No Secrets

Author’s Note:

Steven returns from an out-of-town business trip to find that his wife has made herself fully available to him, or anyone, who comes to the door.

My stories feature Hayley and Steven. There’s a certain sameness to their characters throughout as I like to think about them a particular way. Or, maybe I’m lazy and don’t want to fuddle with figuring out names. Each story stands alone and are not sequential unless labeled to be in parts.

**

From LAX to home in Charlotte. Ugh. It takes a while, even when things go smoothly. Arrive at the airport 90 mins early, delay the departure an extra half hour due to a plane replacement for who knows what reason, a joyous four plus hours in flight wearing a mask, three hours of your day lost to time zones, and another 40 minutes to get out the plane, collect my bags and pay the parking ransom. And then… then finding the highway at a full stop only several miles from the airport. Lovely.

I had texted Hayley when the plane touched down, which she understands is a signal that I’m a little more than an hour and a half from arriving home. That situation had obviously changed. Google maps showed the interstate traffic density in the shade of a blocked artery, two miles of it. I’m delayed another 50 minutes. Ugh. Some people love to travel on business. I’m betting they don’t do it frequently. I texted her the update but didn’t get a reply. Maybe she had started dinner. Hopefully, it would be something that could be kept warm.

My mounting frustration and verbal tirades weren’t pushing cars ahead, so I figured I may as well try to take an almost adjacent exit ramp. Google wasn’t saying it was a faster route, but sitting still on an interstate drives me nuts. Blinkers, patience, and a little bit of illegal backing in the emergency lane got me there.

SoCal may be awesome for some, but it’s not a land flowing with milk and honey for me. A week there? No thank you. But I’d done it before, and I’d do it again to pay the bills. I’d rather spend my time with Hayley.

As I should. She’s gorgeous. Kind. Friendly. Wise. A tease. A fully engaged lover. My best friend. My wife, even. I hope you have the same. There are no secrets between us, something we agreed to before we got married because we value the intimacy between us.

I know, I know. You want the details. 5’7″, slender, great figure… No, not me. Her. Light brown shoulder length hair, parted from the side and hanging to just below her shoulders. A cute nose, mouth, ears… Well, I don’t mind sharing what other people say. A younger Téa Leoni. With slightly bigger boobs I’ll add. I had to Google Téa. There’s a strong resemblance. She’s a beautiful woman. But, hey, I got Hayley. Go find your own.

It matters later, so one thing you should know at that point is that Hayley delights in my cum, wherever it ends up, and she’s not hung up on where exactly that may be. How many other wives are like that after being married five years? Not many, I’d imagine.

When I go on a long trip, I try hard not to masturbate — the more for her to enjoy when I return, right? It’s not some sort of proof of celibacy or anything. She doesn’t care if I do or don’t. But, for her, cum is what makes sex real. Condoms may bring pleasure, but, well, maybe you get the point. Cum is a main part of the experience as well as the evidence after the fact. It’s an added dimension that she expects.

This past trip, I was maintaining my self-control, and then Wednesday she texted “Horny!” and followed it with a picture of her fingertip brushing the side of her clitoris. iPhones these days. Wow. It was moist, shaven and beautiful, the area around it flushed and swollen from her activity.

She called shortly afterwards. We talked about the photo and those things you talk about when you’re somewhere distant and horny as hell. She eventually came, but I didn’t. Only, I told her I did. A white lie maybe? I wouldn’t call it a secret. I could have told her the truth, but then she’d keep trying and probably want a picture to prove she got me there. And, I’d have less to share when I got home. I’ll add that I don’t take any satisfaction from cleaning cum off my chest. In a hotel. Alone.

Back to the travel. The exit ramp idea worked, with some liberties taken at stop signs and stop lights when no one was around. I got home about 20 minutes after my original estimate, but maybe sooner than she’d expected if she got the second message. Didn’t matter. I was home.

The garage door was open for whatever reason, and I pulled in. She forgets sometimes. I popped the trunk, got my bag and soon find that there’s a piece of paper taped to the door that leads to the kitchen with a note written in thick Sharpie. “Just mopped! Use the front door.”

Joyous. Another delay, but a final one. I left the bag where it was. I wasn’t in the mood to wind it out of the garage, around our sidewalk and up a couple steps. It would wait. I was fumbling for the front door key as I neared it when I noticed a similar note on the front door. Strange, that.

“Come inside and follow the instructions.”

It doesn’t take many words for me to understand that this wouldn’t be a typical coming home. She had some sort of surprise waiting for me, and I was betting it wasn’t cake or a visit from my mother-in-law. I peeked through the glass panes to the side of the door, and my heart could have stopped. Whoa!

Let me help you understand the scene. You’re looking into a foyer, you know, the entrance area just inside the front door that is functionally necessary, but then architects go and make it too large, wasting square footage that would be better spent on other rooms. And, if it’s a two-story house, the foyer opens to the ceiling so you can pay more on your heating bill.

We have such a gluttonous version, 8′ wide, 12′ or so feet deep, with a large arched farmhouse style window pane above the front door. It’s showy. There’s a fancy large chandelier that hangs there, filling the void, which no one notices unless they’re walking on the street at night when its lit. As pretentious as it sounds, it’s just the way they’ve built nicer houses for the past decade or two in these parts.

Anyway, that chandelier is in full bloom, which is odd because we only use it when we have guests. But it does a fine job of illuminating Hayley, who is sitting in the middle of the foyer on one of our dining room chairs, facing the front door. You can picture that, right? Not real complicated.

Now to get closer to why you’re reading. You’ve got the scene. Here’s your character. Hayley’s wearing her wickedly sexy 4″ black heels that have single straps that wrap around her ankles but leave almost all of the top of her feet bare. She’s got sexy feet. She knows it.

Why am I starting with her feet, you ask? I’m working my way up. She’s wearing a pair of high-cut, black see-thru panties that really amounts only to a small triangle. There’s not a hair to be found in the region. She doesn’t like shaving, but she loves it when I watch. I’m just that lucky.

There’s a blindfold, too. It’s black as they often are, but it’s one that’s particularly effective at staying in place and blocking her vision. Having spent a small fortune sampling the gamut from cheap to overpriced, she finally just made one herself that actually works. A labor of love, obviously.

Now to color the rest of your picture. No bra. Her bare breasts are pointed directly at the front door. Her legs are spread, wide. You’re looking at well-defined calves, taught sinew and muscles, creamy smooth skin… I forgot to mention she’s 28, and she looks it. Whether women or older or younger, they want to look like she does at 28. To save words, you might settle for ripe, luscious, or, heck, ready to eat.

She is a vision. She’s sitting with her back straight in the chair, her arms folded behind it. Her shoulders are square and she isn’t slouching. It’s a presentation of what I, or whoever, have been instructed to use. My cock likes the idea.

So, what am I waiting for? It takes a while to describe a scene. Sorry.

The front door isn’t even fully shut, I nudge it and it opens silently. She didn’t seem to notice anything. Imagine that, if you will, your front door open, and your naked wife on display to your front yard and beyond. I wasn’t overwhelmed to the point that it prevented me from taking a couple steps back and snapping a few photos with my phone… because I could. That’ll get me in trouble someday, the mercurial power of autonomy that can as easily make a person a hero as land them in jail.

I didn’t take long, though. I closed the door to the same point, short of latching it, figuring perhaps she could hear it if I did.

Happily, Hayley is neither a mirage nor a delusion. She’s really sitting there, her mouth slightly parted, her breasts rising and falling just a bit with each breath, and I notice something else. Earplugs. In her ears, if that wasn’t obvious. Well, well!

There’s more to notice. We have a side table in our large open foyer, because the space demands that something be in it. That table, as you might expect, bears a note on it along with a sampling of other things, those adult things that usually occupy our bedside drawers.

To be clear, we’ve got a nice assortment of such toys, and we use them playfully. They just spice up our time together. Importantly, we’re not that kinky. What Hayley is doing here… it’s blowing my mind. It’s like she double dog dared herself. It’s a varsity move, a bold and daring shift on her part. A game changer. It’s a challenge that I’ve got to meet. Right. You’ve got the picture, but you’re lacking the context.

“To whoever reads this note, use me in any way that you want. I will not resist you. I only ask that you not injure me or let me know who you are.”

And, fuck. She included the date and time and actually signed it. She’d been sitting there for an hour and a half. With the door cracked, anyone who stopped by… anyone could have stopped by. Hayley, Hayley. What’s gotten into you?

Stop. Think.

First, she’s not asking for tender love and affection, folks. Potentially rough, but not rape. Got it. Second, she wants her double dog dare experience to leave her in a state of uncertainty. I mean, she knows it’s going to be me coming through the door, but she can’t be certain, right? So, it’s up to me to puzzle out how to be someone else. My swollen cock is warring against taking the time for that.

But. I have to think, and thinking can take a little time. It’s worth it when it comes to her. She’s given me a gift. I need to return it.

I wear sneakers when I travel, so apparently any floor vibration hasn’t alerted her. Still, I slip them off. I’m not pressured to hurry, I remind myself. She doesn’t seem to know I’m there.

I can see that she has somehow been able use our Velcro cuffs to fasten her hands to the chair. They’re symbolic, of course. She’s writhed out of them before in a state of orgasm.

If she wants the illusion that it’s not me, then I can’t be here, now or when she might think about it later. That said, she absolutely expects it to be me. There are the two text messages I’ve left her, which she would come across at some point, and that leads to an idea.

I text her again. “Sorry, honey, it may be another hour or two yet. Radio says there’s a multiple vehicle accident with a possible fatality on I-85. They’re investigating. Will text again when I’m free of it.” Like I listen to the local radio. Who does that anymore?

Other than that minor point, I’m pleased with myself. Really, really pleased. I don’t have to rush this, and the longer I take, the more she’s going to think it’s me… because I otherwise should have arrived home sooner to interrupt some stranger, right? Right. And if I can fake being someone else well enough, then she can have reasonable doubts because the time on the note suggests she never got the first text.

I get to use my wife. I’m surprised at the appeal it has for me.

I’m even more pleased as I take photos and a video of her sitting there. Ladies, if you’re reading, every man wrestles with these moral demons… Yes, do it! No, it’s wrong… Blah, blah, blah. Don’t fall for his supposed virtue. If you’ve given him the opportunity, he snapped the photos. Your focus should be on if and where he shared them.

Anyway, as I captured how sexy and sensual she looks, the gears clicked to form a suitable plan.

I left her there. I know. Crazy. But, she took away her sight and hearing. That leaves the other three senses to me.

Our sense of smell is far more powerful than our sense of taste. I don’t use colognes or have samples. I don’t have other brands of my long standing Arrid Extra Dry, so I do what I can. I try to smell like her, essentially scent-less to her I’m thinking. I sparingly apply a particular lotion she likes in places that are likely to come close to her… my chest, my groin, my neck and face, my hands… you get the idea. The hotel shampoo and soap I used earlier in the day should also help.

And I brush my teeth with her toothpaste. We never resolved the Colgate/Crest divide, but I’ll cross over on this occasion. Then I scurry to my workshop area and use sandpaper to slightly roughen my fingertips. Good enough? It’s not like I can grow a bigger cock, and it’s all I can think of to do.

I make my way back to her. She’s still there, her steady breathing doing admirable things to her breasts. I hope you’ll understand that I’m a very considerate lover, but I still get aggressive at times. But there’s a certain respect that limits what I do with her. That doesn’t mean I don’t have other thoughts. “Use her.” Heck, yeah! That’s a free pass. Whose wife ever says that?

I reach over her shoulders and grab her nipples without touching her anywhere else. Her sudden intake of breath is perfect. She seems genuinely surprised. Her nipples, which hadn’t been exactly soft, stiffen immediately. Understand, I know that starting with her nipples is not what she prefers. Actually, she pretty much dislikes it until other parts of her are humming.

Still, they’re so uniquely female. They get so long when they’re excited. I squeeze harder, then pull them, first away, then up, watching her areoles stretch. I can see in the way she tenses that it’s uncomfortable, but her chest is starting to flush red and she’s not complaining.

I’m not feeling guilty about it. I’m using her, and she’s not resisting. The contract is on the table. And she can’t blame me later. I’m her mystery man. There’s a gag on the table… and as much as I think it would fit my role, I don’t think I want her that way. She really has a lovely mouth, and I want to use that, too. Maybe next time.

I release her nipples and just grab her boobs roughly, imagining I’m testing their weight like it’s the first time I’ve held them, then squeeze them to test their firmness as I ply my thumbs gently at her nipples. I can see that she’s warming up.

Hayley’s breasts… If my mouth was twice as large, I’d try to suck the whole thing inside. I’m not saying they’re edible. I’m just saying the sucking should go far beyond the tips. But I have other things in mind and let those beauties go. It’s not like I won’t be holding, or sucking, them again.

I start tracing her face with my fingers. I can feel the difference the sandpaper made, and I’m certain she can too. I trace a couple fingers along her nose, chin, jaw and around her neck. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt her face like this before, at least taking an inventory of sorts. She jumps a little, and I’m pretty sure my finger tips and the change in approach have her wondering. “Whoever” might not be me. Good.

I press the outline of her lips with my fingertip, pressing hard, something I’ve never done before. I run my finger just inside along her gums, her mouth parted for me. Her tongue follows my finger, flicking at it. She moans and licks her lip when I remove my finger. I’m surprised by the response, but I like it. Huh, who knew?

I insert my thumb between her lips. I’ve done other fingers before, but I don’t recall using my thumb. She sucks on it. And uses her tongue. Good girl. I’ll be giving her something else to suck on shortly.

Her breasts draw me back to them. They’re magnificent. I work my hands under them again, lifting them, looking toward the door and imagining some neighbor walking by and seeing exactly what they hope to see when they peer into others’ windows. Furniture? Maybe. Wall color? Perhaps. A naked woman? Well, yeah. Especially if they know there’s a 28-year-old hottie in the house. If not, that’s fine. I’m cool with being me.

I get more than I bargained for. I catch some movement at the door as I turn away, and look back to see a man, maybe in his 30’s, his face almost on the window, grinning, looking in. He actually pushes the door open, and I give him the fiercest look as he tries to enter, pointing away. I can’t shout, as I’m sure Hayley would hear that. Despite having two feet in the foyer, he got the point, held up some flyer in a plastic sleeve, smiled and dropped it on the floor.

I quietly shut the door fully, my eyes following him as far as I could. Door to door sales. Kind of late in the day for that, fella. I look back at Hayley, who is still sitting there, looking stunning. I wonder if the guy had taken a picture… because he could. I would have. I’d like to say that the thought angered me. I was shocked to find how much it actually turned me on.

Back to business. I decide I want to play with Hayley just a little more before going somewhere else. I trail my fingers from her lips down her neck, between her breasts and down to the edge of her panties, taking my time there but stopping short of touching her most sensitive area. Her legs tremble. That pleases me.

The whole foyer scene is limiting and running a bit stale. She’s sexy as hell, sitting in a chair like that, her legs spread, but it’s very limiting. Strangely, the thought then occurs that the sales guy was probably just following the instructions on the door. Maybe he thought they were from me. Huh. I’d be excited, too.

I need to use my wife. I unfasten her hands. I help her from the chair, happily noting the wet spot where she had been sitting, then turn her, firmly holding her arms behind her to march her to… where? Well, the simplest solution is the thing in front of me, which is the couch in our den. Or… the back of it. That works, and I promptly fold her over it. It’s a damned sexy thing to see your wife in heels and her ass bent over a couch. I might have taken a couple quick pictures of it, in fact.

Then I press several fingers against her cunt through the fabric of her panties. She’s soaked. I slip two fingers around her panty and inside her. I don’t know if she came, but I could feel her convulsion against my fingers. I turn my hand slightly, and head for her g-spot. Finally, finally, she speaks her first words. “Fuck me. Please.” Nice to meet you too. It wasn’t a demand or a request. It was just a statement of need. I could write it off as that, but I don’t know that she had ever actually said those words before. Clearly, she was not resisting and not even suggesting that she was in charge in any way. I wasn’t willing to do that just yet, but still, she deserved something.

It was time for the panties to go. I pull them down, forcibly, and take a bite at one of her butt cheeks. She makes some fluttering noises, and I think it means that it hurts and she likes it. Or, one or the other.

I resume fucking her with two fingers then for a good while, enjoying the sensation, her moans, the smell of her cunt… the usual things. Then I stop with them inside her. She wriggles her ass around and against my fingers. “I need your cock inside me!” she begs. I count that as progress. I add a third finger. I’m a giver. “More!” Yeah, she’s hooked, but I’m not, at least on fingers. I wipe them off on her face and neck.

We’ve done a lot of things together, kinky things but not anything that’s painful. Looking at the remains of my bite, a nibble really, on her butt presents an idea to me. We’d never discussed it. Her buns were just sitting there at the top edge of the couch, exposed in all their glory. So, I rub my palm against one of them, feeling her curves, the taught muscles within, the soft fuzz without. It’s nothing like a massage, but an appreciation. And I spank her. Not soft. Not hard. A slap? Yeah. Testing the waters, so to speak. She gasps, followed by a little squeal. That’s not an indication of unpleasantness by any means. It’s quite the night of discovery. Okay, then.

I spank her again but on the other cheek, a more solid swat. My hand tingles with the impact. She makes a little cry, which is quite a different thing than an objection. I spank her again, and again. And again a few times; you get the idea. More squeals, a few cries, and towards the end, moans. She likes it. I work her to a shade of red that I thought would remain in her consciousness but wouldn’t interfere with other things to come. I’m no expert, but we’ll soon see.

While the demons on my shoulder are arguing how and when and where to fuck her, I take a few pictures. Because I can. Because her ass is a warm red and her cunt lips are dripping.

“More,” she begs. More spanking or more fingers inside her? Or more “Anything” because she’s annoyed that I wasn’t playing with her while taking pictures?

There couldn’t be a discussion, so I did both. She was pushing to meet my finger thrusts, using her arms to push against the couch. Who’s using who here? I gave each cheek what I’d call a “Mighty slap” that echoed off our ceilings and caused her to stand vertical again. Ouchies, huh? I checked her face. Her mouth remained open in what seemed a persistent state of wanton desire. If there were any tears behind the blindfold, they wouldn’t be the kind I’d feel guilty about.

“Please,” she said, “Fuck me with your cock. I need cock.” I really, really want to. But I want to user her how and when I want. My thought was “Go fuck yourself.” It’s not something I’d ever say to her, or even think. But here I was, thinking it. That said, there was nothing stopping me. Her. Anyway, she could fuck herself.

There was a little maneuvering to be done, so I made a game of it, I guess. I held out her right hand and slapped her right bun. I held out her left hand and slapped her left bun. I lifted them both to point forward and slapped both buns. Silly, I know.

I slapped both again and gave her a nudge. She got the idea and started moving. With not that many slaps, she was back in the foyer, her heels clicking on the hardwood flooring. It was now almost dark outside, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Mr. Salesman had parked his car in the street to keep watch. Why would this guy seeing Hayley naked upend years of a prideful mindset of keeping her to myself? No time for that now.

I reached to the side table for the toy I had in mind, then pressed my hands on top of her shoulders pressing her down to a squat. I placed the chair to one side so she could grasp it with a hand for balance, then I placed a fat 10″ dildo with a suction cup in her other hand.

She took a moment to realize what it was, then she placed it on the floor beneath her cunt and sank onto it. I quickly got another chair from the adjacent dining room and placed it beside her so she could balance herself with both hands. Don’t mistake this as a chivalrous notion to protect the lady from falling over. This was about me. I didn’t want her hunched over and obstructing my view.

It had a 1″ suction base topped with a 10″ dildo. I know the measurements because I bought it. It’s thick through its length and broadens more in the last five inches. Though she never objected, she had made some funny eyes about it, and it had remained the toy that was never used. Well, to my knowledge. Until now.

It took her some time, not to get it in as wet as she was, but to explore its depth. She was tentative. And I understood. I’m a patient man, especially when I’m recording her. Again… because I could. Your honor, it was only by her written instruction that I used her in this way. Plausible.

It didn’t take long for her to start enjoying her self-fuck. Just watching the muscles in her abdomen and thighs were worth the moment. But watching her cunt take the monster… that won out. When she filled herself, I could see the base and about an inch and a half of visible dildo. That’s 8.5″ to her apparent satisfaction.

Math is just something that happens in my brain. I don’t know that I really needed to know that answer. I try not to be jealous of porn stars when we watch such, but damn. The math didn’t lie. I don’t measure up to what she was demonstrating she could take. Enjoyably take. Damn. And, she wasn’t being quiet about it.

To see her in that state as she was pleasing herself… A beautiful face, a beautiful body, a beautiful pleasure. I took my own share of pleasure from it, sure, but not to the degree that she was. She was in another place. Hayley’s moans, that sensuous set in her jaw and open mouth, her flushed breasts lest you forget… They’re the siren’s call on the rocks, drawing me closer.

I stripped. The pre-cum wasn’t unexpected. I just might have been rubbing myself watching my wife put on a show for her anonymous partner. But it was time for a more direct pleasure.

I place my hands on her shoulders when she bottoms out, holding her there. I close in, pointed my rock-hard cock at her lips, grab her head, and introduce the two. Her lips parted readily. Oral sex can make a guy feel like the king of the world for a time, with a willing woman tending to his cock with her lips, tongue and mouth, her subservient eyes looking up to his. This wasn’t quite that time due to the blindfold, but I’m not complaining.

I wrap my fingers in her hair, my hands wrap against the curvature of her skull, this woman I love. And, I hold it steady while I fuck her mouth. She can’t take me all the way in, and I don’t try to force that. But she did what she could to accommodate me. What she was doing with her tongue and teeth are on the periphery of my awareness as my orgasm approaches. And never mind that her hands had found my butt and were urging me on.

Sure, I’d like to have lasted longer, but, hey, I’d been gone a week. And then found her in this particularly exploitable state. Other circumstances, sure, I could last longer. Don’t judge me. But, as things stood, I didn’t want to. This was pretty raw. You ever fuck your wife’s mouth before? I hadn’t, not like this.

I came in her mouth, maybe in her throat. I could hear her struggle. The occasion deserved one last blast in her mouth as I withdrew and let go of her head. I stroked myself to completion, coming in her hair, on her blindfold and nose. She didn’t swallow it all, but she tried. The rest dripped from her mouth and onto her breasts.

Granted, I didn’t expect to come home and give her a facial, because we hadn’t done that since we dated. But that doesn’t mean I don’t keep the idea in the back of mind when I try to avoid masturbating on a trip.

I press my cock against her lips, and she uses her tongue to clean me off. She’s done that before, but she’s definitely more into it now. I think its part of being used. And she’s enjoying it. She’s a vision and, well, well. King for a day!

And my day wasn’t over. My cock wasn’t going soft per the usual way of things, but it needed some time, still. She was a cum covered mess, and, you guessed it. I took a few pictures. She’d also stopped her motion on the dildo, and the caring part of me realized she was probably sore from squatting. It was time for something else, so I helped her up, took satisfaction in the pool of juices on and around the dildo and turned her to face the den.

I didn’t take her there, though. You see something, you do something. Instead, I stop her at the dining room door frame, place her hands against it and bend her over a bit. And spread her legs. Her tits just hung there, like they do. I use a finger to gather some of my cum off of the left one and place it at her mouth. She licked it off, and actually panted a bit. It sounded a little forced, like she trying a more subtle way of saying “Fuck me.”

I trail a finger from her neck down to the base of her spine. I step behind her and lightly press the tip of my cock against her cunt. She arches her back against me and whispers “Finally…”

She was hot and wet, and my cock was ready. But it still was not the time. I spank her instead. No reason for it. Maybe her cheeks weren’t as red as they had been. Maybe I don’t like her telling me what she wants. Maybe I’m taking the “Use her” thing seriously. It’s all that. I squeeze them after each slap, too. And, I enjoy doing it, feeling no guilt because she moans after each slap. Maybe she understands that I’ll make the decisions.

Spying the carpet in the den, I spank towards it… patting, really, at this point. Her cheeks are red. I guided her to the floor and had her lie on the carpet, which I could only imagine didn’t help her with the heat coming off her butt. Her face tensed, so, yeah, she’s sensitive. I quickly retrieve the restraints, rearrange our coffee table, and fasten her hands to the table legs.

Speaking of legs, I spread hers. Her thighs were wet with her juices, and her pussy was remained red, pouty and parted. I could call it her clean-shaven cunt. It’s all about context. I don’t eat cunt. I eat pussy.

I take my time getting to my feast. The appetizer comes first. Her inner thighs are very, very sensitive when we play. The appetizer comes first. I use my fingers and tongue beginning at her calf and work my way up both legs in stages. She whimpers as I make my way to that enticing fold between her legs.

About 3/4 of the way up, Hayley chose to speak again. “Please, I need you inside me.” What the heck! She had to understand what I was getting to. I blow gently across her labia and hear her intake of breath. I bring my hands down the sides of her hips and insert them partly under her buns. Her face tenses again, and I imagine it hurts. But she still isn’t complaining. Dinner is served.

It sets her off. Her legs fold across my back, pulling me closer to her most sensitive spots. She tastes sweet, a replenishing supply of fluid honey. Her “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” is ample evidence she is enjoying herself as I lick around and within her. But this is my show, and I feel like I have to remind her of that.

I remove my hands from underneath her and instead use them to press against her mons, in part to reduce her wriggling, and also so I can pull her skin back, exposing her clit for direct attention with my tongue. I resume my meal, and she does crazy things. Crazy things enough that I was glad we didn’t have anything breakable on the coffee table or live in an apartment with thin walls. She was in that state of uninhibited response that probably every guy seeks… and I wasn’t even fucking her yet. Moans, groans… there were a lot of primitive sounds coming from her that might have been the foundation of language itself.

She came, noisily, if you hadn’t figured that out. She was entitled. And I knew that wouldn’t be the end of her needs. Once again, I used my phone to capture her as the hiccups of body convulsions slowed. Beautiful. As always. In any state.

My head solved some math, and I texted her that the traffic seemed to be clearing and that I’d be home in about 45 minutes. That gave me about 25 minutes as I saw it, to further enjoy and, finally, fuck my wife.

Hayley has sexy feet. They’re incredibly sensitive, and she cares for them. Not for moments like this, I knew, because we’d never had moments like the ones I was thinking about. Shame on me, really, but there wasn’t a better time for it, with her splayed on the carpet, catching her breath.

I back up a bit, raise her foot to my mouth and kiss along the top of it. She responds with an “Oh… Fuuuuck.” She said it in a way that I think had some to do with how it felt, certainly. But I think was the final persuasive point that she someone other than husband was doing it. Yeah, tough spot you put yourself in there, kiddo.

So I unfasten her heels, slipped her shoes from her feet and suck on her toes. They were soapy clean. I imagine that she sat in the tub imagining this moment, working on her resolve. She writhed, her mouth distorted in an “Oh!” of shock rather than an “Oh!” of climax. Alright, then. I’ll give you more.

I lick the soles of her foot and eventually lick, caress or suck on every toe. It elicits a whole different type of response from her. I could tell the way she wriggled the feeling was intense. Eventually, it prompts an earnest, “Oh, fuck. Who are you?” I like that.

I raise her leg higher and lick from her ankle to her calf, making little bites along the way. Again, it’s not like me. It’s not like I’ve never played in less erogenous areas like her calf, but I’d never done it like that.

She was breathing very heavily, enough that I was surprised she could gather herself to speak.

“This was a surprise I intended for Steven, my husband. If you’re holding back because I’m married, I want this. I want you to fuck me. And I want you to hurry, because he should have been back by now. Please.” Oh, man. It was time. She probably expected to be fucked repeatedly, starting when I discovered her. Her body was shaking slightly, and she whimpered a barely audible, “It’s okay to cum inside me. I want you to.”

King for a day, indeed. I’m jealous of myself. And, at the same time, I’m bewildered by my wife who just said something that I never, ever would imagine her saying. I’m floored. I’m angry. I’m jealous. I’m caught short that I don’t know or understand all her needs. I’m rock hard.

I look at her, her wrists red, her mouth open, dried cum still on her face and breasts, her cunt drenched, her body flushed to a consistent shade of “Hot as fuck.”

My wife. I love her more each day, including this one. I very much want to cum inside her.

But not on the carpet. That would be cruel at this point. And I don’t want to use a bed. Beds are for making love, and this wasn’t that.

I unfasten the ties from the table legs, still leaving the restraints on her wrists, however. I help her stand, noticing that her rear looks inflamed, so enough of that. I direct her towards the sliding door to our back deck by holding her… neck. I had reached for her hand, but stopped in time. I’m someone else.

I stop her and reach ahead to open the sliding door. She stiffens at the sound, understandably. I check that her ear plugs are still in place. They are. It must have been the rumbling vibration and her sense of the room. “No, please,” she begs. “The neighbors…”

Well, tough luck, chick. They’re my neighbors too. They weren’t in a line of sight to our deck, so what were they going to say? “Hey, I heard you had a great time last night!” They didn’t know us that well. And besides, her mystery lover wouldn’t care.

I gave a hard pat to both cheeks, and she didn’t otherwise resist. When we reach the deck railing, I grab a seat cushion from a lounger and drape it over the edge. Then I bend her over it and loosely secured her restraints to the balusters.

It was twilight. The stars were coming out. It was in the upper 70’s. There was a slight breeze. And I fucked her. I’ll spare you the details.

Well, okay, I won’t. I’ve never slipped inside her so easily. My cock could have fallen into her. She was beyond wet, of course, but the dildo she had used earlier had obviously stretched her. And the heat inside her… wow.

I’d recovered fully from my earlier orgasm, and it didn’t take long find myself pleased that I had all the staying power I wanted. Sometimes it’s a yes; usually it’s a no. This was the perfect occasion for a yes, thank the god of dickdom.

Like I said, I fucked her. I reached for her hanging breasts, groping them, squeezing them hard. I tweaked her nipples in my carnal delight. And then I became the mystery guy, doing things that were different. I raked her back with my fingernails, like she does to me sometimes. I gathered her hair and pulled at it fairly hard as I thrust inside her. I placed my hands at her throat, exerting pressure but not to the point of choking her. I slapped her butt cheeks occasionally too, because I could. But I never stopped fucking her.

Hayley was incredible. She was strength itself the way she rocked her hips into each thrust. She was valiant in restraining her groans from nosy neighbors. Still, she couldn’t help herself at times, and I could swear I could hear the echo from the trees of my balls slapping against her ass. I didn’t care. The neighbors could gather around and watch for all I cared. My world was caught up in the sensation of her.

At some point, she worked her hands free of restraints, and she backed me up so she could grab the railings and present her cunt to me at an optimum angle. I took what was offered. I was beyond ready, though I didn’t want it, all of it, to end. I shortly blew load after load into her depths. “Yes, yes, yesssss!” escaped her lips, and I could feel her contract with her own orgasm at the same time, a rarity for us.

We remained there, a short time really, catching our breaths until my cock finally slipped out. I wanted to embrace her, hold her close. I couldn’t. It’s time to move on. I grab her neck again with one hand and slap her butt with the other.

I direct her inside, leaving the door open. Why would I care? It isn’t my house. And, my timer is winding down.

“What will you do to me now?” she asked. Then her tone changed to something more directing, “You should leave.” Her nervousness was apparent, the fantasy fulfilled, the ecstasy reached. What remained, I can tell from her voice, was the uncertainty of who I was and the possibility of getting caught.

I walk her back to the foyer, and she doesn’t resist. As we walk, I grab the Sharpie from a stack of papers on a corner table. Ideas just come, and they make me question my morality. What state should her husband find her in? Well, she’d have 15 to 20 minutes to figure that out for herself when I left.

“Let me know when you’re leaving by squeezing my nipples, and I’ll count to 100 slowly before I remove my blindfold,” she said. “And…” There was a long pause. “Thank you.”

Just because we’re in the foyer doesn’t mean I’m ready to leave, dear wife who thanks a stranger for using her. I mvoe behind her and write “Spank Me!” in giant letters on her butt cheeks, one word on each.

“Noooo,” she pleaded, when she figured out what I was doing. I turn her around, backing her against the wall. I place a hand across her mouth, making a point that I don’t want to hear her complain, and remove it. She didn’t say anything. I write “Great tits!” on her left breasts and made a smiley face on the other, her nipple the nose.

And then, because I could… which I admit has gotten me in trouble over the years… I draw a long, curved arrow right down to her cunt and write between her hips, “BEST FUCK EVER! T.J.” The initials were random. But there is truth in advertising.

Another idea took, and I fetch a pen. I hold her palm out and write a yahoo email address that I use for online sites that I suspect will spam me with ads, one that I’m pretty certain she knows nothing about. “What are you writing?” she asks. Hehe.

Then I put her back in her chair and refasten the restraints, loosely. She will have things to do and fast. I quickly get dressed, make sure I have everything and take a photo of her yet again. She looks gloriously used. I hadn’t kissed her on the mouth and decided not to now. What would a stranger do that just ravaged her? I give her a wide, wet lick across her lips to the tip of her nose. It was the perfect capstone as it turned out. I could see her deflate, her posture folding in, whatever hopes that it might have been me dashed. She’d just been sexually used… by someone else.