As I sat helpless, bound tightly to the chair, I could hear my wife and her boss frolicking in the shower. They were laughing and talking animatedly, and I thought I heard the occasional slapping sound, which confused me.
I heard the shower turn off and then Matt's deep voice resonated around the bathroom.
"I am going to run down to the conference room to set up the speakers," he said. "I will be back in thirty minutes or so."
I heard the hotel door open, and shortly after he left Irene emerged, dressed in a new lingerie ensemble. This consisted of a silk camisole and matching garter belt, in a beautiful shade of copper that complimented her flowing light brown, reddish hair. She was wearing a tiny matching pair of silk panties, although after she spent a few seconds allowing me to take her in, she turned her back to me and slid them down her toned legs, before stepping out of them.
As her panties hit the floor, the first thing I noticed were several large red handprints on her buttocks, which eliminated any confusion that I had about the sounds from the shower. Matt had apparently spanked my wife's ass, although I couldn't imagine why. She certainly didn't need to be brought to heel by this man, in an attempt to make her more compliant. She was already doing his bidding.
Irene wiggled her ass in front of me, as if to let me know she was fully onboard with her boss' treatment of her. Then she spread her legs apart lewdly, bent forward at the waist keeping her legs straight, and grabbed her panties. She remained in that position for several seconds, shamelessly flaunting her private parts.
From my vantage point, tied securely to my chair, I was at eye-level to her most intimate parts and my sense of politeness caused me to look away. However, as Irene remained bent over at the waist, it was apparent that she wanted me to look, so I stole a glance.
My eyes were drawn to her pussy first, and as I admired it from behind, I could see that her labia were swollen and puffy, in anticipation of the next encounter with her boss. Her clitoris was protruding from between them, as if it was looking for attention. There were traces of her seminal fluids on either one of her inner thighs, and I wondered if she was self-lubricating from the sight of me being forced to watch her upcoming violation, or from being spanked in the shower.
My eyes moved slowly up from her vagina to her virgin rosebud. This being her most sacred hole, I had never even considered it as a pleasure orifice, and in our seventeen years together I had never even teased it with my fingertips. Matt, however, undoubtedly emboldened by enjoying my wife's first ever attempt at a blowjob, was moving on to bigger and better things, staking claim to her forbidden orifice.
I am assuming that's the reason that he had taken the time to prepare it, coated as it was in a very liberal dose of lubricant. At first I thought it was her own vaginal juices, but upon closer inspection, the fluid was much thicker than that, a viscosity more similar to petroleum jelly. Also, it was not so much on her inner thighs, as directly around the entrance, and within the tiny, previously unviolated, opening to her anal cavity. It was a very generous helping too, almost guaranteed to facilitate entrance, when Matt decided the time was right.
This was going too far, and it finally ignited a fire of resistance within me. There was no way on earth that I was going to sit idly by, and watch Matt take my wife's anal cherry. I started trying to free myself from my bonds, a futile effort that only sought to quickly tire me out. I am not an athletic man, and I was huffing and puffing from my efforts to extricate myself from my fastenings.
"Please, Irene," I begged her, "don't let him take you there."
"I am not sure I can stop him, Oscar," she replied, her lust evident in her eyes as she looked over her shoulder at me.
"Baby, please," I implored, "untie me and let's go back to our room. We need to talk."
Irene finally stood upright, content that I had absorbed her predicament, and slowly turned towards me. She had her panties in her hand and as her vagina came into view I noticed that it was shaved, completely bald.
"Jesus, Irene," I blurted out involuntarily, "why did you shave your privates. You know I prefer you neatly trimmed. You are my wife, not a fucking porn-star."
"Well," she began slowly, as if she was suddenly enjoying watching me squirm, "right now it is not about what you prefer. Matt is running the show now, and he wanted me clean shaved."
"So, you just whipped out a razor and shaved yourself, for his visual enjoyment?" I replied angrily, fighting a losing battle to keep my rage in check.
"I never shaved it," she replied with a giggle. "Matt did."
This was even worse, and I started to speak again when Irene, moved towards me, and in a move that both shocked and silenced me, wadded her tiny silk panties up in a ball, and shoved them into my mouth.
"Baby, hush," she said with a giggle. "You are rambling."
Irene moved towards me, put her legs outside of mine, and lowered herself slowly into my lap, so that she was straddling me. My cock was standing upright, the shaft grazing the entrance to her pussy, the tip resting on the front of her silk garter-belt. I could feel the heat emanating from her vagina, as our sexual organs touched.
"Oscar," she began softly, "I know I should have got this out of my system when I was young, but I was a virgin when we got married, and I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything. I love you very much, and up until recently, I thought that we had a great sex life."
I tried to assure her that our sex life was normal, but with her panties in my mouth, my words were muffled, and incoherent.
"For now, just listen," Irene said condescendingly. "You will get your turn to speak."
I nodded my understanding of her directive, and went silent.
"I just never knew that sex could be so enjoyable, so completely fulfilling and satisfying," she said, her words cutting me to the bone. "I just never knew."
Her words trailed off at that last remark, as if she was regretting wasting seventeen years of her life, with one man.
"I have no regrets," she said, looking me directly in the eyes, "but I think I want the freedom to experiment."
I was shaking my head now, a clear signal that I was not okay with this.
It was one thing to hear of her slowly evolving romance with Matt, especially as the two of them formed a bond, long before their first kiss. They enjoyed each other's company immensely, valued each other's opinions, laughed at each other's jokes, took genuine pleasure from buying each other gifts. Their sexual chemistry was undeniable, off the charts, like a couple of honeymooners. However, I had watched them kiss, had watched them fuck, and had been forced to watch her give him her first ever blowjob. Now it appeared that Matt wanted to take something even more precious from her, and I was going to be forced to witness it.
