Note: After my first story "
February sucks? Maybe
" in which there was quite a lot of violence, even if only verbal, this second story of mine changes course considerably, to the point that I was undecided for a long time whether to put it in this category, but in the end this was my choice, with the pros and cons that come with it. Happy reading.
I gave her a little nibble on her nipple. She lifted her head slightly off the sheet of our double bed to look at my lips which were stuck to her beautiful breasts like a suction cup, then squinted her eyes to lean back again with a soft sigh. I released my grip on her nipple for a moment to bring our mouths together, gently sliding my tongue in to entwine it with hers. My erection was at its maximum and without using my hands I lowered my friend, leaning on my wife's butterfly, a couple of inches lower penetrating her little by little, stopping for a few seconds now and then, but relentlessly all the way down. Then I start bobbing up and down in my Layla's tight little pussy, who tried to humor me with small movements of her pelvis. It was definitely my last assault after an hour of erotic vicissitudes and we were almost at the end of our strength. She rarely spoke during the amplexes, it was more moans, sighs and screams and her "Yes...yees....yeeesss" was like an agreed signal. She reached another, the last, orgasm, and I was free to do the same, with a merging of our fluids, our bodies and our minds.
Our sex sessions were always delicious and satisfying, certainly for me, but I am sure for her as well, and we moved easily between different positions without any problems. However, the classic missionary position was one of my favorites. I loved to watch Layla's beautiful face all sweaty, her eyes closed as she trembled from her achieved orgasm, sometimes unable to hold back little cries of pleasure.
Displaced, we broke away, remaining side by side on our backs, silent for the few seconds necessary to recover.
"Slutty" I told her looking up at the ceiling.
"Piglet" she replied without moving a muscle.
We both laughed, and I lifted myself up and rotated on the sheet repositioning myself on top of her, kissing her gently. "I love you," we said in unison, and this time without laughing we kissed passionately.
Layla was my wonderful, sweet wife of 33 years and I was Benjamin, Ben to my friends, her age. We had met while at college in a photography class and had liked each other immediately. Our engagement was rather long and we had to wait until we both found steady jobs, me hired on a permanent basis after an apprenticeship in a law firm and her as a financial advisort in a Post Office. We have now been happily married for almost six years and I am just as much in love with her as the first day, if not more so.
For the time being we were not yet thinking about having children, although the time would come soon, and we were enjoying our life as a couple to the fullest. Work, summer and winter vacations with a few weekends in between, a bit of social life with friends, some sports (tennis for me and gym for her), intriguing bedtime sessions.
In two weeks it would be her birthday, and since it was quiet in the office, I took the opportunity to leave about an hour early to start making some shopping trip to find her present. I enjoy both receiving and giving gifts, but if necessarily I had to choose, I would rather give, especially to Layla.
It was a warm day, but the weather was unsettled, and the sun alternated with a few brief showers of rain, which then faded to make new flashes of light appear. I was looking at a showcase of summer clothes, an item my wife was crazy about, but not seeing anything particularly pleasing to my taste, I continued down the street and after a few meters turned the corner, and my heart skipped a beat, and I am sure it even stopped for a moment.
In front of me, a few feet away, a couple, a he and a she, was walking in my direction, they were laughing and holding hands. She was Layla, "my" Layla.
The scene that followed was perhaps paradoxical, at least to an outside observer, and if someone had filmed it, it would undoubtedly have become a viral video on various social media. I had frozen petrified, with my mouth open and my eyes slightly larger than usual, the couple in front of me took another step then Layla looked up, became aware of my presence, and she too instantly froze preventing even her "he" from continuing, paling and standing for a few seconds with her mouth open. A "freeze-frame" to die laughing for, except that I was one of the protagonists.
My heart started beating again, no longer immersed in amazement but in sadness. For a split second I met Layla's gaze, then turned and slowly, but determinedly, retraced my steps back to the parking lot where I had left my car. She too, after getting over her bewilderment and surprise, had reestablished the connection between her brain and her limbs. Without looking at her partner she abandoned his hand and rushed running toward me, catching up with me and trying to stop me by pulling me by my shirt. "Ben...Ben...stop, please."
She tried to hug me but I, albeit gracefully, did not allow it and pulled away. She tried to resist, then partially surrendered by merely holding my arm and trying to slow my pace. "Ben...don't do this, let me explain."
I did not say a word to her and kept walking toward the car avoiding looking at her. "Please, Ben, look at me, stop for a second. Talk to me, say something."
We entered the public parking lot and I opened the car with the remote control. I got in and immediately started the engine while she, leaving my arm, rushed to the passenger side and sat down extremely agitated, and I, too, though outwardly calm, was a turmoil of emotions and thoughts.
The private telepass had raised the barrier without a problem. I left the parking heading home, and now there was a deafening silence between us. Layla was silent as well; she had decided not to confront me for the time being, apparently postponing the confrontation until our return.
I parked in the garage and we entered the house, without looking at her or speaking, almost as if we were two strangers. Without changing my clothes I went straight into the kitchen and sat down, waiting for her to do the same, across the table from me, then my first words took shape. "Congratulations! Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?"
"Wha...what?" she stammered, looking surprised again, "I don't...I don't have a boyfriend."
Ignoring her objection I continued, "What were you waiting for to let me know? It's better than finding out this way."
"Are you crazy?" she said vehemently now, "I told you I don't have any boyfriends, are you listening?"
"What I've seen says exactly the opposite, don't you think? Only two kinds of people hold hands, children or boyfriends, and I don't see him as a child."
"Not so, Ben, you are exaggerating the situation."
Once again her words went in one ear and out the other. "Do you love him? Are you going to leave me?"
Her tone of voice rose again and her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit "Are you crazy? I love you and you are the only one for me. Listen to me, please, I swear I have never cheated on you and I will never betray you. Marc is nothing. You haven't given me a way to explain, I assure you it's not what you think."
