Challenge - Wife's View

This story involves a wife's infidelity. Without any repercussions. If you do not like these types of stories ... please move on to something you do like. However if such stories are something you can or do appreciate – realizing they are mere fiction and fantasy – please enjoy.

To those still reading, this is a rewrite of a story I posted years ago under a different username. The idea behind the two views is simple; I enjoy reading stories written from both views and will often wonder how one I've read would sound in the opposing view. So I did it here. I hope you enjoy at least one of them and look forward to reading your comments.

*****

I glared at my husband as I considered what to say . . . what to do. I had to admit he'd managed to surprise me, but I figured I knew his game and decided to call his bluff.

"Fine, smarty-pants," I scoffed with a mischievous little grin. "Let's do it?"

"I don't think you will," Tom goaded. "I think you'll chicken out."

Two young men sat frozen a few feet away as him and I had a stare down, each one trying not to be the first to blink.

Our guests were anxious, and with good reason since they were at the center of the Tom's challenge . . . along with myself. Our God-son Chris and his friend Jake were staying the weekend with us while Chris' parents were out of town. Although he was 18, his mother was the extremely over-protective type and wasn't comfortable leaving him home alone. So we'd agreed to have him stay with us, allowing him to invite his friend Jake along so that he wouldn't be too bored. We'd all been watching a couple movies, just kind of bumming it, when the boys' reaction to a make-out scene got Tom's attention, and - being Tom - he decided to give them a hard time about it. The young men admitted to having limited experience with girls, which - somehow - led to my husband asking them a question that instantly got my attention.

"Well then, how'd you two like to kiss Tiffany here?"

"Wait! What?" I stammered, turning to glare at him sitting at the opposite end of the couch.

"Hell yes!" Jake chirped immediately.

"Yes!" Chris echoed his friend's sentiment.

While their response didn't surprise me, their enthusiasm - as well as their nerve - did. I'd known Chris had a crush on me for some time now. And it was clear that Jake shared his admiration. But I never would've expected them to be so rambunctious.

For the next couple moments the room was stifling quiet as I glared at my husband and mulled over what was happening. Tom's smirk told me he was being his usual smartass self, looking to have a little fun at other's expense.

I glanced over at the boys, my mind racing with a mixture of thoughts, my heart beating with a combination of emotions.

First; I was flattered. Like I said I knew they had crushes on me. I have soft, strawberry blond hair and fresh girl-next-door looks which a lot of guys seem to like. And even in my mid-thirties I do still have a nice enough body; I don't have a belly, I do have slim hips, and ample breasts that don't sag too much. Tonight I might be wearing my favorite bumming outfit, an old concert tee and baggy shorts, but the boys had glanced my way enough to let me know they still appreciated how I looked. Of course, the slit cut into the shirt with its flaps offering hints of my cleavage didn't hurt. Personally, one of the reasons it was my favorite bumming outfit was because I could wear it without any underthings; no bra or panties.

Second; I felt bad for the young men, being subjected to Tom's ribbing. Even if it was all done in harmless fun.

And finally, I found that I was a little intrigued by the idea. This kind of surprised me, but I had to be honest with myself and recognize that had I been 18, like them, I would have eagerly dated either boy. They both had the bodies of active, even athletic, young men and both were handsome in their own way; Chris' features were warm and comforting, while Jake had mischievous eyes, a devilish smile, and a rugged jawline. So the idea of making out with them, especially Jake, was tempting.

It was probably this last factor that took some of the venom out of my hissed warning and icy stare letting Tom know he might want to back off.

But Tom is still Tom, and so...

"I'm not talking about just a quick little good-night-peck-at-the-door kiss," he grinned. "I'm talking about a locked-lips-make-out-session right here on the couch. Say... five minutes a piece."

Now he was really starting to irritate me.

The boys completely froze in that moment, their eyes darting between the two of us as we had our stare down, each one trying not to be the first to blink.

I lost.

Tom saw it.

"What do you say, boys?" He nearly crowed, his smirk growing. "You up for it?"

"Absolutely," Jake said, his voice quiet, like he was afraid to break the tension.

"Yes. Definitely," Chris said, nearly as quietly.

"What do you say, Tiff? You wanna show these young men what a real woman is like?" He put the challenge to me directly.

That was when I started considering what to say . . . what to do . . . as I glared at him. I had to admit he'd managed to surprise me, but I figured I knew his game and decided to call his bluff.

"Fine, smarty-pants," I scoffed with a mischievous little grin. "Let's do it?"

"I don't think you will," Tom goaded. "I think you'll chicken out."

Chicken, huh. I'll show you chicken. I thought, realizing he wasn't bluffing after all and had managed to put my back against the wall with the challenge. Fuckin' smartass.

"Which one of you is first?" I asked the boys, forcing myself to relax.

"Me!" Chris leapt to his feet, pushing his friend down with one hand.

"Alright then, I'll be the time keeper." Somehow even Tom's clap sounded smartassed as he moved over to the chair.

Chris scrambled onto the couch next to me, his enthusiasm exposing his obvious nervousness. At first he sat too far away. Then, when he slid closer, he struggled with getting his arm around my shoulders. I patiently waited, giving him a reassuring smile. And when he eventually leaned into me with a kind of sweet awkwardness, I guided him into a more comfortable, and suitable, position. His initial kiss had a bit of a bite to it, like his teeth were clenched.

Mentally, I was transported back to my first boyfriend, years before.

"Soften up a little, Sweetie," I whispered, braking the kiss.

"Huh?"

"Your mouth. Your teeth. Whatever it is, don't clench," I explained, my fingers on his cheek.

"Oh. Sorry," he seemed a little dejected.

"Don't worry, Sweetie. It's okay. I wanna help you," I assured him.

"Thanks."

He took my instructions well and his kissing steadily improved during that initial session. I also managed to get him calmed down in general, helping him get his arms and hands . . . and really everything in place. He hadn't been lying about a lack of experience. But after a couple minutes he was gently leaning into me, his one arm around my shoulders, fingers lightly caressing my arm, and his other hand reaching across me to rest just below my rib cage.

Eventually he grew so comfortable I became lost in the action, my mind drifting off as we kissed again and again, our body heats mingling. Each kiss lasted a little longer . . . and a little longer. I became so lost that when his lips opened during one kiss, mine instinctively followed. Then his tongue was suddenly in my mouth and my own was rising against it.

Huh? What? I thought, my mind racing back to reality. Should this be happening?

Yet, my apprehension didn't stop my tongue from dueling with his as a gentle warmth simmered along my flesh.

"Time," Tom called.

The interruption might have caused me a little disappointment, but I managed to hide it as Chris obediently moved away. He, on the other hand, was obviously frustrated.

Then my heart started to flutter a little as Jake took his place. He either had more experience than Chris, or he'd paid close attention to my instructions. His arm slid smoothly around my shoulders as his other hand reached across to rest in place nearly effortlessly. As he leaned in for our first kiss I caught myself holding my breath. Then his lips were pressing gently against mine and I happily responded. Our lips parted . . . reconnected . . . parted. For a minute or two this continued. With each connection a tiny tingle would race along my nerves and my mind once more drifted toward the lost lands of pleasure. It didn't take long for Jake's lips to lead mine apart so our tongues could swirl against one another, sending a warmth coursing through me.

This time I didn't question the French-kiss, but simply accepted it . . . reveled in it. After all isn't it all part of a "make-out session," as Tom had called it?

As we kissed, our tongues swiping and swirling against one another, my breathing grew shallow. Jakes' fingers traced delicate circles on my arm and I felt the weight of his other hand at my side, its heat radiating through my shirt. All of it awoke an internal heat that made my body . . . my flesh . . . simmer. My hands came up from his biceps to scratch lightly at his shoulder blades.

"Time," Tom interrupted again.

"That was awesome," Jake gushed, braking our kiss and pulling away.

My disappointment was harder to hide this time, but I believe I managed.

Jake had barely vacated the couch when I heard Chris give a heavy sigh.

"I wish I'd known what I was doing," he said from where he sat on the floor, his eyes downcast.

Knowing him as well as I did I knew he wasn't whining, just voicing his displeasure. I couldn't help feeling a wee-bit sorry for him either. After all, Jake had had the advantage of learning from his mistakes.

Then Tom piped up with; "Hon, what do ya say you give Chris another shot?"

I turned an irritated gaze his way. The grin he wore told me he was trying to take advantage of a chance to further mess with us. I debated what to do, my eyes glancing over at Chris sitting silently on the floor. I'm not sure what finally made me shrug in agreement, but I did.

"Alright. One more go, Chris," Tom clapped.

"That's not fair," Jake half-chuckled/half-pouted.

"He's right, Hon," Tom agreed. "It's not his fault Chris went first and he got to learn from Chris' mistakes. If Chris gets a second turn, so should Jake."

Chris froze with his ass hovering inches above the couch cushion, his expression telling everyone he feared this wrinkle might very well cancel the new session.

I glanced at Jake, sitting on the floor with a hopeful expression. Then I turned a stubborn eye to my husband with his cocky smirk. I had no idea how long he intended for this to go on, or how long he'd be ribbing the three of us about it.

But I did know I'd enjoyed my session with Jake.

"That does only seem fair," I said, my own lips curling in a little grin.

Chris hurriedly finished sitting down. He had indeed learned, this time sliding into place with less effort, his arms moving into position comfortably as he leaned in to brush his lips across mine. Also, his kisses retained the same warmth and gentleness they'd developed before. And so I welcomed his lips pressing against mine . . . retracting . . . pressing . . . until they guided mine open and his tongue slid into my mouth.

Huh? Again? Well, yea, it makes sense. Was my only thought this time as I raised my own in defense.

We kissed . . . deeply . . . passionately . . . our tongues swirling . . . dueling. The internal heat that'd been awoke moments earlier was fanned . . . coaxed into sizzling embers. My nails scratched at his shoulder blades and I drove my tongue against his.

Chris shifted against me, obviously trying to find comfort for his growing cock. Lost in the sensations being fueled by our kissing I barely noticed his hand sliding upward during the shift. Then it settled against the side of my one breast . . . its weight . . . its radiating heat pleasant.

And basically harmless, I decided.

Still, we kissed, our lips pressing together again and again, our tongues swirling . . . swiping. We shifted a couple times, our bodies melding together a little more . . . and a little more. My embers were fanned into red-hot coals . . . snapping and sizzling within my loins.

"Time."

Damn, the thought shooting through my mind surprised me.

As Chris dragged himself from the couch, I pulled myself up in my seat and straightened my shirt. For some reason the torrent of heat flowing through me kept me from making eye contact with Tom.

Jake quickly slid into place, his arm and his hand slipping into position, the latter's warmth reaching through my shirt again. I instinctively laid my head back, my eyes closing, as he leaned in. His lips brushed against mine . . . drew away . . . brushed . . . drew back . . . then they pressed to mine and guided them open. I brought my tongue up to meet his and we kissed deeply . . . passionately . . . our tongues dueling. As we did, my embers sparked and sizzled with new tropical gusts . . . their heat radiating through my body . . . making my flesh simmer. One hand reached up to play in his hair and press at the back of his head, making our lips press together firmer. Jake's hand slid upward to press at the side of my breast like Chris had. The feel of it sent electricity jolting along my nerves and I sighed into our kiss. Our lips pressed together . . . pulled apart . . . pressed . . . separated . . . our tongues swirling . . . swishing . . . dueling. My body grew hotter and my embers crackled into tiny, flickering flames.

Jake shifted, his pressing body forcing me to slide down into the couch a little so he could hover over me. His hand had started moving . . . slowly . . . extremely slowly . . . along my breast, its glacial pace both intoxicating and aggravating. Eventually he cupped the underneath of my tit, his fingers tensing ever so slightly . . . as if he thought I was unaware and feared any real tension would change that. But he needn't worry. I was aware. I also believed the contact was innocent enough - it wasn't like he was mauling me. Besides, it was much more pleasurable than when he'd simply pressed at my side-boob.

We half-lay/half-sat there, kissing passionately . . . our tongues dueling . . . with him holding my tit. I continued to cup the back of his head and apply pressure, making sure our kisses were as heavy . . . as heated . . . as firm as I desired. The flickering fires within me made my other hand scratch at his back through his own t-shirt.

Although it was all having an effect on me, I remained fully aware of who I was kissing, as well as who else was in the room. I still had no idea what exactly my husband had been thinking when he started this . . . or what he was thinking at that moment . . . but I was pretty sure he'd enjoy the results when I got him to our bedroom.

Then I felt Jake's hand moving again . . . sliding up to actually fondle my full breast. And this time it did not progress with any slowness. For the briefest of seconds I considered letting him . . . my body's ache for the contact offered by the hand managing to cloud my judgement for that long.

But I didn't . . . I couldn't.

Jake wasn't my husband, and so he didn't have the right to such privileges.

Bringing my hand down from the back of his head I pulled his away. And to stress my point I guided it all the way back to my side, below my ribs.

That was when Tom once more call "Time," ending the session.

I felt a pang of remorse as I watched Jake reluctantly move away. It had been so nice kissing him . . . feeling his body against mine . . . his hand gently cupping my breast. My entire body simmered with the heat of my fires. My chest rose and fell with my shallow breaths. And my swollen nipples throbbed, poking into the cotton of my shirt. It was their ache that made me regret not letting him fondle me more.

I allowed myself a quick glance in Tom's direction. What I saw surprised me. His expression absolutely radiated arousal.

What the hell is happening? I asked myself.

"I'm sorry, Chris. I messed up," Tom said a moment later. "I lost track of time and ended up giving Jake extra minutes."

Now what's his game? I wondered.

"I really am sorry, Man," he added, tapping his watch.

"Well, that stinks," Chris kind of sighed, before looking at me. "It was great though. Thanks, Tiffany."

"Hey, Hon, what would you say to letting Chris get even?" Tom asked, returning my gaze. "One more little session shouldn't hurt anything, right?"

What are you doing? I could still see the arousal in his expression, yet had no idea what he was thinking. If he'd caught on that I was getting turned on and wanted to make sure I was ready for some action in the bedroom, he really didn't need to continue.

"I- Uh- I guess not," I stuttered.

"Great," Chris cheered, moving toward the couch.

As he settled into position, I leaned back, my arms wrapping around his shoulders once more. He brought his lips to mine . . . pressed them to mine . . . and new tropical gusts wafted through my loins, fanning the little dancing flames.

"He's about five minutes short," I heard Tom saying from what seemed like some distant place. "So we'll give him ten, then Jake can have five to even it out."

Wait! What? I instinctively started to try sitting up.

But Chris' tongue slid past my lips and into my mouth . . . swirled against my own, and Tom's words were forgotten. I relaxed, sighed, and brought my hand to the back of Chris' head to make him press his lips firmer against mine. We kissed . . . deeply . . . passionately . . . our tongues swirling . . . our lips pressing. My little fires were fanned . . . growing . . . dancing . . . snapping . . . crackling.

It wasn't long before Chris' hand slid up to cup the bottom of my breast, his fingers barely tensing. Again, I thought this was relatively harmless, so I allowed it. The feel of it though . . . the heat radiating through my shirt to my flesh . . . mixed with the deliciously gentle tensing of his fingers fanned my fires.

Then, like Jake, his hand began to slide upward. As it slowly inched upward . . . creeping up to fondle my ample breast . . . I actually considered allowing it . . . letting this young man cover my aching mound with his hand and give it a welcome squeeze. My tit wanted it . . . I wanted it. My breasts ached to be held . . . to me fondled . . . to be molded and squeezed.

So I did nearly allow it.

But just as his hand covered my breast I experienced a flash of rationality which made me reach down and push it away. Again I guided it back down to my ribs. Yet by the time my hand was back on his head, his was back to cupping the bottom of my tit. I sighed happily. After all, I hadn't wanted him to actually stop fondling my breast, I only wanted him to know the limits. And for the moment he seemed to. While we kissed his fingers gently tensed against my under-boob, making the pliant mound tingle even as it ached with a deeper need.

Then he did something different. Releasing my breast, his fingers slid up across it, scratching at me through my shirt . . . running across my throbbing nipple.

"Mmm," I mewed, sparks shooting along my nerves. The sensation convinced me that this too was basically harmless, so I did nothing to stop him.

His traveling fingers scratched at my breast again and again, creating slight indentions in their wake. His body pressed against mine . . . our body heats mixing . . . mingling. And still we kissed . . . lips pressing . . . tongues swirling.

My fires danced higher . . . hotter. I became lost in my body's sensations . . . in the heat of my dancing fires . . . my flesh simmering . . . my mind drifting. I became so lost in these things that when his hand eventually covered my breast, giving it a little squeeze, I didn't properly react immediately.