Visiting Cheryl
Exhibitionist & Voyeur Story

Visiting Cheryl

by Lauraburns 18 min read 4.6 (11,700 views)
loving wives cfnm masturbation voyeur exhibitionism
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This story can stand on its own, but if you want more background on Jeanie and Bob and the particular party they attended that they describe to their friend Cheryl here, you could read my earlier Theme Night and/or Film Night.

Visiting Cheryl

"Ahnnn, yes babe, show me again, show me again how grateful you are, ahnnn yes babe, ahnnnnn" it riffles up through my chest, makes my nipples sing, and my cunt gush again into my husband's eagerly lapping, sucking mouth as I straddle and ride his face, gripping his hair as I frantically pull him deeper into me even as my thighs close about his head needing to stop him, no don't stop; my blissfully happy clit sparking, making me jerk and buck as I ramble and gasp, "Ahnn, how grateful you are babe, yes, how grateful you are for getting to dance for Cheryl. Awwwh, fuck, fuck fuck..." it all goes white again; shudders and trying to push him away, but he knows and he grips my ass like a vice, and the strain in my hands in my arms as I try to push, my writhing as I try to escape, just heightens it, blows me past everything, and he knows, and he stays at me with perfectly merciless intent, lashing me into heaves and whimpers and nonsense, my body speaking in tongues under the lash of his.

Then I'm looking up at the ceiling, on my back, gasping for breath, laughing, crying maybe, having floated here somehow, laid down softly by strong, gentle arms, his careful hands holding his bliss shattered whimpering wife's shoulders, whispering; "You're so beautiful. You're so beautiful."

And it comes back to me vaguely that there may be some explaining to do over dinner, because this guest room is just a few yards down the hall from where our hostess Cheryl is getting ready, as we're supposed to be, to go out to our dinner reservation and there's no way she didn't hear...

My body shudders with an after-spasm and I curl reflexively up into a fetal position, roll onto my side and into my husband's body, his arms and that gentle repetitive whisper, "You're so beautiful."

But even as I shudder again with the remnant convulsions of my pleasure, I feel the stiffness of his cock up against the shin of my curled in leg and it all rushes back to me; him there on the poolside recliner, laid back with his legs spread wide, his thumb pressed behind the base of his erect cock to prop it upright as it bobs and spurts his semen for Cheryl and I as we sit across from him in our own lounges and...

"Ahwn, Jesus, Bob, I just can't..." shut it off. It always does this to me, just not usually quite this strongly or, at the moment, inconveniently.

We're probably already going to be late for our reservation and I'm pretty sure if it wasn't for my moaning and... who the fuck knows how loud I was being; but I'm sure it warned Cheryl away from coming to the door and giving us a friendly knock and reminder. I'm not really that embarrassed. I've known Cheryl forever and after all, we were just...

The scene flashes back into my head again; my husband's hips raised, his propped up penis still bobbing in futile, post ejaculatory spasms after jerking off and spurting his come onto his chest and stomach, and Cheryl there, smiling, cooing at him, 'Yeah, dance for me. I like that.'

Fuck. I feel like I need to go again even as my body winces in hypersensitivity at the thought. Was that three or four; like with nuclear bombs, after a couple hit the same spot, you lose track.

None of this was part of any plan; we were just at Cheryl's for our annual visit.

Two hours earlier,

"You know what this makes me think of." I said softly to Bob with a quick dart of my eyes towards the male reclining in the patio lounge by the pool.

"Yes, Jeanie, but be a good girl now." he chuckled as we stood together by the portable bar topping off our drinks before heading back to our own chairs.

"No, seriously, come on, he's pretty much begging for it." I smirk.

He snorts. "If you say so. But Cheryl isn't. Be good." he cautions again.

We head back to sit.

Bob and I were visiting Cheryl at her place in Florida to get away for a long weekend from the chills of New England in March. Cheryl had been my Degree Mentor in my days at University. She was twelve years older than me, but we became friends and never lost touch even after she moved south. We'd trade winter/summer visits each year; she'd get out of the Florida heat to visit us in July and we'd spare ourselves a bit of the Northeastern winter to bask for a few days by her pool.

She'd been married, but neither Bob nor I had much use for Duncan. Eventually Cheryl decided she didn't either. She'd been through a few 'boyfriends' since, but 'nothing serious', or at least, nothing that stuck. We'd met a couple of them. One she brought up with her a couple years back I had really liked, but it didn't last.

Bob had always been in the picture for me. He and Cheryl got on just fine but it was definitely Cheryl and I that had the strong connection. Bob was usually happier visiting when Cheryl had a boyfriend or partner on line as he felt, in his words, less like a third wheel to have another guy to shoot the shit with when Cheryl and I got going with each other on girl talk. He was in luck on that score this trip; more, it would turn out, than he knew.

Cheryl was currently seeing a guy named Ty. Ty had spent the afternoon we arrived on Cheryl's patio, visiting amiably with us (mostly with Bob) while sunning his already fully bronzed gym rat physique in a size too small speedo on a lounge opposite Cheryl and I.

Yes. The scenery was quite nice and Ty certainly seemed to know and enjoy that both Cheryl and I thought so. He had that casual arrogance of the consciously attractive; his legs opening slightly more than needed, lifting the hips and adjusting his ass on the cushions now and then as he leaned back away, his upper body reclining at a forty-five-degree angle as he chatted with Bob on the lounge next to him. Bob by contrast, was looking a bit puritan white and modest in his untanned Yankee skin and knee length bathing trunks.

I noted Ty casting the occasional quick glance in Cheryl's and my direction to check on audience appreciation. The front of that speedo looked promisingly mounded, something he would also drop his eyes to check on (admire?) now and then. I'd have gone 9's for content and 6's for style if I'd had score cards for the performance.

It really was

that

obvious.

But Cheryl seemed to love it and it was hard to fault a forty something divorcee for enjoying showing off her twenty something boy toy to an old girlfriend. I assumed that's what he was, an assumption at least partially confirmed when he had to excuse himself to go to work for his evening shift at a local resort.

"So, did you enjoy the show?" Cheryl asks, a bit red in the face but smiling.

I pause, my lips poised on the brim of my drink, glancing at her sideways, unsure whether this is a sensitive subject she's embarrassed about but feels it's too obvious not to mention, or a point of proprietary pride (or maybe a bit of both).

"What do you mean?" I say disingenuously, sip my drink.

"Oh, come on." She rolls her eyes, gets a bit more flushed, but the smile has pretty much gone from pleased to shit-eating.

"You mean Ty?" I ask, and cast a glance over at my husband still in his lounge across from us next to the one recently vacated by Ty.

"Of course I mean Ty." She laughs nervously, seems a bit agitated in her seat. "You don't have to be..." she starts, breaks off, looks across at Bob, "neither of you." she includes him, "I've known you guys forever. You don't have to act like you didn't notice, aren't thinking..." she laughs again. "I mean, he's a really nice guy," pause, "he

is.

" she insists defensively to which I shrug as if no other thought ever crossed my mind, "But okay, he's like half my age," she looks back across at Bob, "I know this, okay? But I mean..." that shit eating grin again as she fidgets and looks down at her hands, "he comes as advertised; finally, a guy who is what he says he is; and I'm having a hell of a good time."

"I thought he was great." Bob says from across the way.

"Thanks." Cheryl says weakly. "I mean, you two did seem to hit it off, Bob, even with his..." she shakes her head slightly, "whatever, in front of your wife."

"Oh, well, you know," Bob says in his off-hand way, "Jeanie doesn't get out much. A little exotic scenery probably good for wifely morale." he teases. "But really Cheryl, you don't have to explain yourself to us."

"Oh yes she does!" I say gleefully, realizing, sensitive subject or otherwise, my girl is pretty much bursting at the seams to tell us all about this guy who (she brought it up, not us) is half her age, lounging in semi erotic poses in a too small speedo 'in front of your wife' Bob. "Oh, yes you do!" I repeat to Cheryl. "Spill it girl. And yes, since you asked; I very much liked the show. So, 'as advertised' you said? Come on. This has got to be good."

Cheryl had picked Ty up on a 'dating' ap. "Really just a 'fucking' ap." she clarified, then, "Sorry, but I got sick of this stupid 'match my likes and dislikes' stuff. I went shopping and got what I ordered for a change."

She told us Ty put on his profile he was a 'nice, fit guy in his twenties,' but he was 'only interested in mature women i.e. 40-60. Looking for a short or long term, open or exclusive (woman's choice) relationship focused on fun and sex.'

"That simple." Cheryl sniffed, "Fun and sex. If I had been more honest, I would have just put that on my own profile. I read that, saw his picture and, what the hell; I pinged him. He pinged back.

"I know what you guys are thinking; yeah, the guy has a mommy complex, right? Like, who could possibly think 40-60 year-old women were sexy? Well, you know what? He

does

, and I don't care why. And he knows how to demonstrate his sincerity on that as many times a night or afternoon and in as many ways as I want or can handle and still walk afterwards. Fuck walking, he'll bring the coffee to me in bed and carry me downstairs for breakfast, fuss over me like I'm doing him some great honor to let him screw me. Sure, I know, he's vain and a showboat and gets off on being young stud eye candy for my women friends. I could sell tickets to my girlfriends for the matinee show like the one you just got.

"But so what? They love it when they come over and he's here. Sort of fun to have them all giving me the green envy eye. I love seeing their faces when they come over and he puts it out there like he just did for you. He makes no secret about it either; tells me not only does he like making my friends jealous but that he finds them all sexy and loves lounging for them. They're all the right age, like me. He says he's plenty happy with being my exclusive boyfriend, but if I get bored with him, he says, he wants me to recommend him to any one or all of them as a potential date. Yeah, that's what I mean by 'as advertised'.

"And when we go out, I know this shouldn't matter, but it does; I just love walking into the club at the resort on a night when it's full of these gorgeous, twenty somethings in their skimpy minis, but I'm the one on the arm of

that

. The way they eye him. He'll smile and say 'excuse us' as he leads me through them, but he just looks right past or through them when his eyes aren't on me; leads me up to one of the front tables by the dancefloor, pulls out my chair and looks at me and treats me like I'm the only woman in the place.

"Like I said, I know this shit shouldn't matter, but when we're out on the floor dancing close and he knows they're watching, wondering what this forty-something broad is doing with this hunk that should be hitting on them, he'll nudge my arm down gently a say, "Show them who owns it, babe." I'll slip my hand down and grab his ass, and fuck, that's not a neutral event even when I'm not already wet from..." she breaks off.

"Sorry Bob," she says with a slight wince, "girl-talk, you know?"

"Hey, fine with me." he says with an easy shrug. "We're all adults here."

"And so, anyway, he

is

fun, and not just in bed. Still, sorry again to be so crude, but I'm not pretending I don't love the fucking. I'm tired of worrying about what other people think and..." she breaks off, then, "There, I said it. Think what you want. But for once I got what I ordered."

It's obvious she's feeling defensive about this, but

"Dam girl, I'd say you not only got what you ordered, but what you deserve." I growl happily. "I love it. And he's right; he ought to feel honored to screw you. This is so great. I'm so happy for you."

Her head pulls back; she looks at me a bit skeptically. "Yeah? Well, thanks. But, you know, I never saw myself as someone who would..." she shrugs, glances over at Bob, "get into that sort of thing, I mean just, you know," she sniffs, "just sex and fun and don't worry about the rest."

"Oh, darlin," I say breathily, "if you had any idea of what sorts of things we've gotten into since we saw you last, you'd be..." I pause, glance over at Bob, suddenly realizing that despite my reflexive urge to spill the tale of my recent erotic adventures to my old best pal Cheryl, they aren't just

my

adventures. "Well, I'll just say" I'm trying to read Bob's expression; that lifted brow, slight head tilt; is that a 'this should be interesting' look, or is it a '

are you fucking kidding me

' look? I can't read it, play it safe, "I think we all have changing needs and interests as we mature."

That was lame.

Now it's Cheryl cocking a brow at me, tilting her head. "Wait a minute." she says glancing sideways at Bob then back to me. "I'd be what? What were you gonna say?" She looks back and forth between Bob and I again, then sniffs knowingly. "I mean, before you trailed off into that 'changing needs' bullshit. What sorts of things have you gotten into?"

I still can't read Bob's expression; he seems both painfully amused and mildly alarmed. He looks away towards the hot tub area as if not wanting to be involved in the conversation. I get that; between the two of us, there's a lot more exposure for him, both literally and figuratively, in the tale of our recent excursions than there is for me. I decide to limit my revelations to my own part in things. Bob can confirm, deny or simply not comment on his own role as he thinks best.

"Well, I've kind of developed some, I guess you'd call them voyeuristic, but not always just limited to that, but some appetites for enjoying men in certain ways that..." I pause, frown; how do I do this without implicating Bob, but still...

"You mean like porn." Cheryl assumes, sees my expression, "You said voyeuristic."

"Yes." I nod. "Watching them, that's a big part of it. But again, it's not just strictly that. And, you know, the watching part, it's in the flesh."

"You mean, like strippers." She looks over at Bob who is still avoiding eye contact. "You've gotten into strippers?"

"No. Well, or at least, not exactly." Then reconsider, picturing some male stripper doing helicopters with his dick and spraying it with whip cream and, "No. Not strippers." I wince. "But, I mean like," it strikes me there's an illustration close to hand that doesn't implicate Bob, "like with Ty there. You were joking about him putting on a show for me, saying how you kind of like how he does that when your friends are over and makes them envious. I can definitely relate to that. And, along those lines, I'd like to see more of Ty."

Cheryl laughs. "Well, girl, I am glad you enjoyed that and don't think it's weird that, I admit, I kind of get off seeing him that way in front of other women; having them all with their tongues hanging out over my guy."

"No, like I said, I definitely relate to that." I'll try to thread the needle here, keep this about me. "In fact, what I've been getting into, it's not strippers, it's getting together with other women who like to share their guys that way."

"That way." Cheryl says doubtfully. "You mean like Ty there, with his lounge act." She chuckles. "Jeeze, girl, I thought you were..." she waves the rest off. "He'll be back tomorrow if you want another matinee performance."

"Yes, I'd like to see more of him." I say carefully. "I mean, I don't know how you'd feel about that, but you're asking what I've been getting into."

She blinks. Her eyes go back out to Bob, obviously wondering what his opinion is of his wife's new voyeuristic inclinations, but he's still incommunicado. "Like I said," she says carefully, tilting her head as if trying to get Bob's attention, "Ty will be back tomorrow."

Is she being intentionally dense, or does she really not get this yet? "Cheryl, that will be nice, but this time, I'd like to see more" I pause, "of

him

."

Ka-ching! It registers now.

"You mean," Cheryl starts.

"Yeah, without the speedo." I clarify needlessly. "Like I said, I don't know how you'd feel about that, I'm just saying. I'm guessing from the matinee, he'd probably be fine with that if you were. To be clear; I don't want to fuck him. It's not about that. But I'd love to see him stripped down and erect, maybe watch him jerk off while you and I just sit and enjoy the show."

"Whoa." Cheryl pulls her head back.

"I'm not requesting that or anything," I say quickly, which is only half true, but we can edge into that later. For right now, "I'm just saying that's the sort of thing I've been getting into. More than one guy at a time usually, and a group of women who all just enjoy sharing them that way."

"Holy fuck, girl, you're serious." Cheryl looks back out again at "Bob, she's serious, isn't she?"

He looks our way. He's shaking his head slightly, looks bemused but also, yes, that adoring glint in his gaze for his troublesome, pushy wife. "Yes, she's serious. She's developed quite a taste for using men that way."

"Using." Cheryl echoes, her eyes going back and forth between us. "Using them." she repeats clearly trying to put this in context.

"For CFNM sport." Bob clarifies. "Using them for CFNM sport with her girlfriends." Then, "Clothed Female, Naked Male;" he makes air quotes around, "CFNM."

"That's a thing?" Cheryl baulks. "I mean, I get the meaning of the words, literally at least. But that's like an acronym for what exactly? You said sport..."

"Oh, it's definitely a thing." Bob answers. "It's not a set menu of activities. It depends on what they have available, in terms of men that is, and what the women are in the mood for. And she's right, it's not all or always purely voyeuristic. But," he looks away again, "the clothed and naked part is the main, consistent ingredient; CFNM."

Cheryl looks at me with lowered brows. "Shit, Jeanie, you're serious. You really do that; get together with other women and, you said usually more than one guy and... what? I mean, you were serious about wanting to see Ty jerk off for you."

"Absolutely." I say. "But hey, like I said, it's not a request." Yet "I'm just saying, as an example, I think he'd be lovely to watch. And even if I hadn't been getting into that sort of thing lately, you really can't think that's such an 'out there' thing to imagine after seeing what you called the matinee." Then "Come on, you can't tell me your other girlfriends aren't sitting there imagining what's under that little speedo. Maybe they don't say anything, but..."

"Actually, they do sometimes." she says with a snort. "Not quite as graphically as you with your erect and jerk off comments. But yeah, they aren't shy about stuff like that with me. But, answer the question; you actually get together with other women, and you all stay dressed, I guess, but you have one or more guys there naked and they jerk off for you?"

"If that's what we want, yeah." I answer. "Usually at some point they'll do that, or we'll have them come some other way. We do want to see that at some point. And they'd be pretty disappointed not to. But there's no rush on that if we're having fun just..."

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