My thanks to all those who have offered advice, encouragement, criticism and praise. I have read all of your messages and, hopefully, I have learned and applied the lessons. This little tale was the result of a request – and I hope, Georgie, it meets with your approval. To Chip – I'll be back with the old gentlemen very soon.
Newton's Third Law of Motion states that "Every action has and equal and opposite reaction". With what I know now, I can categorically state that this is total rubbish.
As my story will show, every action can have a reaction that goes in exactly the same direction – and one that just prompts even more action...
It started one evening last summer, an otherwise normal, unremarkable evening in July. Paul and I had spent the day up to our knees in mud in the garden, digging, raking, sowing, pruning – enjoying the sun and enjoying our efforts at making our new home even lovelier than we already thought it was. By eight o'clock we were both exhausted and headed inside, where I prepared a light meal and Paul uncorked a bottle.
After we ate we tossed a coin to see if we would wash up straight away or leave it until the morning – and lost. Paul and I had been married three years the previous month, and together for two years before that – since university, in fact – but we still fooled around all the time. That night was no different, and what started as me accidentally splashing him ended up in an all-out water fight. Well, Paul's a lot bigger than me and it wasn't long before I was soaked, my t-shirt sticking to my body and my bra beneath it totally drenched.
Paul stood back and grinned at me, "Stephs, you'd win any wet t-shirt contest, anywhere."
"In your dreams, buddy!"
Even the thought of such a thing had me blushing. As Paul knew all too well, I was far too demure for anything like that. It wasn't anything to do with my looks because I considered myself quite attractive in a small sort of way, but rather it was just that I was excruciatingly shy and had been even since I was a kid. Even a bikini in my own garden was too daring for me. Paul, bless him, was very understanding about it and had never once pressured me to loosen up save for the very occasional tease – like now.
"Well you would win easily, whatever the competition looked like."
"Let's just hope your life never depends on me winning one."
Paul dragged me into his arms, "I guess I'm the privileged one and only then."
"Too right you are."
He kissed me deeply, a flash of tongue sending tingles up my spine, "Then I suggest we have an early night and you show me just how privileged I am."
As normal with Paul, my interest was suddenly aroused – among other things – and I just nodded against his shoulder, "Good idea, husband."
Even though I'd only had one sexual partner before him, I knew from conversation, from magazines – and from my own body's reaction to him – that Paul was an attentive lover, passionate and not at all self-interested. Making love with him was a luxurious experience and we never rushed, never settled for anything other than mutual pleasure.
That night was no different and I was already close to orgasm by the time Paul had finished teasing with his tongue and teeth, and finally, thankfully, entered me. He was stroking gently but deeply, moving to a rhythm that brought soft waves of pleasure with every easy thrust. After a while he slowed, teasing me I thought at first, and then raised himself up on his hands, smiling down at me.
"I was serious about that contest." His eyes travelled down to my boobs.
"And so was I about it being in your dreams."
"I know," he nodded, "but how about I invoke the f-fantasy?"
The f-fantasy was a new game to us. If either of us wanted to play and the other one agreed, then they would relate a fantasy while we made love – no comebacks afterwards, no pressure or promises. What played in the fantasy, stayed in the fantasy. It was fun, and Paul had always been very gentle with his mind-games. That night, with him teasing me so, it sounded like the perfect way to bring matters to a mutually satisfactory conclusion, so to speak.
"Ok then," I told him, "What's on your mind?"
"You of course." His eyes left mine and moved down to my boobs, "You really have the most gorgeous figure."
"Thank you. Are you going to tease all night, or are you going to tell me what little scene we're going to play?"
For a second, he hesitated and for some strange reason that got my heart fluttering. When he spoke, it was in urgent tones, "Earlier, when you were all wet, you looked so stunning. I'm so lucky and so proud to know that you're mind..."
"Likewise, and thanks. Now come on!"
"I'd love to show you off, let some other guy see just how lucky I am."
Somehow I must have known, at least subconsciously, what was on his mind and part of me was prepared for his admission, "Let them see me all wet you mean?"
"Yeah, or like this, your naked form."
The very thought had my pulse racing with nervousness, my mind conjuring an image of what that would feel like. But this was fantasy, and I was safe here with Paul stroking slowly and surely within me, "You'd like that a lot would you?"
"I'd do anything for you if you'd do that for me."
The seriousness in his voice sent a thrill through me, "Well... maybe if it was a total stranger that I'd never see again, and if it could be arranged so that it looked accidental..."
"Oh yeah! No problem. Maybe when we go and stay at Fran and Jimmy's place next week. There'd be bound to be a chance then..."
"And you promise you'll do anything I want to repay me?"
"Anything!"
"Ok, then. I guess we could invite some insurance salesman over of something like that. And when he arrives I could be upstairs in the shower and won't hear him arrive."
When I started telling Paul how I could play out his fantasy I could feel his excitement mounting. As big as he already was inside me, I could feel him hardening further and his strokes become firmer. His reaction surprised me, but my reaction surprised me even more. I was getting more excited by the second, by the word.
I let out a moan and continued, "I could come downstairs in just my flimsy little bra and panties, walk straight in to where you two are talking..."
Paul was thrusting hard now, "Oh yeah, Stephs, perfect. Or... maybe if you didn't want to wear such flimsy panties you could maybe have a towel around your waist and... well..."
"Compensate? You'd like that wouldn't you, Paul? No bra? Completely topless?" As Paul's excitement reached new heights – as his reaction to my words became apparent in every thrust – mine own excitement grew. This was no opposite reaction to him, it was feeding on his. "I think I'd like to do that. Like to see your reaction when I walked into the room."
"Oh god, Stephs. I'd love it."
I could tell as his balls slapped against me with every hard, fast stroke. I was gasping for breath now, scarcely able to believe how big – how massive – he felt inside me. "If I knew you were going to be this enthusiastic, it would be easy. I'd even make sure my hair was wet and walk in the room with a towel over my head, drying it. Make sure the guy got a good, long look."
Paul was pounding so hard the bed was banging against the wall, his pelvic bones grinding against mine. With a guttural cry he thrust deeper than ever, filling me – and then filling me as he came hard. The sheer intensity of his passion tipped me over the edge into an orgasm like none I'd had before. Wave after wave crashed through me, each peaking higher than the last. My ears sang and my vision clouded and all I really remember clearly was pulling Paul hard against me as I convulsed beneath him, my fingernails digging into his back.
Afterwards, after all of the aftershocks had subsided and we lay panting, tangled in the sheets and in each other's arms, I kissed the top of his head. "Some fantasy, husband."
"The best," he said, kissing the upper slope of my left breast.
"Yeah," I nodded. "The very best."
Exhausted and sated, we slept.
*****
As I said before, the f-fantasy rule was that whatever played in the fantasy, stayed in the fantasy. But all the next day I kept having flashback memories of our latest session. Despite my best efforts at suppression, each time I had a recollection of Paul's passion, or a sudden memory of the feel of him inside me, so hard and massive, shivers would run up my spine. If that was his reaction to my fantasy play, what would happen if I really played it out?
I tried my damnedest to suppress those thoughts because I knew that I could never actually do such a thing. The trouble was, every time I had another flashback, my certainty slipped a little more. The central fact that I could no longer ignore was that Paul's reaction to my proposed, fantasy action just made me react even more – which in turn increased the level of his reaction...
By nightfall I was thoroughly confused. My so-called logical brain was faced with an impossible dilemma. I was far too shy to go through with something like the fantasy – but equally, I now knew that I just had to play it out if that was how Paul was going to react. It was Paul who offered me a solution.
By the time we got to bed that night, I had become increasingly distracted and self-absorbed, and Paul was concerned for me.
"Stephs? What's up?"
