Emily Richard And Tom Ch 02

Emily dumped her coat and brief case into a dining room chair and placed on the kitchen counter the package she had found at the front door. She punctured the seal of the clear cellophane tape with a ball point pen and ripped back the flaps of the cardboard box revealing a second box inside---metallic pink and silver stripes on a pearlescent white ground. She removed the gift box and lifted its lid. Below pink tissue she found an oval bottle of perfume and a folded note card, a single crimson brush stroke across its ivory face. She opened the card. "Emily---I'm so glad that you and Richard had me over. I haven't stopped thinking about the other night. I hope it was not our last. I like Calvin and Victoria. Wear them for our next 'date'---won't you?"

She peeled back another layer of the tissue to find a lacy bra and matching hip-hugger panties—black, delicate, tasteful. Emily held the bra up, her fingers visible through the sheer cups and the dainty floral embroidery that radiated out from their centers. She tucked it back into the tissue. She picked up the glass and chrome oval, removed the cylinder top, and misted her wrist. She waved it to dry and then brought her wrist closer to her nose---she closed her eyes as she breathed in the fragrance.

Emily, too, could not stop thinking about the events of last Saturday---Tom's first visit to their home. She had not yet managed to organize her thoughts and feelings about that evening of contrived fantasy, alcohol, and anxiety---of ambivalent participation that melted into uncontainable release and pleasure.

She welcomed the parcel-communiqué from Tom. She had been checking her email---too often---for messages from him. Yet she could not bring her self to send a signal first. She wasn't sure what she wanted to relay to him; nor for that matter, to Richard who had submitted to slights, taunts, and embarrassing commands from Tom, and, as the evening wore on, from her. Emily had found Richard's compliance with Tom's orders somehow endearing, and when she saw Richard's obvious titillation in response to the indignities expected of him, she let go her inhibition and allied herself with the handsome man that so easily assumed a comfortable and commanding presence in their home. Richard shuffled back and forth to the kitchen, retrieving fresh drinks and appetizers, his pants and underwear pulled to his ankles per Tom's instructions. They giggled together as Richard returned each time, his belt buckle clanking on the wood floor, and his stiff dick poking out between his shirt tails.

"Jesus! His dick hasn't gone soft since he pulled his pants down. Do you think he's enjoying this," Tom asked with mocking disgust in his voice.

Emily laughed, "I think so! Richard, honey---why do you have a stiffy?"

Tom laughed out loud. "A stiffy?! Is that what you call it?" He laughed and hugged Emily, and then kissed her neck and nuzzled her ear for a moment before returning his attention back to Richard. "Well Bitchard---answer her. Why do you have a stiffy?"

Richard looked down at his erection, feigning shame, and answered "It turns me on."

"That's not a fucking answer!" Tom barked. "What turns you on? Why is your dick stiff?" Richard couldn't answer.

"How about this---does this turn you on?" Tom asked as he peeled open Emily's partially unbuttoned blouse, slid his hand into her shirt and cupped her breast and kneaded it through her bra. "Does that turn you on? Me feeling up Emily's tits?"

"Yes Sir," he answered without hesitation. His eyes were frozen on Tom's hand massaging Emily's tits and fumbling for a moment with the clasp in the middle of her chest. The cups of her bra fell away.

"Take your blouse off," Tom instructed Emily. They were the first words that Emily heard as an order directed at her---curter, a little gruff. His impatient assertiveness found her ready to comply and she tugged her blouse out from the waist of her skirt, and undid the last buttons. She shook the blouse down her shoulders and Tom helped remove the sleeves and the bra from her arms. He pressed Emily against the back of the couch, leaned his head over, and began kissing her breasts, massaging and sucking each one with his mouth. His other hand slid across the roll of her belly and then to her thighs. He yanked the hem of her skirt back forcefully so that Richard could see her panties from where he stood. Emily responded readily and she lifted her round ass off the cushion so that Tom could hike her skirt up and bunch it around her waist. Over Tom's shoulder Richard caught Emily's eyes for a moment, and he saw then that she was drifting away in the current of the bigger man's control like an animal relenting in shock to its predator. Her eyes closed and she bit her lip.

Tom raised his head from Emily's breasts exposing wet, stiff nipples and her chest reddened by flushing and the friction of his face. He looked at Richard, snapped his fingers, and pointed at the crotch of Emily's panties. "Get down there Bitchard."

"Yes Sir," he said. Richard did not hesitate and he knelt down in front of them and leaned his face into Emily's pussy and began licking and kissing through her already moistened panties.

"Do it good clit licker!" Tom smacked the back of Richard's head, and Richard began with greater intensity. Emily spread wider, but did not look down at her husband. She reached up and pulled Tom's face to hers and kissed him with ecstatic urgency---Tom answered her passionate embrace. She felt Richard's work between her legs but her brain attributed all the pleasure to the tongue probing her mouth, not the tongue massaging her clit.

Emily decided she would not reveal the gift to Richard---not yet anyway---and she took it upstairs to the bedroom and hid it in her dresser drawer under a stack of neatly folded sweaters. But she could not tuck away so readily the rush of thoughts and sensations that the gift box had unleashed. She sat on the edge of the bed and caressed her breasts and thought how generously approving Tom had been of her small breasts. He had quickly alleviated any of her self consciousness and she wished she could feed them to him right now. She pushed her shoes off, unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. She looked at the red numerals of the alarm clock---Richard would not be home for at least an hour.

Emily lay back on the bed where Tom had fucked her and she rubbed her thighs in long slow ovals with the palms of her hands. She tried to picture the form that had pushed and pulled her across the mattress, but the afternoon daylight would not let her conjure him. She closed her eyes and her hands worked their way between her thighs. She could imagine more readily the sensation of his cock in her pussy and she pushed her panties down and pressed small circles around her clit with one hand and pushed a finger of the other hand into her hole. The total rigidity of his penis had filled her so thoroughly and pushed into her so many times that she thought she would have to ask him to stop; and just as extreme pleasure had threatened to become unbearable, she felt his cock pulse waves of heat into her and her pussy convulsed in a final orgasm that she did not recognize---or did not remember.

She rolled onto her stomach and rode her hands in jerking pumps of her hips. She imagined him climbing onto her from behind. She moaned between clenched teeth and her legs shook as she rubbed her clit faster and faster. She was close now. "Fuck me. Fuck me," she thought. She reached her peak and came in waves of diminishing intensity until her legs lay still, exhausted. She rolled onto her back and breathed deeply. Emily closed her eyes and drifted. In the late afternoon sun she fell asleep, her blouse pulled up to her chest and her panties still bunched at the middle of her thighs.

Emily woke when she heard Richard close the front door. She bolted up and straightened herself. She yanked jeans from a closet hanger and pulled them on hurriedly. She combed her fingers through her hair as she walked down the steps to the hallway and into the kitchen where Richard stood in the refrigerator looking for a snack.

"Hey babe," he said. "Hello honey," she answered. "Whew! Guess I conked out for a minute. What do you want for dinner?"

"Something easy---fast," he said, closing the refrigerator empty handed. "I've got a lot of work to review tonight. Want to go out? Someplace close."

"Sounds good to me," Emily said.

In the little Thai joint where they were regulars Richard and Emily were the only diners. They sat at the window looking out on Clark Street and the commuters making their way home as they ate.

"We haven't talked much about the other night with Tom," said Richard.

What about it?" Emily feigned casual disinterest.

"What about it?" he asked incredulously and laughed. He leaned forward over his plate and whispered to Emily, "You got one wild fucking the other night and you say 'What about it'". He chuckled again. "Come on hon', don't tell me you haven't thought about the evening at least a little. I don't believe that."

Emily finished chewing and nodded as she wiped her lips with a napkin. "Okay. Yes. It was pretty wild." He had called her pitiful bluff. "It looked like you enjoyed yourself plenty also."

"I did! It was very intense. You looked so beautiful. And, yes, I did get into the whole...submissive...thing." He muffled an embarrassed laugh.

"I-I-I guess," Emily said with a mocking intonation.

After a few moments Richard began again, "I got an email from Tom today. He said he had a great time and wondered how we felt about the whole thing. I didn't write back to him. I wanted to talk about it with you first. He didn't say it explicitly, but I think he wants to get together again---soon."

"Soon? What do you mean, soon? We just saw him four days ago. I don't know Richard---it seems too crazy, too much." Emily wasn't being disingenuous. Yes, she was enticed by the sheer pleasures Tom had heaped upon her, and she could easily replay the thrills in her mind; but the intensity of the experience and the anxiety leading up to it was too much for her. "Maybe it's too risky. Maybe we need some time."

"Emily, not this weekend---maybe in a couple weeks," Richard responded. He hated to see her resistance re-emerge---he didn't want to lose her. But, he couldn't contain his need to express to Emily his desire for their next meeting with Tom. He was ready to have the man over again---soon.Richard soft-pedaled his appeal, "Hon', he's not being pushy at all. Like I said, he wants to know how the---uh---the whole thing was for us." He realized he didn't know what to call the sex event, and it threatened to undermine his pitch. "He seems very sensible and considerate."

Emily didn't respond. Sensible and considerate, she thought; clever and patient, also. She pictured the perfume and lingerie that sat in the bottom of her drawer, a sensuous message from Tom that she had transformed into a secret from her husband. Fuck!

She realized Richard was right about the man's demeanor. He was intelligent, articulate, and pleasant enough in reality; unassuming actually---until the reigns were voluntarily surrendered to him. Tom's restraint and empathy seemed too integrally salient to be an act or devious façade. That did give her some assurance, some confidence that this sexual escapade might actually be on this side of fucking-crazy, or dangerous. And, for all the years that Richard had pestered her with his sexual "experiments" and obsessions, she had to admit that this time he had managed to deliver the possibility of genuine pleasure for her---a handsome and skillful partner. While she did not yet fully trust this new person in their life, she could acknowledge---though not to Richard---that it was not Tom that she feared, but the pleasure with which he had bathed her. It may have been too potent, like a drug tried once and then better left alone. Her recollection of that night---a tangle of guilt and thrills---was hauntingly tenacious. Similarly, she worried about her husband's obsession with his new found submissive fetish, and wondered warily about its origin and destination. They had played their own games of domination and submission, and she had, in varying degrees, enjoyed both roles. But that was between her and Richard, in the safety of their own bedroom, their house, their world.

"What do you plan to tell him?" Emily finally asked.

"Well, what do we want to tell him?" Richard inserted her complicity into the question. He didn't expect her to answer. He continued, "Can I tell him we had a good time, and that we'd be willing to meet again in a couple weeks?" Richard asked gingerly. "Emily, you did have a good time. I don't think I imagined that."

Richard knew he hadn't imagined her pleasure that evening. He had watched them flirt, tease, and giggle together, like new teenage lovers. He stood in front of them like a total fuck-head, with his pants down and his dick on display for them to discuss clinically and cruelly. On the front room couch, in dim dreamy light, they had petted and kissed while he worked feverishly in the silent world between Emily's thighs. Periodically he could crane his neck enough to see her and Tom kissing with total abandon. From the corner of his eye he could just see Emily's hand sliding across Tom's thigh and into the crotch of his jeans. He felt his own cock pulsing as her hand circled around Tom's zippered bulge.

Emily finally answered, "Richard, I admit I had a very intense evening. I'm just not sure it is best to pursuit it farther." She paused for a moment and then peppered him with questions, "I don't understand what you get in this arrangement. What is it that you want? Which part of seeing me get fucked by another man is the turn on for you? And where does it go from here? What is the next part of the fantasy?"

"Emily, I don't know how to explain it to you. I can't explain it, Honey. Where does any of it come from?"

This conversation was not what he had expected. He had watched Tom fuck her relentlessly as he sat quietly in the corner of the bedroom, out of reach of the bedside lamp that illuminated the familiar nakedness of his wife and the foreign masculinity of Tom's lean body. He stroked himself in contented exhilaration as Tom feasted on his wife, pleasuring her and using her in equal measure---fucking her to orgasm, and then feeding his cock into her mouth. She sucked it eagerly---desperately even. Richard barely recognized the abandon in Emily's aggressive sucking. He couldn't take his eyes off Tom's cock---an impressively thick tool with a large head---significantly larger than his own dick, and he wondered how apparent that discrepancy was to Emily as she held it in her mouth or spread herself for him. He couldn't fault Emily for enjoying it. He fantasized holding it for Emily to suck. He wanted to feel its heft.

"I hadn't even thought of it before I saw it on line and starting reading about it---cuckolding." Richard did not want to go into detail about his illicit research, browsing endless pictures and stories of humiliated husbands and their middle-aged wives who had fallen under the spell of physically superior lovers. "I just find the idea enticing for some reason---the thought of you being desired by another guy and watching you having sex. The submissive thing...I don't know." He paused for a moment. "You know, Emily, what turned me on the most was you being mean to me---verbally---and you and Tom laughing together at me. It's just...a weird thing. Don't make me try to defend it. Please Emily."

In particular, he could not confess his recent internet obsession with coarse depictions of a husband's sexual submission to his wife and her lover---the husband licking his wife's clit as her lover's cock slid in and out of her, or, a bitchy, demanding wife insisting that her husband suck the bigger man's cock as she watches and belittles him. These images tapped urges of which he had only vaguely been aware, and, until recently never even thought of acting upon.

That first night, after Tom had finished with Emily, Richard couldn't wait to climb into bed with his wife. She lay naked and exhausted on the disheveled bed as Tom got dressed and chatted with her casually, intimately. Tom kissed her good night. Richard, still naked and unrelieved, accompanied him to the front door. Richard thanked his superior profusely, and in return, Tom delivered last taunts to reinforce their roles. "I enjoyed Emily---she's a good fuck---get her ready for another party soon." Richard agreed to work on it, and he stood behind the door as he let Tom out. Richard hurried back upstairs and found Emily in the same position in their bed. He climbed next to her and kissed her breasts and worked his way up her neck and kissed her mouth. She embraced him and found his cock with her other hand and fondled his swollen dick to full stiffness. He slid between her legs and pushed his cock into her wet pussy. He felt the fluid warmth of his predecessor's work and he slid in and out easily. Emily lifted her knees higher, inviting him deeper. Richard pumped into her and Emily moaned. She felt Richard come and she wrapped her legs around him and they rocked in unison. Richard's strokes slowed and they came to rest, kissing and holding each other's head in their hands. Their breaths relaxed. "Thank you baby," Richard whispered. They fell asleep.

Emily finished her dish and sipped her water. She did not press him for more information. She had never been able to contain a certain enabling pity for Richard's obsessions; particularly when these discussions arrived at his pleading for her understanding and patience in the face of yet another fantasy beyond understanding. Nor did she really want any more information.

"Okay---go ahead," Emily said. "Let him know we'll see him in a couple weeks." She was glad to resolve the issue for the time being; relieved that the decision was now made for her. Should the next encounter go badly, she could blame the fiasco on Richard; or, conversely, should she enjoy the next encounter with Tom's handsome cock, she could do so guilt-free. It was out of her hands.

Tom was not surprised to read the affirmative response in an email from Richard. He knew he had a dedicated advocate in Richard. In fact, Richard was so fucking predictable that Tom knew he would have no problem concocting a litany of humiliations for him. Richard had already sent Tom a gushing review of the first night's events and intimated desires for even more demeaning proceedings. Tom knew what Richard wanted, but he also knew that Emily would have to be introduced to her husband's darkest secrets slowly.

Not domineering by nature, Tom's experiences with self-centered and manipulative husbands had cultivated a useful reservoir of disgust and disrespect for them. He had learned how to let out the rope of their fantasies methodically, always one length short of where they thought they wanted it to go---and then hang them with it if he so desired. They were so transparent. He knew the husbands' fantasies only envisioned a "bull" in their bedroom and in their wife---an animal easily dismissed, or a machine readily dismantled. But, while the husband was focused solely on his cockmanship, Tom was strategically insinuating himself into the mechanism of their relationship, altering the levers that regulated its delicate balance. The husbands---usually assertive and confident to a fault in their careers and daily encounters---rarely perceived the threat until it was too late. Tom had come to relish that moment when they realized that their wives were reluctant---sometimes unwilling---to bring the fantasy to a close. Originally mousy and compliant wives had little to fear from the men they had watched submit to the humiliations of the stranger that they had brought into their marriage. And the prospect of forfeiting the pleasures of Tom's tireless cock was not easily negotiated. Their husbands held no cards.