This story began as a conversation with BethAnne, who kindly allowed me to develop it further. It finished with bridgetkeeney’s excellent editing. Any mistakes in between are mine. Thanks to BlessedBe for the title. I hope you enjoy my first BDSM tale.
“Ted, you have to come to our Super Bowl Party!”, your husband insisted. That’s how it all started, so blame him.
I was new to your cozy Midwestern neighborhood. My Silicon Valley employer had survived the dot.com meltdown by staying focused on high-tech security systems. September 11 made our systems a hot item. I was transferred here to develop new markets, spending one week a month at head office, two traveling, and just one at my new home. So, buying a town home in the condo development was a nice solution. Little did I suspect that in Middle America, rather than swingers and lifestyle folks, the other owners would be middle-aged empty nesters like you and your hubby.
Fortunately for me, a few young looking trophy wives spent their days sunning themselves around the community pool. On my “home” weeks, I worked out of the spare room in the condo, spending hours on the phone. I quickly discovered that when the husbands went to work, the bikini tops dropped off, and the loveliest ladies seemed to need the most help getting oil applied to their chests. I watched out my window, wondering if the women preferred helping each other, or if I should lend a hand. I was daydreaming about the question, lounging by the pool, when Jerry approached me. My guard was down, so I said yes.
When Jerry invited my to the party, I must admit I wasn’t even sure which wife you were. The twenty-something blonde stewardess with the silicon implants? The freckle faced red headed gal with tiny perky boobs topped by nipples that stuck out like thumbs? The raven haired European looking babe with the all over tan that liked flashing the maintenance guys? The one I labeled “the tigress”, because of her long , streaked hair and the tattoo curling stripper style up her leg?
Despite not being a football fan, the prospect of cutting one of those fine fillies out of a herd was a challenge that warmed my heart. I was still enjoying the dominant lifestyle during my trips to the home office, but experiences on the road were rare in the mainly Bible Belt industrial towns I visited. Visits to Literotica only fueled my fires. I needed a sub soon. Something told me I might find one at the party. I hoped she might be a newbie, trainable to my style. I never suspected it would be you, Jerry’s prim proper wife.
I arrived on Super Bowl Sunday an hour before game time, bearing a fresh salad and two liters bourbon. The party was in full swing. Jerry was barbequing early, so as not to miss a moment of his precious game. He greeted me warmly, and waved me through the patio door into your kitchen.
I had never seen you by the pool. You were certainly no trophy wife. I had labeled you “Church Lady” in my mind, because I usually spotted you getting into your SUV on Sunday, dressed very sedately in blue, gray or taupe, your superb chest well supported but camoflagued by loose fitting tops and ‘iron maiden’ bras.
Super Bowl Sunday, however, your makeup was bold, and you were dressed more appealingly, though still conservatively, in a baggy sweater and long flowing skirt. I couldn’t help noticing that as you moved about the kitchen, the skirt swirled, its slit revealing very fine legs. I remember that moment brought a smile to my face. ‘Maybe this party won’t be a total bore after all,’ I mused.
I had entered quietly, so when you turned to bring more meat out to the cavemen on the patio, you spun right into me. I inhaled your essence. “Mmmmmm. Baby powder and barbeque, my fave.” I couldn’t help teasing. You giggled appreciatively before stepping out to finish your errand. Once back inside, we introduced ourselves. You took my salad bowl, and stashed the bourbon on Jerry’s well stocked bar.
“Where are all the women?” I asked.
“Oh, this is a guy thing. Every year, the wives rent chick flicks, and get together at one unit. The only woman at it is the hostess. None of us trust our husbands to manage domestically when football is on. They become so focused on the game, you could blow off a cannon and not get their attention.”
This seemed a natural cue for me to volunteer to help you get the food organized in time for the game. With Jerry and his Neanderthal chums coming in and out , I pursued you slowly, just occasionally rubbing up against you. After the first pass or two, I noticed the stiffness leave your body. Before game time, I fed you five double bourbons. By kick-off, you were bumping into me as willing as I was rubbing you.
Once the game started, Jerry and the other guys all settled around the big screen TV in the great room. I had to pretend some level of interest, so I claimed a seat on a stool strategically behind the group, off at the end by the kitchen. This allowed me to see the guys, the game, and still watch you serving. Your description of the football-induced coma of the guys was accurate. Except for the odd “ nice hit!”; “shitty call, ref!”; or “another beer , Alice!”; they seemed pre-verbal. As the beer flowed freely, several started to get sleepy and snooze, including Jerry.
I helped you clear away the barbeque remnants, and put out the pretzels and popcorn. Each trip to the kitchen, I got bolder. First, I pressed my body against yours. “Please, Ted, no,” you whispered, but not angrily, more like fear of Jerry seeing. As you said it, you turned your face to mine, smiling. I stole a quick kiss on the lips, darting away, leaving you wanting more.
Next trip, I noticed that you hard taken off the sweater. Underneath, you wore a plain white shirt. I massaged your shoulders, letting my hands flow down your back, ending by rubbing your butt. This time, you just murmured “Oh, Ted, be careful, Jer...” I swallowed the word in my mouth, pulling your head to mine, delivering a deep meaningful kiss. Again, I left you speechless in the kitchen.
Third trip, you had unbuttoned the shirt to the top of your breasts, and tied it into a knot below. I pinned you against the counter, starting with a long hard tongue-wrestling kiss. Your protests were reduced to groans, that became moans. As you twisted to see if Jerry was busy, I slid my hands through the opening in your shirt, inside your bra. I twisted your already hard nipples. “Tonight, Alice, I want you to know what a real man is like. A man who knows that women need to be taken, and used, and that women know pleasure only after giving up their will. I am that man, and after tonight, I will own you. You will still be married to Jerry, still fuck him, but only cum for me. Can Jerry even make you cum?”
Stunned silence for a moment, then you answered. “I never cum with him. We almost never have sex. When we do, he cums in two minutes, rolls off and starts snoring. If it wasn’t for my toys, I would be helpless. I need a real man.”
The second half was just starting. Jerry and his cronies had returned their beer to the water cycle, and were settling in for Nap, Part Two. I instructed you to wait ten minutes, then come sit on my lap.
“What about Jerry?” you worried.
“He won’t even notice. Besides, the guys are sprawled on every available square inch of furniture. Just tell him my lap is the only empty spot.”
I was right though, Jerry focused what little energy he had on the game, not even asking you for fresh beer. You were nicely settled on my lap. After a few moments, without warning, I slid my hands up inside your shirt, re-enacting from behind the actions from earlier in the kitchen. You started to murmur in protest, But I shushed you, whispering , “Any noise might get Jerry’s attention, so we must stay silent.”
With that caution, I started moving boldly, my hands brusquely twisting your nipples under your shirt, hubby still oblivious.
You started shuddering with the effort to be quiet. “I am very loud when aroused,” you whispered, tongue teasing my ear. Without answering, I lifted you up, using your breasts as handles. As I settled you sit back on my lap, I released one breast, freeing my hand to push your skirt aside. You discovered I have freed my hard cock. It pushed right past your panties into your soaking wet pussy.
“Right here, Ted? Umm on your lap? I’m scared to death...but super aroused...and you are so very daring! So bold...brash...and hard!” you turned your face to me, smiling . You continued to slowly, discretely grind your pussy around my hardness while I roughed up your breasts, your moans drowned out by the noise of the game.
I whispered in your ear as the guys cheered a play, “Take me somewhere that I can put a condom on before I cum.”
You responded breathlessly, “ yesssssssssssssssss ...”. then you took my hand. I tried to hide my erection in my pants, but the zipper wouldn’t close. We carefully slipped out of the room, trying not to be noticed. We cut through the kitchen, our cover, if caught, being getting more snacks. You led me upstairs to the master bedroom. You closed and locked the door.
