagined that he had turned a shade paler in the dim light.
I spoke to him caressingly, soothingly in the sexiest contralto I could muster
up. "I love you so much," I said in a low whisper, "and I love your entire body
so much. I want to love you, to make love to you everywhere, every way, to do
things together that we never imagined." I was running out of steam and
genuinely worried now that I had gone too far. "But...if you don't want to..."
His gaze shot up, away from the cock jutting out of my pelvis, and locked with
mine. I saw heat there, and hunger, and Mark rose to stand before me, crushing
my body to his, the springy latex of the cock I wore pressed up against the
sudden rock-hardness of his own erect member. I tilted my face upwards and
searched out his lips with my own, and then we were kissing again, not the deep
soft passion we had shared before but a hungry savage assault of lips and
tongues and teeth that startled both of us by its fury. I broke the kiss first
and looked sharply at him for signs of any hesitation or discomfort; there were
none. I grinned at him, letting the full force of my rising excitement show
through. "Lie down, Mark," I said, "on your front." He crawled onto the bed and
did so gingerly, carefully positioning his erection as he lay down facing the
foot of the bed, his legs on our pillows. Once he was down I stuck a pillow
under his head to raise it a little, and then sat down on top of him, my butt
resting on the small of his back. I then commenced a long back rub, beginning
with the firm circular rubs he likes so much and then tapering off to a more
feathery touch. My rubs turned into caresses, and I heard him groan softly, deep
within his pillow. I smiled, and wiggled back a little further until I was
sitting up on his legs, just beneath his buttocks. My caresses moved up and down
his muscular back, down his arms, across his broad width, and then down the
sides of his waist. Softly at first, I rubbed the back of my hands past his
waist to the top of his crevice, and then across the width of his ass. He moaned
again, and I scootched down a little further. Using both hands, one on each
cheek, I began to massage his buttocks, my rubbing getting firmer. Waiting for a
reaction I spread his cheeks apart, noticing as his muscles clenched almost
involuntarily. I had never played with my husband's ass sufficiently, I thought
with a smile, realizing with a shock that no one probably ever had. I rubbed
some more and then snaked a hand around underneath, moving between his legs and
under to the front. Instantly his reactions became more pronounced, and his hips
lifted off the bed as my hands hugged his balls, hefting them slightly, rubbing
all over them and beneath them, putting firm pressure on the area between his
testicles and his anus, massaging his prostate. My hand moved upwards and found
the shaft of his cock and encircled it, and with firm pressure I held it
tightly. I pulled up and down, emulating the masturbatory strokes I had seen him
employ the day before. He moaned loudly and spread his legs wider to give me
greater access. By now Mark was almost on his knees, his head still ensconced in
the pillow I had given him, his body now mimicking the rear-entry position I had
lain in on that bed so often. I continued to stroke his cock, occasionally
letting go of his shaft to run my open palm downward over his balls again to
knead them and caress them, causing Mark to groan further out of the pleasure he
was obviously experiencing. As he rose to his knees I moved around until I was
sitting directly behind him, my hand between his legs and on his cock. Without
breaking my rhythm I leaned forward and peered at his anus, at the small, dark
opening that seemed so tightly shut. Hoping that Mark had heeded my request for
a thorough internal washing I let go of his cock, spread his asscheeks apart,
and began to run my tongue down his crack, to the tip of the entrance. As Mark
squirmed a bit I ran my tongue around its puckered surface, poking in a little
with the tip. As I tongued him I returned my hand to his cock and was rewarded
with a violent jerk, as it stood up stiffer than I had thought possible in
response to my touch. Mark was pushing his ass back against me now, swaying a
little as I licked at his ass and pumped his cock, his head now raised and
tilted back, his eyes closed. I stopped what I was doing and moved my mouth
close to his ear. I whispered, "I love you and I want to fuck you, Darling. I
want to fuck you and enter you and fill you the way you do to me..."
"Yesssss..." he hissed, his consciousness swirling in a haze of anal pleasure I
never expected from him. I turned to my nightstand and found the tube of K-Y
Jelly I kept there, pleased at the discovery that there was still some left. I
squeezed some onto my finger and applied it to his entrance, massaging it in to
the area. I added a more generous dollop and saturated the area, rubbing around
the rim of his hole and then slipping a finger inside, causing his hips to buck
momentarily. I made little circles inside, making sure that he was
well-lubricated, and then glopped a larger amount onto the cock I wore, rubbing
it around the head and underneath, and then onto the shaft. Mark spread his legs
a little wider, opening himself fully to me. "I love you so much," I murmured,
reassuring him with my words and my tone that I only wanted to give him
pleasure. Moving very deliberately I kneeled behind my husband, who was
positioned with his ass in the air and his head in his pillow, reminding myself
of me lying there and of Kathy, who had lain in that very position a month
before, waiting for me to enter her with my cock. Using my hand I placed the
cock's tip at his entrance and moved it around the opening to ensure that there
was enough lubrication to ease its entry into Mark (there was--I must've used
half a tube of KY). Resting one hand on Mark's back I moved closer and began to
push the cock into him, using my hand at first and not my hips. Mark gasped as
the cock pushed into his ass, and I pushed further until the flared crown of the
latex cock was inside. Remembering my mom's childhood band-aid removal
techniques I kept pushing, determined to get the whole thing in at once. Mark
gasped again as the cock plunged deeper into his virgin territory (though maybe
not--how did I know what had been in there when he was alone today?), and I
rolled my hips forward until I had pushed it all the way within him, my pelvis
up against his backside. He was on his hands and knees again, having raised
himself a little to a better angle, and I was overcome with a sense of
strangeness, of altered states. How many times had I fucked Mark when he was
behind me, pressing back against him as he pushed his cock deeper and deeper
inside my body? Here we were with roles reversed in a way I had never imagined.
I pulled my hips back slightly and the cock moved with me, pulling back out of
Mark's ass most of the way. I pushed back inwards; Mark gasped once again, and
then emitted a low moan; I pulled back; I thrust forward; Mark moaned again.
Slowly and gradually I began to fuck Mark with the cock I wore, in and out of
his ass in a deliberate but steady rhythm. Mark began to moan in earnest now,
his anal passage becoming accustomed to the length and width of the cock. The
stimulation of my fucking motions was getting to him, and his hips began to move
in rhythm with the thrusts I made. With one hand he grabbed hold of the bed's
footboard, to steady himself. With the other he began to pump his cock, his hand
picking up speed rapidly. I stopped moving and rested my hands on his waist,
just above his hips, the cock buried in him to the hilt. I spoke to him slowly,
with urgency: "No, Mark...slowly...let's make this last." Mark's hand slowed its
pumping, and I resumed the rhythm of my thrusting moving the cock smoothly
forward and back, in and out of his ass. I spoke again, expressing the
excitement this was causing for me. "I'm fucking you, Mark. My cock is moving in
and out of you, in (I pushed forward a little harder) and out (I pulled
back)...fucking you like you fuck me...do you want me to *fuck* you? Do you like
it when your wife *fucks* you?" "Yes," he moaned, "fuck me...yessss..." We were
both as far into this as we could be, and although I wasn't the one being
penetrated I was getting more and more excited, the outside of my vaginal area
being stimulated by the rubbing of the harness I wore. I pushed the cock deep
into my husband again and kept it there, pushing my pelvis firmly up against his
ass so that the harness pushed back against me. I began to move up and down,
masturbating myself with the leather patch over my pussy as the cock's movement
inside my husband's ass stimulated him. He grunted in a little pain as the cock
drove deep inside him, but he was getting close as his hand frantically pumped
away at his cock. I grabbed his hips harder with my hands, pulling him back
against me as I rubbed myself up against him, and he felt me fucking him and
holding him as I fucked him and my thighs were pressed against the back of his
thighs as we rocked together and he groaned and shouted "Oh yes fuck me oh I
love you fuck me fuckme" and I felt him jerk as he started spurting and I was
burning and rubbing and I was cumming at the sound of his voice and I fucked him
and came and came and came and came-- I came so hard my arms and legs were
twitching afterwards as I subsided. Mark was hanging against the footboard,
exhausted and limp, his hand and belly and knees damp with his ejaculate. Wary
of hurting more than I had to I put my hand around the base of the latex cock
and began to withdraw it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly. It slid out smoothly,
still lubricated even afetr our furious fucking, and with a final careful tug it
emerged from Mark's ass, none the worse for wear, and I leaned back. I fetched
some tissues and wiped the lubricant around Mark's anus, discovering as I did so
a drop of blood; I must have cut him at some point. Worried, I pulled Mark back
to me and apologized for hurting him, saying I was sorry for not taking it
easier, asking if he was all right. My husband smiled at me, his eyes still
half-closed, and caressed my chin with his hand. "That may have been the best
orgasm I ever had," he said dreamily, "and I bet it was the noisiest, that's for
sure." I laughed, blowing out my breath with a little "whoosh." "The last thing
I ever wanted to do was hurt you," I said. "This wasn't some kind of S & M thing
where I raped you or anything..." He shushed me with a finger on my lips and
said "I know. It was that picture, wasn't it? The two blonde kids in that art
catalogue? Isn't that what gave you the idea?" Mutely, I nodded. "I liked that
picture too. I didn't think much of a lot of the other ones, especially the one
with the lady and the horse..." I giggled, remembering Kathy's reaction to that
picture. "But your picture..." "Christiaan and Rose," I said. "Yes, Christiaan
and Rose. They looked like they really loved each other. And this was a way
they....made love to each other." "Yes," I breathed, and I brought my face up
close to my husband's. "And we did, too." I leaned forward and reached for his
nighttable, snaring the Andres catalogue and yanking it out from under the pile
of clothes where he had hidden it. "I saw you looking at it yesterday morning,"
I said, forcing the words out over my hesitation. "I saw you...pleasure yourself
while you looked at the picture, with the cock I bought." He froze up a little
beside me. "You were so...beautiful," I went on. "So excited, so aroused...I
love it when I can see you like that. And I love it when I can help bring that
out of you and give you that much pleasure. I love *you*." He held me tightly
against him, and we stayed that way for a while, both of us gazing at nothing.
And then both of us looked at each other, and then down at my pelvis, where the
latex penis still hung from the straps around my waist and hips. I looked at it
fondly. Imagine...so much pleasure given to so many people by this one hunk of
rubber and leather. I smiled contentedly and looked at Mark. "Hmmm," he
murmured, speculatively. "Chicks with Dicks?" "WHAT?!?" I said, glaring at him.
He still had that faraway look on his face. "Oh, you know, "Chicks with Dicks.
Like in those porno movies. You know, "Big-Breasted Babes. Video Virgins. Anal
Annies. Chicks with Dicks. Like that." He went on, oblivious to the fact that my
glare was growing stonier and stonier. "And your *point* is what...?" I queried,
and edge to my voice. "Oh, nothing..." he trailed off meekly, looking up at the
glint in my eyes. "I see," I said. "So I'm a titillating liitle porn queen freak
show to you, am I?" He chuckled, and I attacked him again. "And where do you
know so much about Adult Videos, anyway? We've never rented any." He reddened
noticeably, and I stared at him. "Well," he said, still red-faced. "I never said
you knew *all* of my secrets." "I'll say," I answered. Which ones did you like
best?!? Chicks with Dicks? Ohh--I know. I bet it was Chicks with Chicks! Wasn't
it?!? Wasn't it??!" I poked him in the ribs with my elbow. "You men...you really
Are all perverts!" He gave me a leering grin. "Takes one to know one honey,
especially after what you put me through today. Besides, what's wrong with
having lesbian fantasies. Haven't you ever...?" Now I was starting to blush
myself, my neck prickling as I reddened at the roots. "You know...the softness
of another woman's body (my cheeks were reddening faster)...that intimate
knowledge of a woman's pleasure (I was flaming now)...that chance to see how
much fun it can be to pleasure another woman (I had to shut my eyes, I couldn't
look at him). Say! Look at you!!!! Who is it? Who's your fantasy girl??" I was
silent as a tomb, which only got him going further. "I know who it is!! I bet
it's...no...probably not someone from work...hmm... OH!!!!" I couldn't bear
this. "KATHY! That's who!!!" I was going to die. That's it. The bed was going to
swallow me up and I was going to die. I had to save face somehow, so I lifted my
chin and said defiantly, "you don't know all of my secrets, either!" Mark was
laughing at me. After a moment, I was laughing with him. But as the chuckles
died away we looked at each other, deep in thought. "So you say there's more
going on in there than we've ever tried before?" he said. "You don't deny it?"
"Well," I said, "you don't either." Mark ran two fingers down the curve of my
left breast and pinched the nipple between two fingers, over my flimsy bra.
"Sounds like a challenge to me," he said. "Is that so?" I said, facetiously. We
looked at each other, both of us hatching plans within our evil little minds.
Then Mark laughed, and grabbed my waist. "Take that thing off," he ordered.
"It's served its purpose tonight, and the night is still young!" "Yes, Master,"
I said, meekly, and began to wriggle out of the straps in eager anticipation of
the lovemaking to come. Even as I melted into his embrace, I did not forget
about the plans I began to form that night. As it turned out, neither did my
husband. But that is another story, for another time.
- Accept the fact that your now a female!
Go back - Go to the parent episode.
Fri Jan 17 04:58:40 2003