Long but very good cuckold story-pt1

"About last night," he said as we had coffee in the morning -- I expected
him to retreat, the light of day makes some erotic ideas just seem crude --
"about last night?"

"Yeah?"

"Honey, don't make me wait too long, OK?"

He was serious: serious in the morning means really really serious. He meant
for that whole erotic idea to really happen.

I felt some tingling in my body as I looked at this sex machine I married.
Somehow, some way, during the night I must have come to some conclusions, it
had to have been while I was arelax, because even while my mind was trying
to frame some sort of denial or at least a non-committal answer, my mouth
opened, and I heard myself say

"I won't."

"Good. Thank you. I love you, babe!" And he was gone.

"I won't make him wait?" I was having trouble believing I actually said
that, but I did. And deep down, I knew it was true. Somewhere there was a
man who was going to know me, know my body, probably in the next month, who
right now had no idea what was in store for him.

That was an erotic idea, all by itself, thinking of a man somewhere, maybe
he was dreaming of meeting a woman, maybe right now he was masturbating in
the shower, thinking of a woman -- and that woman would be ME!

I was dressed for work, but I knew if I were to reach inside my pants I'd
find me hot, moist, and ready for sex. The mind is our most erotic sex
organ, isn't it?

Who?

How?

Go to bars, to hotels? No, none of that. That wouldn't work.

Who?

How?

That day I started looked at men differently. "He's a possible," I'd tell
myself. Or, "Not him, not in a million years."

It changes things, it changes the way you think, when your husband asks you
to be seductive. Suddenly thoughts, ideas, things that would have been
dismissed right away are allowed to form, to mature.

Sam joked about my 'Get Out Of Jail Free' card that night, and we played
-- oh, how we played -- at what he'd do when I did a seduction, and what
he'd feel, what he'd do, when he could be a voyeur. We read stories on
Literotica, thought about trying out some of the ideas, some of the themes,
but you know, they just didn't work for us -- I mean, on an emotional level.
I wanted, in fact WE wanted, anything we do to be a natural progression, not
powerd.

No script: all improv.

Then there was real life. Sam's work, for example. "Gotta go to Fermilab,
I'll go out Tuesday morning, be back Wednesday pretty late. Sorry about
that." It was a timing problem, the great room was going to be painted
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Well, hell, we both knew if Sam could have
taken time off to supervise the painting, he'd have done the painting
himself. I arranged to telecommute to work those days .

Frank the painter turned out to be a college kid, painting was his summer
job. He showed up on schedule Monday, and spent the day doing prep work,
moving things, applying masking tape and drop clothes.

"The painting's easy," he told me, "it's the getting ready and finishing
that takes the time, ma'am."

Sam came home late, loaded with stuff to take to Chicago, and looked at
the organized chaos in the great room. "Looks like the kid knows what he's
doing, huh?"

"Yeah, he does. Nice kid, hurt himself last spring. He wants to play
football for 'Papa Joe' at Penn State, but he's gonna miss this seamister.
Can't train with his pulled muscle. They get some seriously good health
care, he showed me a report that said he was OK in all ways, but contact
sports too soon could do some serious injury. You'd be surprised at how hard
it is for these kids to get part time work, if it's not 'real', whatever
that means, the NCAA comes down like a bomb on them."

"Nice kid?"

"Polite, yeah, and you know, he's really big. For sure as tall as you,
probably 50 pounds heavier, and I don't think it's fat."

"Hey," Steve asked, "is he a possible?"

"Oh, come on, he's 21, that's 10 years younger than me."

Steve smirked. "I'll bet his equipment works, though. Mine sure did at 21.
And you said you saw his health report, he's young and healthy. Anyhow, I
have to pack this stuff." He left the room.

That night -- no surprise -- Sam wanted sex. You know, so did I, I was
going to miss having him in my bed tomorrow night.

We were in the touching/teasing phase of things, Mr. Big Horn was poking at
me, Sam was all hands, touching, squeezing. "Sam, you're behaving like a
teenager!"

"I'm thinking about how much Frank is going to like doing this to you
honey."

"I don't think Frank is going to be doing anything, Sam, he's not going to
be interested in a woman that much older than him."

"Oh honey, there's so much you don't understand about men," Sam told me,
while he moved over me, and into me, showing me something I did understand
about this particular man.

"You mean, if it has a skirt, they'll fuck it?"

"No, I mean if a beautiful woman like you just hints she's available to a
guy like Frank, he'll become the most ardent man you'll ever know -- next to
me, that is -- and he'll remember you for the rest of his life."

"Hey Sam, he's a college jock, he's not hurting for girls."

"Not for girls, honey, but I'll bet he's never had a woman."

My mind moved there, thinking thoughts that shouldn't be thought, while my
husband moved in me. We missed a mutual lift-off by about 15 seconds. You
know, I think that I came first made Sam come.

And I started missing him the minute he went out the door Tuesday morning,
loaded with papers and laptops and a change of clothes.

Frank came right on time, started on his job. He was the neatest painter I
ever did see. I mean, he was wearing a dark tee shirt and shorts while using
light colored paints, and not getting a drop on himself!

"How do you do that?" I asked him during a mutual coffee break. "Ma'am, I
used to be really sloppy, so I started a game to see how neat I could be. It
works."

I spent a minute or two that morning watching him paint. He was fast, and he
was careful. And he was cute, and big, and full of muscles.

Hmmm.

You know, he IS a possible!

"I should finish by tomorrow late afternoon, Mrs B," Frank said as he was
leaving. "I really like doing this kind of work."

"I like the job you're doing, Frank," I told him, and watched as he drove
away.

Frank was being so correct, so straight, not a single incorrect move. And he
was cute. No, not cute, handsome would be a better word. And that body --
that young body. He was sexy, too.

How do you seduce a young man, anyhow? Yeah, I know, a beer and naked is
enough, but that would not be enough for me. I like -- I need -- the
romance, the tenderness, all of that stuff. And I'm basically shy, almost
submissive. For sure, not very assertive.

Sam called that evening. The good news is, his trip was going well. He
would be leaving O'Hare at noon, should be home by 5 tomorrow. "How's the
paint job going?" he asked.

I told him, and he asked the next question, the obvious one, given what we
were playing at.

"I have no idea at all how to seduce a young man like Frank," I confessed.

"Hasn't he made a move on you?"

"If he had it's so subtle I missed it, honey."

"Look, wear something sexy, he'll get the idea."

"I'm not going around in a nightie, honey."

In the end, we both concluded that if nothing happened, that's all right,
but Sam sounded disappointed.

Hmm.

I got up at 5:30, 90 minutes earlier than usual, two hours before Frank was
to arrive.

I considered showering, but instead spent 45 minutes in the whirlpool tub,
all warm, steamy, bubbly, leaning back, letting my mind drift, drift to when
I was younger, when I dated Jim, another jock, of what sex was like with
him.

Jim's face faded from my dream, it morphed into Frank.

I was getting into trouble, thinking like that.

I dried myself, walked very nude to my closet. What to choose?

A semitransparent blouse without a bra? I tried that on, feeling wicked.

No, not that.

A scoop neck cotton blouse, a full skirt, so that when I bent down, he could
see. . .?

No, not that, either.

None of those, those weren't me.

I chose a comfortable summer dress, with the appropriate undergarments. I
was, after all, a married woman who was only pretending, with her husband,
about. . . but we really weren't pretending, were we? We were practicing.

Frank came, dressed in his tee shirt and shorts, and started the finishing
touches. . Late afternoon came, and when I checked on his progress he was
rolling up tarps. "I have to put the furniture back, then I'll be all done,"
he told me. I went back to our home office, only to hear a "damn!"

"What happened, Frank?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ms Brown," he said, sitting on the floor. "I pulled my back
again, it really hurts. This is what's stopping me from playing football
this year. I'm going to have to stop and replace the furniture maybe
tomorrow, I have to go home and get a heat pad on this right now, or I won't
be able to move."

"Don't worry about the furniture, we can do that," I told him. "I have a
heat pad, just lay down there, I'll get it right now, I know you have to
treat something like that right away, or it'll get worse."

I got the pad, microwaved it the two minutes it specified, and went in to
see Frank on the floor, trying hard to stretch his back, curling over.

"Get flat, I'll help."

He got on his belly, arms stretched over his head, and I just reached over
and pulled the tee shirt out of his shorts, pushed it up to his shoulders,
and applied the heat pad, with lots of pressure from my hands, over his
lower back.

"Oh, that's good, you're doing it just right," he said, "that's really
helping."

It may have been helping and calming him, but I was kneeling at his side,
pushing down on that wonderful, strong, youthful back. It wasn't calming me.

After a minute or two he said "that feels wonderful, but you don't have to
keep doing it."

"Oh, I will, I want to, for a while," I told him.

I stopped applying pressure on the pad, let my hands move up his back, and
began massaging his lats and shoulders.

"That's good, too, that's what the trainers do at school, when we have a
sprain," he said.

I was sure the trainers weren't thinking what I was, bent over this young
specimen.

"Pull off that tee shirt, I'll do it properly," I ordered, while thinking
anything but proper thoughts, thinking of my 'Get Out Of Jail' card.

He hesitated a moment, then pulled the shirt off.

I straddled his legs, began working my hands along that back, those sides,
on that smooth, strong skin. Pushed harder, then softer softly, shoulders,
upper back, lower back, while he stretched out under my touch.

"That's so nice. . ."

I saw that his hips were flexing a little as I touched him. I was getting to
him, too, he was getting excited.

I already was.

Every other man I knew took the lead.

If I wanted this, this time I'd have to.

I took a deep breath. Am I sexy enough? Woman enough? Could I be assertive
enough, would I dare?

"Roll over, Frank, I'll do your chest, too."

"Uh, Ms Brown, I don't think you should do that, I don't think I should roll
over, I mean."

What did Steve say about Frank? That he may have plenty of girl friends, but
never a woman? I was a woman.

I moved off him, knelt at his side. "Frank, don't be embarrassed about being
on your back, I wouldn't be surprised or shocked if you had an erection,
that would be a natural thing to happen. . ."

And I pulled at his hip, so he could roll towards me.

I looked at his chest, his flat belly, the start of pubic hair above his
shorts, and further down there was lots of evidence he was excited.

I moved on him again, kneeling at his knees, rubbing his sides, his chest,
seeing that his eyes were closed, his hands balled into fists at his side,
as tense as could be.

I caressed his chest, his nipples, fascinated at how his body reacted to me,
to my touch.

He was quivering-- this big strong young man was quivering at my touch. I
never felt so powerful, so in control.

Hands on chest, moving down to his sides, meeting at his belly, back up to
his chest, down again, to his hips over his shorts, and up. His skin seemed
to turn red, marking where my hands touched him, it was as if his body was
blushing, his face already had.

"Mrs B, please stop, that feels like teasing, don't tease me like that,"
he said.

I didn't stop. Instead, I leaned over him, saw his eyes open as he felt me
move, felt my hair touch his face, I saw them widen when he saw my face
right over his, leaning down towards his lips. When I was an inch above him
I looked at him, right in his eyes.

"Frank, real women don't call this teasing."

I bent down a little more, pushed at his chin, turning his head, exposing
his ear, moved my lips right over it.

This wasn't me, what I was doing. It wasn't my nature, but still . . .

"We call this foreplay." I let my tongue touch his ear.

He went rigid!

I moved down a few inches, let my mouth touch his throat.

Felt his arms move, felt his hands on my head, no longer fisted, holding my
head to his chest.

"I read about things like this, dreamed about it," he said, as I kissed at
his nipples. "I never thought it would ever happen. . ."

"It makes you forget about your back hurting, doesn't it?" I said, as I
nuzzled at his navel, not believing I was being as assertive, as
controlling, as I was.

He was reaching between us, pulling at his belt.

I sat up beside his legs, helped him release it, unbuttoned his waistband,
unzipped his fly.

"Lift up, Frank."

He did, bridging.

And I pulled at his shorts, pulling them down, pulling down his white
briefs, too, seeing that dark hair exposed, seeing a tan line, the white
skin of his hips, his groin, the start of his shaft, then all of it as it
sprang free, and I moved his shorts up his now raised legs, as he kicked off
his shoes, as he settled his hips back on the floor, lifted his feet, and
just like that this young man was naked before me, erect before me, ready
for me, for what ever I wanted to do to him.

His penis -- his cock, his boner, whatever he wanted to call it, was right
there, right in front of me!

I knew what Sam would want to see if he was watching.

I knew what Frank would want.

I knew what I wanted.

I bent toward him. "You look so lovely, so strong, Frank," I told him, as I
bent toward him, toward it. My hair fell forward, creating a veil, occluding
his view of me, as I let my lips touch that tip.

"Mrs B, please," he said -- I stopped, worried that he wanted me to stop,
worried that this wasn't what he wanted ---

"Mrs Brown, please, move your hair, I want to watch you do that."

Oh, yes, I'd do that, I pushed my hair over my neck, looked along his torso
at him, looked at him doing a half curl, his head up, staring at me.

"Can you see me now?"

He nodded.

Sounding too much like a cell phone commercial, I said "Good," and bent down
again, letting my lips touch him.

He shivered!

I moved so that I was facing the underside of his penis, able to look at
him, as I let my tongue touch its tip.

"Can you see me now?"

I opened my mouth, moved over him, down on him.

"Wonderful, that's wonderful," he said, as I moved, sealing myself to it
with my lips, doing to him what I like to do to my husband, playing with
only the fifth penis I ever touched in my life, handling one of the few
scrotums I ever handled in my life, having a man watch me have sex -- oh,
but I don't know now how many saw that, I don't know how may were in the
helicopter.

"Mrs B, please, not too much, I don't want this to end this way. . ."

Well, he was young, he probably didn't have the control an older lover
might, so I lifted up.

"Is that what you wanted," he asked, "just that? Or. . ."

"No, Frank," I told him, "for me, that's foreplay. I hope it is for you,
too."

"I hoped that's what it is," he said, reaching for me, pulling me beside
him. "One of my girlfriends taught me to kiss her after she went down on me.
Can I do that to you?"

He didn't wait for an answer: at least, not a verbal one, I moved toward
him, our lips met, his tongue pushed into my mouth, just like Sam's often
did after oral sex, searching for a taste of himself in my mouth, just like
Sam searched.

I let myself move flat on the floor, feeling the exoticness of Frank kissing
me, feeling his hands move to the buttons on my dress.

I let the kiss continue for a moment, then pushed him away.

Sat up, stood up.

He had a questioning look on his face, until he saw me reach for the buttons
on the dress, saw me release enough of them so that I could, just like that,
pull it over my head, and off.

A bra and high cut panties. That was all I was wearing. A bra, and high cut
panties.

I knelt down then lay down beside him again, not quite having the nerve to
take off those last two garments.

I may not have the nerve, he did.

It was his turn to sit up, back pain no longer an issue.

It was his turn to kiss my neck.

To lick at my cleavage.

It was his turn to release my bra's clasp, to lift a cup away from my
breast, kiss me there, tongue my erect nipple, pull at my bra until I moved
so he could free it of me, me of it.

He did what I hoped, abandoned my breasts, moved his head down, making my
belly quiver as his tongue touched me there. He sat up again, moved so that
he was at my hip, reached for my panties,

and stopped.

"Mrs B, you take them off for me. I want to see a real woman do that,
take her panties off for a man, I want that, to see you getting ready for
me."

Yeah, sophisticated woman, worldly woman, a woman who's had only four sexual
partners, many fewer than her husband, probably fewer than this young man,
who is thinking I am something very different than the real me.

But right now, I wanted to be what he thinks I am. I lifted my hips, pushed
down, let my hips settle to the floor, legs together, pushed my panties to
my knees, lifted my legs, still together, bent them so I could push my
panties off, all the while looking at him, at Frank, as he saw me remove
that last barrier.

I was nude.

I turned to him, pulled him prone, pulled him to me, felt his body touching
mine, and I did that thing that's so natural for me to do with Sam, to
move my upper leg over his hip so my pelvis is hard against it. Why play
with words? When I did that, the lips of my vulva were against his hip.
that's what I felt, that's what I wanted to feel.

"That's so nice," he said, "you feel warm -- more than warm, hot."

He broke that embrace, sat up, bent toward me again, his mouth on my belly.
"I'm not good at this, show me what to do," he said.

He moved again, I could feel his breath on me. On me, right there.

I sighed, muttered --" it's natural, what you're doing, just be soft, be
gentle, be -- oh, like that." There was a whisper of a touch there, the
softest touch. I spread my legs, granting all the access he might want.

Another ever so soft touch, a butterfly kiss. . .

I reached down, touched myself, to assure myself what I was feeling was
real, and felt his mouth on my fingers, pushing me into myself, felt his
tongue move between my fingers, pushing into me.

"Just like that," I told him, now opening myself, spreading myself, a hand
on either side, as he moved there too, put his mouth on me, tongue on me.
"Just like that!"

It was a minute or an hour later, I wasn't sure, when he said "I can't wait.
. .."

"then don't. . .."

". . .I don't have a condom. . ."

". . .you don't need one. . ."

And he was on me.

Then in me.

This inexperienced young man wasn't so inexperienced, he moved gently, then
firmly, faster, then slowly, harder, easier, he was being an expert
swordsman with me.

But he was always close, always in me, making me always wetter.

And he was young.

"I can't wait," he said again.

"Then don't," I said again.

He didn't.

His chest heaved, his body surged, I felt that completeness as he erupted.

Over. It was over. It was over, and it was good.

What I thought would be an awkward time wasn't, the last cuddling, the last
touching, the last kissing, the getting dressed.

"After all of that, now I have to pay you," I said, "for the painting."

I wrote the check.

"About the furniture, I'll come back and put it in place, and maybe, uh, see
you?"

"No, no, Frank. We'll move it back, my husband and me, you've done enough,
and no, I don't think you should think about seeing me again. I do want you
to remember me, though."

"I'll never forget," he assured me. I don't know if that's true, but I knew
I wouldn't ever forget him.

It was 4 o'clock as Frank left, Steve would be home in an hour.

I cleaned some of the evidence from the great room floor, went to the
bathroom, planning to take a shower, then stopped. No, what happened was as
much Steve's as it was mine. No shower, not yet. I washed a little, enough
to remove sweat, a little moisture.

I pulled on a robe, went to the bedroom, lay back, thinking about the day,
must have fallen arelax, because I awoke with Sam next to me.

"How nice, finding you all set to welcome me home," he said, waking me with
a kiss.

I reached into my robe's pocket, extracted a piece of paper, gave it to him.

"I used this today, honey, with Frank," I said, as he looked at it, at the
certificate he gave me, the "Get out of Jail Free" certificate.

"I used this today, honey, with Frank," I said, as he looked at it, at the
certificate he gave me, the "Get out of Jail Free" certificate.

"You did? I was hoping . . . Tell me, tell me all about it."

"He, he hurt his back, so I gave him a back rub, and that started it."

"Did you wear something sexy for him?"

"No, no, just a summer dress."

He was kissing me with real passion, real lust. "Did he kiss you?"

"Oh yes, yes, we kissed."

"So I'm kissing you after he did? Oh, that's so sexy. Was the room bright,
did you look at him, at his body, did he see yours, I mean, really look at
you, and get hard looking at you?"

"He was hard before we got undressed, honey, he was hard from the backrub."

Sam was pushing at his clothes, pulling at my robe, getting us both nude.

"Did he see you like this, without anything on?"

"Yes -- honey, he took off my bra, but he wanted me to take off my panties
for him, and I did."

"Did you -- tell me you did -- did you go down on him?"

"Yes, and then I kissed him, I kissed him the way you like me to kiss you,
after I go down on you, I kissed him so he could taste himself on my lips."

Sam's eyes closed, his mind was lost in images, images of his wife bending
over a penis.

I helped that image. "My hair blocked his view, he wanted to see me suck
him, so I moved my hair, I let him see my lips on him, I let him see his
penis in my mouth."

"Did he, I mean did you. . ."

"No, he didn't come in my mouth, honey, you didn't taste that there."

He was nuzzling at my belly, as excited as a teenager.

"I think I smell him, I think I smell him, on your belly."

A moment later, a little deeper, he was shaking with excitement.

"I think I can taste him!"

He came.

It's usually work to make Sam get hard more than once in a night, but not
this night. We went over what happened, time after time, each time he'd
harden, maybe not as much, but hard enough. I never had two men in a night,
I'd never had sex three times in a couple of hours, but I did then.

So I had done what my husband wanted, I guess what I wanted, too.

We talked about it the next day. "I'm not that woman, honey, that assertive
sexually experienced woman. It's not a role I ever want again, I don't want
to pretend to be that, especially with a guy like Frank. I won't ever do
that again."

"But what about what I want, being a voyeur, seeing you, not just hearing
about it, acting it out?"

"Never, honey, not with me having to seduce someone like that."

"That's the problem, you having had to seduce Frank? But you were so sexy,
the way you did that."

"I know, but now I'm sorry I did. I mean, he's just a kid. What'll he think
later, that all women are like that?"

"I don't think so," Sam tried to reassure me.

In the end I insisted. "Not like that, not ever again."

September came, went. Our lives were full, we were full of life, of
ourselves, and each other. The 'Frank thing' played a role in lust making,
sometimes in love making, but even Steve was convinced I wouldn't do that
again.

He'd been thinking about it, though.

"Sex isn't the problem, is it? It wasn't sex with Frank, it was you seducing
him that you didn't like."

"Sam, you convinced me that having sex with someone was all right, so that
isn't what's screwing up my head. I just don't want to be the driving power,
I can't be like that again. If ever it happens again, it'll have to be
different than that."

"What if it was an assertive man, a controlling man, that would be different
enough, if it was a guy who just took total control of you, total charge of
you, almost as if you had no control. I don't mean anything like power, or
**** or anything, but like in a seductive environment, having a guy take
over, that would be all right, huh?"

I hadn't thought of that scenario, but Steve was right. If it wasn't me
doing things, if it was someone doing things to me, not hurting me or
anything, but being in charge, that would be better. It wouldn't be me, it
would be someone else. I'd be almost helpless. Almost helpless around a sexy
stranger, willing to be led to an erotic place. Oh, that would be really
sexy.

"Maybe," I allowed, 'maybe that would be OK."

"OK," Sam told me. "Let me think about that. I still want to watch you,
you know."

And as often happened now, he showed me exactly what he thought he wanted to
watch. He showed me what he thought a controlling guy would do.

It was hot, it was fun, it was sexy, and you know what? Sam was dead wrong
about how it was going to happen.

Absolutely dead wrong.

I hate this part. I'm telling you this story, but I don't want you to ever
be able to identify us. Yet, the more I write, the more clues you get, and
you have to know this part to know the whole story.

The kid of one of the rich people who lived not far from here got sick. He
needed all kinds of red transfusions, and he got all he needed from the
Red Cross Blood Bank. The man, let's call him Rich Guy, found out there's
a bunch of people who give red every 8 or 9 weeks, year in, year out.
Sam and I are like that, I've given about 60 times (that's about 60 pounds
of red, about half my body weight!) and Sam, more than 70 times. Well,
he IS older than me!

Anyhow, Rich Guy contacted the director of the red bank, and paid the Red
Cross to send out invitations to a "Thank You" party he was going to give at
the Garden City Hotel. That is NOT going on the cheap, not even for Long
Island. And for all you people who are sensitive about privacy, it was the
Red Cross who sent out the invitations, although the RSVP was to Rich Guy.
You wouldn't identify yourself as a donor unless you chose to.

We chose to respond: we thought the party would be fun, we'd meet other
people who think being donors was important as we did.

Suits and ties, dresses, or uniforms were the dress of the day. That last
bit was an interesting insight, because lots of the regular donors are cops
or firemen. Odd, isn't it, that these men and women who put their lives on
the line for us also are willing to literally red for us every 8 weeks,
too? Yeah, you can tell, I have hero worship, especially after 9/11.

I wore a party dress, knee length, simple, black. It had a little bit of a
scoopy neckline, the back scooped too. It had wide shoulder straps, but it
still was best with a strapless bra. I'm not one of those women with large
breasts, I could go braless without causing a riot. Pantyhose, reamisterable
(two and a half inch) heels, a simple necklace, a wide belt, and a
lightweight coat completed me.

Sam wore one of his better black suits, his tie the same bright red as was
my belt -- proof of ownership, I guess.

We all got nametags: first name only, and the number of times we've given
red. I was "Sarah 59", my husband was "Sam 73". 25% of the people at the
party were in uniform. At dinner I sat between Steve and a New York City cop
in his 'Blue Bag' -- that's what he called his uniform

How many times have you seen pictures of cops with big bellies, cops who
looked like if they had to chase anyone would lose the race. "Bill 85"
wasn't one of those. Not tall (and I like tall), but broad, and for sure,
not fat.

And permisterable. He was Irish, and could talk! I learned more about him
before the dessert was served than I learned about Sam in our first 6
months together. For example, he was married and divorced three times --
"I'm too controlling for most women,." he never had to draw his gun in the
line of duty, at least not yet, and -- well, he was charming, a great dinner
companion.

There was music afterwards, Billy was going to leave early because he didn't
have a date, but Sam asked him to stay with us.

I liked being with these people, all of them at the party were special, and
Sam 73 and Bill 85 were very attentive and handsome escorts.

I danced more than I had in years, with each of my escorts. Bill was proper
enough, although when you danced with him there was a strength and power in
his lead. There was no doubt where you moving, what steps you were taking.
He held me, as the evening went on, a little closer than was exactly proper,
but not enough to make me fight him off.

Not that I wanted to, of course. I was in heaven with the attention I was
getting.

Well into the evening Sam asked the obvious question: "Like him?"

"Oh sure, he's fun."

"Think he's sexy?"

Well yeah, I did. And I said so.

"A possible?"

Wait a minute, that was going one giant step.

"Well?"

"Oh, I wasn't even thinking of that, I don't know. . ."

"A possible?"

Wait a minute, that was going one giant step.

"Well?"

"Oh, I wasn't even thinking of that, I don't know. . ."

Like most women there I visited the ladies room a few times. Most didn't
have two escorts at their table though, and most wouldn't see their escorts
in whispered conversation when she returned.

Bill excused himself, I was dancing with Sam, slow dancing with Sam, and
he made it obvious he was excited, that he was in heat.

"Feels like we're going to have an exciting time at home later, fella. Big
Horn feels like he can't fit into his case."

"Maybe we shouldn't go home, honey, we've both been takeing, it's a 40
minute drive."

"We didn't come prepared to spend the night, Sam, and we don't have
reservations or anything. That doesn't sound like a good idea. We'll take it
easy and get home OK, I promise. I didn't take that much, anyhow."

"Well, that's not what I want," Sam told me.

"Huh?"

"Bill and I were talking, honey. He's what I've been, what we've been,
looking for. He liked to be really dominant in his relations. Anyway, I want
. . ."

"You mean, you were talking to Bill?"

"Yeah."

"About me? About us?"

"Well, yeah. I mean he's nice, he's here, and, and, and I think he's sexy,
don't you?"

"Never mind what I think. What went on?"

"And I told him we were looking for a little excitement, that I wanted to be
a voyeur, and you wanted to a dominating partner . ."

"And just like that, you . . ."

"Not just like that. When he comes back, talk to him. He has some ideas, and
. . .look, there he is."

Bill cut in, took me in his arms, held me close. Bill was generating groin
heat, too, and he wasn't bashful about letting me feel it.

"Well, Sarah 59, Sam 73 told me what you guys like to pretend." I started
to say something, but he said "shh, listen to me first. The way these things
work, is there always has to be a safety valve, if not with me, then with
whoever you play with. It works like this. I'm very dominant, I like to
control things, and I just assume my lady is saying things like 'no, no,
stop' because it's part of the game. But if she says the code word, it means
it's real, and things stop, no matter where they are, right then. Like, I'm
a cop, I couldn't take the chance of anyone saying I powerd them to do
anything, so if I hear the code words I'd stop right now. Uh, just so you
know, I've done this a couple of times, and no one ever had to say 'Red
Light' -- I'm a cop, that's a good code, isn't it? -- to me. Not ever."

I laughed out loud. "You mean, cops obey traffic signals?"

He laughed too. "This cop sure obeys that one, Sarah 59. If you play with
me, and I hope you do, and I really like husbands to watch, it makes me feel
really powerful, to be with a man's wife, if either of you say 'red light'
I'd stop and be out of there so quick you'd wonder if I was ever there."

"But no one has ever said it to you?"

"Nope. And I do have some things I really like to play with, too. Like,
handcuffs make women feel really helpless."

An easy escape? And handcuffs? He changed position so that he was holding
both of my wrists behind my back, holding me close to him, against his heat.
He stopped dancing for a moment, held me like that. "Like, if we were like
this, and I tried to kiss you, like this, you could stop me by saying "Red
Light."

He moved his head closer to mine, pulled me closer to him, and very slowly
tilted his head, moved closer. "But I know you wouldn't say "Red Light, not
then, and not now."

He was giving me all of the time I might need to object, then his lips were
touching mine, his tongue touched my lips, then my teeth, then my tongue. I
was being held captive by this strong man, being kissed by him, being held
against his penis, all without doing a thing, he was doing everything, he
was in control.

When the kiss broke, he said "It would be like that." He looked up, over my
shoulder, it had to be towards our table, and nodded.

"What was that?"

He moved his head closer to me again, nudged my head so his lips were at my
ear, and he whispered "I just told -- no, I just commanded -- Sam 73 to go
get the room cards for the room I arranged for a couple of minutes ago. When
he comes back, we're going upstairs. Sarah 59. We're going upstairs to play.
Until then, I'm going to let your hands go, I want you to put them around
me, and hold me to you, so that you can feel how hot I am. Do that now."

A part of my brain started to form the words 'Red Light', but I held Bill,
felt him against me, thought of all Steve and I had talked about, fantasized
about, saw that Bill fit our model perfectly. He was a big strong healthy
controlling stranger that we'd probably never see again.

The magic phrase didn't get spoken, I stood as tall as I could, so I could
kiss him again first.

We were waiting at the table when Sam came back. He looked at me. "Are you
OK?"

"I am, are you?"

He nodded, looked at Bill. "Two double beds, room 314."

Bill stood up. "Why are we sitting here?"

The brass doors on the elevators opened to swallow us, I held Sam's hand
while Bill stood at what looked like 'Parade Rest' until we were delivered
to the third floor. We found the room - 314, a hundred times pi my mind
noticed, it would be easy to remember.

Sam opened the door, let me in, Bill came in last, put the "Do Not
Disturb' label on the knob, turned to us. "I intend to the disturbing.
Sam, you sit over there. You can watch, you can stop me any time, just
like Sarah can.. You can say is the magic phrase, and I don't think you'll
want to do that."

"And you, sweet Sarah, you can say anything you like."

I didn't say anything, because he took me in his arms, and kissed me again.
A big, open mouth, tongue lashing kiss, not sloppy, just very sexy, very hot
and very sexy.

During the kiss he took my hands, held them behind me, I felt more movement,
felt something -- what was that? then he was holding me again, but my arms
were locked behind me. I was handcuffed.

He moved me so that I was at, then sitting on, the bed.

"I like my women helpless," he said, and bent over to pull off my shoes.

"I like using my police equipment. Like, I like using those handcuffs. And,
I like using this." He took his baton from his belt, all 18 inches of black
stick.

"This is more than a club, it's very strong, very erotic."

I was a little frightened, magic stop phrase or not. Bill reached behind my
head, took a handful of hair so he could control my head's position. He made
me turn it, I didn't have any choice, so I was facing Sam, and he began
stoking my cheek with the side of the baton, just a soft touch, gentle.

"Do you like that?"

I looked at Sam, who was breathing through his mouth, panting. I did like
it, I liked the feeling of power it had, and I liked the effect it had on
Sam, of being helpless.

"Yes, yes I do."

He changed its position a little, it was still on my cheek, but nearer my
lips.

"Show your husband how much you like it. Kiss it!"

I closed my eyes, thinking about his order, but even while thinking about
it, evaluating it, even while considering if I should, I felt it on my lips,
caressing my lips, and I kissed it.

He turned it softly against my lips, its motion sexy, opening my lips a
little.

"Do you know how easy it would be for you to get hurt with that, Sarah?"

I nodded my head. All he'd have to do is move it a little, it could split my
lip, but I didn't stop, I still kissed at it, felt him moving it, until its
blunt end was at my lips.

"I like my women helpless," he said, and bent over to pull off my shoes.

"I like using my police equipment. Like, I like using those handcuffs. And,
I like using this." He took his baton from his belt, all 18 inches of black
stick.

"This is more than a club, it's very strong, very erotic."

I was a little frightened, magic stop phrase or not. Bill reached behind my
head, took a handful of hair so he could control my head's position. He made
me turn it, I didn't have any choice, so I was facing Sam, and he began
stoking my cheek with the side of the baton, just a soft touch, gentle.

"Do you like that?"

I looked at Sam, who was breathing through his mouth, panting. I did like
it, I liked the feeling of power it had, and I liked the effect it had on
Sam, of being helpless.

"Yes, yes I do."

He changed its position a little, it was still on my cheek, but nearer my
lips.

"Show your husband how much you like it. Kiss it!"

I closed my eyes, thinking about his order, but even while thinking about
it, evaluating it, even while considering if I should, I felt it on my lips,
caressing my lips, and I kissed it.

He turned it softly against my lips, its motion sexy, opening my lips a
little.

"Do you know how easy it would be for you to get hurt with that, Sarah?"

I nodded my head. All he'd have to do is move it a little, it could split my
lip, but I didn't stop, I still kissed at it, felt him moving it, until its
blunt end was at my lips.

"Take it in your mouth, Sarah. Let your mouth make love to it."

Sam groaned, sighed. I opened my mouth, looked up at Bill, let him move it
in my mouth, sealed my lips around it, felt it moving, touched it with my
tongue, felt it go in, but not too far, then almost all of the way out, and
in again, a surrogate penis, making love to my mouth.

I opened my eyes, saw Sam sweating, squirming in his chair. I wasn't sure,
he could have been ejaculating, watching me.

"Oh, I think you're going to be really good, really hot, Sarah," Bill said,
he may have been acting as though he was in complete control, but his
uniform trousers were tenting, he was excited too.

"Feel that, feel that carefully with your tongue. What do you feel?"

"It has bumps in it. I thought it was smooth, but it has bumps."

"Those are teeth marks, Sarah. Teeth marks from other women who had sex with
my nightstick. I want you to bite it, I want your teeth marks on it, too. If
you mark it, then I'll mark you."

Mark me? How?

I bit down, felt the wood yielding a little, felt it indenting.

"Good. Here, stand up." He pulled me to my feet.

"You did good. Now, I'm going to do bad. I'm glad you wore a coat, Sarah,
because this dress" -- he reached for its neckline, started to pull at it,
it resisted, then there was a tearing sound as it parted down the front --
"this dress is history."

Have you, woman readers, ever had a man so passionate, wanting you so much,
he tore your clothes off? Not crudely, but urgently? If you haven't, you're
missing one of the most surprisingly erotic things that can happen.

It took a tear or two more, and that dress -- it was three years old and
cost $300 -- was a rag on the floor.

My first thought was I'd have to go home wearing only my coat. My second
thought was, I was standing handcuffed in front of Bill with only a slip and
stockings and a bra on.

To hell with the dress, that wasn't important now.

Bill shrugged off his jacket, opened his belt. Tie -- it was a clip on tie
-- oh, so no one could grab it and gain an advantage -- shirt, then
undershirt, all off, all in a heap.

"Turn around."

I did.

He released the handcuffs, turned me around again. "Later, we'll use them
again, two sets, each wrist to an ankle. You'll never feel sexier or more
helpless. But now, now I need your hands free."

He took my wrist, powerd my hand against his belly, pushing it against
himself.

I wasn't doing it, he was powering me to.

He pushed it down, behind his waistband, against his groin, pushed it down,
I felt his groin, his hair.

His shaft.

It wasn't me, not my responsibility, it was his, his hand held mine there.

"Touch me, touch it!"

It was warm, not hot, big, not hard. I stroked along his shaft to his
penis's head. That was hot, and felt large, much thicker than his shaft.

"Now, I'm going to mark you, bite you."

I could feel a pulse in his penis, could feel the smooth skin of it, a
little moisture at its end, the thin skin of his foreskin over that head so
easy to move back, so I could touch him there, imagine that purple head in
my hand, on my fingers, but my touching him wasn't my doing, he had made me
do that. . .

"I want to know how much you can take, I'll know, because you'll stop
touching me that way."

I was stroking his cock along its length, letting my fingers explore it, his
hold on my wrist had loosened, it was still his fault, his responsibility.

Then his lips were on my shoulder.

I could feel his teeth on my skin.

And his cock was getting bigger! Was it because I was touching it, or
because he was biting me? I didn't know, but the pain on my shoulder
increased.

It was an erotic pain, it was as though that pain connected directly to deep
in me, and to his cock, it was reacting too, as I touched it, stroked it.

He bit down harder -- it hurt. Oh, that hurt, but it was a good hurt, I
didn't pull my shoulder away, I lifted it against his mouth, against his
teeth, and felt his penis getting hotter, harder, thicker.

Felt myself getting hotter, too, even more aroused, I knew if he'd touch me
he'd find me wet, ready, right now. What was happening, it's as though the
pain in my shoulder was connected directly to some sexual part of my brain.
. .

I used my other hand to reach for his waistband button, found it, released
it, found his fly, unzipped that, while he was biting me, hurting me.

Arousing me.

Getting more erect with the pain he was causing me, his penis's head was so
hot, as hot as my shoulder felt, where he was biting it, where I was lifting
it hard against his teeth.

Finally, he stopped. He was fully erect. "No woman has ever let me bite her
that hard. You'll wear my mark for a long time."

My husband was standing behind me, looking at my shoulder. "Did he hurt you?
Do you want to stop?"

"He hurt me a lot, but it was a good hurt. I don't want more of that kind of
hurt, but I don't want to stop."

I let his penis go, reached to his pants with both hands, started pushing
down. " I want to see what I've been touching, you felt big. . ."

He completed the task of undressing himself, stood in front of me, broad,
erect. And there was his cock, pointing at me, a reamisterable size cock, but
the head was uncommonly large, at least with my limited experience.

"You are big."

"And you're overdressed," he said, we'll have to fix that."

"But first ... hey, Sam, sit on the bed, let's do something really sexy."

Do something sexy? My shoulder was on fire with erotic pain, I could almost
feel lubrication wetting my pantyhose, I've been fondling his genitals, and
now he wants to do something sexy?

"Good, that's good, Sam. Sarah, sit between his legs, OK, facing me? Yeah,
like that. Put your hands on his knees."

This was odd, what Bill wanted, but he had been so right about so much. . .

Bill walked over, right in front of me! I mean, that big penis head was
inches from my face, and. .

. . . and I knew what he wanted.

"Take Sarah's head in your hands, Sam, yeah, like that."

I was right, I knew it, I knew it!

Bill moved closer, so close his penis was touching my cheek. I closed my
eyes, I knew what to expect.

"Turn her head, Sam, turn it, position it, for her, so she doesn't have
to, position it, yes, like that. . ."

My husband turned my head so my lips were against that penis, I felt Bill
moving, then that large head was right in front of me, right in front of my
lips.

I pursed them, touched it with a kiss.

I could feel Sam's hands shaking as he held my head there, then,

then,

then Sam pushed at my head a little,

pushed me toward that penis, pushed my lips against it,

and as my mouth opened, accepting it, Sam pushed more, his hands on my
cheeks, as my mouth filled with cockhead, and Sam groaned, "I can feel him
in your mouth, I can feel his cock moving against your cheek, oh god, I can
feel that. . ."

My husband, fully dressed, orgasmed, just like that.

Bill backed away. "We're going to use that bed now, Sam, OK?"

Sam, face flushed, got off the bed, looked at me still sitting alone in
front of a naked at erect man.

Bill reached for his handcuffs.

"I don't want those, Bill, I don't need them."

I lifted my slip over my head.

"I don't need you to pretend to power me, not any more."

Bill came to me, still erect, still a trace of my moisture on his cock, and
just like that, picked me up.

And just like that, put me in the middle of the bed.

And in a moment was beside me, hugging me one of those hugs, where bodies
are tight together, where lips meet and stay locked, where hands move on
backs and hips and legs.

And his hands went behind me, found the clasp of that flimsy bra, released
it.

And I moved a little away from him, so I could take it off my body, so he
could see my breasts, my nipples.

And while he was looking, I rolled to my back, and did as I had done for
Frank, lifted my hips up, pushed at my pantyhose, pushed them down my legs,
pulled them off.

And rolled to Bill again, for another of those full contact kisses, this
time with my leg over his hip, this time with my vulva pressing against his
leg. I liked doing that with Frank, and I liked doing it now, with Bill.

And I kissed him, and touched him, touched that cock, that head.

That head, that could be a problem for me. What a time to have that problem.
. .

"Bill, I'm sorry, but you're big, or at least thick. I'm not sure I can take
you, but I'll touch you, kiss you, go down on you. Don't worry, I won't
leave you hanging, I promise."

"I know I'm thicker than most men, and I like what you're promising," he
said, touching me, kissing me, teasing me, moving down my body, making me
spread my legs, making me want to spread my legs. "But it's too soon to
worry about that. There's another thing I want to do."

He reached for, found his nightstick.

He sat beside me, let me lay there, let that stick move over my cheek. I
reached for him, only to hear "Wait! Be still."

He half leaned over, his supporting his head with one hand, tracing the
stick over my breasts with the other.

Oh, that felt strange, seeing this man beside me, playing with his baton,
playing with my body that way. Strange, and strangely erotic, too.

There, right there, a quarter turn from me, was that head, that penis. I
knew I'd have to satisfy him, I reached for it, half turned my upper body,
took him in my hand, moved more, moved enough so I could get my mouth on
him. I would masturbate him, let him ejaculate on me, I read that men liked
to do that, and. . .

And his baton had moved, it was stroking my inner thigh.

"That got your attention," he said.

I looked up at him, down my body, saw it against my vulva, felt it there,
looked at Sam, who was watching, too, looked at Bill, as he played with
me.

"Sexy, isn't it?"

"Very," I heard, it was Sam who said it.

He pressed its side against me, just a little, just enough for me to know
how strong it was, how strong he was.

"Just like before," he said, "just like before you bit it, you told me you
knew how much it could hurt you."

"I knew," I said, I was aroused by what he was doing, afraid, but aroused,
the pressure of that against me, against me there

"Do you trust me?" He leaned even closer, he was right over me, right over
my pelvis, he was rolling that stick, rolling its length against my length,
I could feel it moving easily, it had to be slippery, wet, wet from me.

"Do you trust me," he asked again. bending down, moving the stick so his
lips could be there.

Oh, that felt good.

"Do you trust me," he asked a third time, lifting up, and I saw he changed
the baton's position, it was poised as a penis might be, "because, before,
you made love to my baton with your lips, and now. . ."

He pushed a little, I could feel the rounded end push against me a little,
then invade me a little, "and now, I want you to make love to it with your
cunt!"

And it was IN me! He was moving it back and forth, it wasn't thick, it felt
so odd, to feel that in me, odd, erotic -- somehow I opened my legs for it,
began moving with its beat, making love to it.

Then he moved down, too, until he was THERE, his tongue was there, he was
tasting me, his own tongue was next to that stick, that baton, he was
knowing I was so wet, so ready.

I let myself go with those sensation, opened my eyes, and his penis was
right in front of me, I had only to move my head, and I did, so its tip was
at my lips. I had only to purse them, holding his shaft, to touch them, and
I did.

I held it still, touched its tip with my tongue, moved two inches,
surrounded its girth with my lips again, this time without my husband's
help.

Sam told me that most women just tongue their partner's penis, caress it
with their lips. I always liked to suck on Sam's, and I did that to Bill.
I sucked, drawing him in.

He was so hot -- so hard, and he was doing things to me with his mouth, too,
things I've never had done before. I could feel him pressing down over me,
sucking too, as I was doing to him.

He was close to making me come, and his twitching made me think he was, too.

"Let's go to the main event," he said, "that's enough playing."

"But your size, your thickness, I think it's too much, let me satisfy you
this way. . ."

He interrupted me. "Wait, we'll do it like this."

He lay on his back, his erection like a thick post, a tree trunk, growing
from his groin.

"Get on me, put your hands on my shoulders."

I did, straddling him, over that big head.

"Now, just move down, you control everything, how much, how hard, you'll
see. . ."

My back was bowed, leaning over him, squatting, my feet at his hips, and I
lowered myself, felt him, felt that blunt pressure, pushing at me, pressing
me.

He took his penis, began moving it along me, along my lips, its head
brushing against me, getting wet with me, still blunt, still all outside.

I moved a little, side to side, opening myself, he moved too, and the
pressure changed, it was not as blunt anymore, it was a spreading sensation,
I was being spread, and I looked down between us, saw him holding himself,
almost the way Sam does when he masturbates for me, and I saw half of his
penis's head in me, inside the lips of my vulva.

I moved again, felt more pressure, more spreading, more filling, and -- his
head was in me.

I looked up as Sam, saw him staring not at my face but at what was
happening, his own mouth was open, his face was sweaty, too.

Sam saw me move upright, upright and proud above this man, squatting over
this man's cock. Bill stopped holding himself, and held my hips instead, I
put my hands on his arms, let myself settle an inch.

I was accepting him, accepting his size. It didn't hurt, it was -- easy, it
was -- ecstasy.

And then, I felt something else. Hair, groin. I looked again, we were
merged, pelvis to pelvis, he was fully in me. I let all of my weight on his
pelvis, he was in as deep in me as he could be. I lifted, saw his shaft
reveal itself, coming out of me, dark, wet and shiny, then he lifted his
hips, pushing into me again.

I suspended myself there, let him move, let that thing move in me, moving
easier as I expanded to accept it.

Until he said "roll over now."

I did, and it was classic man on top sex, except that man was looking not at
me, but at my husband as he moved in me, pushed in me, fucked me.

"Is this what you wanted, Sam 73? Is this what you wanted to see, is this
what you wanted your woman to do?"

"Oh yes, exactly that." Sam could hardly make himself heard, his voice was
raspy.

Bill was moving in me, taking me, screwing me. He bent over me, his back
bowed, bent over close enough so I could lift and kiss him, so he could
taste his cock, and I could taste my cunt, during that kiss, during that
fucking.

"I wanted to see my third wife get fucked, too, Sam," he said.

"I wanted to see my third wife get fucked, too, Sam," he said.

Oh? Maybe wanting that is common, I thought, but Bill wasn't done with his
story, not by a long shot.

"That wife, her name was Betty, she was more Irish than me, the reddest
hair, the fairest skin."

Why was he talking about another woman? He was having sex with me!

"See my hand on your wife's cheek?"

I could feel it, I looked over my head, and could see Steve looking, too.

"Suck on my fingers, Sarah," he said.

I did, let them in my mouth, sucked on them.

"I let my buddy Rudy have my wife, not that Betty minded," he said.

"So I saw his fingers in her mouth, like you're seeing mine in Sarah's.

"And I saw his cock sliding in her cunt, like you can see mine in your
wife's."

"But the difference is this, Sam."

"See how my skin looks against her cheek? See how my belly looks against
her's when I'm in her. like now?"

"Close your eyes, imagine that's Rudy's cock, Rudy's fingers. My buddy Rudy
is as big as I am, but Rudy is blacker than coal."

"Think of how that would look, against your wife's skin."

Sam groaned. . .

"I'd like to see that too" Bill said. "Next time you want to play, call me,
I'll get Rudy to come."

Sam was breathing fast, and so was Bill. And so was I. Like Bill, but
black? What would that feel like, is it true about black men, about their
size?

Bill was pushing harder now. "Hold my cock now, I'm ready," the driving
machine above me said, as his pace increased, as I felt his size increase,
too, as his penis got ready to deliver its sperm where nature intended,
where my nature insisted it go.

Bill went rigid -- pelvis hard against mine. I could feel it, the pumping.
He withdrew an inch, pushed in again, held that position, hard together, and
my fingers could feel that action deep inside his cock, that surprisingly
gentle pulsing, as his sperm, his cum, moved from deep in his body to deep
in mine.

Bill came for a longer time than I'd experienced before, it felt like he
ejaculated for half a minute or more, filling me.

It excited me, but not enough for another orgasm. The several I had were
enough for now, what I felt was a deep satisfaction with him, with me, with
Sam, instead. I was a complete woman, sexy, able to please her husband,
able to please a stranger, able to take all he could give, and more.

Bill rested, deep in me. I could feel him softening, still big, still thick,
but softer.

He pulled out, there was white threading from him to me, as he moved to the
side, his penis wet with both of us, now.

I moved against him, leg over him, held him.

Kissed him.

"You were wonderful, Bill, more than a woman could hope for."

He held me, kissed back.

"And you too, Sarah, you're as much woman as a man could want. Too bad
you're taken, you could have been number 4 wife."

Sam was standing at the foot of the bed now, looking at our two bodies,
while he finished undressing.

"I hate to fuck and run, Sarah, but I think your husband wants you to
himself now."

He was almost right, I wanted my husband to myself now, and I needed comfort
and reassurance that we were still OK.

Bill moved from the bed, began dressing, while Sam uncovered the second
bed, and pulled me to it.

And in a moment I was wrapped in the arms of my husband, and was being
kissed by my husband, and touched by him.

Then came the biggest surprise of all. "We don't have to talk about this,
honey," he said, as I heard the door close behind Bill. "We know what
happened, you were wonderful, and I love you." I felt Sam hard beside me,
opened up to him, rolled on my back and opened up, and he moved on me, over
me, and then was in me, offering sweet lovemaking, offering sweet sex,
offering all the comfort and reassurance I could ever want that my husband,
my own sexy husband, was still with me, still loved me.

Soon enough he stopped, we slept, tangled in each other's arms.

Awoke, showered together, joined together again in bed, and finally, as Bill
had predicted, I left the hotel, proud and upright, nude, except for
pantyhose and heels, only wearing my coat.

And that's how come, today, the mirror still showed the bruise, the
reminder.

And how it is that Sam and I didn't need it to remind us what happened was
real, we remember.

And how, sometimes, I wonder if Sam still had Bill's phone number.

And if Rudy was still his friend.


This story was originally named "Suggesable Sarah" and was written by an author calling himself Tonytonytony.

do hope you post part 2...

Actually, that was the whole story, but I do have some other stories of his if anyone is interested

please post, that was great