The next few days at home were quiet. The kids were at Ellen's and Shelly and I went through our routines but we could each tell the other was elsewhere.
Finally, as we finished dinner, I needed to talk.
"Babe? Can we take a glass of wine and sit on the sofa and actually talk about what we're both worrying about?"
"Sure. But what are you worried about?"
"You're joking. What am I worried about? I'm terrified about losing you."
"Why would you lose me?"
"Well, there's the small matter of knocking another woman up, and her having our child, that woman being my ex-wife who I was married to before I married you."
"I'm working on thinking of her as a surrogate mom, who is bearing our child so I can keep my figure and my tight pussy for a while longer. And recall that I was there -- like physically in touch with you both -- when you planted your so-fertile seeds. So I'd be a bit of an ass and a hypocrite if I suddenly swooned over your infidelity. But..." she paused.
"But?"
"I'm scared. Scared you'll go back to her, because you think it's the 'right' thing to do for the kids."
"Jesus," I stopped for a moment. "I didn't worry about that -- didn't worry you'd worry about it. We've never talked about how bad it was before we broke up. I skip over it in my own head because we have to work together as parents."
"How can you be that mad at her and -- like her now? Fuck her now?"
I laughed. "At the end pretty much the only way we communicated was through sex. But I think we're doing an OK job at not bringing all the old bad stuff and keeping the good stuff for the kids."
Shelly hugged me. "Yeah you are. And no, I'm not going to freak out. But can we hold this together for three years?"
"We're going to be changing diapers and driving the kids for the next three years. We'll be far too tired to hassle each other."
"Too tired to fool around?"
"Right now? Try me."
She leaned harder into me and reached down for my crotch.
Then she knelt in front of me, and unbuckled my belt and unsnapped my jeans, unzipped them and pulled them down with my underwear. I was half-hard, and she took me in her hand and began to lick the tip.
She looked up at me, and I saw her bright eyes flash. She slowly slid her mouth down my now-hard cock, and began to blow me. I stood still for as long as I could, maybe three or four minutes, and then started pushing rhythmically into her mouth. She made humming noises that vibrated her tongue against the bottom ridge, and suddenly I felt the slippery precum around the head of my cock and my cock began to swell and a moment later I felt the first spurt as I came deep in her mouth, followed by three or four and then a series of small pulses as I gasped for air.
I'd managed to keep standing up, but I leaned down and put my hands on her shoulder for a second as I caught my breath. She stood up, licking her lips and wiping a small drip from the corner of her mouth, swallowed, and then kissed me, the mushroomy taste of my cum strong on her lips.
"My turn?" I asked when I could breathe.
"In a moment," she said, looking at me thoughtfully. "Go sit on the sofa. I'll be right back."
I sat, puzzled.
Normally, she'd suck me for a bit, we'd sixty-nine until she came then I'd fuck her. We'd been together long enough to fall into patterns, and that was the norm.
Tonight was clearly not going to be the norm.
She came back, holding something I couldn't quite see in her hand. She sat next to me. A hairbrush.
She kissed me, tasting less like my cum, and handed it to me.
"You told me Ellen came using one of these. Make me cum with it."
"I'd rather use my tongue."
"You will. Just not on me. You're going to tell me things."
"Like?"
"Tell me about her using a brush."
"Shelly...you want to go deeper into this?"
She unbuttoned her jeans and dropped them to the floor with her underwear.
"I want something to go deeper."
