For The Weekend Pt 02 Ch 01

(Author's note: please note this is a continuation of my story "For The Weekend", and will probably make more sense if you read that first. I like to develop plot and characters, so if you are looking for a quick read, this may not be for you. While I do my best not to test the reader's willful suspension of disbelief too much, this ultimately is a story of fantasy—some of mine, some of my husband's, and some suggestions from the readers who have been encouraging me to continue this story. This is not real-life—no one catches diseases in this world, no one gets pregnant, no one is emotionally scarred. If you are not into stories about willingly submissive women, this story is probably not for you.)

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Sunday. Laundry day. Outside, the freezing rain spattering against the window makes the thought of household chores bearable but not desireable. I would much rather be curled up on the couch in front of the woodstove with my husband Rich, but tasks that cannot be done during the week must be done now. I pass through the kitchen on my way to the laundry room, a basket of underwear bouncing off my thighs as I carry them past the table where Rich sits, checking e-mail.

"Tim wants to know if I could make you available Wednesday night." I freeze in place at this announcement from my husband and look about, nervously checking to see if the kids are in earshot. I quickly remember they are both at friend's houses for most of the day, and look at Rich.

"Wednesday night?" I reply, my mind trying to buy time while I process what is being asked for.

"Yeah, he's in town for a meeting that afternoon." Rich's mouth twitches, a hint of a smile sneaking into the corner of his lip. He knows I've been thrown off my stride...

"For dinner?" I ask, my mind racing as I wonder exactly what his plan is. I've seen him four times in the past six months now. Our first meeting was an entire weekend, the second a one-night stay-over in his city, the third a dinner in mine, and the last, a lunch, here as well. The decrease in time spent with him has led me to wonder if he is growing bored with our arrangement—that first weekend was full of new experiences for me, and the second time seemed to be for him to solidify my obedience to him. Our dinner together had ended with me satisfying him orally in his car before he sent me home (the idea that we might be seen by a passerby both terrified and excited me), and the extent of our contact during lunch had been him kissing me gently on the forehead as he headed off to his appointment. Has he decided I'm just not making the grade?

Rich types something. "I'll ask." I begin to move towards the washer again, my mind over-analyzing the request. I load the machine and move back into the kitchen when I hear the ding of an instant message being received. "An overnighter," he says. "Dinner, and then entertainment. Pack a bag if you plan on going to work the next day."

I try to act nonchalant. "I guess I'm available, if you can take care of things here." Inside, I'm excited at the idea of spending the night in the guise of my alter ego.

At home, I'm a loving wife and mother, working a nine-to-five job as an admin in a legal office, taking care of my husband and children, doing all of the things moms around the world do. I love my husband deeply, and cannot imagine life without him. And yet, for small periods of time, I belong to someone else. Someone who controls my actions, whose needs come first and decides whether my own needs, wants and desires are to be fulfilled at that time. That first weekend was an experiment, a test, and was a fantasy that I realized I wished to repeat, and that my husband was comfortable with me living out.

"No worries here," he says with more of his smile creeping in. "So, shall I give him permission to use you?"

I nod shyly, and wait for him to begin typing again. He presses the enter key with a flourish, and looks up at me expectantly. I avert my gaze and leave the room, ostensibly to gather more laundry, in reality to await my husband in our bedroom, naked and spread for him. He does not disappoint, and we make love, the knowledge of what I have committed to driving us both. I am comforted by the fact that it is Rich I am thinking of during our coupling, and not Tim.

The week passes slowly, the excitement of something new and forbidden upcoming in my routine making my work days seem very dull. The one thing that does worry me is that Tim will be meeting me in the town Rich and I live in. Indeed, we'll be having dinner just a quarter mile from my office. Will someone see me and think I'm having an affair? What if they see me going in or coming out of the hotel with a strange man? What if Tim makes me do something risqué? I grudgingly realize that the fear of all of these things are part of what makes what I am about to do so exciting.

I spend Wednesday afternoon trying to decide if I should change into something a bit sexier after work, or remain in my office attire. The officewear wins out, if for no other reason so as not to attract any more attention than necessary. I abandon any pretenses of concentration at 5pm and drive the short distance to the restaurant. I park next to Tim's white Ford truck and go inside, trying my best to look calm and relaxed while my stomach is knotted up from the anxiety of what may happen over the next twelve hours. A stop at the hostess's station lets me scan the parts of the dining room I can see, looking for his salt-and pepper hair above the other diners. I spot him off in the corner and refuse the hostess's help, moving through the partly-full room towards him, trying to project an air of confidence as I walk. He sees me and smiles in greeting, getting up to meet me and pull out my chair, ever the perfect gentleman. Tim kisses me on the cheek as I reach the table. "Very nice to see you," he says, waiting for me to sit. "You look wonderful."

"Thank you, so do you," I tell him, keeping eye contact as I sit. He does, really. A grey suit and white shirt, dark blue tie, your typical savvy businessman. Just as I have my alter ego, so does he...

We talk as two old friends for the next hour, comparing notes from our lives as we eat and drink. I continued to scan the room for anyone I might know, anyone who might question my choice of company. Tim seems to be most interested in my life outside of home and work, and soon I am telling him about my friends. Most of my stories are about Anne, my closest friend. I tell him how we have been friends ever since she and her husband Dennis moved to the neighborhood nine years ago, how Dennis had been killed by a drunk driver three years ago, and how the insurance settlements had allowed her to work as a free-lance museum consultant and volunteer her time to various organizations.

"Is she romantically involved with anyone?" Tim's question catches me a little off-guard, but I answer quickly.

"No, a few dates, but nothing serious. I don't think she's ready for anything serious..."

"Is she sexually active?" I'm even more taken aback by this question, but answer anyways.

"I think she's had a couple of one-night stands, but nothing recently." My normal reserve in talking about such matters is down, and I add in a low voice, "I think one of them was with her college roommate. She told me once they had done that several times back in when they were younger, and she always wanted to try it again."

"So, do you think she's a Lesbian?" he asks. Tim doesn't seem to passing judgement, just asking as if were inquiring about her preferences in dress styles.

"Oh no," I assure him quickly. "She's always seemed a bit more sexually open than me. I think she just saw the opportunity and made the most of it."

"Did she ever make a pass at you?"

I stop and think a moment. "I don't think so," I say slowly, thinking that until six months ago, I probably would have been too naïve to recognize an advance from another woman for what it was. Until that first weekend, the thought of another woman was fantasy material for sessions with my vibrator, not real-life...

Tim smiles, as if he knows something I don't, and the subject gradually changes to other topics. We finish dinner and our drinks, the alcohol sharpening the anticipation of what I know must be coming. The check comes and he squares it away, rising and gallantly moving to help me out of my own chair. We move to the parking lot together, still scanning the diners for familiar faces as I go. I climb into my SUV and start the engine as he stands by the open door.

"The Fairfield," he says in the form of a command. "I'll meet you there. And you will remove everything underneath your coat before I see you again. Whatever you take off can be left on the passenger seat. Do you understand?"

I nod, shocked at the request, thankful that I had worn my London Fog today, and not my ski parka . "Yes."

"Good." With that, he gently shuts my door and moves to his truck. My mind begins to weigh my immediate choices. Should I take my outfit off here, or in the parking lot of the hotel? Is there someplace else in between that might be better? The nearby lampposts do not seem to throw too much light into my car, and I decide to risk it now. I unbutton my coat and begin to work on the garments underneath. Skirt, pantyhose and underwear come off easily enough, but I realize that to remove my shirt and bra, I'll need to remove the coat as well. I prepare as best I can, unbuttoning and unclasping, then quickly lean forward and allow the sleeves of the London Fog to slide off my arms and down my back. Everything is quickly removed down to bare skin, the chill air puckering my now-exposed nipples. Task completed, the coat is tugged back into place, buttoned quickly as much to retain heat as to avoid embarrassment. I sit for a moment and think. One more item lies beneath the fabric. A piece of jewelry, probably not what Tim had in mind when he gave me my directions, but technically under my coat...I reach down and remove a small piece of cut crystal, shaped much like a wine stopper and inlaid with an emerald, from my asshole. Tim had bought this for me on my first weekend with him. He had directed me to wear it whenever we meet, and I had inserted it during my last stop in the bathroom before leaving work. I hold the piece up to briefly examine it before gathering my clothes from the floor and steering wheel, then straighten and lay them on the passenger seat next to me . The crystal, bra and panties are stuffed underneath the skirt in the hopes any passers-by will just think it's dry cleaning to be dropped off. Satisifed, I drive the three miles to the hotel.

The Fairfield is the nicest hotel in our town. Not nearly as nice as the hotel Tim selected for my first weekend, but still much better than a room you might rent by the hour. I pull in to see his truck already there, engine still running to provide heat in on this below-freezing evening. He climbs out as he sees me pull in and walks to where I am parking several spots over, my reasoning being that if our vehicles are not together, others will not guess we are actually there together, either. He is at my door as I remove the key from the ignition. I open the door to get out, but he steps in front of the opening and stops me. "Let's see."

I know what he is asking for. I move back into my seat and began unbuttoning the coat, looking around nervously to see if my parking spot affords anyone a view. I am somewhat satisfied with my inspection, and finish the unbuttoning. Tim reaches in and flips back the edges of the coat, revealing my nakedness. "Good," he says, weighing my left breast with his hand before moving the flaps back into place. "No buttons," he says. "The belt should do just fine." I want to protest, but realize that is probably not a good idea and do my best to cinch the sash around me as he steps out of my way. I finally step out, my coat parting dangerously as one foot is put on the ground while the other is still in the SUV. I swear I can feel cold air against my pussy. The other foot quickly follows the first to the ground while Tim reaches into the backseat and takes my overnight bag.

We enter the hotel lobby together, a bored teenage night clerk behind the counter. She looks up briefly and mumbles a greeting before returning to whatever has her interest behind the counter. I keep my hands folded in front of me, hoping to hold the coat shut as we walk. Tim leads the way down the hallway to the left of the counter, finally stopping at room 122. Removing a keycard from his pocket, he swipes it through the lock and pushes the door open, holding it for me to enter.

It's your typical hotel room, desk directly in front of me, king-sized bed to my right. I see Tim has already been here, his bag on the chair, a grocery bag on the table. The door shuts behind me and Tim moves by, dropping his jacket on the back of the chair under the desk. He turns to look at me. I untie the belt and push the London Fog off of my shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, standing there in nothing but a pair of heels, his eyes traveling up and down my form. Even after my previous times with him, I still feel self-conscious revealing myself to him like this, totally exposed to this man. He is obviously pleased with my condition.

He kicks off his loafers and loosens his tie. "Come here." I walk to him, not averting my eyes in total submission, but not making eye contact with him, either. I stop just before him and focus on the remains of the knot in his tie. My gaze goes lower as his hands come to his belt buckle and loosen it, then the button of his pants. The zipper slides down with a gentle buzz, and his hands push both pants and underwear down. "Suck me."

I kneel in front of him and am at mouth level with the semi-hard cock peeking out from the folds of his shirt. My fingers gently take hold of the slowly stiffening rod and I bring my lips to it, kissing the head, inhaling his musk. Even after a day of being trapped, it smells wonderful, so manly. I bathe the length with my tongue, down the sides, over the top, underneath, drawing my tongue through the split in his glans. His balls are next, warm and full, the heat still emanating from them as I kiss and take them into my mouth, being careful not to do anything that might cause him pain. The shaft of his cock continues to grow in front of my eyes, the length making me work harder to get to his sac and taint. Eventually I work my way back up to the shaft, again drawing my tongue over it before popping the head in my mouth, letting my lips go to the ridge before drawing back with a slight pop. I continue to tease, my lips traveling a little further down each time before withdrawing so that my lips form a seal over the very tip of the spongy mass at the tip. He sighs contentedly, and I'm gratified to know my efforts are pleasing him. The tips of his fingers graze the skin of my shoulders and upper back, and the tickling sensation is driving me wild.

Tim's hips start to twitch, the first attempts to drive his spike deeper into me. I've never been able to deep-throat, but practice has allowed me to accommodate more and more of him. His thrusting becomes more insistent as he begins to face fuck me, all efforts at subtlety from either of us abandoned. He withdraws his cock altogether after one particularly violent thrust that comes close to choking me and I try to follow his length as it moves away, my mouth trying to recapture it.

"On the bed," he says as he begins to step out of the pants and boxers puddled at his feet. "Spread 'em and play with your clit for me." I get up and lay back on the nearby bed, spreading my legs as far as possible, me watching him undress, him watching me caress the nub at the top of my slit. In a moment the only piece of attire on either of us are my heels. Tim crawls on to the edge of the bed and begins kissing his way up the inside of my left leg, nuzzling my calf, kissing underneath my knee, nibbling up my inner thigh. Soon he is at the junction of my leg and torso, his tongue circling ever closer to my sex...

"Aren't you missing something?" he says, stopping his advance. He looks up from his crouch to see me with my head raised, looking back at him with a puzzled look. "I believe I told you to always have your ass adorned for me?"

I now understand what he is talking about and panic a bit, afraid that I have made the wrong choice. "You said to take everything off," I answer hurriedly, looking for signs he is displeased.

He smiles. "I did, didn't I? In that case, good job. Still, it looks too good to just leave as is..." His tongue gently caresses my lips, my finger long-gone from its stroking of my clit. He runs up and down the length of my slit, pushing between my inner and outer lips, spreading my wetness, tasting me. My clit is not ignored; gentle flicks and circles turn across is before he draws back down the center of my sex, savoring the juices that are flowing from me. He brings me ever closer to orgasm, the thought of being with this man combined with the physical pleasure he is giving me...

He stops and gets to his knees, his body between my legs. I think he is about to enter me and tilt my hips to accommodate him, but instead he begins to crawl forward, his legs on either side of my waist. Perhaps he is about to either use my breasts or my mouth? Instead he begins grabbing pillows from the head of the bed, piling them to my right. Satisifed, he moves off of me to my left. "Get that ass in the air," he tells me. "As high as it will go." I move as commanded, a bit of dread filling me as I put my hips on the pillows and my head on the mattress. He has not taken my ass since our first meeting; while Rich has had me several times since, and I have practiced with small vibrators, I am still nervous about taking his length up me that way.

"Reach through your legs and play with yourself," he tells me as he gets off the bed and moves to the bathroom. I do as told, my fingers spreading my wetness up and down my slit, bringing some to my rosebud should Tim decide to take me dry.

He returns and I see I shouldn't have worried as he begins to open the tube of lubricant he has retrieved. Tim climbs back on the bed and kisses each of my asscheeks, then begins spreading the gel up and down my crack, now working it into my puckered hole. I tense, but allow him access as best as I can. Satisfied, he tosses the tube aside and climbs behind me. I feel the tip of his cock touch my rosebud, and with a gentle reminder to "relax," he begins to push. The pain I always expect to feel is not there, rather a sense of fullness and discomfort; even this feeling begins to fade as his staff continues to push up inside of me. "Play with yourself," he reminds me. I realize I had stopped when he began to enter me; I begin again, the sensation playing nicely with everything else I am experiencing at the moment.

Tim begins a slow rhythm, gently pushing in until his hips meet my ass, then slowly withdrawing. He fucks me for several moments, our soft grunts and moans the only sounds I hear, until I become aware of voices in the next room. I can hear them, can they hear us? Tim doesn't seem too concerned if they can.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks as he continues to push, then pull.

"I'm getting used to it," I admit. "Having you in there is more natural to me now than before."

He laughs. "Well, that's good, but I wasn't very clear. Are you comfortable with our arrangement so far?"

I think a moment, finding it a little odd he would ask while he is buried deep inside my ass. "I am," I answer finally. "Do you find me...acceptable?"

He laughs again, a very sexy male laugh. "Very. However, I don't think I want you to feel too comfortable." He continues to fuck me in long, slow strokes, and I wonder what that means. "I want you tell your friend Anne what you have been doing for me."